Chapter 2 - Capital Punishment Cafe

"Get in the car."

"Fuck you."

"Get. In. The. Car."

"No. I'm hungry." Tara was dimly aware that there was a non sequitur in play, but she wasn't about to give any ground. "You fucking killed me, you piece of shit."

Franklin's fangs snapped into place and he glared at her. "Get in the fucking car or I will do it again."

She stood before him, and held herself, her body shaking and shivering like a leaf, covered from head to foot in dirt. Her fangs, which were much longer than she'd expected, were cutting into her lower lip. It felt like someone was stabbing needles into her. 

"I hate you," she said, staggering towards the old Camero like a baby deer. 

"You can hate me in the car," Franklin said, and opened the door for her. She stumbled trying to get in, and he caught her. She folded herself inside and hugged her knees, almost bursting into tears as the sound of the door slamming cracked through her skull. 

"It hurts," she said, hating the whimper in her own voice.

"Love hurts, baby," Franklin said, but the playfulness was missing from his voice. He backed out of the clearing and turned on to the parish road. Tara held herself and rocked slowly as the engine rumbled around her. She felt like she had the worst hangover ever experienced by anyone, magnified a thousand times. Sounds were too bright. Colours too loud. Her body trembled like she had fever, and the smell of the chemicals used to treat the car's interior stabbed into her brain like a migraine. 

"Don't be so dramatic," Franklin said as he down shifted. "It'll go away once you've eaten."
"Why don't you just get me some Tru Blood?"

He reached over and pulled her hand away from her face. "Look at me, Tara."

"What?"

His face was strangely grave, like a concerned parent. "No baby vampire of mine is going to start her new life on formula."

She had to focus for a minute to understand him. "But...where are going?"

"Texas. Not far, just across the state line."

She dropped her hands into her lap. "Why?"
 
"Because," Franklin said, clearly annoyed. "Because the governor of Texas made an agreement with the vampire king of Texas to contract all capital punishment to the vampire community. With the provision that we verify guilt before carrying out any sentence."
 
"You mean like, with glamouring?" Tara felt a wave of disgust pass through her. "God I never heard of such a thing."

"Of course not," Franklin said, with the patient air of one coddling a small child. "Secret. I helped negotiate the the agreement."

Tara thought about this for a moment, and tried to reach for some semblance of logic. "You want me to kill someone tonight."

Franklin smiled that devil-may-care smile, and tilted his head. "Tara, you want to kill someone tonight."

She didn't know how to respond, so she turned her attention to the passing road signs. They seemed to move in slow motion, like long green blurs. She had to squint to read the letters. They turned at one marked Roundheigh Penitentary.

"Admit it," Franklin said softly. 

Tara was distracted by the trees that seemed to reach down for them when the headlight touched them. "Admit what?" 

"You had a thirst for violence before I turned you." The English in his accent seemed to add a razor edge to these words, and Tara could almost feel it cutting into her skin. He turned that unhinged jack-o-lantern smile on her. "I couldn't let it all go to waste."

"I thought you turned me because you wanted to make some kind of point." She tried and failed to keep the sulk out of her voice. She felt like a child, weak and angry, and helpless to defend herself or offer any kind of fight.
 
He glanced at her and back at the road, then blinked, genuinely surprised. "I forgot what it was."

She narrowed her eyes. "Asshole."

"Rude. Here I am taking you out for a nice meal, and-"

"Stop. Please. Just..." Tara leaned over and hugged her knees. "The colour of your shirt is hurting my ears."

Franklin looked down, and then back at her. "It's black, Tara."

"It's too bright," she whispered. 

They had reached a gate topped with razor wire. It was manned by two vampires who were armed with what looked like assault rifles. They waved the car in, and the gate shut behind them. They parked, and Tara followed Franklin into small institutional looking building. She trailed him down a short, featureless hallway into a small room that was nearly featureless except for the convict seated and cuffed in a simple chair, which was bolted to a tiled floor. Tara noticed the drain under the seat, and felt nauseated. 

But something new piqued her senses. The human was stringy leather, a skinhead tattooed with swastikas and misspelled epithets, was giving off a smell like rare prime rib. All of her attention was now focused on him. Franklin bent over the man and snapped his fingers. The skinhead looked up, and some kind of electric current passed through him. His eyes went round, and his mouth dropped open a little. 

"Tara, this is Michael. Michael, tell Tara what you did." 

Michael's head rolled on his neck as he turned to look at her. She glanced at Franklin, who watched her closely. 

"Look at him," he instructed. "Reach into his mind."

"What did you do?" she asked, feeling that same current pass from Franklin's control to hers. It was difficult, starved as she was, but she was able to hold his mind. It was a heady feeling. Her mouth watered. "Tell me."

"Kilt my auntie," the man said in a total monotone. "Took her money n' her credit card. Bought me all the crystal in the county."

Tara was almost disappointed. She'd hoped for something more gruesome, something that would make her feel better about what she was about to do. 

"Why is it that so many evil people are so stupid?" she asked, glancing at Franklin, then immediately regretted it. 

"Because it takes practice," he said, with an indulgent smile. "Most people don't live that long."

Tara breathed in the scent of human flesh, and felt that strange reflex as tiny muscles in her upper mandibles contracted, retracting her normal eye teeth. Her fangs flicked down in their place, like a rattlesnake's. The world blurred around her as she moved like a rattlesnake, striking at the man's skinny tattooed throat. He groaned, but didn't resist. The blood gushed into her mouth, coursed down her throat and released all of the pain from her body. Sticky, savory delicious blood pumped through her, and the strength returned to her body, ten times what it had been. She felt primed, like a sprinter or a marathon runner, and at the same time, like she was drunk on the finest champagne.
  
She opened her eyes. Colours and shapes had resolved themselves. She sucked at the wound until it was ragged, until she could no longer feel the dull wet thump of his heart. It stopped, and she pulled away, staggering a little as she rose. She turned to Franklin, whose face was a gargoyle mask of fangs and dark, pitiless eyes. She could see him properly now.He was so much more detailed and textured than could be seen with human eyes. His white skin gleamed and his dark black hair as fine as crow feathers. It was strange to her, but she found him beautiful. There was a hunger in his face that she recognized. She licked her lips, let her tongue slide over one fang, then the other, and then tilted her head. 

"Franklin," she said, and she had to work to make the sound crisp around her fangs. 

He twitched his head to show he was listening. 

"Take me to a hotel room, and fuck me."














 