The Holy Death

Chapter 32

"So, you're the Santa Muerte," Scott said, looking at the well-dressed Mexican man sitting at the head of the table. "Where is my brother?"

"Your half-brother you mean, don't you, Mr. Campbell?" The Santa Muerte replied. "Or may I call you Scott?"

"Yeah, that's fine, and yeah, he's my half-brother. So what? Where is he?"

"Patience, Scott. We have not had breakfast yet, and I have not previously made the acquaintance of all those seated here. Ladies," The Santa Muerte bowed his head to both Dawn and Grace, "You are both visions of loveliness. I know, you must be feeling somewhat apprehensive about meeting me, seeing as I have the reputation of killing every mortal who comes across my path. Please be assured that I have no intentions of harming either one of you, especially considering that you are in the company of the Redeemed One himself."

"So you are aware of Scott's reputation," Jeremiah said.

"I am indeed. And you must be Jeremiah. Your reputation proceeds you as well. I am honored to be in the presence of a legend such as yourself."

Jeremiah nodded. The Santa Muerte's face and tone soured when he faced Jack. "Jack. We meet again, at last."

Jack leaned across the table. "Yeah, I'm here, you pretentious greaser," he snarled, "We got business to take care of, don't we?"

"Now, Jack," The Santa Muerte said as the smile returned to his face, "there's no need for that right now, is there? We are all friends here, no?"

"That all depends on one thing," Scott said, "Where is my brother?"

"He is here, and he is well. You will meet him soon, I promise. But first, breakfast. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, yes?"

Canute came forth from the kitchen carrying a large silver platter that he placed on the dining table. He placed plates loaded with huevos rancheros, tortillas, and chorizo along with fresh citrus fruits in front of Dawn and Grace, then left for the kitchen again, bringing another tray with a silver coffee pot and mugs and mimosas in tall champagne glasses. He placed those items around the table then went to the kitchen once more and brought forth three steaming silver chalices of blood which he placed in front of Scott, Jeremiah, and the Santa Muerte.

"Hey, wait," Jack whined, "What about me? Don't I get any?"

"Tsk, tsk," The Santa Muerte replied. "I do detest an ungracious guest. Forgive me. Canute, please bring Jack a bag of blood. The cheap stuff, well chilled, no frills."

"Yes, master," Canute responded, returning once more to the kitchen, as Jack rolled his eyes.

"Gee, thanks," Jack said, "the personal touch. That's great, really that is."

The Santa Muerte shook his finger at Jack. "Now, now, what did I say about ungracious guests? Oh!" He suddenly snapped those same fingers. "I am forgetting something. We have another guest. I am sure she would like to join us for breakfast. Canute!"

"Yes, master?" The troll responded from the kitchen.

"Please ring Cressida's room and let her know we have guests."

"Yes, master!"

At the mention of Cressida's name, Jeremiah's countenance dropped as he sat back in his chair, not touching his chalice of blood. "Ah, forgive me, Jeremiah, I did not mean to be insensitive. I know that Cressida and yourself are close—"