Vampire 4. About Death…

I fired my gun, and the bullet passed through my opponent as if he was smoke. No surprise, of course, this foe was more wraith than flesh and bone. But flesh and bone he was, and filled with the blood of his prey. An Itoril, once long ago if ever, he had escaped the confines of mortality.

Thyme appeared precisely the same as he had on our last meeting some decades ago. Dressed in boots, a dark duster pulled open to one side to show off his wide belt sagging with a heavy iron handgun and a sword, a Stetson perched on his head, he looked as though he stepped right off the range and out of the nineteenth century. His face was the same, too, pale and leathery. His eyes dazzled with wisdom and enough confidence to melt a man.

I lowered my weapon and waited for him to speak.

NINE/ƎИIИ 14. Bad Air

The vampire appeared much like Augustus Thyme had described in a story told seven years ago. A shade within the fog, Vampire Thyme stood there wrapped in a cloak of fog mixing with the smoldering darkness swirling up from his cowboy hat. Soot, her grandfather had described the powder tumbling away from the old duster hanging from the vampire’s shoulders.

Holding a handgun, Nine faced the vampire, her weapon aimed directly at his torso. Her arm remained steady surprising her considering she had never held a gun before. It felt comfortable in her easy grip. A bullet seemed inadiquate, though, and she slowly lowered the gun.

Vampire Thyme took a step backward swallowed by the fog.

A Dance in Time

430 words to 3,642 words following ➥ links.

Fog rolls through the woods. Within the murk, red splashes airborne droplets. A flash, and another, slicing between trees, each pass of a strobe spraying a red mist, the dragon’s steaming blood rolling on the currents, disappearing into her frothy breath.

Near the sepulcher, over on the dusty walking path, fog swirls into itself, floating back against the breeze, and darkens into smoke. A moist boot-print darkens the dirt. Stepping through the veil, a dark figure arrives, each step expends a dark cloud dissipating into the air.

NINE/ƎИIИ 13. Prey

Misting drizzle soaked Roseland streets, automobiles splashed through puddles, and the city whispered to the night. Deep percussions shook stone walls, razoring up fire escapes, the muted music calling youth to the door of Club Necropolis. Heads nodded to the beat. A young woman shrilled and wrapped arms around another waiting in line for the big man to frisk them at the door.

The big, bad doorman, Axe, they called him, his scrutinizing gaze cut as sharp as his head gleamed bald. Nobody gets by the guardian dressed all in black without club membership or great tits. ɘniИ had on her slinky, red dress, but she feared her boobs weren’t quite enough for bad-ass, Mister Axe.

A name. That was all that she needed. Dancing was always a treat, but tonight the thought of capturing the right name set her groove in motion.

Vampire 2: Thyme After Time

Do you know Steve Reynolds?

Peter’s message crept into my head. I couldn’t hear him, or smell him, as if he wasn’t actually here and now. After our previous conversation at the restaurant, I began to realize Peter and I were out of sync in time. I stood here among the graves within the fog, and he stood there, a few steps apart in the world and a giant leap away in time.

“Steve? Of course I know Steve! Where is he?”

Laura shot me a peculiar look, the sort of face one shows the crazy old lady speaking to herself on the street corner. Of course, I understood to some extent what was going on, and that Peter was quite real standing at too far a distance for Laura, fully grounded in the world, to perceive. I wonder though if the crazy old lady would insist her voices are real, too.