Carlos and I sat facing each other, elbows resting on our knees, hands clasped by our faces.

"I say we clean up the blood and forget all about this," I said, and Carlos nodded his head.

"That was defiantly a vampire though," Carlos mumbled, scratching his head. "Time to break out the holy water."

"For the last time, vampires aren't real. I mean, I'm not even sure bats are real."

"Then tell me how some creepy guy just disintegrated in the sunlight. And, how a stake through the heart is what killed him. You literally just told me he had pointy teeth!" He sighed, shaking his head. "Also, what do you mean bats aren't real. We just saw one last week."

"Well, I don't know, is anything real?"

We sat in silence, contemplating that, before Carlos shot up.

"Stop trying to avoid the question. Anyways, we're late, your dad is still expecting us."

I had forgotten all about the restaurant and my waiting dad. I sprinted to the kitchen, checking my phone, and my heart dropped. There were four missed calls and several messages that I hadn't seen.

That was more terrifying than any dead man in my kitchen.

The phone shook in my hand as I raised it to my ear.

"H-hello?"

"REVEREND P. ARES, WHERE ARE YOU?"

I flinched, nearly dropping my phone to the floor. "I'm- I'm here."

"Well I certainly don't see you. Haul your ass over here before I do it for you."

That didn't make any sense, but I refrained from saying anything, biting my lip. It probably wasn't the best time.

"We'll be right there!" I squeaked, pulling Carlos with me into the hallway. I picked my bag up from where I'd set it down and fumbled for my house keys.

"Is Carlos with you?"

He paled beside me, shaking his head furiously.

"Uh no, he texted and said he was coming over, but there was a lot of traffic."

"Mhm. Well I'm glad you're safe." With that, he hung up, the beep loud in our silence.

"Thank you," Carlos gasped, hugging me hard. I choked as he squeezed me, struggling to push him away.

"Anytime," I tried to say, but it was muffled by his shirt.

He headed out the door, and I followed behind, locking it and giving the house a once over to make sure there wasn't anything suspicious. Besides the creepy garden gnomes I received as a joke for my birthday (they're terrifying and it's a love-hate relationship) everything seemed normal.

"Hurry up!" Carlos yelled, jangling his keys. "I don't know about you, but I would prefer to keep my pretty face."

I huffed, jumping in. So much for normal.

...........

We arrived outside the restaurant, exactly two hours and twenty seven minutes late. The familiar dark wooden doors, that were usually cozy, looked at us ominously as we stepped in.

"It's about time," my dad said from behind the bar, slowly turning a whisky glass in his hand, supposedly cleaning it with a cloth. It was perfectly clear though, I didn't know what he was doing.

"Heyyy Dad, what's up? How's  the contractor thing going?" I stuttered nervously, putting on my best smile.

Carlos had taken the chance to slip away and was creeping towards the back kitchen out of sight. I glared at him, trying to signal through my eyes that he would be catching these hands later. He just sent me a guilty smile and slipped away.

You would think that after committing a crime together, we would have each others' backs. Obviously he did not get the memo.

"It's going great, just missing the most important signature."

Very passive aggressive of him, well played.

"Well, that would be me I suppose! Good thing I'm here."

"Yeah, two and a half hours late! I thought something had happened to you, Rev, no calls or texts. What if you had gotten into a car crash, or you were kidnapped? What then?"

I wasn't sure if these were rhetorical questions or if I should actually answer. I went with neither.

"So do I sign, or?"

"Everything you need is here," my dad sighed, sliding over a thick folder of papers.

"Thanks." I hurriedly scrawled my name on a few lines. "Is that it?"

"Congratulations, Reverend. You officially own Ares Italian Bistro."

Nothing happened. I was expecting some sort of fanfare, a sparkle in my fingertips, at least a lone wolf call that symbolized my coming of age. Nothing.

"Well, um. Thanks? This is a great honor." I struggled awkwardly for the right words, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.

My dad's stern face broke out into a smile, grinning ear to ear.

"That's my girl!" He smiled, pulling me into a bone crushing hug. "Well, I'm out."

"Excuse me?"

"I have a ticket to the Bahamas. I'll call you when my flight gets in."

"What? You're just leaving?"

"Yup, us old people have got to make the most out of retirement. Good luck! Let me know if you need anything." And with that, my father pulled his coat and a suit case from behind the counter and left.

Just left. Me. Here.

"Carlos," I whispered, but he managed to hear me from the back.

"What happened?" He popped his head around the door, his young, innocent face not yet knowing this tragedy.

"My dad left."

"Oh, god."

............

Two days. We lasted two days without any mishaps, accidents, or casualties.

Rita, our one and only waitress, was a true hero, handling most of the heavy work with her sixty-year-old, arthritic fingers. She needed a raise.

Carlos was our chef, whirling about the kitchen, shouting out orders that were ready.

And me, I just stood there. I did some finances, laughed with a few customers, and was overall an unhelpful lump.

So, when a large group of men in their twenties came in one night, wearing fancy suits and talking in posh accents, I thought, why not give it a shot?

I should've never thought that.

It was late, and dark, and I smiled and told Carlos to take the night off because I'm a gracious boss and he looked exhausted. He shot me a suspicious glance, only leaving when I promised not to kill anyone else. This was my first mistake.

"Can I get you guys started with anything to drink?" I asked the group after Rita sat them down. I let her off too, since I was worried her eye sight would make it hard to drive home if it got any darker. The men seemed to carry shadows with them, but that might've been the midnight black suits.

They shot each other glances before the one in the middle spoke up.

"Red wine, please."

Did they even look at the drink menu?

"What kind?"

"Ehm, the red kind?"

"Well yes, but would you like Merlot, Pinot Noir, something else?"

"W-whatever's reddest?"

I sighed, writing it down in my notepad.

"And can I get you any appetizers?"

"Just- look we're here for Reverend Ares. Do you know him?"

The audacity.

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

The man glowered at the ground and his friends shuffled uncomfortably. He looked up at me through his mess of back curls, his brown puppy dog eyes piercing through me.

"The house specialty then, something we can all share," he sighed, gesturing to the men around him. There were about nine in total, and I wrote garlic bread down in the notebook, satisfied with the order.

"Your food will be out shortly," I smiled.

Luckily, we still had some in the oven that Carlos made, which had been left over from tonight's rush. I toasted them on the skillet, only burning one, and piled them up on a plate, followed by a bottle of very red wine. This was my second mistake.

Not the wine, the garlic bread.

As soon as I carried the plate out, the group of men hissed and stood quickly from their chairs. Only the one in the middle remained.

"What's the meaning of this?" He asked in a harsh voice, eyes flickering over the restaurant. It was a relatively quiet night, and we would be closing soon, so there was no one else in here.

"It's garlic bread, a house specialty that you can all share."

One of the guys turned to the dunce I'd been talking too and whispered urgently in his ear. Something about killing us, but I'm not quite sure, I was too intimidated by their stares.

"So, do you want this, or..." I wasn't sure what to do. It's not like the garlic bread was that repulsive, Carlos made it and so it was bound to be delicious.

"Take it away, but leave the wine, assuming it's not poisoned."

I had to hold back from dumping the whole tray of bread on their table. Who did he think he was, traipsing in here, as if he didn't know we were the best know in the tristate area for our garlic bread.

Grumbling to myself, I headed back to the kitchen, dumping the garlic bread into a bag to take home. It certainly wasn't going to waste. When I peaked out to look at the men again, they were huddled around, mumbling in urgent voices. I caught a snippet of their conversation, something about a prophecy and 'the girl'.

Maybe they were in a fraternity.

I shrugged to no one in particular, and set about cleaning up. If they didn't leave soon I was going to have to shoo them away; it was closing time.

The ringing of the bell signaled their leaving, but I waited a few minutes before venturing out. The wine was still in their glasses, untouched, and I frowned, downing one.

Cleaning quickly, I lifted one of the napkins, noticing the corner of a paper sticking out from underneath. I realized it was a buissness card when I picked it up, squinting to read the small, cursive print.

Nicolai Costa
If in need of assistance, call this number
(777)

I puzzled over the strange number and card for a split second before shoving it in my back pocket.

Thank goodness that was over and behind me.

............