Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

Chapter 9: Motier Foux

I didn't know that "fat vampires" were such a thing.

That's what Mr. Boone was—a big fat man that could barely keep the buttons of his suit together. His office was downstairs in the basement of the Jubilee, but you know what else was also downstairs? Mr. Boone's training grounds for the Rejects. Some of them controlled themselves around me (most likely due to Hezekiah's presence), while others became rabid at my scent. Those rabid ones were behind cold steel bars, fortunately. It's clear which newbies needed a little more training in the art of self-control.

Mr. Boone's office was hot enough to the point where I felt like I was suffocating. There were no fans (like he'd need one) and no windows; I was sweating like a slave. It was dark, too. Like the rooms in Abraham's house, Mr. Boone's office was lit by weak lanterns.

Hezekiah pulled me close to him when we walked inside. "Don't you say nothing to Mr. Boone," he whispered to me.

"I know," I replied.

"I mean it."

He did mean it intently, because upon first glance, Mr. Boone did not look friendly at all. In fact, he looked meaner than Hezekiah. His eyebrows were drawn permanently into a scowl, curved like his mustache. And when he stood, I thought his mass was going to overtake me, how big he was. His eyes were gray like Beau's; I was trying to map out what each eye color meant, because so far, not every bloodsucker had the same yellow eyes as Hezekiah, Abraham, or even Jeanie.

Mr. Boone smiled a bit when he saw Hezekiah, but when he saw me, that same smile waned.

"Predawn, Boone."

Mr. Boone acted civil by shaking Hezekiah's hand. "Predawn, Hezekiah. How you been?"

They engaged in small talk. Agonizing small talk. Their animated conversation about pussy and feeding and Mr. Boone's business as a vampire sire made me want to pull my hair out. But eventually, Mr. Boone addressed the elephant in the room: me.

"Now, you must be out your goddamn mind bringing a freshie up in here," he told Hezekiah once he sat back down at his desk. "How'd you get her through the joint in one piece?"

"I have my ways," Hezekiah said. Mr. Boone offered us seats that Hezekiah declined. And when Hezekiah opened his mouth to speak again, a thrall suddenly decided to waltz through a door behind Mr. Boone's desk. Mr. Boone grabbed her with alarming quickness and got his early breakfast from her neck. Per usual, she didn't budge. She just laid there across his lap; the cracking and sucking sounds were chilling. I turned my head as he finished.

"Rashida!" he yelled when he was done, blood dripping down his chin. Within seconds, a thin, tanned woman with a long black braid down her back entered from the same back door the thrall came through. She wasn't like Mr. Boone; she was normal. Human. Her features were strong and prominent, but they didn't match her posture—calm and elegant.

"Yes, Boone?" she answered him, standing before the thrall with an unfazed expression.

"What I tell you about their diets?" he said. "Chicken, pork, beef. Chicken, pork, beef! She taste like she been gnawing on celery for four weeks! And what's up with these thighs?" his hands lightly slap whatever fat is left on the thrall's legs. "We can't be having no skinny mullets around here, and you know that!"

"Do you ever stop complaining?" Was Rashida's only response. In my mind, I imagined Mr. Boone shredding Rashida into little pieces for her attitude. But, he didn't. Instead, he rolled his eyes and threw the thrall off of his lap. She howled in laughter on the ground until Rashida picked her up and carried her off.