The Accidental Vampire(9)

Her gaze shot forward as Mabel opened the door and a wave of noise poured over

them. It sounded like the diners were right there in the kitchen rather than off in the

front of the restaurant. Elvi had never heard it so loud.

Frowning, she slipped past Mabel and crossed the kitchen to step into the small hall

between the front and back of the restaurant. She peered with amazement through

the beads, stunned at the number of people crammed into the dining room beyond.

"Dear God, this must be some kind of fire hazard," she muttered.

"That's what the fire chief said when I showed his family to their table," Mabel said

with amusement. "He warned me the next time we think we'll have such a large

turnout, we have to put tables on the sidewalk or something."

Elvi nodded absently, not surprised Mike Knight hadn't insisted they shut down now.

The party was in honor of his son. Mike was the head of the small fire department for

the town and the sort of man always happy to lend a hand to friends and neighbors.

He was a popular fellow, as was his charming wife, Karen. Their son, Owen, took after

them. The number of teenagers present along with the adults attested to that. It

looked to Elvi as if nearly half the town was there.

"I know the upper floor isn't done, but maybe we should open it up to make it a little

less crowded," Elvi murmured, ignoring the hunger that was rising inside her as her

gaze slid over the mass of humanity. Crowded as the dining area and bar was, the air

conditioner couldn't keep up with the heat generated. It was hot, people were

sweating, and their scent was a wave rolling over her and making her teeth ache. That

half‐glass of blood hadn't been enough. She should have finished it off, she realized

with worry.

"I already did." Mabel leaned closer to gesture up to the balcony running around the

upper floor where nearly as many people were milling about.

Elvi stared at them, but her senses were completely attuned to Mabel and she found

herself inhaling slowly and savoring the scent. Mabel was a type‐II diabetic, her blood

always just that tad sweeter than others despite the medication she took, and sweeter

blood was yummy blood as Elvi had learned the few times she'd fed from her friend

when she'd first turned and had no other recourse. She allowed herself to enjoy the

aroma until she felt her teeth shift, then moved quickly away from Mabel with a moan.

"You're hungry." Mabel eyed her with concern. After five years, she recognized the

signs. "I should have let you finish the glass of blood I brought you. Should I get you

another glass now to tide you over until the cake is ready?"

Elvi considered it, but shook her head. She found biting others somewhat distressing, it

made her feel like an animal, but the hungrier she was, the less distressing it was. She

could wait and said so.

Mabel nodded, but her gaze moved to the workers in the kitchen, Pedro and Rosita,

who did the cooking, and the waitstaff who were bustling back and forth and in and

out of the room.

Clapping her hands to get their attention, Mabel said, "Anyone who isn't needed in

here, stay out. I want only Elvi, myself, and of course Pedro and Rosita in here." She

smiled briefly at the Mexican couple who did the cooking, then added, "I'll put the

finished orders on the table in the hall as they come up and you can place the new

orders there for me to collect."

Elvi felt herself relax as the waitstaff emptied out and sent a grateful smile Mabel's

way. It wasn't the first time she'd ordered everyone but Pedro out of the kitchen. It

was a precaution she took on those rare occasions when Elvi was hungry. The gesture

was appreciated.

"I'd better get moving on that cake," Elvi murmured, stepping away from the beads

and turning to head back into the kitchen. "Maybe I should make two tonight. I don't

think one will do for that crowd."

"I was going to suggest it myself," Mabel admitted.

Nodding, Elvi set to work.



"Who is it?" DJ rose up in the booth, craning his head around in an effort to see who

had entered the restaurant. He wasn't having any success.

"No one we know," Victor assured him. On the outside of the booth, he merely had to

lean to the side to see the tall, thin young man standing by the restaurant entrance.

The boy was glowering at the crowd now eyeing him as curiously as they'd eyed Victor

and DJ moments ago. He couldn't have been more than twenty by Victor's guess and

was dressed in the Goth fashion with baggy black pants, a billowing black shirt, and

studs around his neck and wrists. His hair was long and pure black, obviously dyed. He

was also unnaturally pale.

Makeup, Victor thought, noting the black lips and piercings everywhere.