Unholy War 3: The Gates

1

"This city ain't the least bit like Twilight."

"You thought this was going be like fuckin' Twilight?"

"A bit. Does that make me a weird ass horny teenager?"

"Only if you were rooting for Bella to end up with the werewolf," I tell her, "That the case?"

"Imma plead the fifth."

"Well if that's the case then no. Besides you're 50. Don't let the eternal youth fool you. So weird, yes—horny, of course, but teenager...nah you missed that bus."

It's me and my partner, Winnie. She's got pale white skin the color of chalk with pomegranate colored purple lipstick and jet black hair. She has on a Lolita skirt and is going extra heavy on the eyeliner. She looks 15 at the most but that must just be the age she was when she turned. She's still relatively young though. I can tell because all of this shit still excites her. The heavy eyeliner doesn't help either if you ask me. She's only been undead for about 50 years. That's damn near infancy around here. From the look of the upside down cross she has over her uniform and the platform boots, I can tell someone told her that vampires were goths. Maybe that's what got her into this in the first place.

I'm studying her face long enough to read some of her cards. Let's just say she was the annoying Spades partner. She grunts, fixes her goth bowtie and surveys me while she throws something out there, "Oh come on, the werewolf was kind of hot." She studies my expression afterward as though wanting me to agree.

"I mean—if fleas and heartworm medication turn you on then bust your nut girl. There are a ton of wolves in the city now. Get you a doggie biscuit."

Patrol is slow. The city smells like werewolf shit and fear. You try to tell a 200-pound wolf that they need to clean up after themselves. There was a time we outnumbered them but they fucked like goddam rabbits. Then there's me: I'm just your average, tall, lean, goofy ass Brazilian vampire. Winnie calls me skinny but this is a girl who fantasized about buff werewolves for god sakes—so yeah, what the hell did she know? I was lean, if you ask me. Think swimmer, meets marathon runner, meets yoga instructor. My mother would say maybe I should eat a little bit more but unfortunately she was never bitten. She never turned. The only thing a mãe bit was the dust in 2004—or fuck, was it 1904? Hell, I don't know. These decades kind of just forget themselves at this point.

Especially in the Eternal city.

My feet hurt. It's either walk or take a goddam horse. Only thing I hate more than walking is a goddam horse. It's one of the many things I miss about the human world. They had cars on their streets. Cars did exist in the Eternal city but mostly for labor. It's a reminder of how fucked up time is when we patrol past a horse and carriage parked.

"You're telling me you wouldn't dick down Jacob?"

"Which one is Jacob again? I didn't give a shit about that movie. We only get bootleg DVDs from the human world anyway."

"The sexy ass werewolf."

"Fuck no, you're tripping. I wouldn't fuck Brian Griffin. I don't believe in bestiality."

"You're a goddam racist you know that? That's what you are. The same tone they used to use in the Civil rights movement. See, my pussy doesn't discriminate."

"United Nations Pussy, huh?"

"Oh yes. I've had vampires, werewolves, witches..."

"They call themselves witchdoctors."

"Oh yeah them too. All four schools of magic, right in this pussy."

"My god, where do they all fit?"