The Vampires of Marbis Peak

Harjan Miras entered the little tavern in Marbis Peak and took his usual place by the roaring fire.  He was a tall, deathly-pale man with a wiry build, a beaky nose and dark eyes and hair, which was cut to the fashionable length of just below the ear.  His age was hard to pin down, but he was probably nearer to 20 than 30.
He caught the eye of a passing waitress and asked for some wine.  Then he looked round.
The pretty brown-eyed blonde at the bar turned at smiled him, and he returned this with more of a simper.  When she turned back, he looked at her none-too-discreetly.  ‘Be still my heart’ he thought.  ‘If only I didn’t get so tongue-tied around lovely Dandelion.’
He was doctor to Berni Durola, the girl’s father, and so he saw the girl now and then.  But the warmer and gayer she was, the more tongue-tied and monosyllabic he found himself.  And now she was talking with a man who was new to the town.  He didn’t mean to overhear their conversation.
“Oh, so you’re a university student?” the beautiful blonde asked her male companion.
“Yes, I am taking a short break from my studies.”  He was a tall, well-built man with shoulder-length midnight-blue hair and pale blue eyes.
“I’m thinking of going to uni there when I’ve finished college.  What are you studying, Austin?”
“Preternatural beings, and you must call me Oz.”  He smiled warmly.  She embodied everything that he found attractive, with her modest curves, moon breasts, full lips and hazel-green eyes, in which he saw innocence and hungry intelligence.
“If I’m to call you Oz, you can’t keep calling me Dandelion.  But I don’t really know what else you’d call me.”  She giggled, for she was subtlely flirting with him every chance she got, then became more serious.  “Do you mean like vampires?”
“I always think Dani is a nice abbreviation.  Yes I do mean vampires, but more specifically anything that does not exist naturally.”
“I like Dani.  Perhaps you’d call me that.  So a centaur would be preternatural?”
“Yes Dani, it most definitely would be that.”
An old man further down the bar said politely to Oz, “Excuse me young man.  Did I hear you mention vampires?”
“You did indeed, sir.  I am training to deal with such beings and others like them.”
“Ah, I wish you luck.  I was once troubled by such a creature.”
Oz was intrigued.  “What happened, sir?”
Dani scowled.  She rather liked Oz and hated that the old man, Mr Markowitz, had distracted him.  After all, Dandelion Durola always got what she wanted.
Mr Markowitz smiled, only too pleased to tell his tale.  “When I was a lad, I travelled a lot.  I made it all the way to Doxni.”
“Oh, I am from there.”
“A lovely country, if a little dry.  That was where I first heard the word lamiae uttered.
“As you no doubt know, the doxnitians are quite a level-headed people on the whole, not at all taken to flights of fantasy.  Well they started saying how a necromancer had summoned this spirit and things had turned foul.  I was curious.  There had been quite a few suspicious deaths around that time, and the blame was laid firmly at the necromancer’s door.
“I heard more and more about it, asking gentle probing questions, and eventually a physical link to the spirit became apparent.  I was told that a large black opal had originally been intended to control the spirit, and that this opal might be providing the spirit with a portal to this world.
“I was in a pub much like this one at the time, and I’d had a few drinks by then.”  His gaze swept the warm, cosy pub and settled on his empty pint glass.
Oz noticed that both their glasses were empty, asked if he could get him another, and turned to Dani again.  “Can I get you some more wine?”
She smiled gratefully.  “Yes please.”
Oz got the three drinks, then sat down again and asked, “So what did you do then?”
“Like I said, I’d had a bit to drink, so I felt a bit merry by then and I decided to head back.  On the way back, I passed the place where the necromancer was meant to live.  There were no lights on, and I suddenly felt like seeing if I could find the opal.  It was a daft idea, I know, but it sounded so plausible at the time.  As it well might have done to any iniebriated man.
“I looked about a bit, and eventually found an unlocked window.  I pulled it open and silently slipped inside.  Inside, as outside, was a gothic masterpiece.  It would have been gloomy even on the sunniest day.  And now it was a moonless night, and the melancholy feeling had a sobering effect.
“I began to doubt that there was anything there, especially when I searched the whole lower floor without success. Then I tripped over a rug.  As I was replacing the rug, I saw a faint square shape cut into the floorboards.  I pushed this gently with my foot, and it gave slightly.  I gave it a shove and it swung down, revealing stairs into the dark.  I had a light with me, and I dangled this into the hole.
“Something glittered in the gloom.  I crept down the stairs to investigate.  I reached a low table, and I saw it.  It was all true.  The black opal winked at me from the inky darkness.  Then I heard footsteps behind me.  I couldn’t move.
“I managed to turn my light off, and hoped that I wouldn’t be noticed in the dark.  But then I saw a pallid circle in the gloom.  The footsteps crept closer and closer.  Then I felt a hand at my throat, squeezing gently…”
Oz gasped.  Even Dandelion had stopped scowling and now looked a little interested.
  “What happened then?” Oz asked.
Mr Markowitz blinked.  “I don’t rightly know.  I woke up at the side of the road where I had been standing when I decided to go into the house.  I had the strong impression that I’d fallen asleep on my way home and dreamt the whole thing.  I didn’t feel too well, and I staggered back to the place where I was staying.  But that isn’t all…”
“Is it not?”
“No.  A couple of years later I returned to Stina, the capital city of Doxni.  As soon as I entered the gates, I heard funeral bells.
“I went to the main cemetery and asked what was happening.  I was told that the necromancer had just died.  I muttered a quick blessing, then went to my lodgings.  I was rather tired, and I fell asleep quickly.
“I awoke with a feeling of suffocation.  There were hands at my throat as I gasped for breath.  I looked into eyes that burned like coals.  Just as I thought I was dying, I was released and the stranger vanished.
“I went for a drink with a friend the next day and I told him about what happened.  He went deadly quiet, then he asked me to describe the stranger.
“I described a tall, extremely pale man with fierce dark eyes, a hooked nose and long greasy black hair that was turning dark grey.
“He shuddered slightly and I asked him what was wrong.  He said that I was describing a dead man.  I questioned him and he told me that it sounded very much like the necromancer who had just been buried.  He said that I must have been dreaming.  I told him that I couldn’t have been, as I’d never seen the necromancer.  Yerez just laughed.
“He took things rather more seriously when I once again had a night visitor.  I was sleeping at his place, and he came in and warned the necromancer away.  Being knowledgeable about such things, he looked into what should be done.
“And so I found myself standing by the necromancer’s grave at the stroke of midnight.  Yerez told me to eat a little earth from the grave, which I did, then he opened the grave and corpse, and smeared its blood over my chest in the form of a cross.”
Oz was hanging on his every word.  “And did this work?”
“I was never again bothered by the necromancer.” Mr Markowitz said solemnly.
Oz blinked, slowly coming back to reality.  He glanced at his watch, and saw that it was nearly 1 a.m.  “I really should call it a night or, rather, a morning.  I have to be up just after dawn.”
Dani smiled and wished him pleasant dreams.  “I should really retire too, got work in the morning.”
“May I walk you home?” Oz asked.
She gave a more lingering smile.  “Of course you can.  Never know what’s lurking in the shadows.”
Oz offered her a hand down from the barstool, and they walked out into the inky gloom.  Neither said goodbye to Mr Markowitz.  They seemed to have forgotten he was there.
They talked easily during the mile walk, and it was with regret that Dandelion stopped outside a large stucco building.  “Well, this is my place.  It was really nice talking to you, Oz.”  She paused as she remembered something, then continued in a happier tone.  “Maybe we could continue this conversation later, say in two night’s time.  I have a spare ticket to this play and can’t find anyone to go with me.  Perhaps you would?”  She sounded hopeful.
“Okay, I would love to.”
She gave him the necessary details and started towards the house.  “Bye Oz.”
“Wait, I forgot to ask you what play it is.”
“It’s called Lost Souls.  Adapted from a book of that name by Poppy z. Brite.”
Oz grinned.  “That happens to be what I am reading at the moment.  For about the hundredth time!  I picked it up to study it originally, but it’s really interesting.”
Dandelion grinned back and said teasingly, “You know, there’s a certain type of man who usually chooses that book…” She was implying that mainly gay men read it.
“Hey, I resent that.  I really should be going now, though.  I will see you on Thursday, then.  Goodbye until then.”  And he walked backwards away from her, waving as he went.

***

The following morning, Francon Markowitz awoke with a slight hangover.  He shuffled downstairs, feeling like an old man of seventy for once, and drank some strong black coffee while he mulled over what he would do that day.
It was one of those long, lazy days where summer seems as if it will last forever and nothing is hurried.  He might go into Narguhl.  There was a bookfair on at the town hall there and he was a bit of a bibliophile.  Or he might just sit in the sunshine.
In the end, he went to the bookfair.  He was happy as a pig in a puddle wandering about among musty old tomes.
He had become quite lost in the stacks when he felt a gentle hand on his arm.
He turned to face a thing woman with pale eyes, whose hair was many shades of grey, falling in gentle waves to her shoulders.  He brightened at seeing her and said gaily, “Hello Mewwi.  It’s good to see you, as always.”  He smiled a special smile, as if they shared a secret that only they were privy to.
She returned the smile.  “Likewise.  Here we are, two musty old creatures among musty old volumes.”
“Speak for yourself.  I’m not old yet, just a little riper.  So, what brings you here?”
She tittered.  “That’s a lovely way of putting it.  I’m here for purely sentimental reasons, looking for some of the old books.”
They shared a sad look, for they were both refugees from the politically volatile country of Yantil and Francon knew that she meant books written in their mother tongue.
“Were you at all successful?”
“Yes, I was.  Why don’t you come over tonight and see?”  She gave him a brief smouldering look.
He smiled again, a tiny flicker of pleasure.  “I’d love to.”
“See you then.”  She paused, chewing her bottom lip.  “You’re off on holiday soon, aren’t you?”
“Yes, at the end of the week.  Why, have you changed your mind?”  He looked hopeful.
There was a trace of regret in her voice when she replied.  “You know I can’t go at the moment.”  Her tone also implied that she would do it like a shot under different circumstances.
“I know, but I really wish you could come.”  He sounded glum.
She emanated sadness.  “Well, if wishes were horses.  Bye Franc.”
“Bye Mewwi.  Are you leaving now?  Perhaps I could give you a lift.”  His tone had turned teasing.
“Don’t be silly.  I’m not riding on your handlebars again; I nearly fell off last time.  Jhorgie is around somewhere.  I’m sure she’d give you a ride too, and your bike would easily fit in the boot.”
“No thank you.  Although your offer is tempting, I much prefer to feel the sun warm on my back on such a pleasant day.”
“Okay.  Bye, Franc.”
“Bye.”  He watched her look for the honey-blonde head of her daughter, waved once, and then made his way towards the exit.
He unchained his bike and got on.  Soon, the balmy sunshine turned to scorching heat, and he regretted not having taken up Mewwi’s offer.  The discomfort that Jhorgie’s scrutiny and acerbic tongue cause me cannot match this fire that burns me now, he thought.
It was much hotter then they were used to in Vatli, and he stopped for a second to drink some water and wipe away the sweat that had beaded on his forehead.
As he was putting away his handkerchief, he saw something on the road ahead of him.
He blinked in disbelief.  There was a blue truck speeding towards him.  ‘That idiot’s on the wrong side of the road.’ He thought, panicked.
He tried to get out of the way, but the big vehicle was approaching too quickly.
He felt the force as the heavy mass of steel slammed full-force into his chest.  Then everything went dark; he was dead.
The truck didn’t stop.  The driver was drunk, and it probably didn’t register that he had hit someone.
A spirit slipped towards him.  It had been called the instant he died, for he bore its mark.
It was barely more then a pale shape as it put a hand to the dead man’s throat and squeezed gently.  Anyone who had a mind to watch would have seen a pale gold light flowing upwards through the being.  It became more distinct in shape, more a silhouette now.

***

Oz was sitting in the tavern when he heard the sad news.  He was on his own, and eavesdropping on nearby conversations.  Odd words came to him, but he couldn’t fathom the topic.  “So sad…”  “Quite old…”  “I suppose there was no one…”  He glanced round, and noticed the only other unaccompanied person.
Harjan was gazing gloomily into the crimson depths of his wine when he became aware of someone standing nearby.  He looked up into Oz’s friendly, open face, a little startled.
“You’ve nearly finished that; let me buy you another.  Unless you’d prefer to be alone, that is.” Oz said a little uncertainly.
Harjan was a tad flustered.  “Why thank you.  I was drinking the local wine.”  He drained his glass.
Oz took his glass, and returned with another, and a glass of pale pink liquor for himself.
Harjan smiled.  “I’m Harjan Miras.  You have not been here long, have you?”
Oz sat down opposite Harjan.  “Austin Audeliy.  No, I arrived a few days ago.”
“I did not think I recognised you.  In a small town like this, you know every by sight at least after a week or so.  Have you seen much of the sights?”
“Not much, no.  I come from Doxni, so I saw some of Epsif on the way here.  This isn’t exactly a holiday, and when I had the time I lacked the inclination to explore alone.”
“Is it as hot and dry in Doxni as they say?”
“From what I have heard, it is greatly exaggerated.  There are some parts where it is rather warm, but most are pleasant enough.”
“I, uh, saw you with Dandelion Durola the other night.”
“Oh right.  She’s quite an interesting girl.”
“That’s not the word I’d use.  Interesting can mean many different things.”
“And what word would you use?”
“Rose, if I could use just one.”
Oz looked confused.  “Meaning what?”
“She looks soft enough and smells alluring, but tear her petals and you’ll soon discover her thorns.”
Oz narrowed his eyes.  ‘Is he threatening me?’ he wondered.  His tone was slightly hostile.  “If I didn’t know better, I might consider that a threat.”
Harjan looked embarrassed.  “Then it’s a good thing that you do know better, for the word ‘threaten’ is not in my dictionary.  And even if it were, it wouldn’t be used in connection with Dandelion.  And she seemed quite keen on you.”
Oz was eager to know more.  “Really?  I rather like her, and I did sort of hoped that maybe she might like me too.”
“She probably does.  You’re the first person that she’s allowed to abbreviate her name.  And you should’ve seen her look daggers at Markowitz when he interrupted.”  He was unusually talkative, instinctively liking this newcomer.
Oz was pleased to hear that.  He thought for a moment.  He had heard Markowitz’s name in the midst of conversation.  It was right before someone had remarked how ‘it was so sad’.  It gave him an uneasy feeling, so he decided to ask.  “Has something happened to Mr Markowitz?”
Harjan looked grave.  “Yes, he died this morning.”
Oz looked sad.  “How did he…?”
“Die?  He was riding his bike back from Narguhl at midday and a truck came straight at him, on the wrong side of the road.  Knocked him flying.  The driver was drunk, at that time of day!  Can you believe it?”
Oz muttered a quick blessing, as was the custom when a spirit had been mentioned by name.  “I only met him once, didn’t even know his name until you told me it, but he seemed a good sort.  And, of course, any death is sad.”
“He was, and about as active as a man half his age.  And then that plepsiv killed him.”  Plepsiv was not a pleasant word, nor was it one that he used often.
They were respectfully silent for a moment, then began talking in earnest.  Harjan was quite animated when he got over his nervousness.  They got on quite well, having the same sense of humour and an academic interest in the uses of herbs, both medicinal and magickal.
A while later, Markowitz’s name was said again, and they stopped talking to listen.
“He messed with a necromancer when he was younger, didn’t he?” a middle-aged man asked his drinking buddy.
His mate made the sign of the pentagram to guard against any evil that might be brought upon them by mentioning that darkest of magick-workers.  “No good ever comes of such things.  Bad luck can even follow beyond the grave with those folk.  What happened?”
“Well, this guy Misham Miran died, and he apparently came back a few times and tried to strangle Franc.”
“’Ere, did you say Misham Miran?”
“Yep.  Why?”
“Some say that was the name of the first vampire.”  They both went quiet and took out some garlic salt, throwing it around them in a circle.  This was meant to be a crude means of protection against evil spirits that have been mentioned by name.  Then the first speaker fell off his stool.
Harjan and Oz sat in silence for a while, and then Harjan broke this by asking Oz if he’d like a guided tour round the border city of Mareesh.  “I have the day off tomorrow and I thought, well I hail from there and so know quite a bit about it.  Maybe you’d like me to take you round?  If you’re free, that is.”
Oz was enthusiastic.  “That’d be great.”  So they arranged to meet up.
They had a few more drinks, occasionally gleaning a fragment of information, then decided to call it a night when they started telling increasingly bad jokes.
“I’ve got one.” Harjan slurred.  “A man walked into a bar.  Ouch!”
“I don geddit.”
“Neider do I.  Mebbe we shld go home.”
“Yesh.”

***

Mareesh was a grand, glittering city of immense beauty.  It lay on the edge of Vatliu, the country that Marbis Peak was in, and encroached on Vitkin, Dergool, Tanreesh and Epsiv.
“What do you think?” Harjan asked.
Oz was rather overwhelmed by it all.  “I have never seen a city of such exquisite beauty.  There are buildings from every period of history, and modern building nestle between them without detracting from them.  There are no slums, and nothing is in disrepair!  There is something breath-taking in every part.  This is a place where all forms of art clearly thrive.”  He indicated a man painting a mural.
Harjan chuckled.  “I get that you like it.  No need to go overboard.”
Oz felt a little foolish.  “Sorry.  How could you ever have left this place?”
“It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but I wanted the job of chief medical officer and that involved moving.  Marbis Peak is where the council has its base.”
Oz soon found that the residents of Mareesh were very friendly, and apt to gossip.  They had only been there five minutes when two girls came over to say hello.  “Not seen you around here before,” one of the girls said to Oz, touching his arm in a familiar way.  “Are you Har’s mate?”
“Uh, not really.”  Oz subtly removed her hand.  “I just met him, and he’s showing me the sights.”
“Oh, and how do you like them so far?” she moved a smidgen closer.
“It’s a beautiful city with many lovely, uh, sights.”  Sights such as the big breasts you seem determined to push against me, he thought.
“We have to go now, the flirtatious girl’s friend said, pulling on her arm.
“Ta-ta sweetie,” the first girl said, waving to them.  “Take care, and don’t go near Narghul.  I hear some guy got run over by a drunk trucker a coupla days ago.  They’re all crazies over that way, anyways.”
“Oh?  I’m staying near there, in Marbis Peak.”
“Oh dear, that’s almost as bad.”  She moved away from him slightly.  “The guy what died came from there, and some say what happened here five years back will start up over there.”
Her friend looked nervous.  “They’s just being silly, o’ course.  We really need to go now.  Come on, Janci.”  She pulled her friend’s arm harder and they walked away.
“What happened here five years ago?” Oz asked Harjan.
“What happened here five years ago?” Oz asked Harjan.
The little voice in Harjan’s head told him he should lie about this.  “I don’t really know, I was not living here at the time.  I had just moved to Marbis Peak, and they were keeping the whole thing very quiet for some reason.”
Why do I get the feeling it’s something big? Oz thought.  And why do I feel that he’s involved?  You stupid man, you always do this with anyone you like straight away.  Stop being such a paranoid idiot!

***

They stopped for lunch at a little riverside café.  It was a rather small room, but skilful decorated to make it seem large, light and airy.  They stood at the counter and waited for someone to come and serve them.
A pretty brunette came through from the kitchen and started to ask what she could get them.  Then she stopped as she recognised Harjan, and she grinned.  “Hi Arj!  I haven’t seen you in nearly a year.  How are you?”  She leaned over the counter and kissed him warmly on the lips.  She had an earthy beauty, like a true child of nature.  Her long chestnut hair had a green sheen to it, her grass-green eyes had a wildness to them – like a tiger – and she looked for all the world like a gypsy with her sun-kissed skin.  Her green petticoat-skirt and ruffly brown blouse added to this impression.
He grinned back.  “Hi Ekuna.  I suppose it has been a while.  I’m fine, thanks.  Are you okay?”  He tipped his head to one side in a concerned way.
Ekuna smiled.  “All is right with the world here.  But I sense trouble stirring not too far away.  In your current domicile, in fact.  A case of history repeating in a new location.”
“You don’t mean like here?”  Harjan was enchanted by her strange, beautiful way of talking, and also by her strange beauty.
“I do indeed.”
“Why, what happened?” Oz asked, ever curious.
Ekuna gave him a strange look, as if she were wondering where he had sprung from, then said, “A man died who, in his latter years, spoke of how a vampire had bitten him in his youth.  He was quite old and his mind wasn’t always that agile, so no one paid him much attention.”
“And then something made them pay attention to them?” Oz asked, prompting her.
“Yes, previously healthy people started dying.”
“And that made them start taking notice?”  Oz was dubious.
“Yes, because there a sudden, steep increase in the death rate.  People tend to take notice after the first fifty-odd die in the same manner.    You remember how bad it got, right Arj?  It was just before you moved.”
Maybe I’m not so paranoid after all, Oz thought.  He did lie to me.
Harjan answered falteringly, “I remember that a few people got ill rather suddenly and there was talk of them having strange marks on their necks, but I never saw any of the bodies and I just heard general mutterings about it.”
“I’m surprised you don’t more,” Ekuna said.  “After all, you did know quite a few of the families.”
“it was them who told me, they were too grief-stricken to say much.  Do you know what really happened?”
Ekuna’s brow wrinkled, as if she were trying to remember something difficult, then she said, “I’m not 100 per cent sure what is fact and what is mis-heard gossip, but I do know that there were quite a few people who suddenly started feeling unwell.”
“It cannot have been that serious, for no one informed me.”
“It wasn’t to start with; people only got suspicious when lots of people all apparently had the same symptoms, but the most skilled doctor could do nothing.  The most skilled doctor below yourself, I might say.  I did think it a little strange that they didn’t ask your advice.”
Harjan blushed at a memory that he preferred to forget.  “They believed it to be contagious, and Mayor Hardiynge kept finding me other jobs; and so I never had the time.”  They shared a look then, for they both knew that the bachelor mayor had taken more then a friendly interest in Harjan, and that this was part of the reason for his moving.  He paused briefly, then continued.  “But I understand it’s no longer a problem.  How was it stopped in the end?”
Ekuna frowned, then looked baffled.  “That’s the strange thing; the problem suddenly just lessened.  Cures that had failed the day before now worked, and so the problem was eradicated.”
Harjan said, “That is interesting.  Perhaps they added something new to the cures and kept it quiet?”
Ekuna smiled.  “Nice to know you haven’t lost any of your smarts.  Most say that the healers who made the cures started using yarrow, which increased the potency of the cures.”
Harjan returned the smile.  “Let me guess, the healers deny it.”
“Yes, some of them even said some horrible things about yarrow.  It’s very strange.”
“Very, very odd.” Oz murmured.  If I am honest with myself, I have had the feeling that some new preternatural activity would soon start up ever since I crossed the border, he thought.  I told myself then that the strangeness of this land was preying on my nerves, but now I am not so sure.  I will be watching things more closely from now on.

***

They sat outside in the sunshine and chatted while they waited for their food.
When it came and they had started to eat, Oz noticed that Harjan was quivering.  “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice full of concern.  “You’re shaking.”
Harjan’s voice was completely flat when he replied.  “It’s Parkinson’s.  It will get worse in time.”
Oz was momentarily dumbfounded, and then he said slowly, “I thought it was only old people who got that.”
“Well, evidently not,” Harjan replied slightly bitterly.  “I’m a very rare case, especially as I was only eighteen when it started.”
Oz was sympathetic.  “That must have been tough.”
“It meant that I had to rethink a few things.”
“Like what?” Oz probed.
“Like I wanted to be a surgeon.  I obviously couldn’t do that with hands and arms that constantly trembled.”
Oz was apologetic.  “I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Harjan shrugged.  “It’s okay, I probably like being a doctor much more than I would have liked being a surgeon.  Who can say?”
There was a metallic noise to their left, and they saw Ekuna coming with the food.  Harjan’s gaze was drawn to her like a magnet is drawn to iron filings.  He was hyper-aware of her every movement.  But he was not self-conscious with her as he was with Dandelion; he treated her almost as he would a sister.
“Won’t you sit with us, if you’re not too busy?” Harjan asked.
Ekuna smiled sadly.  “Sorry my sweetling, but I can’t.  I have to get things ready for tonight.  It’ll be jam-packed later, and I won’t have time to cook everything then.  So I do it all in the slow time and use a little preserve spell.”
Harjan smiled slightly, then said affectionately, “I’ve known you since horses were tame, but there’s still some things that I don’t get about you.  Why not just make it that bit easier you yourself and hire more people in the evenings?”
Ekuna played with her hair, tucking it behind her ear and then untucking it. “You know what a perfectionist I am.  I doubt if I could find anyone else who would measure up to my standards.  And unless you wanted to come work for me…” She flashed him a teasing smile.
“Is that a job offer?” he retorted, almost wishing it were.
“Nah, though it might be interesting to try and combine food and medicine.”
Harjan’s interest was aroused.  “How do you mean?”
“Well, like say someone has gout and they need a diagnosis and they need to know which foods are best for them then.  They could then have their medical information given to me, and I would recommend the suitable foods to them from the menu.  So then they wouldn’t be given boeuf bouginon therefore.  I do try to make allowances anyway if I am aware that someone has special dietary requirements.”
Oz’s eyes had glazed over somewhere near the start of that.
“That is an intriguing idea,” Harjan replied, “but not one which I would care to explore at the moment.”
Ekuna smiled sweetly, then turned her attention to Oz then.  “You’re not from round here, are you?”
“No, indeed I am not.  I hail from Doxni.”
“Oh.”  She looked down at his meal, penne nicoise, in surprise.  “I thought you people liked your meat.”
“Certainly we are a nation who are mad keen on bloody steaks, but I have seen things which would put anyone off such food for life.”
Ekuna looked interested.  “What sort of thing?”
“Werewolves,” Oz said bluntly.
Ekuna raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“Let’s just say they’re not as neat eaters as their small cousins,” Oz said diplomatically.  And they are rather fond of playing with their food while it still moves, he continued mentally.
Ekuna’s expression showed that she understood, and wished she did not.  She said that she had to be getting back, and turned on her heel and walked towards the kitchen.  Harjan took in every motion of her bouncy, hip-swinging walk.
Oz touched Harjan on the arm, bringing him back.  “Your girlfriend seems nice.”
Harjan looked puzzled.  “My girlfriend?”  Then his expression changed as he understood.  “Oh, you mean Ekuna.  She’s not my girlfriend.”
Oz laughed.  “Yeah, sure she isn’t.”
Harjan blushed slightly and said, “No, she really isn’t.  She’s been my friend since I got my first teeth.”
“Do you always kiss your friends like that?” Oz teased.
Harjan’s blush deepened.  “Only the extra-special ones, so I doubt you’d ever be in danger.”