Last Call

Summary

Beau learns that one of the bar’s regulars—an older woman who once beat leukemia—has returned with a final request: she wants him to prepare her last drink as part of her physician-assisted death. Unsure whether granting her wish is compassion or disaster waiting to expose the Cullens, Beau turns to the last person he expects: Jessamine.

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Beau

It’s two in the morning by the time I lock up the bar. I’ve been working as a bartender at Whisper Whisky since we moved here five years ago. One time I visited Carine at the hospital; passing by, I saw the bar across the street with the “need bartender” sign, and I applied and got it. The family wasn’t thrilled at first—lots of sharp objects, unpredictable humans, the whole “blood everywhere” thing—but I argued that drunks have the biggest mouths in town. If anything weird ever happens around here, it’ll pass through that bar first.

Turns out, I actually like the job. The manager thinks I have insomnia and some kind of sunlight allergy, so he only schedules me for nights. Works out for everyone. Tonight should’ve been normal, but I walked out with a problem I don’t know how to solve. It follows me all the way home.

The house is mostly empty when I pull into the garage. Eleanor and Royal are at a car show; Edythe and Archie are out hunting; Carine and Earnest are at some hospital award thing. That leaves just Jessamine in the house, quietly reading in her room—I can hear the soft flick of a page turning.

I don’t need to hunt tonight; working at the bar, I go often enough to stay… safe. Still, I detour to the kitchen. Carine keeps emergency bottles of animal blood tucked in the back of the fridge for cravings. I grab a whisky glass, toss in two of Eleanor’s ridiculous reusable ice cubes—fox-shaped tonight—and uncap one of the bottles. Lion blood. Figures. Royal and Eleanor brought a few back from their honeymoon in Africa last year. The smell hits me, sharp and wild. I pour it into the glass. I don’t crave this sort of thing often, but tonight… yeah, I need it.

Earnest renovated the old house into one big, sprawling floor. My room is the last one down the hall, past everyone else’s. The chimney fire is already going when I come in—the only light in the room. Earnest calls it “oasis lighting,” his attempt to make the house feel warm and cozy, like we’re something close to normal.

I settle on the couch, staring into the fire, still wrestling with the dilemma twisting in my head. I look at the fire while I take a sip from my drink. I hear Jessamine’s door open, the soft rush of her steps, and then she’s leaning against my doorway.

“What’s troubling you, Beau?” she asks.

Of course she can feel it. Her gift slips right past my shield like it’s nothing. That’s why she and I share a weird, close kind of bond—different from Eleanor’s big-sister energy.

I sigh. “Something happened at work.”

“Did you slip?” she asks, almost hopeful.

She’d love to catch me making a mess.

“No.”

She rolls her eyes and drops onto the couch beside me, graceful even when she’s annoyed. “Then what happened?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Jess, but… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk to about it.”

Jessamine goes still in that way only a vampire can—perfectly motionless, perfectly unreadable. Most people get offended and show it. Jessamine goes quiet, thoughtful, like she’s sorting through my emotions the way someone might thumb through pages in a book.

“That bad?” she asks finally, her voice softer than before.

I rub the back of my neck. “It’s just… you and I don’t always see humans the same way.”

She tilts her head, not offended—just analyzing, like she always does. “Because I don’t get attached the way the rest of them do?”

“That’s part of it,” I admit. “You’re honest about what people mean to you. You don’t pretend it’s more than it is.”

“This thing that happened is human-related?” she asks.

“Yes.” I exhale, staring at the fire. “And I don’t think you would care about something like this.”

One eyebrow arches, slow and sharp. “Something like this,” she repeats, tasting the words. “Whatever this is, you thought I’d just shrug?”

She settles closer beside me, her tone gentler but firm. “Beau,” she says, “not caring about humans the way Carine does doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

Her lips twitch—not quite a smile. “Besides, if you didn’t want me to know something, you shouldn’t have sat down with the emotional equivalent of a neon sign.” She taps her temple lightly. “You’re carrying so much tension it practically echoed down the hallway.”

When I don’t respond, she continues…

“Look… I’m not Edythe. I’m not going to tear through every worst-case scenario. And I’m not Archie—I can’t cheat by already knowing the outcome.” She nudges my arm gently, still reading every ripple in my mood.

“And I’m definitely not Carine,” she adds, “so I’m not going to give you a calm, perfect, impossibly compassionate lecture about mortality.” A soft, ironic huff escapes her. “And I’m not Earnest, so I’m not about to pat your shoulder and tell you everything happens for a reason.”

Her eyes narrow just slightly—good-natured, but sharp. “I’m not Eleanor either. I won’t crack a joke until you’re annoyed enough to forget why you were upset in the first place.” Then her expression shifts, almost amused. “And I’m not Royal, so I’m not going to tell you what you should have done before I even know what happened.”

She settles back beside me, shoulder brushing mine. “I’m just me, Beau. I don’t have answers. But I’m here. And you’re hurting. And that’s enough reason to talk to me.”

I don’t answer. After a few seconds she nudges my knee with hers.

“Beau. Please. Let me help.”

I sigh. Fine. What do I have to lose?

“We get a lot of regulars from the hospital,” I start. “Faith is one of them. She’s in her sixties. Had leukemia—stage three. After her chemo sessions, she’d come in for a mocktail and sit at the bar for a while.”

Jessamine hums, not unkindly but… detached. “That’s unfortunate.” She plucks the glass from my hand and takes a sip without asking.

I give her a tired smile. “She beat it three years ago. I didn’t see her again until tonight—right before closing.” I stare at the fire for a moment. “She came to tell me she has breast cancer. And she’s refusing treatment. She’s choosing physician-assisted suicide instead.”

Jessamine tilts her head, studying me. “And you don’t approve?”

“It’s not that.” I swallow. “During chemo, she was still… happy. Loud, flirty. She set two strangers up on a date once because she thought they had potential. Told me she’d be out of my league even if I were thirty. Hooked up with a waitress in the pantry.” I shake my head. “Everyone loved her. We were all so relieved when she went into remission.”

I pause; the memory of her voice today—thin, broken at the edges—makes something twist in my chest.

“But even without your ability, Jess, I could see it. Behind her eyes. How much she hurt. How exhausted she was. She just hid it well.” I let out a slow breath. “So no… I don’t blame her for choosing physician-assisted suicide this time.”

“So what seems to be the problem?” she asks, folding one leg beneath her.

I let out a breath that feels too heavy for lungs that don’t need air.

“She wants me to administer the lethal medication.” The words taste wrong even saying them. “She has everything planned out. She’s throwing a big going-away party. Then she wants to come to the bar to drink a ton of mocktails. And during the final drink…” I swallow. “She wants me to slip the pill in. She’ll pretend to pass out and lie across one of the tables. Peaceful. Clean. The owner already agreed.” I shake my head. “He actually said it was ‘a great way to go.’”

Jessamine’s eyes flicker—interest, not judgment. “Humans say strange things when they’re uncomfortable with mortality.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “I told Edythe once that life isn’t fair. But this… Jess, this is cruel. She beat cancer once—fought tooth and nail to beat it, and came out smiling. And now, less than a decade later, she gets a new type of cancer? She already went through the ninth circle of inferno. She should be enjoying her last stage of life… not planning how to end it.”

Jessamine studies me for a long moment. She doesn’t offer comfort—she dissects, quietly, attentively, peeling the emotion apart without touching it. “Why you?” she asks at last, genuinely puzzled.

I lift my shoulders helplessly. “We… kind of have this bond, I guess?” I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m her favourite bartender, so in her mind, it makes sense that her favourite bartender should give her her last drink.”

Jessamine tilts her head again. “And what did you tell her?”

“What could I tell her?” I whisper. “She gave me twenty-four hours to decide.”

I stand, pacing, fingers pushing through my hair again and again. My thoughts feel jagged, uneven.

“I don’t know what to do, Jess. Who am I to refuse someone’s last wish? But—” I gesture toward the walls, toward the house full of people I love. “What if it blows back on us? What if it risks the family? What if it puts us in the open?”

I sink onto the edge of the couch again, voice cracking just a little. “It’s the right thing for her. But it might be the wrong thing for everyone else.”

Jessamine watches me with that unnervingly steady expression of hers—not judging, not pitying, just reading. I can feel her brushing over the edges of my panic, tasting the guilt I’m trying to shove down.

Finally, she speaks—calm, almost curious. “The concept of heroic sacrifice sounds familiar to you?”

I blink at her. Of course it does. It’s in every story ever written: the protagonist saves another or others from harm and is either killed. But I have no idea what that has to do with me.

Jessamine watches my confusion like she’s waiting for it to ripen.

“You have a tendency to do it,” she says softly. “Often. It’s your… signature move.”

I frown. “I don’t do that.” I pluck the glass out of her hand, more defensive than I mean to be, and take a sip.

She rolls her eyes—a very slow, deliberate roll, the Jessamine version of yelling.

“You moved across the country to live with a father you barely knew,in a town that had the weather you disliked, just so Renee could be happy with her husband. Heroic sacrifice.”

“That doesn’t count,” I argue. “That ended up being one of the best decisions I ever made.”

“Mmm.” She taps a finger on her leg, unimpressed. “When Edythe took you to the meadow, you didn’t tell Charlie where you were going, even though you might have died. You were more worried about keeping Edythe—and us, a family you barely knew, who were betting if you would survive or die—out of trouble. Another heroic sacrifice.”

I open my mouth and close it. She isn’t wrong, and she knows it.

“Your last words to your father still haunt you, because you were trying to keep him safe. Heroic sacrifice,” she adds lightly, as if reciting a grocery list.

She plucks the glass back and takes a sip—dainty, like she’s tasting tea.

“But the one that takes the cake is your transformation.” Her voice softens. Not kinder. Just sharper. “You ran to Joss because you thought your mother was in danger. You asked us not to kill her—for Edythe’s sake—even though she was about to kill you without hesitation. That is the definition of heroic sacrifice.”

My jaw clenches. That one still feels like a bruise.

“Where are you going with all this?” I ask quietly.

Jessamine leans back, crossing one leg over the other. “You think of others first. Always. You would rather be hurt than have the people you love get hurt. That’s why your ability is a shield.” She tilts her head. “Carine and Earnest love that about you. Edythe too. But it can be… irritating.”

“Irritating,” I repeat flatly.

“Yes,” she says, unbothered. “For once, be selfish. Be like us. Be like Royal.” She smirks. “Make this decision based on what you want—not on who it might affect. Our family is strong. I told you before. We can handle consequences.”

The fire crackles. My thoughts crackle with it.

After a long pause, I murmur, “This is not how I thought my first kill would be.”

Jessamine sighs dramatically, tapping her fingers against the glass. “Well, I’m a little disappointed. I was hoping someone else would be the weak link of the family for once.” She shrugs. “But this is very… you. Granting someone’s last wish, neat and bloodless.”

She hands the glass back.

“Carine will still make you go to the funeral, you know,” she adds. “She’ll want you to ‘process your emotions’ or whatever.”

“I will do it, even if she didn’t ask me to.”

The longer we sit there in silence, the more I realize she’s doing exactly what I needed—not telling me what the “right choice” is, not dissecting my guilt the way Carine might, and definitely not making predictions like Archie would.

Just… being here. Present. Settled.

I drop my hands and glance sideways. Jessamine is staring into the fire, jaw set in that calm way she has—like she’s absorbing my emotions, filtering them, smoothing out the edges.

“I was wrong, Jess,” I mutter. “You’re… actually helpful.”

Her eyes flick toward me, amused. “Of course I am, Beau. I simply don’t advertise it.”

A breath of a laugh escapes me, the first in hours. We lapse into an easy silence, watching the log split and collapse inward, sparks spiralling up the chimney. Time moves slower by the fire—or maybe we do.

Eventually, the sounds of cars arriving and distant voices float in from the hallway. Carine’s gentle laugh. Earnest’s warm reply. Royal was murmuring something low, probably talking about the car show. Eleanor’s sharper tone cuts in right after. Then Archie’s bright, quick chatter. And finally Edythe—her voice softer than the others, but the one I pick out instantly.

The whole family, home again.

Jessamine nudges me with her foot—a silent "ready?"

No. Not even close.

I nod, feeling steadier than before.

We stand, brushing ash and warmth from our clothes. The house feels different now—not heavier, but more… solid. Like my decision won’t crush me, not while they’re here.

Jessamine opens the door, holding it for me with a little flourish. “Come on, Beau. Let’s tell them before Archie starts guessing and ruins the suspense.”

I huff a laugh, and together we step inside to share my news.