Voodoo Queens of New Orleans
Chapter 7: Vampire Shank

“The Shack” was a rundown piece of shit that made me miss the vampire-mansion-lair-dungeon-of-doom.

It was in the middle of nowhere. Literally, it was in the middle of nowhere. The only neighbors were some gators in the bayou and maybe some birds and lizards. Oh! And don’t forget those crickets!

The shack was nestled deep in a bayou that was probably on no map in existence. Abraham told Hezekiah to make sure that we weren’t followed—that was a pretty easy task to fulfill.

Hezekiah hauled me through the front door and set me on the floor with absolutely no courtesy or gentleness in his grip. My neck was still aching and my body was weak, so him throwing me around like a rag doll was counter-intuitive.

He closed the door behind him. “Don’t move,” he said.

“Where would I even go?”

It was a serious question, but Hezekiah took it as sarcasm. With a roll of his eyes, he stalked through the dark until he was in front of the fireplace. I watched him rummage through the dresser draw in the corner until he had a box of matches in his hand. The fireplace was then lit to a subtle fire that illuminated the shack, but made the heat circulating around it even worse.

“You could have lit some lanterns instead,” I told him; I was Miss Boldy-Mcgee despite who I was dealing with and what I went through. “It’s hot as hell in here.”

“Well, that’s just too damn bad, now is it?” Hezekiah replied over the crackling of the fire. It was clearer than a crisp noon day that Hezekiah hated my presence. But what about me? I was the victim, right? I was the one being traumatized.

I didn’t move; I didn’t want to sit anywhere around the shack in fear of the furniture breaking underneath me. I just sat on the wood flooring, staring at my knees and waiting for the pain in my neck to subside. My stomach was doing summersaults and my head was pounding. Death, believe it or not, sounded like sweet release at that moment.

Hezekiah just paced around the shack with his hands deep in the pockets. I stared at him; I swore that his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut through butter. That didn’t stop me from wanting to strangle him.

“I don’t understand why we’re here,” I said.

“We’re here because of your Mama messing things up like she always does,” he replied without even looking at me.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I apologized for intruding on your disgusting ‘ceremony.’”

“It’s not up to me.”

“What do you mean it’s not up to you? Abraham told you to kill Tia Valeria and told you to bite me and try to turn me into a bloodsucker. It’s obvious that he trusts you!”

His body tensed up at the word ‘bloodsucker,’ his eyes enflamed and agitated.

“Like I said before, it ain’t up to me,” Hezekiah scratched his mustache with a stern expression. “Now, if you could quit all that fucking whining so I can think!”

I started to cry. In truth, I hated how emotional I was. Whenever a situation was stressful or whenever I felt like I was being attacked—physically and/or emotionally—I started to cry.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” I bawled into my knees. “Two days here and this shit happens.”

“Jesus, don’t go making a bahbin,” Hezekiah groaned. It was amazing how he had not one sympathetic bone in his dead body.

Maybe because he was dead.

I landed into the depths of cowardice as I begged and begged Hezekiah to just let me go. And Lord, did I beg. Moments prior, I was confident in my dealing with Hezekiah, but suddenly I broke and resorted to pleading with him to have mercy upon me. Not my proudest moment, but I even offered him sex in exchange for escape. He said no, but I swear to you he gave me the longest, most conflicted pause before he answered me. But eventually he got tired of my petitions. He was by my side in a matter of seconds to grab me by my shoulders and lift me up to his height.

“I swear to God, if you don’t shut the fuck up, je vas te passe une calotte!” His voice was a threatening whisper, his cold grip shaking me back and forth like a doll. “I ain’t never knew I could get a headache anymore but you’re damn sure proving me wrong.”

Even if my bilingualism wasn’t good, I knew what that French phrase meant. And I knew he’d do it; I knew that he’d hurt me like he said he wanted to.

“I…I…”

“What?” he growled.

“I have to pee,” I squeaked.

Hezekiah cocked one of those thick eyebrows at me. “You what?”

“I have to pee,” I repeated. “And I’m hungry.”

“You’re hungry?” he said the word ‘hungry’ like it was foreign; how dare I, a living human being, be hungry?

“Yes, I’m hungry. I’m starving, actually. And I need to pee. That’s the least you can do for me after biting me in the fucking neck—”

He dropped me carelessly onto the floor. “You’ll live,” was his response.

I scoffed, drying my eyes. “No, I won’t ‘live,’ because I’m a human being who needs to eat or I will die. Not everyone is a vampire who can go years without eating a goddamn sandwich.”

“What did I say about all that yapping!?” he yelled at me, and angrily, I turned the other direction without saying another word. After a minute, Hezekiah walked to the other side of the room and grabbed a wooden bucket.

This man really grabbed a fucking bucket.

“Go on.” He threw the bucket at my side. “You said you had to go, right?”

My face twisted in disgust at him. “You expect me to go in a bucket? I’m not risking no vaginal infection from this thing!”

“Well then piss yourself. There ain’t no fruity smelling bathroom for you to use in here that will accommodate your standards and such.”

He was right, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. So, in protest, I crossed my legs together and refused to go. It wasn’t like Hezekiah cared if I went pee or not, but I knew that my opposition was ticking him off more and more; I was closer to being gagged the more I didn’t listen.

With a loud and annoyed groan, Hezekiah went back to the dresser drawer he got the matches from and rummaged through the entire piece of furniture until he found some rags.

“Here,” he tossed them into the bucket. “To clean yourself with. Remind me to burn them when you’re done.”

No reply. Surprisingly, he laughed at me. “Look. We can play this little game all you want, but you’ll replace that you ain’t the one that’ll be winning. I don’t give a damn if you soil the wood from right underneath you ’cause in the end, you’re the one that will be smelling foul. Not me.”

I looked at him then. “Who says you don’t already smell foul?”

“I know I don’t,” he retorted. And after staring at me give him the Devil’s glare, he started for the door.

“Where the hell are you going?”

“To get you a sandwich,” he replied. I didn’t want my eyes to gleam from him finally caving in.

Hezekiah opened the shack door and my spirits lifted when I saw the outside world calling to me. I wish I had the ability to make a run for it with a fair chance in my pocket.

“Don’t try to think of escaping,” Hezekiah told me, eyes narrowed to an admonitory squint. “I’ll catch you before you even make it past the first cypress tree.”

I knew he wasn’t lying, and I didn’t have the balls to test him.

“Wait!” I called out to him. “While you’re out there, if you could acquire a microfiber cleansing cloth for my glasses because—”

He slammed the door before I could even finish.

I still had to pee, but that bucket was giving me nightmares, so sitting cross-legged with a constant jolt in my spot seemed better than peeing in that thing. And after sitting in this position for a quiet, hot-aired minute, I got up and raced around the room to replace something to defend myself with.

I didn’t know how long he’d be. Vampires had super speed or something, right? I thought it was true, considering that every time Hezekiah took me somewhere, I didn’t remember a bit of the trip.

I gave myself ten minutes.

I checked underneath the stained mattress, around the window seals, and especially under the sorry excuse for floor boards. I had no idea what I was looking for; the first thought that came to mind when I asked myself what could kill a vampire was ‘silver,’ but that luxury was definitely absent. ‘Fire’ was my second thought. Maybe I could have thrown a torched piece of fire wood at him? Stupid idea—that would have probably killed both of us.

Wait.

Fire wood.

Wooden stake?

Wooden stake.

I rushed over to the fire place and took a slender piece of fire wood from the pile by the flame. It was easily a foot in length and two inches in width, but each end was flat. I needed a knife to make it sharp enough to tear through flesh, so I got up and rummaged through the dresser drawer for one—nothing.

“Fuck!” I grunted. Between rags and matches, the dresser couldn’t supply me with a damn knife. And I was shorter on time than I thought; I heard creaking and shuffling outside. It could have been a gator, or it could have been Mama. Regardless, I stuffed the firewood in the waistband of my panties and waited by the dresser. I was sweating bullets all over my body for more reasons than one, but thanked the Lord that it could be blamed on the temperature of the shack.

Hezekiah walked in slower than I expected. He carried his stride; his long legs glided across the room as he scanned the area. He reminded me of a detective handpicked from the Chicago Police Department in the 1940s, the way he dressed and carried himself.

It baffled me, to say the least.

When he took in the entire room, he finally looked at me. “Why you over there?” he asked.

“I was looking for more rags since they’re thinner than I like,” I said. I hoped I was convincing enough and apparently, I was.

He threw two bags onto the floor. “Here,” he said, like I was a dog. “Eat.”

I complied not because I respected him, but because I didn’t want to give anything away; I didn’t want to give away the fact that I had a potential wooden stake in my underwear. I walked over to the spot in the middle of the floor and sat before the opened bag that had an ordinary ham and cheese foot long sandwich in it, with a bottle of chocolate milk underneath. I began to devour it like I had no sense.

“I’m taking you out this place once you’re done eating,” he explained to me. “Beau just told me that Abraham wants you taken to the Jubilee, so that’s where we’re heading.” His foot tapped against the second bag. “Put these clothes on once you’re done.”

My heartbeat could have made a hummingbird jealous. I told myself to calm down; he could sense everything on me.

“What’s the Jubilee?” I sputtered, opening the bottle of chocolate milk and taking a sip.

“You don’t need to worry about that.” Hezekiah’s lip tilted up in disgust at the horrible etiquette I had.

I swallowed before I spoke again. “What about the Coterie? What happened to them? You can at least tell me that.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything right now. Be glad I told you where I was taking you.”

He saw the anxiety building up in me. At least then my fear of being caught was masked, but it didn’t hide the fact that he was being secretive of what was currently happening: The Coterie versus Abraham’s clan. Abraham said he thought twice about killing Mama, but what stopped him then when she decided to control his members and unconsciously make them kill each other?

I ate faster, wiping mayonnaise off my mouth and chugging the chocolate milk quicker than I needed to. I didn’t want to look at the clothes Hezekiah had brought me; I knew I wouldn’t like them.

“Hurry and finish up. We need to be leaving soon.”

“I still have to pee.”

Hezekiah wore an irritated look at me. “Why didn’t you go when I was gone?”

“Firstly, I needed a moment to process where the hell I was and what was happening to me,” I made an imaginary checkmark in the air with my finger. “At least that was successfully accomplished. And secondly, I was looking for more rags, remember?”

“Fine. But make it quick.”

I pouted my lips. “I would like some privacy, please?”

Hezekiah crossed his arms over his chest. The buttons on his shirt strained from the action. “Privacy? You just going to the cahbin.”

“Exactly. I’m a classy lady and I would like some privacy.”

I didn’t realize it, but I was making up the perfect excuse to figure out a way to craft the piece of firewood into the perfect vampire shank. So far, I thought I was on the right track with him, especially when he left the shack to let me pee. The moment the door closed behind him, I began my search again for the sacred tool. There was no knife from my knowledge and previous search, so I had to improvise.

Maybe I could just break the tool in the hopes of achieving a jagged edge?

I decided to pee first; he’d grow suspicious if he didn’t hear it. So I did my business in that cursed bucket and used the rags for what I needed them for.

But I saved one rag for something else.

“You almost finished?” he yelled from outside.

“Almost!”

“Come on, hurry up.”

When I actually finished, I tip-toed to the mantel of the fireplace and pressed the firewood piece against it as hard as I could. The heat was unbearable and the pain from pressing so hard on the wood was splintering, but I continued to press until I heard a snap. I prayed I got the edge I needed, and by God’s graces (or Legba’s, since his presence still loomed from Hezekiah’s pocket) I was gifted with a sharp, slanted end that would serve its purpose. I quickly wrapped the rag I saved around the tip and stuffed it back into my underwear. And after brushing the debris into the fire, I grabbed the bucket and knocked on the door.

Hezekiah opened it within seconds; I didn’t expect him to be so close to me when I saw him.

“I just need to throw this out,” I told him, holding the bucket up.

He stepped into the shack and watched from inside as I just threw the whole entire bucket out into the foliage. I briefly looked up into the night and wished I knew stars and moons and the whole sky better; I had no idea what time it was. Were we even on the same day?

I walked back inside and closed the door. Hezekiah was leaning against the dresser drawer in the corner, staring at his shoes. No moment then was perfect for what I wanted to do, especially since his attention is solely focused on me. Perhaps when we went to whatever the Jubilee was, I would make my move. Based on his quickness, I really had to catch him off guard. I just had to wait for the absolute perfect mome—

“Lift up your dress.”

I stood still in my tracks towards my sandwich. The plotting I had going on in my head turned into hollow silence bouncing off the walls in my mind.

“What?” I replied hesitantly.

“Lift up your dress,” he repeated. He had no mischief or lust in his eyes, just a stone-cold look.

“Wh-why?” My heart was beating so hard I’m sure he heard it. I tried to remain as composed as I could, but it was obvious he was getting very distempered with me, and I didn’t know how long I could play dumb.

After mumbling something under his breath, Hezekiah began to walk towards me angrily. I knew I didn’t have a chance if I ran, but I tried it anyway, sprinting towards the door only to be grabbed and pulled back the moment my hand touched the handle. I kicked, screamed, and fought until I was panting, but Hezekiah threw me down on the ground, flat onto my stomach, and rested his weight on me without breaking a sweat. His hands pinned my wrists above my head; it was a tired effort, trying to break free.

“Get off me, I didn’t do anything!”

That was a big lie—I made my own vampire shank in an attempt to kill him. And he found this said shank the moment he lifted up my nightgown right to the middle of my back. I tensed up beneath him, knowing I was exposed and vulnerable. More than usual, if I may add.

I stopped screaming when I felt the stake slowly being pulled from the waistband of my panties. All I could do was hold my head down in defeat and frustration as he laughed at me.

“See, I don’t know what’s harder to believe,” he began. I turned my head to look at him admiring the stake in his hand. “The fact that you tried to kill me, or the fact that you thought this thing would do the trick? I’ll give it to you, though—you sure read a lot, don’t you?”

When he threw the stake across the room—my struggle, my compromise and my chance at escape across the room—I died a little inside. And my animosity towards Hezekiah Mercier grew larger.

“You can’t blame me for trying to get away from a swamp rat like you!” I spat at him.

He tightened his hold on my wrists, making me cry out. His hips pushed into my exposed ass, leaving me no room to even try and writhe away from him. I felt the wood flooring against my bare legs and stomach and wanted badly to cover myself, but I dared not give him the satisfaction.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” I breathed, feeling sweat drip down my face. “Do you get hard just feeling me against you? This turns you on, doesn’t it? Sick fuck. I didn’t even know bloodsuckers had the luxury of getting erections anymore.”

“We do,” he said lowly into my ear, pushing himself deeper into my body. And he was right—I felt every bit of his dick on my ass, hard as a rock. “Especially since I fed twice tonight. Blood is pumping through these veins, Babygirl.”

He was turning me on. Really, he was turning me on; I was embarrassingly wet at that point, and he knew not even by seeing it for himself or by feeling it. He just knew. And that fact made me so goddamn angry.

“You got the frissons,” he said.

“Because your body is freezing,” I replied. It was half a truth. The other half of the truth was nestled deep between my raging hormones.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I want you to fucking die.”

“You’re just not gonna learn,” he told me. He used one hand to pin my wrists together and the other hand to slide up the side of my stomach, lifting my nightgown higher up my body. I wanted to moan out in pleasure so badly; I gritted my teeth together so hard I almost swore I could taste the enamel in my mouth. And when he started moving his mouth sparingly against the same spot he bit me at, my thighs started to hurt from how hard I was clenching them together, trying to stop the pulsing and throbbing between my legs.

“Stop,” I ordered. “God, just stop.”

“I’ll stop when you agree on one thing,” he motioned. “I’m in control. You don’t go running around, making stakes, trying to kill me with them. None of that whining shit, either. I don’t want to be here with you, either. In fact, I can’t stand you. But I ain’t whining about it nearly as much as you are. So from here on out, you listen to me, you respect me and what I ask for and we won’t have no more problems.”

I didn’t reply to him. His terms were ridiculous and one-sided and agreeing to them would dilute the little dignity I had left.

“You going to behave?” he asked me after the silence I gave him. And by the even longer stretch of silence, he decided to flip me over so we were face to face. I yelped at how quickly he did it; it was a swift movement that still kept my nightgown right where he wanted it.

“I wanted to get a better look at you,” he said to me, enjoying every ounce of torture on my face. His eyes—those bright, amber eyes—took in my stomach and thighs like a wolf observing its prey. “It ain’t helping, seeing you like this; you have a sexy figure, you know—nice round ass, curves in all the right places. Do you always wear lace panties like these—”

“Fine, fine! Alright!”

I couldn’t take anymore. I felt like my body was going to collapse in on itself. Although agreeing to Hezekiah’s proposition gave me heartburn, I didn’t know how long I could handle what he was doing to me and my body—both with and without his hands.

“You going to be a good girl for me?” he asked me seriously. And the lack of answering him immediately didn’t come from not knowing what exactly to say. It came from being able to see Hezekiah’s face so close, taking him in despite the position we were in together—the smoothness of his deep melanin complexion with the exception of a few scars on his eyebrow and lips (his ample lips, if I may add) from his past life. His eyes, though hypnotizing enough, had an intense shape that seemed so angry and passive at the same time. Not to mention those cheekbones—god, it was like he was specially sculpted instead of born from the womb of a woman. And when he smiled menacingly down at me, despite the nature of his fangs, his smile was captivating.

Hezekiah Mercier was a gorgeous specimen. But he was a vampire—the vampire who had murdered a woman who was practically kin. The vampire who had taken me against my will and humiliated me against my wishes. So despite his alluring face and the torturously arousing affect he had on my body, I couldn’t help but hate him with every fiber of my being. However, I responded to him with what he wanted me to say: yes—I was going to be a good girl for him.

Until I had the chance to end him.