Page 14 of How to Stake a Vampire

“You try to eat your tail on a regular basis,” Barney reminded the Husky coolly.

“Some humans like to donate blood as well,” Didi volunteered while Bo huffed indignantly. “The ones who know of Amberford’s supernatural side.” She shrugged at my stare. “Humans have weird fetishes.”

The interior of Eternal Reserves was all sterile white walls, clinical lighting, and an eye-watering aroma of antiseptic that failed to mask the blood smell. The furniture was garishly cheerful and had evidently been chosen to make people forget that the place was basically a supernatural deli.

A woman with gray skin looked up from behind a desk as we entered. Her smile was bright enough to power a small city.

“Welcome to Eternal Reserves,” she said with disarming enthusiasm. “Are you here for a deposit? I’m afraid we’re not doing withdrawals right now. Just so you know, we’re especially in need of O-negative.”

“We’re with Hawthorne & Associates.” Didi showed the woman her ID. “We’re here about the break-in.”

The woman’s smile faded until it could barely illuminate a medium-sized village.

“Ah. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Gladys Flintbone, the facility manager.” She came around the desk. “Would you likesome refreshments while we talk? I just made fresh brain muffins.”

“That’s very kind, but—” I started glassily.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Gladys interrupted. “They’re gluten-free. And they’re made with only the finest organic ingredients. Well, mostly organic. The brains are locally sourced. Ha-ha.”

“Ha-ha,” I echoed leadenly.

Bo tucked his tail firmly between his legs.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Didi stated firmly.

Gladys looked disappointed. “Are you sure?” She brightened a little. “I also have some lovely finger sandwiches. Actual finger sandwiches, not the boring kind humans make.”

“We wouldn’t say no to coffee,” Gavin suggested.

“You’ve already had coffee this morning,” Didi told the dragon newt.

Gavin’s horns popped out. “I can have a second cup,” he said with a hefty dose of belligerence.

Didi and I traded a look. One thing I’d come to learn in the last three weeks was that an over-caffeinated Gavin was a dangerous Gavin.

“Perhaps we could speak with whoever was on duty on Saturday night?” Barney said coolly.

Gladys blinked. “Oh. Mr. Bludworth. I didn’t see you there.”

I was wondering how anyone could ignore a skulking, six-foot-tall vampire who smelled faintly of mothballs when I realized he was doing his “fading into the background” vampire thing again, which took me by surprise the first time he did it at the office a week ago. So much so I inadvertently screamed the place down. This caused everyone to rush over, including a multi-eyed and tentacled Nigel who’d forgotten to adopt his human form in the heat of the moment. Which resulted in even more inadvertent screaming.

“Follow me,” Gladys said. “I’ll get everyone in the break room.”

She led us down a hallway lined with decorative medical equipment displays that looked like they’d originated from the medieval ages.

The break room was a mix of normal office furniture and items that didn’t look like standard corporate issue. A microwave sat next to what appeared to be a small crematorium. A coffee maker shared counter space with several glass containers full of things I didn’t want to identify. A rack of brain muffins was cooling next to an industrial-sized oven that could easily house several children.

“Are you sure I can’t tempt you with—?” Gladys started, gesturing toward the baked goods.

“No,” Didi, Gavin, Bo, and I said as one.

“I’ll try one,” Barney volunteered.

Gladys beamed, took a china plate from a cupboard, and served him a muffin with reverence.

Barney bit into it. His eyes widened a little. “This is nice.”

“The secret is in the marinade,” Gladys said proudly. “Most people just throw the brains in raw, but I like to let them soak in a nice wine reduction first.”