"So, you're the Santa Muerte," Scott said, looking at the well-dressed Mexican man sitting at the head of the table. "Where is my brother?"
"Your half-brother you mean, don't you, Mr. Campbell?" The Santa Muerte replied. "Or may I call you Scott?"
"Yeah, that's fine, and yeah, he's my half-brother. So what? Where is he?"
"Patience, Scott. We have not had breakfast yet, and I have not previously made the acquaintance of all those seated here. Ladies," The Santa Muerte bowed his head to both Dawn and Grace, "You are both visions of loveliness. I know, you must be feeling somewhat apprehensive about meeting me, seeing as I have the reputation of killing every mortal who comes across my path. Please be assured that I have no intentions of harming either one of you, especially considering that you are in the company of the Redeemed One himself."
"So you are aware of Scott's reputation," Jeremiah said.
"I am indeed. And you must be Jeremiah. Your reputation proceeds you as well. I am honored to be in the presence of a legend such as yourself."
Jeremiah nodded. The Santa Muerte's face and tone soured when he faced Jack. "Jack. We meet again, at last."
Jack leaned across the table. "Yeah, I'm here, you pretentious greaser," he snarled, "We got business to take care of, don't we?"
"Now, Jack," The Santa Muerte said as the smile returned to his face, "there's no need for that right now, is there? We are all friends here, no?"
"That all depends on one thing," Scott said, "Where is my brother?"
"He is here, and he is well. You will meet him soon, I promise. But first, breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, yes?"
Canute came forth from the kitchen carrying a large silver platter that he placed on the dining table. He placed plates loaded with huevos rancheros, tortillas, and chorizo along with fresh citrus fruits in front of Dawn and Grace, then left for the kitchen again, bringing another tray with a silver coffee pot and mugs and mimosas in tall champagne glasses. He placed those items around the table then went to the kitchen once more and brought forth three steaming silver chalices of blood which he placed in front of Scott, Jeremiah, and the Santa Muerte.
"Hey, wait," Jack whined, "What about me? Don't I get any?"
"Tsk, tsk," The Santa Muerte replied. "I do detest an ungracious guest. Forgive me. Canute, please bring Jack a bag of blood. The cheap stuff, well chilled, no frills."
"Yes, master," Canute responded, returning once more to the kitchen, as Jack rolled his eyes.
"Gee, thanks," Jack said, "the personal touch. That's great, really that is."
The Santa Muerte shook his finger at Jack. "Now, now, what did I say about ungracious guests? Oh!" He suddenly snapped those same fingers. "I am forgetting something. We have another guest. I am sure she would like to join us for breakfast. Canute!"
"Yes, master?" The troll responded from the kitchen.
"Please ring Cressida's room and let her know we have guests."
"Yes, master!"
At the mention of Cressida's name, Jeremiah's countenance dropped as he sat back in his chair, not touching his chalice of blood. "Ah, forgive me, Jeremiah, I did not mean to be insensitive. I know that Cressida and yourself are close—"
"Were close," Jeremiah said.
"Be that as it may, she is a guest here, and she will be joining us. I do hope you all can be civil. It would disappoint me if you were not civil. Now, please, ladies, your food is getting cold. Cressida will be served when she arrives."
"Look, Santa Muerte," Scott said, "Santa Muerte. That's just weird. I mean, it's long and awkward to keep saying. Can I call you 'Santa' for short? And isn't 'Santa Muerte' a girl's name, anyway?"
It looked to Scott like the Santa Muerte was about to break into a giggle. He was so disappointed when that didn't happen. "Indeed, I am the embodiment of the true Santa Muerte, the Holy Death. She came to me long ago and made me her vessel. And no, I'd rather you didn't call me 'Santa'. As much as I like blood, I am not enamored of the color red, nor do I ride around in a sleigh. And there are precious few reindeer here in the Mexican desert. Anyway, I hear our other guest approaching!"
"Okay, SM," the Succubus said from beyond the dining room, "We have guests. These guys better be pretty fucking special if you're gonna wake me up at oh-fucking early in the morning!"
She walked into the dining room wearing a plush white dressing robe, no makeup, and her hair done up in a top knot. She stopped as soon as she saw them seated there. Her eyes met Jeremiah's.
"Oh," She gasped, "I see. Guests."
"Please, Cressida," The Santa Muerte said, "take a seat. There's one here, next to... excuse me, what is your name, young lady?"
"Dawn. Dawn Rhinebeck."
"Ah, Dawn Rhinebeck, soon to be Dawn Rhinebeck-Campbell, correct? Congratulations on that, by the way. Yes, right next to Dawn, and right across from Jeremiah."
No one was happy with that arrangement. Dawn looked at Cressida with angry, burning eyes, and Cressida gave her the same look in return. Jeremiah also gave the same angry, fiery glare. Cressida did not meet Jeremiah's glare the same way, instead looking away. Was it shame, or conviction? Whatever it was, Scott hoped right then that she was feeling like crap.
"I'm a bit underdressed," Cressida said. The table fell into an awkward and hostile silence. Scott finally spoke up, hoping to break the tension.
"Well, it's real nice to see you, Cressida."
"No, it isn't," She spat.
"You're right, it isn't. You used us. You used Jeremiah."
"Please, Scott," Jeremiah said, "Leave me out of this."
"And for what?" Scott continued, "Money? Was it money? I bet it was money. Well, I hope they paid you real good, because you are obviously really good at your job. That wasn't a compliment, by the way."
Cressida simply glared at Scott as the Santa Muerte held up his hand. "Please! I did ask for everyone to be civil! Why cannot we be civil to each other, and enjoy a finely prepared breakfast. It is fine, is it not?"
"Some of the best huevos rancheros I've had," Grace said, "At least since I was a kid."
The Santa Muerte asked where Grace was from, in Spanish. She answered him, in Spanish.
"Nuevo Mexico, outside of Socorro, eh? Very nice."
"Not really. Had my first encounter with a vampire out there. I ended up killing the bastard."
"I see."
"Yeah, that's when I decided I didn't like vampires."
The Santa Muerte cleared his throat. "I see. Very well then."
"I just don't like it when they mess with my family."
"Right."
"Hey," Scott said, "This has really been fun. Really, and I mean that. Look, I don't mean to be an asshole, Santa Muerte, but where's my brother?"
"I told you, Mr. Campbell, that your brother is well."
"Yeah, yeah, you said that. So, are you going to show me my brother, or are you gonna keep jerking us off?"
The entire table fell silent. All eyes were on the Santa Muerte as he shifted in his chair.
"Yeah, I said it," Scott said. "So what is it?"
The Santa Muerte motioned toward the kitchen. Canute came out, carrying another tray full of huevos rancheros and fresh fruit. After Canute placed the tray in front of Cressida, he came over to the Santa Muerte and bent low. The Santa Muerte whispered into the Troll's ear. Canute then went toward the main gathering room.
"I appreciate your straightforwardness, Mr. Campbell," The Santa Muerte said. "Your candor is refreshing, to say the least. Very well. Canute will bring your brother to the table."
"Good. It's about time. And he better be okay!"
"I understand that my assurances are meaningless, but rest assured, he is certainly okay."
"Well, great."
"But I need you to understand something: your brother is a dishonorable man."
"Yeah, I get that."
"What he did to the house of Calderon is unacceptable."
"The house of Calderon is a bunch of drug dealers and murderers!"
"But surely that does not negate the fact that he stole."
"Yeah, he stole from a bunch of drug dealers and murderers! Look, Santa Muerte, I get that you're all into this 'honor' stuff. That's great. But the people you serve aren't exactly honorable themselves! Hell, they've done worse than my brother has!"
"Your brother has transgressed, and he must pay!"
"He will pay, the legal way! Can't you satisfy your sense of honor by turning him over to the proper authorities for trial?"
"That is not the way I do things."
"Yeah, well, it should be."
"You do not understand at all! I am bound to the house of Calderon! As long as they exist, I serve their whims, their desires! Am I happy to do so? Does it bring me joy?"
The Santa Muerte stood and looked around the table.
"No!" He continued, "No, it does not! In fact, I have managed to get out of serving my master when what he has called me to do is beneath my honor. But this is a rare thing, and I fear repercussions. Not from Don Calderon, but..."
The Santa Muerte sat down again. He cast his gaze downward.
"You fear the Santa Muerte," Scott said. "The real Santa Muerte."
"The being that made me what I am. Yes, Scott. That is my fear, and why it was to my good fortune that your brother happened to be wanted by Don Calderon."
"Say what?"
"You, Scott Campbell, you are the Redeemed One. You are he, Scott Campbell. You are the deliverer. I have waited many years to meet you. And now, now I have."
"Oh, now, wait a minute! Bring the horse back to the stable for a second! I am not the promised deliverer! I'm just a normal guy who happens to drink blood. I'm no Redeemed One!"
"But you are! I know this. En mi corazon, I know you are. And your appearance has given me hope."
"Oh, well, that's nice."
"I have a two-fold hope: first, that you will be my deliverer, and deliver me from my bondage to the house of Calderon!"
Scott snorted. "Okay then, what's your other hope?"
"My other hope is much more immediate, and more tangible, now that you have brought it to my door. My other hope is that I will avenge my lost love. My other hope is that I will kill Jack."
"Uh," Jack said, "Now, is that really necessary? I mean, Scott is right! Maybe you can satisfy your sense of honor in a more modern and gentler way."
"Shut up!" Both Scott and the Santa Muerte said.