14 February 1946

Bowie County, Texas

I handed in my counterfeit birth certificate to the official, the seconds hanging in the air like ripening persimmons.

"Where are your parents?" came a reply I expected.

"In the Laundromat on 22nd Street," I had scoped out this county for Chinese individuals with the Romanised version of my name.

"Good," the official said absent-mindedly, happy that the immigrants were in their right place, slaving away. He typed in my details in the computer and wrote in a file while waiting for the information to load. Once more, I waited drearily, resisting the temptation to sigh in the Texan drawl my sensitive ears had conveyed to my brain.

"Here you go," the man in the suit chased me away briskly before calling the next number. I got out of the hot building and made my way to the hotter streets.

"There will be a drought bigger than the Dust Bowl soon," Caishen explained. "It's my way of waking up the slothful deity of the West."

"I must say that you are bold, attacking the largest state," my voice was barely audible. A colourful tent stole my gaze, overshadowing the brick and wooden buildings prevalent in the city centre. There was no sign to indicate if it was a travelling circus or if an evangelist was hosting a prayer night. Regardless, I was drawn to the shiny attraction.

"I have been expecting you," the voice of a girl in her twenties greeted me. The accent was Spanish and I remembered the way the Civil War had changed the demographics of the Lone Star State. She would have been described by the racists as a "mullato" but I thought that she was beautiful. "Take a seat as I make some tea."

I did as she said, sensing the authority in her voice, despite her youth. A steaming cup was presented to me but my eyes were on the pack of tarot cards, being laid on the embroidered cloth in a circle. Her hands moved deftly as the arrangement was perfected. "Five cards?" I asked and she nodded. I drew the cards from different arcs.

"The Sun, reversed: negativity, sadness, and depression. Four of Swords shows that you will rest and have time for contemplation. Seven of Pentacles, reversed: you will work without result and reward because you are distracted. Interesting that you have pulled two Aces, reversed. The Cups say that you will have your creativity blocked and will experience emptiness because of emotional loss while the Wands say that you will lack passion and energy, eventually becoming bored."

"Well, I know that you are for real, not promising me everlasting happiness," I returned the cards I drew.

"You will be visiting me again at end of the drought," she promised.

"May I know your name?" I wanted to reference my first personal connection on this continent.

"I will tell you at the end," the salacious lips curved into a smile.

"The end of what?" I was answered by the darkness as she disappeared. Finishing my tea, I exited the tent, surprised to see it still standing in the dry air; it wasn't an illusion.

I opened the door to the Laundromat, the wind chimes jangling in my wake. My nose was greeted by a scent similar to mine: I was in the presence of another vampire. As the industrial washing machine and tumble-drier droned on, I felt the pressure point of fangs at my jugular, ready to strike. "I'm not here to kill you, Victoria, I need your help."

"So, you're the one Caishen mentioned, Jerry Moon," she retracted before leaping over me, onto the counter. "There's something you should know about the upcoming serial killer. He is a KKK member who will target those initiates who rejected taking up the white hood, as well as those who have had a change of heart. But he will make it seem as if a different agenda is at play."

"Are you going to infiltrate the Klan in that dress?" I noted the scarlet cloth cut in a bias that would have made a conservative blush. 

"It's Valentine's Day so I'm treating you to dinner instead of spending it in this now-empty store," she put the money from the register in a safe before switching off the machines. The vampire locked the store and I let her lead me to a middle-class restaurant. "They make a killer blood sausage to ward off the cravings."

"When I was across the pond, I would have blood pudding," I didn't like blood sausage that much either, when I was a Prince.

"This restaurant is the flagship of a franchise known only to the supernatural," while she worked through the door I held open for her, I read the name: Augerino. A woman in a skirt suit, who I figured out was the maître de, led us up the stairs to our table. There were candles on the table, as well as hanging from the chandelier.

I looked around me, seeing a mural of antlers, scales, fur, and other appendages normally found on beasts, real or mythical. Returning my attention to my date, I saw that her bat ears were in the place where the human, rosy shells used to be and I did the same. The atmosphere was genial, a place in which we could be ourselves instead of hiding from people.

"Augerino is an interesting name," I sniffed at the red wine a waiter poured into my glass. I held the glass and rotated it slowly, creating a whirlpool of the fermented grapes. Once it was aerated, I brought the fragrant drink to my lips and let it circulate between the inner walls of my mouth. It was such a good bouquet that it stirred an ache in my hidden fangs.

"It's a mythical creature that lumberjacks have seen and that have, of course, been discounted as figments of their imagination," Victoria had become more amenable now that she wasn't threatened by my unfamiliar presence in her cramped Laundromat. "This is a human-friendly restaurant: the blood and entrails of animals are used in the dishes."

She and I got to know each other better over chicken livers in a Portuguese-African sauce known as peri peri. My date was the daughter of Chinese immigrants who mined for gold, the same employment practice being used in South Africa; as the local citizens, rightfully, didn't want to be rewarded for staying in dark, cramped places with respiratory diseases and low wages.

"Fùqīn was trapped in a cavern for days when part of the mine collapsed, burying him under the rubble," a dark shade was cast over her face when the bowls of black pudding were placed before us. "My mother was a housewife who had no work experience so she behaved rashly on the 4th day, she waited until I came home from school to sacrifice me."

"And Caishen stopped her," I filled in the blanks while she composed herself.

"Yes, I then ran away from home before I did something just as rash," the American vampire composed herself again. "Under His guidance, I went to a safer part of that small town and was adopted by Fùqīn's co-worker so I even got to see him regularly once he was rescued. I didn't return because of the bad blood between my mother and I."

"How did you end up becoming a vampire?" the beef suet before me seemed less appealing than her story.

"Because the mining company hadn't learned from its previous experience and continued to prioritise profit over people, there was another collapse. I had left behind my friends at the milk bar as soon as I heard the news. When his pleading for help reached my ears, I pushed my way through the crowd at the mouth of the mine and saved him."

"So, eternal unlife was your reward," my guess received a confirmatory nod.

"My vendetta against the American deity of unfettered capitalism is the reason I'm joining you," she looked at the red velvet cake made with blood instead of eggs favourably. "In summer, I usually get the ice cream made of blood since it's not available here during winter. The chef prefers preparing cuisine themed around the seasons."

"And my customers love it," a dulcet voice drew my attention to the jackalope in chef's whites before me. "I came here to introduce myself to our newest patron."

"As someone who used to cook for pirates, I assure you that I heartily appreciate your effort," I bowed my head. "I honestly couldn't have been creative as you have."

"Please stop, you're making me blush," I saw his whiskers frizzle at the compliment. Bunny placed the bill on the table and Victoria reached for it.

"On our next date, you're paying for dinner with dollars and your life story," she winked.

"Well, that will keep you entertained for the next month, at least," I watched her fingers as they picked out the correct pieces of green paper. Getting up from my chair, I walked to her side and pulled her seat out, placing my jacket on her shoulders as I heard the wind picking up outside. We walked to the apartment above her place of business.

"The reason I chose to go out as a pair, is that we double the chances of attracting our first serial killer as either a victim or an accomplice," she explained as her heels clacked on the stairs. A statue of our guardian deity greeted us at the front door. "The guest bedroom is yours; do with it as you please." I nodded before we parted ways- we were teammates, not lovers.

"The only thing I know about the Klan is what I've read in The Three Pips," I confessed as we left the apartment.

"Our esteemed Arthur Conan Doyle only scratched the surface when he wrote Sherlock Holmes," Victoria huffed. "How did you avoid detection when the lore started becoming popular?"

"I had to avoid mirrors when I was trying out clothes, and instead defer to the shop employees for their opinion," I reminisced. "People couldn't see my reflection during that era because mirrors were backed with a layer of silver, one of the pure metals. We have it so much easier now that modern mirrors are backed with aluminium. Are we visiting your source today?"

"No, she would prefer to be hidden and I don't blame her," she led me to the tram pick-up point.

"How did she come to learn of it? Can we trust her?" I needled her on this worrisome point.

"I know that you have seen more evil than I ever have in your millennium of living," the vampire turned her fine jawline toward me, "but I also know many tricks. My ears monitored her heart for the sound of an erratic pulse and I heard none. This is despite the fact that she is related to one of those racists. She just wants to help out."

"I'll go by what you say for now but I won't let my guard down," I heard a vibration on the tracks and turned in the direction of the upcoming carriage.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," she nudged me gently, letting me know that my suspicious nature was forgiven.

The heliotrope sun was floating down the horizon when we stepped off the tram. Leaving the station, we made our way to the fields of wheat, swaying in the evening breeze. I kept my eyes on the path before me, noting that there were many uncloven prints in the drying soil- the terrorists had been here for decades, dressing their horses in the same despicable white cloth.

"Fresh tyre treads on the crossing path," I pointed them out.

"These are called 'lovers lanes', the perfect place for a quickie- and a murder," Victoria started running on the verge and I followed suit. We disturbed some insects from their night-time activities as we tried to catch up with the General Motors vehicle. The stars twinkled softly above us as the sky changed colour from blue to black.

As we expected, there was a couple necking in the car while further ahead, a man robed in ivory was approaching. The female screamed when the door was jerked open and her boyfriend tossed onto a fire breaker. She soon joined him, the Klansman no doubt hoping to keep her here. It was futile, as most women were still unable to drive due to reasons of finance or family wishes.

"Take off your goddamn britches!" the driver did so and was rewarded by being struck twice on the side of his head, with a pistol. He collapsed and the girl showed the criminal her paramour's empty wallet. She received the same treatment as he did. "Stand and run," he barked. The girl tried to make for the ditch but he yelled, "Run up the road."

The girl spotted a car but it was abandoned and the assailant caught up. He was about to sexually assault her but my partner had assumed the form of a bat to stop him, allowing the victim time to escape. In the meanwhile, I used my sound waves, targeting the parts of the brain that would willingly give me information on the KKK activities that I would put to good use.

Assuming my beast form, I woke him up and he flagged down a passing motorist to call the police. I flapped my way to the house I had seen the women go to. Soon, the only humans present at the crime scene were the police. I joined my fellow vampire and we spent the tram ride back home in silence, whispering our findings so the other passengers wouldn't hear us.

"I'll take down the chapter at Arkansas while you take down the ones in Texas," Victoria decided over a goblet of red wine.

"Or we could work together," I folded the evening newspaper and slid it over to her.

"Do you think that I'm inadequate?" she bared her fangs and slammed the metal cup on the antique mahogany table.

"I just prefer working in a team," my eyes widened to their most adorable and disarming state. "Just because you can take down an army of mediocre white men in an instant, doesn't mean you have to. I've stayed mostly sane these past centuries because I had people I could count on. Caishen wouldn't have paired us up if he thought teamwork was a bad idea."

"Very well, but I'm calling the shots," the vampire unfolded the newspaper and started reading the article I had dog-eared. "These nimrods," she scoffed when she read about how the victims of the attack, Larey and Hollis, had covered for the assailant, someone they knew, dooming themselves to a lifetime of not being believed, like the boy who cried "wolf".

The telephone rang and my partner languidly reached for the device behind her. "March 24th and April 14th, on the south of Route 67 and the VFW Club. May 3rd, a farm in Arkansas." I had a pen and notepad by me, hastily writing what the girl who called us said. Without so much as a "goodbye", she cut the call.

"After each murder, we attack a week afterwards," Victoria decided and handed me a booklet. The cover featured men in white, pointy hats and robes, the horses clad as ghosts. I turned to the pages marked "Texas" and learned where the locations of the chapters were. Doing the same for Arkansas, I guffawed at the mention of "Grand Wizard".

"What's with the 18-wheeler?" I looked at the truck that was being parked across the street from our headquarters.

"You'll see," she opened her closet and chose an outfit for me. A similar rigging uniform was placed on her bed. I took the overalls and cap to my room, changing. We met outside and crossed the road. The truck was marked "Industrial Bleach" but when I passed the carriage, I did not hear the ebb and flow of chemicals- it was empty.

As I did not have a permit, I opened the passenger door as the vampire got into the driver's seat and got the truck into motion. I asked her questions, about herself and this state, as we passed fields of grain drying up in the sun. She asked me questions about the Wen Dynasty and I answered. When we tired of talking, I became acquainted with country music.

The rowdy hall was soon silenced by two bats emitting shrieks with pitches so high that they induced dizziness and fainting. Victoria and I each hauled two Klansmen by their collars. She opened up the empty carriage and dumped her pair within. I followed suit, and then followed her to bring more of these terrorists to their doom.

Five minutes later, we were back on the road. "Read this to me," she handed me a sheaf of papers that she had picked up in the hall. "Proposals for a new history textbook," I began before reciting how the department of education would gloss over black and indigenous peoples' history, while painting the white man to be the saviour.

"I'm not surprised, having grown up hearing about the Japanese imprisonment camps," the vampire sighed. It was indeed a long trip to freedom and equality.

"What will we do with them in the carriage?" I looked outside and watched the baby blue twilight darken into a plush purple.

"Patrons of Augerino get to use their documentation to access all kinds of privileges while our beloved Bunny makes cuisine of those pigs," she kept a straight face as she navigated. The jackalope was indeed delighted as the restaurant staff carted the produce into a warehouse next to the restaurant.

"Would you like to watch the process, Mr Moon?" the chef turned towards me.

"Why not?" I smirked as I followed him. My partner in vigilantism seemed bored as the pigs were hung from hooks and sliced open from neck to belly, the trays below them collecting offal and blood. Aprons were stained with gore as knives hacked into the flesh, and the opera was one of despair. I had been made to watch executions when I was young, and this was nothing.