How Not to Vampire - Season 2

4. Dirty Deeds For All

Pro-tip for vampires #81: immortal is not the same thing as unkillable.

Beatrice owned a fucking McMansion in a Markham subdivision, square in the middle of the suburbs, among the upper-middle-class families with their mini-vans and mid-life crises, who were completely unaware that a vampire lived in their midst. The house sat at the end of the cul-de-sac, perfectly situated for defence if you were expecting an attack. From the living room window, you could see right down the street for two blocks, but I wasn't interested in the view. Instead, I watched Beatrice make her way up the stairs, leaving a trail of mini-skirt, boots, and panties in her wake.

"I still don't get what's wrong with our clothes," I yelled after her. " I'm in a ten-thousand dollar suit, dammit. And you look like a fucking goddess!"

"Just shut up, and make yourself comfortable," Beatrice called out, peeling off her blouse on the stairs. "Beer's in the fridge. Remote's on the coffee table or whatever."

I meant to ask her about Louise, but she was naked by the time she hit the second floor landing and all rational thought left my mind.

I found the beer in the mini-fridge next to the couch. It was packed with about twelve bottles of Chimay Red, a beer that apparently only came in wine bottle sizes and had a ridiculously high alcohol content. I wasn't going to argue with free beer, so I popped the cork and made myself comfortable on the couch while taking a nice big mouthful of beer. I found the remote for the TV on the couch, pushed the power button and took another swig, waiting for the gigantic 108-inch screen to warm up, appreciating the luxuries of Beatrice's suburban life. She had it pretty damn good. She even had a portrait of herself hanging behind the couch that looked like Vincent Van Gogh could have painted it. Beatrice wore a strip of black cloth over one eye in the painting, looking very much like a badass pirate glaring down at me. Even when I turned around to watch the TV, I couldn't shake the feeling that 19th-century pirate Beatrice was glaring at my back.

"--only Chimay Red can do it for you!" a man's voice blasted from the television as it finally powered up and clicked on.

My mouth dropped as I realized that Sebastien was on the fucking TV, and worse yet, he posed dramatically with a bottle of Chimay Red in his hand like he was a goddamn model or something. He was still ridiculously good-looking with that cleft chin and fucking lustrous hair. Smarmy-looking motherfucker.

"What are you drinking?" Sebastien smirked from the screen, which immediately exploded as the bottle of Chimay Red that I had been previously enjoying, accidentally left my hand, flew across the room, and smashed into the TV before clunking to the floor without breaking, beer spilling out onto the carpet. The shattered screen sparked as hunks of glass fell out onto the floor. THUNK!

A large knife whooshed past my right ear and thudded into the painting behind me with tremendous force. I yelped, jumping to my feet as Beatrice stormed back into the living room, carrying a coffin-sized black equipment case.

"Goddammit, Bob. You're getting expensive. I liked that tv."

"Sebastien's face is everywhere! How can he be everywhere?"

"Yeah, yeah, you are so not impressing me right now," Beatrice muttered and dropped the case onto the couch. I stepped back, utterly embarrassed by my behaviour, as she reached up and slid the knife out of the painting. She turned to me, holding the knife up as if she was considering using it on me. "I like the painting even more. It was a gift."

I gulped. "I know a guy who could repair that--"

"No, you don't."

"You're right. Except, could you look a little less stabby holding that thing?"