Thyme to Give Back

Chase came in from the evening, arms overladen with shopping bags.

Jolon Dugal relaxed. He’d been half expecting the boy to refuse his requests because of insanity. He couldn’t hold it against Chase; the kid was only doing his job. But Jolon had to do this, no matter Chase’s discomfort. He opened his arms and smiled. ‘Chase, my boy! Good morning. How was the shopping excursion?’

Chase frowned for a fraction of a second but then erased it from his face. He paused, seeming to consider his words. He stared down at the many bags from many different stores. ‘Yes, master. I got it. I got it all. But I have to say—’

Jolon clapped his hands. ‘Excellent! Just excellent, my boy. And what did we say about calling me “master”? That’s how the old ones did it. Time for a change, eh?’

His brow re-furrowed. He set the bags down on the counter. ‘Mas—’ He started again. ‘Jolon,’ he said, uncomfortable, ‘please reconsider. This really isn’t a good idea. There are plenty of other things you could do. Why take such an inordinate risk with something this dangerous?’

Jolon chuckled. He’d heard all this before. Chase was always worried about his well-being. It was sweet. He waved Chase’s worries away, peeking into the bags, eyebrows raised. ‘Nonsense, nonsense! We’ve both seen their faces when they walk in. Polite, not trying to be rude. Wanting to show appreciation. Humouring me. But disappointed, all the same. Like a child opening a pair of socks on Chris— C-C-Chri— Chri-Chris—’ He coughed and tried again. ‘Like a child opening a pair of socks on that winter holiday in December. Instead of a spinning top or a cup and ball or whatever it is kids these days play with. No, I want to make them happy. I want their smiles to be genuine, not because they want to spare my feelings.’

Chase couldn’t hide his exasperation. He ran a hand through his hair, eyes gaunt with black bags beneath. ‘But master! Jolon. They’re homeless, they’re just happy to get any food.’

Jolon stuck out one finger with a long, black nail. ‘And that, my dear boy, is precisely why we ought to go all out and provide them with the best meal we possibly can! Precisely because they don’t ask for anything more. Because they are satisfied – satisfied, not delighted, mind you – with what we give them. And for all they give me, they deserve something extra.’

Chase began to unpack the bags. ‘But at least let me do the work, then! It’s no harm to me, and they still get fed!’

Jolon smiled and patted the lad on the shoulder. ‘A kind offer, my boy, a very kind offer. Alas, if a man – I use the term loosely – wishes to show his gratitude, he ought to roll up his sleeves and do it himself. Not pay someone else to do the labour for him.’

The boy deflated. His mouth twitched. He glanced at the array of groceries on the counter. ‘But what if it affects you? If it stays in their systems…’

Jolon shrugged and pulled a blasé face. ‘Well, if I have to go hungry for a few days as it works its way out of their bodies, then so be it. Then I will know – even if only by a fraction – how it feels to be them.’

Chase ran his hand over his face. ‘Oh, fine, fine! But I’m going to watch you, master. Jolon, I mean. And I’ll stop you if I see anything dangerous. No risks!’

He nodded and picked up the heavy-duty gloves and the gas mask. ‘No risks, no risks. Right you are, my boy. I know what I’m doing. Now then. What say we make some soup?’

‘If we must.’

Jolon had to – needed to – give back to the community who gave him so much. And, in his opinion, the way to do that was by being the best damn – damned? – chef this soup kitchen had ever seen. Facing his old nemesis was nothing compared to what these folks experienced. He would have moved them all in to live with him if he were a count with a castle. But he wasn’t; he lived in the city and had to show his thanks through other means. ‘Yes, Chase, my boy. We must. And if this is truly your path, you must learn that. The alternative is to become a monster. And that is something we must avoid like the sun. If we feast on the contents of men’s hearts, then surely we must understand how it beats.’

The boy’s eyes sparkled at that. He then helped his master in the meal prep. For the most part, he stayed out of the way and left the work to Jolon, as requested. But he insisted on being the taste tester. Upon his first sip, he declared it to be delicious.

‘Excellent!’ roared Jolon.

By the time they were ready, the evening sky had darkened, and the streetlamps came on. When the first few entered the kitchen’s doors, the smell of soup permeated the air with its rich, herby aroma. First came in Ned Jenning and Darell Madron, those two old chums, laughing and rosy-cheeked. Next was Rowena Reid and her small group of women. The others followed in dribs and drabs. And as soon as they entered, they all paused, faces shocked. They sniffed the air, eyebrows raised, and looked to their companions, delighted.

Jolon, ignoring his red eyes, rimmed with tears, spread his hands wide as if to hug the world. His heart, still intact after all these years, in part to acts like this, warmed at their happy faces. ‘Welcome, my friends!’ he bellowed. ‘It’s so good to see all of you. Please, come, sit. And eat. Everyone is welcome here.’

The people without homes – most with twin puncture marks on their necks – smiled. They chattered as they took seats amongst friends. ‘Hello, Jo,’ they all said. ‘How’s it going?’

And then the vampire, still masked and gloved for safety, served up the delicious garlic soup.