Voodoo Queens of New Orleans - Vol. I | ✓

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.