Tales from NOLA

The second we stepped into The Rusty Nail, I felt it—a shift in the room. There’s always something about a predator, especially one who’s used to hunting the dead, that makes the air heavier. People might not know why, but they sense it. They tense up, their conversations dip just a little lower, and the bartender moves with a bit more caution. This wasn’t just another night in New Orleans. Not with Brian Blanchard here.

Eddie and I moved through the crowd, which wasn’t hard. Most of the regulars were either too drunk to notice us or too busy trying not to look at Brian, who sat at the far corner of the bar. The dim light from the old neon signs barely reached him, but I could make out his silhouette—a lone figure nursing a drink, his posture too relaxed for someone who made vampires his prey. He was playing it cool, but even from here, I could see the subtle signs. His stillness wasn’t casual; it was the calm before the strike.

I could feel Eddie’s eyes on me. “You sure about this?” he asked quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

“No,” I said, lighting a cigarette as we approached. “But we need to figure out what the hell he’s doing here.”

When we reached his table, Brian’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. They were cold and sharp, like he’d already weighed me, sized me up, and decided I wasn’t a threat. That kind of confidence wasn’t arrogance. It was the confidence of a man who knew exactly what he was capable of.

“Broussard,” Brian said, leaning back in his chair. His voice was low, calm. “Figured you’d show up eventually.”

I sat down, ignoring the slow churn in my gut. Eddie stayed standing, leaning against the bar, arms crossed as he scanned the room. Brian didn’t seem to care. His focus was all on me.

“I heard you’ve been making waves,” I said, my tone steady. “Picking off vampires. Not exactly subtle.”

Brian raised an eyebrow, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Subtle’s never really been my style.”

I exhaled slowly through my nose, keeping my temper in check. “I’m hearing a lot of noise, Blanchard. People are talking. What’s a Helsing doing in New Orleans?”

He shrugged, setting the glass down. “Just finishing a job.”

“Who hired you?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

Brian’s eyes gleamed with something dark. “Harold Shoemaker.”

I froze. I could feel Eddie go still beside me, too. Of all the names I expected to hear, Harold’s wasn’t one of them.

“Harold?” I repeated, my voice low. “You’re telling me Harold hired you?”

Brian gave a small, almost casual nod. “A few weeks ago. Desperate guy. He came to me, said his wife was turned, and he wanted to free her from her sire. Killing the sire breaks the bond. Classic move.”

I stared at him, trying to wrap my head around it. Harold... Harold had gone behind my back, hired a Helsing, thinking that killing Nancy’s sire would save her.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I muttered, more to myself than to Brian.

Brian leaned back, looking almost bored. “Guess he thought it was his last shot. Didn’t seem like the kind of man who wanted to share his desperation with the world. He paid well, though. Wanted to free his wife, and I took care of it.”

I shook my head, the weight of Harold’s desperation settling in. He’d been willing to do anything to save Nancy, even if it meant involving someone like Blanchard. And it hadn’t worked.

“You killed her sire,” I said, voice flat.

“Yeah,” Brian said, his eyes locking onto mine. “That was the job. Kill the sire, anyone else I wanted, but leave Nancy alone.”

“Of course he hired you,” I muttered. “He was a man holding onto hope with both hands.”

“And now I hear he’s dead,” Brian said, his tone casual, almost detached. “Didn’t turn out the way anyone wanted, did it?”

Eddie finally spoke up, voice cold. “So, the job’s done. Why the hell are you still here?”

Brian smirked, tilting his head slightly. “It’s a big city. Plenty of vampires still walking around. I figure I’ll hang around for a few more days, take care of a few others. Leander’s got his hands full anyway.”

That hit a nerve. I leaned forward, my voice low and dangerous. “You’re hunting in Leander’s backyard. You think he’s just gonna let that slide?”

Brian’s smirk didn’t waver. “Leander’s just another vampire. He knows what I am.”

“A predator,” I said, eyes narrowing.

“Exactly,” Brian replied, his gaze sharp. “I don’t need to explain myself to Leander. I eat vampires, that’s what I do. Whether he likes it or not doesn’t change a damn thing.”

I exhaled slowly, trying to think through the haze of anger building in my chest. “Leander’s not going to come after you alone, Brian. He’s got an entire coven. You keep picking them off like they’re snacks, and you’re going to have a war on your hands.”

Brian’s smile faded, just a little. “I’ve handled worse.”

I stared at him, hard. “This isn’t some small-town coven you’re dealing with. Leander’s been in this city a long time. He’s not stupid, and he’s not weak. You’re not just playing with fire—you’re sitting in a room full of gasoline, lighting matches.”

For a moment, we just sat there, the tension between us thick as the New Orleans heat. Brian didn’t blink, didn’t flinch. He was calm, cold, and confident, like he knew exactly how this was going to play out and didn’t care about the fallout.

“I appreciate the concern, Broussard,” he said finally, his voice smooth and almost patronising. “But I’m not going anywhere until I’m done. A few more days, a few more vampires, and then I’m out of here.”

Eddie scoffed. “You really think you can just stroll out of here after killing Leander’s people?”

Brian shrugged. “I don’t over hunt my territory. A few kills, then I’m gone. I’ve done it in plenty of cities before. This one’s no different.”

I stood up, the chair scraping against the floor, my patience worn thin. “You’re making a mistake, Brian. I’m warning you. Leander’s not going to let this go. You think you’ve got control of the situation, but you don’t. Get out now, before it’s too late.”

Brian looked up at me, his eyes dark and unflinching. “I’ve survived this long, Broussard. I think I’ll be fine.”

I stared at him for a long moment, then shook my head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Eddie and I turned to leave, the tension still thick between us and Blanchard. As we stepped back into the humid night air, I lit another cigarette, the flame flickering in the breeze.

“You think he’ll listen?” Eddie asked, his voice quieter now.

“No,” I said, taking a long drag. “He’s too stubborn. Too used to winning. He doesn’t see what’s coming.”

“Leander’s not gonna let this slide,” Eddie said, more to himself than to me.

“No, he’s not,” I muttered. “And when Leander comes for him, it’s going to be a bloodbath.”

We walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of what was coming hanging heavy over us. Brian Blanchard wasn’t done hunting, and Leander wasn’t the type to let that go unanswered. Harold had been desperate enough to set this all in motion, and now the pieces were falling into place. But there was something more, something Harold hadn’t told me.

“You think Harold knew more than he let on?” I asked, glancing at Eddie.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You think Harold was playing you?”

I took a long drag from my cigarette, the smoke curling into the night. “I think Harold might’ve known exactly what he was doing when he hired Blanchard. And I think there’s more to this mess than we realise.”

Eddie gave me a sideways look. “So, what now?”

I exhaled slowly. “Now? We wait. Leander’s not going to let this sit for long.”

The city was quiet, but the tension was still there, lurking under the surface. Brian thought he was the apex predator, but in New Orleans, nobody stayed at the top for long. Not without getting their hands bloody.