Lourdes: A Vampire In The Old West

13. A Thimble Full of Vinegar

A table made up with fine china and lace. Volga sits at the head flanked by Rohm, Annika, Dobry, Dnieper, and Kurtis. They lift their glasses. They grin and guzzle red wine. They're in the Sommers' remote farmhouse, although Mr. and Mrs. Sommers are nowhere in sight. A menagerie of half-spent candles casts ill light.

"We've come a long way, we've left quite a trail, but we're still not there. Then, again, we're not going anywhere. From horizon to horizon, all you see is our home. Tonight we're here. Tomorrow, another ranch or town, always, always eating our fill. To the frontier!" Volga proclaims under a black sky.

A toast.

"Volga, I doubted you when you wanted us to first come to America, but New York, Boston, and Atlanta were more delicious than all the capitals of Europe. I admit, too, I had doubts when you wanted to move West, but I was wrong. The game here is exquisite. To you!" Rohm shouts.

A toast.

"To the game, as well. Here's to this country's young blood. To the taste of fresh, innocent, sweet life!" Kurtis yells out.

A toast.

Clinking glasses, Volga's men slurp their wine and set upon hunks of putrefying meat. The rotting flesh isn't pork or beef. Nor chicken, fish, dog, cat, or rat. The demons devour the bloody sinew and lick their fingers clean. Volga, the only man whose plate is set with a knife and fork, cuts meticulous squares into his steak. He chews every cube a set sum and washes down each with a sip of his drink.

"Can I get you more, sir?" Annika asks, noticing his master's cup is almost dry. Volga wipes his lips and gives a nod. Annika turns to Dobry with a punch.

"What?" Dobry yells, dropping a chunk of half-chewed gristle.

"Fetch your master more drink," Annika spits. He follows his words with another hit. Shoving the gristle into his gullet, Dobry growls at Annika and takes Volga's goblet. The monster heads to a corner where a bound and gagged animal waits. Mrs. Sommers. Naked, black and blue, and fading in and out of an uncanny dream, she's a corked vessel for the vampires' wine. Dobry loosens the rope around her chest, and Mrs. Sommers's heart slowly begins to beat. Weak. The beast holds the woman's hand over Volga's crystal cup. Fragile. Thin blood drains down the length of her arm. Dry. And when red splashes over the chalice's edge, Dobry makes the woman's binds again tight. Mrs. Sommers makes not a noise. The woman's alive, but she has no hope, no spark, and no spirit. She's silent as Dobry stops her circulation. The dog returns to Volga with the bloody glass. The vampire king shuts his eyes and sniffs its bouquet.

†

The Guinevere Hotel is filled with patrons and songs. Beatrice attempts to strum an out-of-tune guitar. Emma plays a crooked game of cards. Shouts and chants rise up, all the drunks in unison cheering for the vampire who saved the day. They're happy they still draw breath and make the most of this, the first night of the rest of their lives, by filling their livers until they burst.

Lourdes doesn't participate in the celebration.

Alone in his corner, he shuts his eyes. The boy opens and closes a soot-stained fist, grimacing and holding back a howl. Dead skin cracks to reveal raw pink flesh. Opening his eyes, Lourdes finds Katterina standing there. She holds rags and a bottle of cheap booze.

"How are you?" Katterina asks.

"The only reason I didn't raze this saloon after the duel is half my body is densely-bound dust," Lourdes replies with words that slither from his fangs.

"Stop pushing us away," Katterina chides. "You saved us today."

Katterina sits next to the ghoul. She pushes her liquor and cloth to him. Gifts. Lourdes inspects the alcohol. He sniffs it. In the space between seconds, the bottle is dry. Katterina's mouth parts. Another hostess whistles. Lourdes releases the spent bottle and wipes his face. He sits still for a moment. He shakes his head.