Page 3 of Vampire Claus

Taviano watched themen skulk along the street. From the way they moved, with their eyes fixed on the bags of presents, he thought he knew what they intended. The happiness that exuded from the man in red spoke to memories in Taviano’s heart of ancient Christmases. He was suddenly, irrationally, furious at the thought of hoodlums crushing a bit of innocent joy.

Grimly, he reflected that he intended to feed anyway. If he were right about the trio’s business, perhaps he’d give his demon what it craved.

He followed noiselessly along the edge of the roof. As expected, one of those in pursuit slipped across the street and ran quietly ahead of the young man.Just like wolves, Taviano thought.

The road remained otherwise untraveled, and a lamp overhead was broken. The young man adjusted his bags as his steps echoed on the deserted street. Taviano felt no concern from him and had to shake his head. How naïve he must be, to remain unaware of his peril.

He stepped into a pool of shadows under the broken streetlight and the lead wolf made his move from the front. Spreading his arms wide, he called out, “Hey, merry Christmas, man. Don’t know I’ve seen you ’round here before. What’s your name?”

The young man stopped abruptly and Taviano heard his heart accelerate. He answered warily, “Paul.” His breath released a small cloud of white into the icy air.

“Nice to meet ya, Paul,” the man said, then pulled out a bowie knife that he flipped and caught by the handle. The blade glinted dimly. “Thanks for bringing us our stuff.”

Instead of panicking, Paul clutched the handles of the plastic bags firmly. His tenor voice quavered but Taviano heard underlying notes of resolve. “These are for kids in a shelter. It’s Christmas. C’mon, man. Don’t take away their presents.”

“Perrrrrr-fect. You hear that, Joey?” the bandit called. “Your rugrats are gonna get some good shit after all.”

A voice from behind made Paul spin. The one apparently called Joey laughed and answered, “Hey, Mike. I wonder if he got one of them Switch things. Laura been askin’ for that for months.”

Mike called back, “The fuck is a Switch?”

“No clue,” Joey answered. “You got one of ’em in those bags, boy?”

Paul turned around again, apparently seeking some way out of his spot. Taviano could taste misery rising from his skin. It mingled with the sour stench of alcohol and marijuana on the three muggers.

Wolves, he’d called them. He snorted. That was far too generous a word for these cretins. They were cowards. Jackals.

The lead jackal—Mike—darted and his knife flashed. Paul hollered and, clutching his shoulder, dropped to his knees as Joey lunged to grab the nearest bag. Neither noticed when Taviano yanked the third bandit off his feet and into the shadows.

When they heard a shriek, abruptly cut off, Joey and Mike both whirled to face the darkness. They crouched low, hands spread to defend themselves.

I’ll get back to you in a moment, Joey, Taviano promised as he leapt high in the air. He soared over Joey to land silently behind Mike. The jackal waved his knife in warning moves as he prepared for an attack from the wrong direction. Taviano grabbed his wrist and twisted so the knife fell to the ground. He dragged its owner back into deep shadows before plunging his fangs into Mike’s neck. The bloodbeast writhed and thrashed for pleasure as it drank. It hungered to take every drop of blood, but Taviano wrestled for dominance. Perhaps cowed by their earlier battle of wills, it retreated quickly.

Joey was still reacting to the noise of the dropped knife when Taviano tossed aside the stunned Mike. He licked his lips clean and strode out of the darkness. Moving steadily toward Joey, he heard a gasp as Paul spotted him. Taviano continued inexorably across the street.

Joey seemed unable to decide whether to fight or run. His heartbeat raced, fast as a rabbit’s when caught in a trap. The jackal looked left and right, apparently shocked to find himself alone and unaided. Trying for an even tone, he rasped out, “Hey, we were jus’ having some fun. Teasing the guy, like. Let’s all calm down.”

Taviano didn’t change his pace. He had command, now that the creature had fed. The slightest touch of its power kept Joey from fleeing. His relentless approach continued until he was two feet away, where he stopped and drew himself to his full height. Joey’s eyes were glassy with fear and he trembled, like prey that knows when it has met the final predator.

“Fun?” Taviano’s voice was rusty from disuse. “If it was just fun, help my friend with the gifts that you made him drop.”

“Uh, yeah. Course,” Joey said. He sidled around Taviano without ever breaking his gaze, back to where Paul lay sprawled on the sidewalk. He began to gather the mess of presents that had spilled from the bags.

Paul struggled to his feet, keeping one hand pressed to his shoulder and his wide eyes fixed on Taviano. He opened his mouth to speak but Taviano raised a single finger in a gesture for him to wait. Strangely enough, Paul complied.

Joey put the last gift back on top of the pile in the last bag and turned to Taviano. “See? It was nothin’. He ain’t hurt bad. Mike gave him a little scratch, like.” The bravado in his voice faltered as Taviano came closer. Practically whining, he asked, “Can I, uh, can I go now?” When Taviano reached for him, he started to cry. “Ah, it’s Christmas. Please don’t—”

A sudden gust eddied the snow around as Taviano used a touch of magic to pull Joey close. His eyes intent on the bandit’s, he reachedinsidewith his demon’s gift and declared, “You will forget what happened here. All you know is that you went out with your friends and you met the worst criminal you can imagine. He said if you ever again evenlookat someone like my friend here, he’ll pull out your eyeballs and feed them to you one at a time.” The smell of urine reached his nostrils. He spat, “Out of my sight.”

Joey ran into the darkness.

“Who…?” Paul choked off what he wanted to say as Taviano turned to face him. “What’s happening? Please. Who are you?”

Taviano smiled slightly. “Someone who likes Christmas. Wait here please.” He slipped away into the darkness and repeated his instructions to Mike and the other bandit he’d dealt with first. Since he fed from both, with each man he nipped at his finger and smeared a drop of ichor over the puncture marks. It healed them instantly and both jackals scurried away like the low beasts they were.

Taviano returned to their would-be victim, studying him as he approached. Paul was a handsome young man, probably in his early twenties. His blond hair was overly long and needed a cut. The red sweater, frayed at one sleeve, stretched over a well-shaped chest and broad shoulders. His shoes were quite scuffed, and the fabric of his red pants showed wear. A smell of grease, hamburgers and scorched coffee rose from his clothes, overlaying a delicate personal smell. Taviano inhaled deeply. His senses filtered out the mundane traces of life so he could savor the essence of the man beneath.

Rosemary and lemons and the wind through a grove of olive trees.

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