Blood Mixology

n a private dining room above the third-classiest tavern in the kingdom, two vampires discuss which bottle of blood to order with their dinner. Music can be heard from downstairs, and a distant drum seems to annoy one of the vampire’s sensitive hearing; the one with black hair. The white-haired vampire seems much more interested in discussing what to drink than the other.

“Oh, come now, Maltrose. Don’t settle for a bottle you’ve had before. Where is your sense of adventure?” The vampire with white hair smirks at his friend in a purposely goading way.

“You always want to talk me into sharing whatever you want,” replies the black-haired vampire in an unamused tone. “I’m aware of my own tastes. Yours are not superior.”

The white-haired vampire speaks as if he has some hidden agenda. “My friend, where would you be without my exquisite tastes?”

“Not at some noisy, third-rate tavern.” Maltrose states with some frustration. “Even someone of my supposed low taste has standards!”

Feeling a bit amused by the defensive retort of his friend, the white-haired vampire leans a little closer. “Oh, come now, Maltrose. Remember when you tried that Dwarven rosé? Rumor has it she was a niece of the Walled Queen herself, and she certainly tasted royal!”

Maltrose gives a sideways glance to his friend. “You always bring up the supposedly royal blood wine— a victory you sing about more than the bards. But you forget about the bottle of elf last month. It tasted as dry as paper.”

The white-haired vampire leans back, as if wounded. “Elf is tricky! And it was from a new vintner who I now know has varying quality.” He pauses for a moment as he gazes at the menu again. “But elf is an acquired taste. Maybe I simply acquired it faster than you.”

Maltrose scoffs. Their friendship shines through for a moment as their banter transforms into playful jest. Maltrose cuts at his friend with sarcasm: “Oh, I forget that I’m dining with the great Ezios, the vampire who invented drinking!”

Ezios smiles. 

“‘Mastered’ would be a better word.”

Maltrose scoffs again, his fangs bare as his smiles. “No wonder you left Brexia. That city was not big enough to contain your ego.”

“Oh, I will return to Brexia my dear friend,” Ezios says with a smile, but also with determination. “It has all kinds of blood. It’s the only place where you can drink chilled giant’s blood from a bottle made of ice. I swear, it was the pinnacle of flavor.”

Maltrose nonchalantly sighs. “Well, I suppose you should just tell me which bottle we’re actually here for tonight. They don’t have any Giant in stock this far east, and you wouldn’t bring me to such a lowly restaurant unless you heard they had something you wanted to share.”

Ezios presses the menu down as if revealing his hand in a card game. “Well, I was hoping you would notice it on the menu yourself.”

Maltrose looks at his friend curiously, then looks at the list of bloods available with a little more focus. It’s a fairly long list, all handwritten in a flowing cursive.

“Perhaps the perfect bottle for tonight will be made clear if we think about where we were a year ago,” Ezios says coyly.

“What? In hiding?” Maltrose asks with uncertainty. “We were almost executed by those dogs from—” Maltrose stops. His eyes trace the menu again, then widen in disbelief. He turns towards his friend. “A gray label?”

Ezios nods smugly. “Nothing tastes sweeter than the blood of our enemies.”

“A gray label is the rarest of vampire hunter blood,” Maltrose states in amazement. “Only the blood of a Duskguard hunter can be marked gray!” 

Ezios nods again and leans back, reveling with pride as it dawns on his friend what a rare treat he has brought before him. He awaits his deserved shower of compliments.

“Ezios… my friend, I am speechless!” Maltrose sits back in his chair flabbergasted. “A rare opportunity indeed! I don’t have the words to describe this.”

“Try, my friend. Do try,” Ezios says with a smile.

Maltrose laughs. “My friend, Ezios, you truly do have exquisite taste! I am lucky to be your friend! You’ve mastered drinking! What else can I say? Let’s order it before another vampire realizes this place has a bottle of Duskguard blood!”

Ezios grabs a small bell from the table and gives it an energetic ring. A human waiter scurries into the room, keeping his gaze lowered. Without looking at him, Ezios hands the waiter the menus without caring if he drops them. “We will have the local bottle with the gray label. The whole bottle, mind you, corked. We wish to uncork it ourselves. Pair it with any cut of lamb you have available.”

The waiter bows without words and walks backwards towards the door. Before closing the door behind him, Maltrose barks, “And don’t stand so close to the door. Your erratic heartbeat is maddening to my ears.” The waiter does another bow and closes the door.

The two vampires recline in their chairs. A smile grows on Maltrose’s face and he cocks his head to look towards his friend. “A gray label. And I thought you were going to force another elf past my fangs.”

“It might still be an elf. They do let them into the Duskguard too,” Ezios replies. “I heard they even let their first goblin join. I do hope it isn’t her. Goblin blood would pair so poorly with lamb.”

“And to think a year ago we were hiding from those fools!” says Maltrose, sitting up in his chair. “We spent a year in the duke’s guest house attic drinking peasant and pig’s blood; it was humiliating!”

“Never again, my friend, never again!” replies Ezios.

Maltrose rests back in his chair again. “You weren’t back from Brexia yet, but the hunter who started it was a woman. I’ll never forget her face; impossibly dark skin with piercing eyes. She came to my offices and asked questions.”

“Maltrose. There is no need to relive it.” Says Ezios, trying to calm his friend. “I know the story. You talked to the king, but he couldn’t do anything, because he is a worthless human, and the Duskguard have authority, blah blah blah.”

“It’s not ‘blah, blah, blah,’” snaps Maltrose, crossing his arms. “It’s the principle of the matter.”

“Oh, here we go.” Ezios rolls his eyes a bit. “The principle finally joins us for dinner. I should have requested another glass.”

“We pay the king, we pay the guards, we pay the merchants. And what do we pay for?” Maltrose asks rhetorically. “A bunch of ungrateful, arrogant mortals—who cry and protest at our every meal— and whose lives were cultureless until we graced them.”

“Let me guess,” says Ezios. “Are you going to go on about the bathhouses next?”

“There was not a SINGLE bathhouse in this kingdom.” Maltrose holds up one rigid finger. “Not one! These people were not bathing! I commissioned the bathhouses as a public service.”

“More like it that you commissioned them so your food would wash itself,” says Ezios laughing.

Maltrose lowers his hand and relaxes a little. Ezios’s wit always deflates his anger. He grins a little, knowing that his friend is right.

“I see you are still not over the ordeal with the dark-skinned Duskguard woman. She made quite the impression on you. She made quite the impression on me too,” says Ezios. “After our extended stay with the duke, I looked into her. Tried to figure out how she could sneak up on us.”

“Do you mean that night at my house?” asks Maltrose with a frustrated tone.

“It was strange how we could not hear her heartbeat, even while she was in the same room. Especially with your keen ears,” says Ezios, playfully pointing at Maltrose, whose ears are a bit pointed like an elf. “But I meant how she managed to get so close without any of our contacts warning us. She should not have even been able to mention our names without someone in our pocket hearing it.”

“You’re the one with all the connections,” says Maltrose, gesturing towards his friend and then nonchalantly brushing his long hair over his ear. “I was embarrassed at my lack of security. But still, you’re not wrong. I too don’t know how she hid her heartbeat from me.”

The two vampires ponder for a moment. The music from downstairs can still be heard through the floor. A pair of lutes, a woman singing, and a pounding skin drum.

“I for one hope it is her blood in that bottle,” states Maltrose. “I heard she was kicked out of the Duskguard.”

Ezios smiles and says, “I may have had a hand in that. I may or may not have acquired some leverage over a Duskguard hunter who may or may not have been motivated to make her look bad.”

“Make her look bad? I didn’t know she could look worse!” jeers Maltrose.

Ezios grits his teeth. 

“Oof. That joke hurt, Maltrose. Leave the humor to me. One does not consider the beauty of wild dogs.”

There is a double knock at the door. Ezios, whose back is to the door, leans toward the door and annoyingly says, “Enter. We’re thirsty.”

Nothing happens. Ezios fully turns toward the door and sees two small leather balls settling on the floor near the door. Someone had  thrown them against the door from inside the room to emulate the knocking.

Ezios turns back, and in horror, sees Maltrose sitting upright with a wooden spike protruding from his chest. Maltrose’s face is frozen in shock; his eyes peered down but then creeped up to his friend.

Behind Maltrose crouches a shadow, one that is seamless from the darkness and only visible in moments when the candles in the chandelier wave just right. A hooded figure, a woman. Maltrose begins crumbling to dust. As he does, more of the woman becomes visible as she stands upright from behind him.

Ezios’s lip quivers, but he manages to stammer, “You!”

The woman walks around the table towards Ezios, who is frozen in fear. She pulls back her hood to confirm Ezios’s conclusion. Her long, black hair is tied into several braids, and her dark skin reflects a sheen from the candlelight. Her eyes fixate on Ezios in an unblinking stare with her right hand clutching the hilt of some weapon at her hip.

Ezios looks back at where his friend once sat, but there is only dust. He looks back at the woman, who is now a breath away from his face. At this moment the music downstairs stops, but the drum still beats. No, not a drum, it was her the whole time. She had been there in the dark since the night began.

“How did you…” Ezios blurts out with a surprising lack of elegance.

The woman speaks in a smooth and low voice. “My heart beats when I want it to beat and holds when I want it to hold. It is a drum, it is tapping on the table, and it is footsteps on a path.”

Ezios is speechless. The woman’s gaze seems to paralyze him, but then he senses it, that enfeebling aroma. He sees now that she has placed a freshly cut clove of garlic on his lap. It had been dipped in wax, like a wheel of cheese, but she had broken it.

“You mentioned that you had some leverage over a friend of mine,” she says as she reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a ring of keys. Holding the keys up in front of his eyes, she slowly thumbs through them until she notices his eyes widen. She examines that key, memorizes its distinct look, and puts all the keys in her pocket.

Ezios feels whatever barrier that was preventing her from killing him fade away. The woman pulls a wooden stake from a holster on her leg. She whispers into Ezios’s ear, “There was no gray label here.” She then presses the stake into his chest, resting one knee on the seat of his chair as leverage, and leaning her weight onto the stake. She felt it sink and then press into whatever remained of his heart. After a few moments, Ezios crumbles to dust in his chair, and the woman is already out the window.