Nick turned just as the stake plunged through his body and frowned.
Nat was gone. LaCroix was gone.
He was kneeling near the fireplace. He was all alone.
Save for the box of Vachons sitting on the coffee table.
Funny, he didn't remember buying those. And Natalie hated them.
Absently, his fingers lifted the flap and pulled one of the little cakes out, all the while twisting and turning his head. Looking for Nat. Even looking for LaCroix.
He examined the Vachon. It was a soft little brown thing with a cream center.
Tearing the plastic at the seam, he lifted it to his face and sniffed.
It smelled good!
Still no Nat. Still no LaCroix.
Nick unwrapped the Vachon and took a bite.
It tasted good!
He took another bite.
At some point between the third and fourth Vachon it dawned on him that he was eating a Vachon.
Vampires didn't eat Vachons.
But mortals did...
Except for Natalie, who hated Vachons.
But he liked Vachons. And he was eating Vachons.
He must be mortal.
In celebration, Nick shoved a whole Vachon into his mouth. Crumbs tumbled down his chin, and the cream filling squirted out,. He tried to wipe it away with his fingers and succeeded in smearing the gooey sweet stuff across his face.
Vachons, Vachons, Vachons.
He made a big Vachon sandwich and took a big bite.
He liked Vachons.
Nick was so happy.
The thought that the box was still full despite the fact that he'd eaten nearly a dozen started to dawn on him but he got distracted by a shadow falling over him.
Vachon!
Nick looked up at him and grinned, sugary brown stuff oozing out of the corners of his mouth.
"You're dead!" Nick said around a mouthful of cake and giggled. He was eating Vachon and he was talking to Vachon.
Vachon grinned down at him, and if his eyes glowed an unearthly shade of red, Nick was far too happy to notice.
Until Vachon said, "Got milk?
The End
For those of you who don't get it, Vachons are little cakes sold in Canada, sort of akin to the Little Debbie line of cookies and cakes here in the US. They're pretty revolting, IMO.