Page 17 of Night of the Vampire
"Probably. Whatcha planting?"
"Just a little garlic."
As I got closer, I could see by the small army of popsicle sticks with "Garlic" written on the ends she was actually planting quite a lot. "Trying to keep the vampires away?"
She gave me an odd look. "Something like that." Patting down the soil around the last clove, she straightened up with a groan. "I'm gonna have to have somebody raise these beds a little higher."
My aunt was a good six inches shorter than I was, which put her at around five feet tall. But she had grown a little older, and a little rounder, since the last time I'd seen her. Hence, the raised beds. "I'm sure you'll be able to find some young, strong, Louisiana boy who could use a little extra cash."
She smiled. "Shouldn't be too hard around here."
I grinned back at her, then stood there obediently as she took in my appearance. Apparently unsatisfied with what she saw, she started to head into the house. "Come on, I'll make some lunch."
"It's three in the afternoon."
"So? I'm hungry."
Obediently, I followed her up the steps and onto her little back porch, then through the screen door that led into her white kitchen.
My aunt lived in the lower Garden District in a little one-story, three bedroom, two bath house. The outside was painted a pale aqua-green and boasted a bright red front door and four white columns that held up the roof of the front porch. Inside it was clean and bright, with a gray formal front room that opened up into a combined living and kitchen area. Down the short hallway on the left were two spare bedrooms with a shared bath, and at the end was the master bed and bath. Nothing fancy. And exactly the kind of house I'd like to own one day.
"Whatcha hungry for?" she called from the kitchen sink, laying her hat and sunglasses on the counter before she washed her hands.
"Really. You don't have to make me anything."
"I know that, but I'm starving, so it's no trouble to make a little extra." She eyed me again where I stood on the other side of the bar across from the sink. "And you're looking too thin."
Actually, I was about fourteen pounds over my "ideal" weight. Not being on stage was really doing a number on my metabolism. But I knew from experience she'd feed me whether I wanted something or not. It was useless to pretend otherwise. "Well, what are you making?"
She fought back a smile, knowing she had won. "I was thinking some BLTs. And I have a little leftover gumbo in the fridge."
"Gumbo and BLT's?"
"Sure," she said with a little roll of one shoulder. "Why not?"
"It actually sounds wonderful. Thanks." At least this way I wouldn't have to worry about dinner.
I helped her by heating up the gumbo while she made the sandwiches. Her cat, Ted, watched me from his perch on the counter. Ted had apparently gotten his name from the actor Ted Danson, who Aunt Judy had a huge thing for. But unlike the handsome actor, Ted the cat was an overweight gray tabby. They did, however, share the same blue eyes. "You'd better watch it," I told him. "Get much closer and I'll make you into gumbo."
Ted blinked lazily and swished his tail.
"He'll never believe you," my aunt said. "He knows he's the king of the house."
This was true. He also knew I was all talk. I already loved that fat cat almost as much as I loved Wiggles. Once our food was ready and Ted had his lunch, we sat down at her round kitchen table and dug in.
"So, what's going on with you, Lizzy? I'm sensing some tension happening here." She waved one hand in the air, encompassing my entire physical form and overall aura.
"I had a weird interaction with a customer," I admitted, knowing after only a few visits with her that she'd drag it out of me one way or another, so I might as well spill. Besides, the voodoo store had been hers before I'd taken it over. From what she'd told me, she'd worked there for most of her life, maybe she'd had strange requests like this before and could give me some pointers on how to handle it.
"What sort of interaction?" Her eyes rolled back in her head at her first taste of the gumbo. "Damn, this is good."
I had to agree. My aunt was a helluva cook. "A man came in a few nights ago. Tallish. Light brown hair. Dresses like the guys in the European magazines. He seems to think I'll be able to help his friend who's sick. I told him I knew nothing about medicine or healing, or voodoo for that matter, that I just ran the store. I mean, Mike is the one who knows about all of that shit." I took a bite of my sandwich. It was still warm from the bacon. "He didn't believe me," I told her with my hand over my mouth, "and showed up again on Halloween night to walk me home and try, again, to convince me to help his friend. I honestly don't know how much more blunt I can be. I've told him over and over I can't help this person, but he said he was coming back, and he expects that I'll have changed my mind by then..." I trailed off as I noticed my aunt sitting there completely motionless, her eyes glued to me.
"What was this man's name, honey?" she asked me.
"Killian...something." I rolled my eyes and shrugged.
"Killian Rice?"
