Blood Moon: A Rowan Gant Investigation by M. R. Sellars Page B

this
crap, is she?”
    “Well, I’ll admit, after she said she was a
vampire, I asked,” she replied. “Morbid curiosity I guess. But,
I’ve never actually seen her do it myself, thankfully.”
    “Yeah, no shit… So, she happen ta’ say where
she gets this blood?” he pressed.
    “Her girlfriend, I think.”
    “Is that your friend?”
    “No.” She shook her head. “Mary Ann just
tends bar at the club where the band has a regular gig. Desiree is
the singer—she’s the vampire… I don’t remember her girlfriend’s
name. She might have mentioned it, but she wasn’t there, so we were
never actually introduced or anything.”
    “Yeah, okay.”
    The sharp tone of a counter bell rang, and
Wendy shot a quick glance over her shoulder. Turning back to us she
said, “I’ve got an order up.”
    “Okay,” Ben said with a nod but didn’t let
up. “So what’s this Desiree do? Go around bitin’ ‘er girlfriend on
the neck or somethin’?”
    “I really don’t know, it was all just kind of
implied,” she replied with a visible shudder. “And believe me, I
don’t want to know either. The whole thing pretty much creeps me
out. I only talked to her a couple of times, and these days I try
to avoid going to visit Mary Ann at the club whenever they’re
playing because they tend to attract a whole crowd of them if you
know what I mean.”
    “Yeah, a bumper crop of freaks…” he answered
with a nod. “Jeezus, that’s some fucked up shit.”
    “I really need to…” she started.
    “Wendy!” a gruff male voice called out from
the area of the grill, cutting her off.
    “…go,” she finished. “Like I said, I’ve got
orders up.”
    “Just a sec,” Ben said, holding up his hand
to delay her departure.
    “Yo, Storm,” the male voice barked again from
behind the counter, this time much closer and louder. “Ya’ think I
can have my waitress back? I got customers wantin’ their food
ya’know.”
    “Just a minute, Chuck,” Ben called back to
him without looking. “This is cop business.”
    “Yeah, it’s always cop business,” he replied,
voice not quite angry but definitely carrying an annoyed tone. “Ya’
got two seconds.”
    “Desiree…” Ben mumbled as he pressed his pen
against the page. “How’s she spell that? S or a Z?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’m
pretty sure the band is called Lilith’s Daughters though.”
    Ben jotted down the information then flipped
his notebook shut. “Thanks, I ‘preciate it, Wendy. Guess I’d better
let ya’ get back ta’ work before Chuck has a hemorrhage or
somethin’.”
    “No problem,” she replied as she hurried
off.
    My friend had placed his notebook off to the
side and was now resuming his full frontal assault on the dubious
delicacy known as a “kitchen sink omelet.” I watched him for a
moment and then picked up my own fork. A handful of minutes dragged
by as I pushed the food around on my plate, never actually taking a
bite. It wasn’t that anything was wrong with my order, but the
rumble in my stomach had officially morphed into a bitter churn of
nausea in the wake of all the talk about drinking blood. Given
everything I had experienced and seen over the years, why the
conversation did this to me I couldn’t say. All I knew is that I
was definitely hungry before the banter on that subject, now my
appetite was beyond non-existent.
    “You goin’ soft on me?” Ben asked without
looking up.
    “Maybe I’m just returning to normal,” I
replied, pushing my plate to the side and cradling my mug of
coffee.
    “Yeah, well, you know what I have to say
about that.”
    “I know, Ben,” I said with a nod. “According
to you, I ‘ain’t normal.’”
    “So, whaddaya got planned for the rest of the
day?” he asked, sharply veering the conversation onto a different
course before shoveling more food into his mouth.
    “Not much. I’ve got a potential new client
who needs a quote on a custom database, but that’s about