“White wine spritzer,” the vampire said.

He and I both looked down at the highball glass of warmed O Positive I held.

“It’s from the ladies,” I explained, motioning toward three Gothy but cute women at the end of the bar. They were trying to be cool, but were dangerously close to some very un-emo tittering when he looked their way.

The vampire’s hair was dirty blond. Skin, pale as parchment enhanced the contrast of a pair of thin but bright red lips. He was about five-six, short by today’s standards, but probably a near-giant in his youth. He settled himself on the barstool, wrinkling his nose at the sanguine cordial. I took the hint, and returned a moment later with his spritzer. He handed me a credit card, which I returned after starting a tab.

“Here you go, Mr. Smith.”

“Dave.”

A vampire named Dave. That was a new one.

While I had his eye, I inclined my head toward a yellowed sign tacked to the wall at the end of the bar.

House Rules
1. No biting
Violators will be subject to smiting.

“Nice rhyme.” A smirk lifted one corner of his red mouth.

“Still,” I replied, “you drink in my bar, you follow the rules.”

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Just so we’re clear.”

He took a sip of his wine, then sighed. “You know, just between you and me, it was easier in the Bela Lugosi days.”

“I don’t think women were buying you drinks in the Bela Lugosi days.”

“That’s just it. It was actually better when we were scary monsters. Now, vampires are sex machines. Vikings who take what they want, but are also considerate and oh-so-skilled lovers. Who needs the pressure?”

“Well, if that’s not how it works, how did those stories get started?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that wasn’t how it worked. For them. Once you latch on, it’s pretty much a continuous orgasm for the bite-ee. They’ll beg for more right right up to the very end.”

“So, what’s your problem? Sounds like a win-win for you.”

“Just because I am what I am doesn’t mean I enjoy killing,” he said coldly. “Do you like hamburgers?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to personally watch the cow die every time you want one?”

“I see what you mean.”

“Besides, I don’t swing that way.”

Not exactly sure what do to with that piece of information, I moved down the bar to take the order of a couple who had just sat down. When I worked my way back to him, he motioned for me to lean in.

“Is it true?” he asked softly.

“Is what true?”

“That magic doesn’t work in here.”

“Show me your fangs,” I said.

He spread his scarlet lips in a skeletal grin. His eye teeth started to grow erect, but after a moment, they returned to their original size.

“Huh,” he said. “That never happened before.”

“That’s what they all say.”

“Asshole.” But he said it with a smile. “So, how do you do it?”

“The bar sits on top of a very powerful ley line, but an underground river crosses it at an almost perfect ninety degree angle. Shorts out nearly all eldritch energy.”

He gave a low whistle. “That would do it. For all but the most powerful practitioners, at least. But what happens when someone comes in and shreds your dampeners?”

I smiled. “Hasn’t ever happened.”

“That would take some serious power.”

I didn't reply.

He studied me while I picked up a glass and started to polish it.

“So, I should probably take that smiting thing seriously,” he said slowly.

“You don’t look like a guy who breaks the rules,” I said.

“Not any more.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, here’s the thing. I did start out as a Viking. But I grew out of pillage and plundering a long time ago. I’m not going to play Nordic sex god for anybody.”

“Actually, the Norse didn’t really have a sex god,” I said.

“What about Freya?”

“Freya was a frigid bitch.”

“What?”

“More like the god of withholding sex. Now the Greeks, they knew their sex gods. Must have been the warm weather and nice beaches…”

Dave was staring at me.

I shut up. Putting down the glass I had pretty much polished into nothingness, I changed the subject to one that was less sore.

“What do you do now?”

“Actuary.”

“A Viking actuary.”

He shrugged. “I like numbers.”

I was going to ask him just how long he’d been studying the human life span when I felt a dull pressure on the right side of my skull, like the beginnings of a migraine.

Dave frowned. He could feel it, too.

It was coming from the girls at the end of the bar. They huddled together even closer now, making a tight circle. Their heads were bowed and I could hear murmuring.

“One powerful practitioner, or three average ones pooling their energy,” I muttered. I walked over to the trio.

“Ladies.”

I pointed to the sign on the wall, which now read:

House Rules
1. No love spells

Violators will be subject to smiting.

The one in the middle, apparently the leader, stopped chanting. She looked at the sign, then back at me and nodded. She reached out for the hands of her companions, which were palms up on the bar top. I started to relax, until I saw the knife in her other hand. Quick as a snake, she drew the blade across each of her friends’ palms, then her own free hand. They squeezed the wounds together, and power rose from their pooled life force like an oily fog.

I dropped the bar rag and glass.

“SÛGAN ǞUF DÊSER!”

Black lightning arced from my fingertips, slamming into the lead witch with a CRACK.

Smoke billowed up, and when it cleared, the other two woman stared openmouthed at a small pile of dust on the center stool. If it was possible to turn even whiter underneath all that pancake makeup, they did. Both of them tensed, ready to flee, but I slammed my hands down on theirs.

“Not so fast, girls.”

Their skin grew cold under my touch. Chin trembling, the one on my left squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting the final blow. Releasing their hands, I set a slip of paper on the bar.

“That’ll be $39.86.”

They threw a couple of twenties down and dashed out the door. Witches are lousy tippers even when you don’t smite them.

Not surprisingly, the uproar had shocked the bar into silence. But now that the show was over, conversation slowly rose again to a dull rumble. I made my way back to Dave. He licked his lips, looking at me nervously.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“There was some real power in that spell. This was not the first time those three have used magic to bend a person’s will.”

“I’m sure I could have handled them,” he said.

“The way that spell was building, they would have drained you dry. And the overspray would have set most of the bar to fucking. I hate cleaning up after orgies.”

“What are you?”

“Just a guy who runs a place where people don’t have to watch their backs.” I flicked a finger at the sign. “The rules are posted. You mess with dark magic in here, you accept the consequences.”

He wanted to say something else, but just then Natalie, my second-best server, glided up to him.

“From the gentleman,” she said.

And slid a white wine spritzer in front of him. Dave looked at me. I shrugged, and we turned to Natalie. She jerked her head toward a high top near the entrance to the kitchen. A slim, fine featured young man with dark hair raised his glass to Dave.

“Huh,” I mused. “We don’t get many fairies in here.”

“What?” Dave whirled back to face me.

"The other kind."

Dave processed this as he studied the man, now deliberately ignoring us as he did something to his phone.

“Fairies are known for their stamina, aren’t they?” he asked thoughtfully.

I nodded. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about killing him.”

“That would be nice.”

I caught his eye and pointed to the House Rules. Dave the Vampire nodded.

“Not even if he begs me.” A smile spread across his pale face.

“And he will. Oh, he will.”

With that, he took his drink and threaded through the crowd to his Fae, so light on his feet he was almost dancing. I turned around to find Natalie in front of me, a whisk broom and dust pan in her hands. She pointed to the sign.

House Rules
1. You make the mess, you clean it up.

“Traitor,” I muttered.

But I took the broom. Rules are rules.

Besides, if you don’t clean it up right away, witch dust gets into everything.