2: do vampires even drink coffee?

I'm actually not a coffee person. It's kinda sad, but I'm that person that walks into a coffee shop and reads the menu and breathes in the heavy scent of coffee beans and then walks up to the barista and says, "Hit me up with that green tea. Piping hot."

I know, I know. I should spend my time in a teahouse, or something, but the thing is, there's not a lot of those over here. The ones that do exist are usually owned by witches who put some shady stuff in their tea. Stuff that makes you vomit roses or tints your skin blue for a few days. Can't trust witches, either.

Anyway, on my way back to my own place, I stop in at the same coffee shop I stop in at almost everyday. It's next to a gas station, which separates it from another coffee shop, and most people go to the other one because it's large and nice and has floor-to-ceiling windows you can see the whole sky out of. But that one's not as authentic. So I go to The Steam Room instead.

The Steam Room is not large or nice, and nor does it have floor-to-ceiling windows. It's made out of crumbling bricks, painted a sloppy and cracking white, and the one window it does have is kind of smudgy. They at least have their sign in tact, however, a giant piece of wood with a painting of  a coffee mug, beside The Steam Room in light-up letters.

A bell dings above my head as I enter. At this time of day, the place is kind of dead. There's a study group of humans in one corner, a pixie reading a gardening book in another. Then there's this other pink-haired girl nervously tapping at her phone and sucking her iced coffee down like someone's going to steal it. I have no idea what's wrong with her, so I deliberately steer myself away from her on my way to the counter.

I barely have to order; the barista's this guy Henry who already knows what I want. He just gives me a smile and then calls over his shoulder to the other worker, "Get Grey his tea, please."

"Thanks, Henry," I say, sliding a five dollar bill over to him.

When I have my tea, I settle myself in a chair near the fireplace. I'm not sure if they ever actually light it or if it's just for show, but I sit down next to it anyway, in one of those huge leather chairs you'd see your dad sitting in in the living room. I've just pulled a magazine from the rack when the windows shatter and I hear a chorus of screams.

I jolt, spilling my tea all over myself. I curse. "Hot! Hot, hot, hot..."

Then I look up and curse the heavens. Just my luck. A group of black-clad vampires has just stormed the place, crashing in through the windows and grabbing up the person nearest them. I scowl as I see one of them grab one of the human students and sink their teeth in their neck like my dad into one of his beloved green apples. Henry's cowering behind the counter, a phone pressed to his ear. I start to approach him to tell him not to call anyone, but then one of the vampires rears up in front of me, his fangs bared and his hands outstretched.

"Most people come to a coffee shop for coffee, you know!" I yelp. "Not to eat people!"

He shakes his head, and I'm about to take care of this guy once and for all when he suddenly starts shaking. No, really, he's seizing as if he's having an epileptic fit, and only when he starts sizzling do I realize he's being electrocuted.

He bursts into flames in front of me, and I take a disgusted step back as ash hits the floor.

Standing there is the girl with the pink hair, and she's got a wand in her hand. Of frickin' course. Witches. They're everywhere. "You're welcome!" she shouts over the screams.

"I could have handled it!" I yell back.

"Really?" she taunts. "Didn't look like it—"

As she's talking, I see this shadow loom up behind her. It's too late for me to warn her, so instead I just use another one of the powers my dad passed on to me. I call the shadows forward, up, into my hands, where they cement into a dagger. Usually, if I focus, I can make a sword or even a mace or something, but this is quick thinking. Stepping forward, I slash upwards, catching the vampire right in his heart. He falls apart in a dusty mess, and I step back, gritting my teeth. "What was it you were saying?" I hiss back at the witch. "About me not handling it?"

I expect her to angrily shout at me, but instead she's looking at me in wonder now, her brown eyes wide and her mouth half-open. I'm taken aback by the look on her face, but then I just grab her by the shoulder and shake her, trying to break her trance. "Hey! You! Do you know why they're doing this?"

It takes a moment for the witch's eyes to meet mine. The same confusion I'm feeling is mirrored in her gaze; we're both entirely lost. Vampires aren't violent, not since their council implemented a whole bunch of rules that keep them from draining people like they used to back in Transylvania, or whatever. The point is, they shouldn't be doing this.

Then I see it: a vampire chick lunging across the counter for Henry.

I don't think so.

I sprint over there before I can give myself a reason not to, hopping over the counter and shoving the vampire back. I must have used more strength than I thought, because she goes wheeling back against the espresso machine, hissing and snapping the whole time.

I turn back to Henry. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Looking at his terrified face, a thought pops into my head. "Hey. That fireplace—does it actually work?"

"I mean, we've lit it once or twice, but Grey—"

"Good! Then maybe—"

"Grey!"

I barely utter, "What?" before there's teeth, in my arm. I yelp in a mix of pain and complete surprise. As I whirl, the vampire's fangs tear from my flesh, and that hurts even more, and then I'm just plain outraged.

"You bit me!" I accuse, then drag the dagger back up into my palm and slit the vampire girl's throat with it. She makes a weird gurgling noise before collapsing into nothing, leaving me there with rising frustration and a throbbing arm.

It won't kill me and it can't exactly change me, but it just hurts like a mother.

The witch is busy fighting off three vampires at the same time, swinging her wand around like a diseased Jedi. It just seems like a ton of weird Latin phrases and multicolored sparks flying every which way to me, but with the frown at her mouth, I can tell she's trying her best.

I realize that I don't know her name, so I just call out, "The fireplace, Strawberry Shortcake!"

She pauses to shoot me a frantic glance, but thank goodness, she gets it, because at once she swivels and jerks her wand at the fireplace with an exasperated grunt. The vampires all converge on her, but then she ducks, and there's a very loud boom.

That's the good thing about vampires.

They're all flammable.

The clamor stills, save for the warbled voices of a few concerned passersby. I recover from my own crouch, daring a peek above the counter.

For one, The Steam Room's entire left side is gone, a scorched hole where the wall used to be. On the other hand, however, all that's left of the vampires are a few piles of ash, intermittently spaced across the wood floors.

The witch is still there by the fireplace, trying to catch her breath.

The only thing I want to do right now is go home before the police show up, but I guess I should go make sure she's okay. So that's what I do, coming out from behind the counter and approaching her. She's managed to draw herself up to her knees, but she looks exhausted, her wand cradled across her lap and her pastel hair frizzy in more than one place.

"Are you okay?"

She doesn't answer.

I frown. "Well, if you are...I think I'll just—"

Her hand closes around my arm, right where the bloodsucker bit me, and I wince at the tenderness. She lets me go, staring at the blood slicking her palm. "Oh, you're injured. I should...I should heal you."

"No, it's fine," I assure her, scooting back an inch. The witch is clearly insane. In fact, I'm pondering whether I've ever met a witch that isn't. "It'll heal in a bit."

The witch nods like she'd knew I'd say that, which is weird. Then she says, "Your teeth," which is weirder.

"My teeth?"

"They're sharp," she observes, and then takes in a long breath. "And the shadows—you made a weapon. From the shadows! Oh my God, you're him."

I'm too confused to do much else but sputter, "Who?"

She just shakes her head, and then she gives me this weird look, like she's studying me. Her eyebrows—as pink as her hair—draw in as she asks, "Do you mind if I..."

I barely have time to ask do I mind if you what before she leans forward and plunges her wand into my stomach.

I gasp, more out of surprise than anything, letting out a strangled grunt. Wands themselves aren't really supposed to be used as weapons, which just makes this worse. With a sigh, I gesture towards her beloved magical tool and say, "So, are you gonna want this back, or..."

"It doesn't hurt?"

"Dear God, woman, yes. You just stabbed me!"

"But—"

"No, it's not going to kill me. I can't really be killed. Is that what you want to hear?"

By then, sirens are wailing outside, and when I glance up, I can see their flashing red and blue lights cutting through the air. Yet, here I am, kneeling in a smoky, half blown up coffee shop with a witch's wand in my guts. I swear, if this girl gets me arrested—

"You're really him," the witch says again.

"Oh, by hell, if you don't tell me who in the next five seconds, I swear—"

"The demon's son," she finally finishes. "You're the one who's supposed to help me."