He had his back to us so he didn’t notice our presence, nor did the woman he was talking to—she seemed intrigued and was rapidly nodding at whatever he was saying.
The woman’s friend—the other regular, who was standing at her side as if she’d been handcuffed to her—saw us approach. Her eyes skated over our uniforms, taking in the gold trim and patch, and she relaxed, her expression changing into one of bored nausea.
“Oh yes, I’m very rich,” the maybe-vamp smiled as he scooted his glass around the bar with a melancholic air. “But money has no worth to me—it just doesn’t matter anymore. Not when life is so dim and joyless.”
I blinked as I studied him, taking in the patterns to his speech, the cellphone he pulled from a pocket in his trousers, and the smart watch strapped to his left wrist.
“Oh, but the world is such a fun place, filled with little joys everywhere,” the woman earnestly said.
“That’s what makes you a treasure.” The probably-not-a-vamp set his hand on her arm and looked soulfully into her eyes. “You can see beauty where before I saw darkness. That’s so rare.”
The woman’s friend rolled her eyes and took a swig from her etched beer glass.
I agreed with the estimation.
He sounds like a soap opera version of a vampire—the kind that appeals to particularly romantic minded humans. Sure, vampires are jaded and cynical with life, and they can be melodramatic. But they don’t air that out publicly, and definitely not with their lunch.
I mashed my lips together as I tried to get a good look at his eyes, which was harder than expected due to the pub’s low lighting. His eyes were dark, but that didn’t mean anything as some vampires had eyes that were such a dark shade of red that they looked black.
The probably-not-a-vamp didn’t even notice when Brody stepped up on his left side.
“Excuse me,” Brody murmured to the customer seated there. “I need this seat.”
The customer—a potbellied man—started to scowl, until he looked at Brody—or more correctly looked up at Brody and took in his build, which appeared to make him rethink his attitude. “Woah,” he said.
The female bartender appeared behind the bar with a coaxing smile. “Mike—I’ve got a spot for you down here, and a new Guinness with your name on it. Come on.”
Mike didn’t have to be told twice. He abandoned his glass—which just had foam left sticking to the sides—and scooted further down the bar.
The probably-not-a-vampire didn’t notice, too busy trying to charm the regular. (Another mark. Vampires and werewolves didn’t get along great—their cultures were very different and neither were particularly tolerant. There’s no way a vampire wouldn’t have realized Brody was standing next to him.)
“You’re so sweet,” the woman said.
The almost-definitely-not-a-vampire released a scoff that was worthy of Hollywood. “Hardly. My hands are stained with blood, I only live to regret the wrongs I have made in my lifetime—what I’ve done to survive.”
Tetiana hadn’t moved in yet; she was smiling at the woman’s friend, but at the definitely-not-a-vampire’s movie-esque drivel, she grimaced in disgust.
Brody leaned back in his newly acquired stool so he could mutter to me, “Does this kind of crap actually work?”
“I don’t think it’s been tried before,” I absently said as I shifted, still trying to get a better look at his eyes. “Vampires are too self-focused to regret anything they’ve done, and they see their way of life as a fact not something bad.”
“I’m sure you only did what was necessary,” the oblivious woman said. “Being a vampire couldn’t be easy.”
The posing-as-a-vampire moodily shrugged his shoulders. “You’re correct, but perhaps I don’t have a right to life if I’m such a monster.”
When he tried to give her a sad smile, I finally got it—his eyes were a dark brown, not a red color, and his pointed fang teeth had a waxy look to them. He was wearing fake teeth.
He wasn’t a vampire; he was a human. (He’d probably only gotten away with it because of the pub’s dim lighting, which would make it impossible for humans to tell. Thank goodness for my improved night vision!)
“Fake,” I said.
Brody gave me a thumbs up, and Tetiana subtly nodded before moving in.
She laughed and patted the fake-vampire on the back. “Goodness, that was a good one,” she said, her Ukrainian accent thickening. “What a joke.”
The man stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
Tetiana merrily shook her head. “I won’t give you my pardon, but I will share my own joke! Why should you never tell a vampire to get a life?” Tetiana waited for a moment, before her good humor burned away and her eyes glowed an angry red. “Because she might decide to take yours.”
“Um?” the human/fake-vampire blanched.
“We’re with the Magical Response Task Force—under control of the Curia Cloisters.” Brody bumped the human’s shoulders.
The man twisted to face him and gulped.
Brody casually pulled his radio off his belt, but his intense gaze held the guy captive like a frightened rabbit. “Tell me, are you aware it’s illegal to pose as a supernatural?”
“Pose?” the fooled woman stiffened, her voice loud and accusatory enough that the talk around us died down as the pub patrons turned to watch. “Wait, you’re not really a vampire?”
“No, he’s just a human.” Tetiana scoffed.
The woman puffed up, but her friend tugged on her elbow. “Let’s leave this to the professionals—should we order some food?” the friend asked.
A couple of pub patrons sipped their drinks as they looked from the women to the fake-vampire to Brody and Tetiana, their mannerisms as electrified as a correctly installed spotlight.
“No.” The woman shook her head and held her finger up, stabbing it in the fake-vampire’s direction. “No. You, sir, are a crook! You know what—I’m going to post your picture on social media!” She whipped her phone out and snapped a picture before Tetiana or Brody could react.
“Wait!” The man stretched his hand out to his victim. “I didn’t really lie! There’s vampire blood in my family!”
“Is that so?” Tetiana asked with too much innocence. “Try telling that to Blood. Our vampire slayer.” She put her hands on his shoulders and forcibly turned him in my direction.
I did my best to stand tall and look imposing, but really my mask and weapons did plenty of talking for me—and successfully too, based on his reaction.
All the blood drained from his face. “Is that…is that a gun?”
I unhooked a set of cuffs from my belt and dangled them from one of my fingers.
“Sorry! Sorry.” He squeaked first to us, then to the woman he’d been chatting up. “I lied! I’m not a vampire! I was just… just… lonely. I won’t do it again, please let me go!”
“Oh, this is going all over the internet,” the woman growled.
“Okay, but we’re getting out of the possible blood-splash zone.” Her friend bodily hauled her away, dragging her further down the bar.