Chapter 48: The Barghest and the Bartender

Stepping into the pale half-light of dusk still hurt, but at this point, the added irritation only made Björn more intent on his objective. He strode past a couple dark SUVs that were pulling up to the front of the cafe, the exact same colors and in the exact same positions they had been earlier that day. One guy in black clothes and a black hat opened his door and started to get out, and like his seven companions, this man knew how to dress.

“Where do you get clothes like that?” Björn demanded, stopping in front of the Firstlander pussy. The guy froze, one black cargo-clad leg half-out of the vehicle, tipped in a utilitarian black boot.

“Uh…” the man said, blinking up at him like a startled prey animal. “Amazon?”

Björn squinted. “Isn’t that in the southern hemisphere? I need something closer.”

“It’s…online…” the man said, gulping.

“Where is this Online?!” Björn demanded. “You see what my woman dresses me in?” He grabbed a suspender and shoved a thumb at the restrictive clothing that she had said was a trademark of ‘manly men’. “Do you think this is reasonable?”

Wide eyes on him, mouth open, he man mutely shook his head.

“So how do I get to Online?” Björn demanded. “Which road?”

“Try…a computer?” the man managed.

Björn narrowed his eyes at him, then scowled at the three men frozen in place inside the car beyond him, feeling like the man was hiding something, but his bowels needed immediate attention. “I will be back to get directions later.”

The man in the black hat nodded. “Uh…sure.”

He saw the black-clad driver give him a wide-eyed look before Björn brushed past and pushed open the café door.

“Where do I take a dump?” he barked at the nearest human, who was behind a counter in the back of the room.

The human looked him up and down, lifted a brow, then gestured down a narrow hall from which he could smell the disgusting cacophony of human foods wafting from the area where several blood-webs seemed to be in various stages of preparing meals. Björn took the hallway—and immediately caught the faint scent of the vampire queen.

So, the little wench decided to use the convenient, air-conditioned restroom while she abandoned him to roast in her nice black car. Damn it. Björn paused just long enough to smell the tarnished silver of someone’s jewelry in the closest female restroom, then shoved open the door to the male restroom, then slammed it behind him. He found the overalls irritating and ungainly to remove, but managed to do so just before he shat himself. When he was finished, he tried to flush, grimaced, then yanked the overalls back up and snapped the ridiculous shoulder-straps back into place over his bare chest. He had forgotten how inadequate human facilities were. He yanked open the door, startling the elderly, white-haired male human who had been reaching for the knob.

“All yours,” Björn said, stepping into the hall. He sniffed, trying to re-locate the queen’s scent. Behind him, the white haired man stepped into the bathroom. A moment later, from within the bathroom, the wrinkled edible gave a dismayed, “Oh my God!”

Björn headed towards the kitchen. Several men looked up with frowns, knives in their hands as they chopped various vegetables, and Björn allowed a little bit of his form to shift as he smiled at them, giving them a good look at the teeth he would sink into their face, if they tried to stop him. All five of the kitchen crew stumbled backwards, spines against the counters, watching him with wide eyes.

Pussies. This whole realm was filled with pussies.

Björn grunted and strode down the hall, following that tentative remnant of his mate’s passing. That she had exited through the back of the café irritated him. He had spent hours watching the front of the café for her like a fool, and she had simply snuck out the back, laughing all the way. He shoved the back door open and it slapped against the back of the restaurant hard enough to splinter wood.

Instead of her scent-trail turning to sneak back to the highway, however, the idiotic wench had tried to run from him through the forest behind the café, instead. Björn laughed and shifted into his hunting form, then loped into the trees after her.

Immediately, the smell of other males, their scents intermingled with the vampire’s fear-stink, made Björn frown. Not that the fear-stink was unusual…she seemed to be terrified of everything, so it was no big surprise, but who would have reason to enter the forest with his queen? Björn sped up. The dog, too, had come this way, soon after the men. Then, carried on the breeze from up ahead, he caught the strong scent of blood and entrails—and the scent of silver.

Yanking the shadows into his body, Björn broke into a run.

It only took a few minutes to reach a scene that left him cold. Men—many men, one of which had been getting out of that car in front of the café—had fought a death-dance with her here. He could smell his mate’s guts, dragged along the open ground like a slab of meat.

They would pay. He twisted…

And someone screamed, “Fire!” behind him, and a hail of silver hit him in the meat of his arms, legs, and torso.

“Got him, got him!” someone else screamed, also with a Northman’s accent. “Got der Ficker.”

Björn spun, the bullets weighing him down like anchors, and hurled himself at his enemies. The man who had shot him was still mid-chuckle when Björn batted off his head. Men screamed and fled, but the shadows caught them and gutted them as Björn slid back and forth, surrounding them, everywhere and nowhere, one with the very darkness itself.

In the end, once the eight men were in various states of pieces on the forest floor, Björn discovered that black did suit him, and that he particularly liked the boots that laced all the way up. He left the weapons behind, as they were the tools of pussies, but he went out of his way to find that cool hat, half-buried under a shredded tree that had fallen when Björn threw its owner through it.

Then, after cutting the silver out of himself with his own claws and devouring the corpses to regain his strength, Björn headed back down to the café to demand the pussies at the front counter identify their pussy brethren who had taken his queen.

“Who is this man?” Björn demanded, dropping the hat-wearer’s head upon the table by the hair. “Where is his lair? I want to hunt down his women and children and eat them all before they can breed.”

The toothpick fell out of the mouth of the apron-wearing man behind the counter who had told him where to take a dump. For a long moment, the man simply stared at him, mouth open, in awkward silence.

“Uhh…”

Björn narrowed his eyes. “You will answer me, or you will be the next to die.”

Swallowing hard, the man wiped a sweaty hand on his apron and reached into a pocket to pull out a folded piece of white paper. “Uh, sir, there was a phone call for you.” He slid the paper across the counter, his trembling fingers carefully avoiding smearing blood from the still-leaking skull.

Frowning, Björn picked up the note.

I’m back at my house. Don’t ask me how—not sure. Just stay in the limo. I’ll be back in a few hours. And don’t eat anyone, you get me?

“I, uh, thought it was a joke,” the man said, with a nervous chuckle. “But you ate that guy, didn’t you?”

Björn frowned and glanced down at the man’s head, stunned that the barkeep could not smell that the guy had testicular cancer. “Of course not. He was diseased. I like my meat fresh and hale—I leave the weak and the diseased to scavengers.” He glanced back down at the note. “How long since she gave you this?!” he demanded.

“Well, uh, I mean, you seemed in a pretty big hurry to get to the toilet, so I was just gonna tell you on the way back through.” The man, like all Firstlander pussies, was cringing against the far wall, his full body pressed against the sheetrock as his fingers sought out an empty beer bottle. As if that would save him.

This note, though… Björn released the short, girly hair—it stank of detanglers and ‘products,’ as he had learned while the vampire had cooed about platinum blondes as she combed his hair and applied stinking detergents to his locks in the bathroom—and wiped his bloody hand on the table.

“How did she get back at home?” Björn demanded. Then, “Where is her home?”

The man’s eyes flickered back to the headless guy. “Hey, we, uh, were about to close. It’s past ten. I was gonna flip the sign.” He gestured at the darkened window.

Björn stopped wiping blood on the tablecloth and quirked a brow at him.

The man gulped. “I’ve seen area codes like that in Eagle River.”

“Take me to Eagle River,” Björn said. “I will hunt her from there.”

The man blinked at him. “Uh, no, I mean, I’m sorry, but I gotta close tonight and I got a family waiting at home for me—”

Björn inhaled through his nose, tasting the fearful air rolling off the flabby human pussy. “Two daughters and a boy that is not yours.”

The man, whose mouth had been open in more denials, closed suddenly. He frowned. “What did you just say?”

“The boy belongs to another mate,” Björn said, shrugging. He gave the man a curious brow. “Tell me, this is something I’ve always wanted to know: Why do Firstlanders tolerate the spawn of their competitors in their brood? Why not kill them and leave the food for children of your own loins?”

“That’s…” The man swallowed hard. “Was he a redhead? Big dude, like six-four, good with his hands? Pianist?”

Björn frowned. “I would have said six-two.”

“He wears cowboy boots,” the man said. “I saw him walk by the store a few times right before Cass called me to say she had to stay at work late.”

Björn nodded commiseratively. “You’ve been cuckolded.” He slapped the table. “You must tell me all about it on our drive to Eagle River! Perhaps, in payment for your assistance, I will assist you in punishing this interloper for his misdeeds.”

The man’s eyes fell to the head. Björn watched him swallow. “I…”

Björn’s good nature faded. “You would deny me this favor?” He felt shadow start to trickle from his body, icing the floor and counter nearby.

“No,” the man babbled. “No, I’ll drive. Sir. Here, lemme just hang the sign so the owner doesn’t get pissed when he shows up in the morning…” He carefully tiptoed around Björn, flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and went to grab a set of keys from the wall under his coat. He stepped outside and used them to lock the door. “I’ve got a Volkswagon out back. Might be a little cramped…”

“Nonsense,” Björn said, his good mood returned. “You drive the limo.” He strode outside, stalked back across the tar-stone and climbed into the dog’s seat and waited. He plucked Bondage, the Art and the Science from the side compartment of the door and opened it, twisting it sideways to get a better look at the pictures.

The man at the front door of the café hesitated, then started to tiptoe around the back of the café, his feet crunching the gravel.

“I hear you trying to run from me, little man!” Björn called, without looking.

The gravel-crunching stopped, then reluctantly came back towards him until he heard the man’s feet padding on the black road-stone. Very hesitantly, he opened the limo door. “Uh. I don’t know how to drive a limo.”

“Learn,” Björn said. He held up the magazine. “Do you feel like this is a reasonable way to restrain a captive? It’s so impractical. I mean, it would take thirty minutes just to get the ropes right.” Huffing, he turned the page. “Better to just tie them to a post and be done with it. Or break their arms. That works, too.”

The man who was to be his chauffer stared at the image for much too long, then slowly came back to meet Björn’s eyes and swallowed. “I could call you a cab…”

“I want you to drive me. We have your infidelious wife and her red-haired lover to talk about.” He patted the driver’s seat beside him.

The café-man glanced down at the shredded, bloody T-shirt that Bjorn had thrown into the front compartment, then at the book in Björn’s hand. He climbed into the car slowly, like a nervous rabbit.

Björn wrinked his nose. “You stink of fear. What’s your name?”

“Jessie,” the man said. “I’m thirty-two and my grandfather’s on life-support at Alaska Regional. I have to send my grandma money each month for her rent…”

“And why do I care about your grandmother?” Björn asked, confused.

“Because, uh…” The man swallowed again. “Please don’t kill me.” It came out as a squeak.

“Don’t worry, little man,” Björn said. “I won’t eat you for helping me. A servant of Odin is always rewarded!”

“I’m Buddhist,” the man blurted.

“You are a follower of Odin, now. The one true god.” Björn allowed a little shadow to roll down his shoulders to pool in the space between them. “Aren’t you?”

Jessie swallowed and nodded.

“Excellent!” Björn cried, slapping his back hard enough the weakling slammed into the steering wheel. “Now drive.”

“Are you going to devour my soul or something?”

“Of course not. Barghests only devour meat, unlike those balless pussies the vampires.” He cocked his head at the pictures of naked women again. The knotwork was impressive… “Besides, I have a soft spot for innocent men facing unfaithful women. Loki seems to curse me with it each chance he gets. Or Freyja, still not sure.” He turned back to the man, grinning. “And not just me. There was this time in the Nightlands where I found my best friend’s mate cheating on him with a werebeast, of all things, and I gutted them and spread them both across the snow dunes mid-copulation. His dick was still embedded in her when my friend found the remains!”

The man stared at him for some time, then quietly turned back to the steering column and twisted the key in the ignition. Without a word, he pulled his seatbelt down over his shoulder and clicked it into the lock beside his seat. Then he hit the gas and the limo began purring forward out of the parking lot, destined for Eagle River.