Page 9
“Hey, Count. What’s up?” he says, answering on the second ring. I can hear the sound of power tools in the background.
“Hey man. What are you up to?”
There’s a pause and the soft click of a door as the construction noise vanishes. “Just finishing up on a jobsite. You?”
“I’m just coming off swings. Wanted to see if you wanted to grab a bite over at Manny’s.”
“Sounds good, man. Meet in thirty?”
“Yup, see you there.”
Once I get to Manny’s, I grab a booth and wait for Logan. At six in the evening, Manny’s is filling up quickly. Humans and supernaturals alike fill the seats of the classic diner. Black-and-white checkerboard floors span the entire restaurant. Booths with diamond-quilted black leather line the perimeter, while two-tops and four-tops with the same leather seats as the booths are scattered throughout. The long chrome bar top spans from one end to the other, and high-back stools dot the path.
I spot Manny himself at a table on the opposite side, laughing with the couple seated there.
Most people would think a zombie would be a mindless, drooling bore. Most people would be wrong.
Standing at six feet of solid muscle, he’s built like a linebacker. Stocky chest and broad shoulders. His skin makes my current ashen state look like a spring blossom. Nearly translucent with an eerie greenish glow, Manny’s skin is practically see-through. He looks the part of a movie monster and happily acts like one, especially during October.
Logan plops down into the seat opposite me with a huff.
“Hey man. Sorry I’m late. This custom build is killing me. The carpenter botched the design on the cabinets, so I had to fix it,” he said apologetically.
I wave a hand, dismissing the apology. “No big deal, man. I’ve just been sitting here lost in thought.”
Logan grabs a menu as the waitress comes to take our drink order. When she leaves, he sets it down and looks at me with the keenness of a perfectionist. Or the eyesight of varkolak. Once a werewolf, he was attacked and killed by a vampire. Only as he took his dying breaths, the vampire fed him its blood, changing him into a mixture of the two. No longer fully werewolf, but not entirely vampire either.
“What?”
“You look terrible,” he says, concern lacing his tone.
“I know. It’s part of the reason I called.”
“What’s been going on?” he says, settling into the booth, work-roughened hands clasped in front of him on the table.
By the time the waitress returns with our drinks, I’ve explained my encounter with Cordelya and the subsequent dreams I’ve been having.
“That’s insane,” he says.
I nod. “You’re telling me.”
With a shake of his head, he asks, “What’s this got to do with meeting for dinner?”
As if on cue, the waitress appears. “Ready to order?”
“I’ll have the locally sourced liver,” Logan says.
“Chilled or room temp?” she asks, jotting the order on her pad.
“Chilled, please.”
“You got it. And for you, sir?”
I swallow down the rapidly rising bile. “A goblet of o-negative, warmed, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Logan's eyes nearly disappear into his hairline.
