The Comanche Vampire (3 page)

“You
have a good night, too.”
 
Mindy’s hand
dropped to pat his rear and he stiffened.
 
His aversion to being touched stirred up the occasional speculation he
might be gay, but he wasn’t.
 
Some Native
American tribes had such, but not among his people.
 
What the Comanche of his time believed no
longer mattered and Ned went his own way, mostly celibate and uninterested in
what others did.
 
While he met his own
needs on rare occasions with a woman, more often he pleasured himself.
 
As a warrior he hadn’t, saving his strength
for battle but now, as a table dealer in a casino, Ned saw no harm in the act.

Before
Mindy exited the card room, players showed up at Ned’s table.
 
He dealt blackjack, three card poker, and
traditional poker.
 
Other dealers played
Texas Hold ‘
Em
, but Ned seldom did.
 
At break time, he headed for the Mustang
Bar.
 
One of the few buddies he’d made in
recent years, Gary, sat at a table there and nibbled from a platter of buffalo
wings.
 
Ned shuddered at the name.
 
First time he’d heard about the dish, he
reacted with shock and then disdain.
 
His
friend glanced up.
 
“Hi, want a wing?”

“No,
thanks.” Gary knew he wouldn’t touch one but he always offered anyway.
 
Part Comanche, part Kiowa, and part white,
Gary’s ways were different than Ned’s.
 
Ned often used him as a barometer to gauge current life so he could pass
without attracting notice. “I ate before I came to work.”

“Figured
you did,” Gary said. “Hey, are you off this weekend?”

“I’m
off Saturday. Why?” Sometimes they made a fishing trip to one of the manmade
lakes in the area or did a little hunting. They often fished a little in
Medicine Creek out by Ned’s place or down at the Red River. Dropping a line or
going hunting were two things Ned enjoyed enough to get out in broad daylight
to do. Although the myths about sunshine killing vampires proved to be just
that, Ned looked so pale that he seldom ventured out until dark. But he’d also
learned if he wore a hat or ball cap and stayed in the shade, Gary didn’t
really notice.

“There’s
a powwow up at Anadarko. I’m going and I thought you might like to go.”

Ned
had attended a few and seldom enjoyed them. To him, the efforts to keep the
past alive with powwows had turned into some freakish version of a red man’s
rodeo.
 
He’d danced at them many times,
everything from war dances before facing an enemy to the dances to bring the
buffalo, because there were few places where he could. Out beneath the wide
skies of his country, with people who understood and lived the old ways every
day, there’d been a kind of holiness in dancing. The ancient songs and chants
were handed down and were taken as serious business. Powwows, even the Comanche
nation’s annual fair, were intertribal events these days. The fancy costumes,
the arenas with multi-colored pennants overhead like a used car lot and
announcers booming information over loud speakers lacked reverence. There were
no fires, but harsh lights to illuminate the dance ground. What had been holy
to Ned when he was still
Pea’hocso
, what he took
seriously and respected the way a lot of whites did church, had turned into
entertainment.
 
Oh, he’d seen some
dancers who hearkened back to the old days in their hearts, but they were few. And
some of the powwow grounds were simpler, just a field and a crude dance area
with rudimentary seating. Ned preferred those if he attended at all. The best
were those held in private, not for public exhibition, but they were rare.
Powwows weren’t bad, he thought, but they lacked the honesty he’d known, the
simple balance between nature and the people. In his life, dances mattered but
in this time and place, they were for fun.
 
Still, as a Native American man, Ned was expected to view them as a
person of these times, not his own. And the one thing he liked, the drum,
heartbeat of the people and all things, remained constant.

“Yeah,”
he said after he gathered his thoughts.
 
“Sure.”

Gary’s
face brightened. “Good. You can ride with me if you want. I’m dancing. Are
you?”

“No,
I won’t.” No one knew but sometimes Ned danced alone, his feet finding the
steps he’d learned early, his voice echoing the words he’d known so long ago.
He found a sense of rightness in his dancing, a purpose and peace the powwows
lacked. The closest he’d seen to anything public with the same qualities had
been up at the restored Fort Gibson once.
 
A group of Cherokees did an impromptu stomp dance, one not regulated and
listed on the Old Fort Days brochure.
 
The dancing touched him enough he’d joined them, but it ranked as a rare
experience.
 
He might dance but never in
a way he might consider mockery.
 
Powwows
weren’t bad for modern Indians but they weren’t good for Ned.

“Okay.”
Disappointment tempered Gary’s voice. “Well, I’ll come by and pick you up late
Saturday afternoon then.”

“Sounds
like a plan,” Ned replied as he stood. “Well, it’s back to work.”

As
he returned to gaming, he reflected how the English words rolled from his
tongue with such ease.
 
He’d spoken the
white tongue so long now he often thought in it as well, but sometimes he
reverted to Comanche in his mind. His thoughts strayed through his shift, hands
dealing the cards with deft skill as he drifted through his mind.
 
Ned remembered the distant past along with
recent years. He hadn’t felt so much a Comanche for a long time as he did at
this moment, lost in memories.
 
Talk of
the powwow evoked things he often pushed aside and Ned forgot to ponder where
he might find blood. His shift as a dealer lasted until 2:00 a.m. on weeknights,
but he stayed until dawn. Ned filled a security position in the early morning
hours and walked through the casino, eyes alerted to anything out of the
ordinary.

He
could spot the serious drunks, the ones about to puke or pass out, and he
noticed potential troublemakers faster than anyone else. His psyche, long attuned
to a warrior’s outlook, possessed awareness so profound it was almost psychic.
 

Ned
passed the lines of slot machines, but saw nothing different.
 
As the hours waned until dawn, the numbers of
gamblers dropped and he decided to step outside to find a donor, when he saw
her.

Her
hair caught his attention.
 
Masses of
reddish-brown locks cascaded from the crown of her head past her waist in wild
abandon.
 
Some of it curled, some didn’t,
but the color reminded him of the prairie.
 
As light fell across it, he noticed the different shades, the auburn,
the rich vibrant undertone of copper, the brown of tall grass in the late fall,
the hint of gold the sun sometimes lent the sunset.
 
Ned thought he’d never seen anything more
lovely.
 
An urge to stroke her hair, to
run his fingers through it tempted him, but he resisted.
 
He couldn’t look away from it, though.
 
Her back faced him as she sat at a machine,
intent on the game.
 
She shifted and then
whooped aloud as she hit a few bonus rounds.
 
He watched as she racked up a few dollars in winnings and cashed out her
ticket.

 
I want
to see her face.
 

Ned
stood, arms crossed, and waited.
 
No
woman had intrigued him since at least the 1920’s when he had battled an
attraction to a flapper who frequented the speakeasy where he’d worked.
 
The appeal had been pure lust, not love, and
he’d kept aloof since.
 
When he took a
woman, he used his body but never let her touch his heart or soul.
 

This
one stepped from the stool with graceful motions and turned.
 
He had expected blue eyes, bad medicine for
him, since the Romany woman’s eyes had been blue, but hers were brown.
 
They reminded him of a mare’s eyes or those
of a deer.
 
Her heart-shaped face boasted
dainty features and when she paused, he realized she’d noticed his intent
stare.
 
Those eyes swept over him and as
if he could read her mind, he caught her admiration, her interest.
 
Heat rippled between them with invisible
power, and potent enough he felt it like a fever.
 
Cold-blooded since the night he’d been
turned, Ned found it remarkable.
 
Even on
the warmest summer day, he never became hot but now he burned.

Time
stood still as he devoured her with his gaze.
 
He noted the way her creamy skin appeared translucent and he realized
she wore little make-up. Jeans hugged her bottom tight and accented her
slender, long legs. Her bright red blouse fit as if she’d been born wearing it
and Ned couldn’t help but admire her full breasts above a small waist. If he
were still a man, if he lived as a human, he would’ve wanted this woman. He
longed to taste her mouth, stroke her skin and fill her spaces with his firm
cock. But he ached for more and hated himself for being so weak. Ned thought
he’d like to wake up to her body curled against his. He’d like to ride with her
behind him on his paint pony and drink coffee with her.

He
wondered who she was, what she liked, how she made a living.
 
Ned stared at her left hand and found it bare
of rings.
 
Not that it mattered, as he
knew he couldn’t have her and he’d have to turn away in a moment.
 
He gave her a curt nod and would’ve gone, but
she came near and spoke.

“Hi,”
she said. Her voice flowed into his ears like the melody of a spring flowing
out of rocks.
 
He liked the pitch of it,
deeper than most women.
 
“It’s late and I
wonder if you’d mind walking me to my car.
 
I came with some colleagues but they left over an hour ago.
 
I’m a little nervous.”

Part
of the security aspect of his job involved accompanying customers to their cars
so Ned had no room to refuse.
 
He didn’t
want to but he should.
 
Instead, he
nodded. “Yes, I’ll be happy to escort you out.
 
I’m Ned, Ned Big Eagle.”

She
stuck out her hand. “I’m Anne
Delahanty
and thank
you.
 
Are you security?”

“I’m
a dealer,” he said. “But I work some security, too.
 
Are you ready to go now?”

Anne
shifted her purse strap from one shoulder to the other. “I thought I was,” she
said. “But maybe not yet.”

“Just
let me know when you’re ready.
 
I’ll be
around.”

She
smiled. “I know.
 
I’ll find you.”

Ned
walked away from her, pacing his steps. He hustled over to one of the cigarette
vending machines near the restrooms and bought a pack of Native American
smokes. The aroma and flavor reminded him of ceremonial smoke back in his
original life.
 
It soothed his nerves,
and they needed a calming influence. Between Anne and his growing need for
blood, he required help. Outside, he sized up the almost empty parking lot. He
watched a wobbling man trying to get into a pickup. Ned sprinted over and
offered help. He also took a moment to sink his fangs into the man’s shoulder.
He’d learned long ago it wasn’t necessary to bite the throat or even hit a
major blood vessel.
 
By the time he
pulled back, he’d taken what he needed. Ned offered the man a smoke and headed
back to the entrance. He finished the cigarette and went inside. He’d find Gary
and ask him to walk Anne to her vehicle.
 

When
he scanned the room, however, he didn’t see his buddy anywhere, but Anne
appeared. She linked her arm through his and he inhaled her rich, sweet
fragrance. Ned knew little about perfumes but he liked the scent, floral and
yet mysterious.
 

“There
you are, Ned,” she said. “I’m ready.”

Unless
he wanted to be rude, he lacked options. “Okay, let’s go.”

Anne
chattered all the way to her light blue Nissan sedan.
 
By the time she crawled into the seat, she’d
shared more than he should know about her life.
 
She hailed from Texas and named a town he’d never heard of until
now.
 
It proved to be in east Texas, in
the forested part of the state.
 
As
Pea’hocso
he’d been through the country but hadn’t liked
it.
 
He preferred the wide-open spaces
and rugged terrain of the
Comancheria
to the piney
woods.
 

Anne
taught American history and lectured at the local university.
 
“I practically majored in Native American
history and it’s my specialty.
 
Are you
Comanche?”