THE GYPSY AND THE EMPRESS OF VAMPIRES

It is a tragic secret that people in New Orleans are still hurting from Katrina.

Since THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH begins with Katrina, I am donating 10% of my profits from it to THE SALVATION ARMY. If you have already bought it, you may donate directly in the link in my sidebar beneath the book.

In honor of the Halloween season, here is a excerpt from

my 3rd Victor Standish novel,

THE GYPSY AND THE GHOUL :

The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.

We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.

I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.

"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."

"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."

"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."

"Y-You are not even on the same continent as humble, whelp."

"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."

I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"

"Why?"

"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."

Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.

In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.

To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...

which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.

Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.

Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."

"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right?

Like -- when pigs fly.

Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."

Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."

"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."

"Do not be familiar, boy!"

"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"

I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.

"Don't remind me, boy."

I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."

Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.

Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.

All right! About fragging time.

You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.

By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.

But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.

It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.

The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.

In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.

We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.

Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.

Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."

Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.

Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.

Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."

I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."

Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."

Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."

Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.

I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."

My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.

Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.

Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.

Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.

I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.

Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.

"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"

Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"

Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.

The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.

And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.

I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."

I smiled very, very cold. "And sometimes it's Trick."
***

MYTH-TAKE and RUNNING OUT OF TIME

RUNNING OUT OF TIME!

ONLY 14 DAYS LEFT TO ENTER MY FANTABULOUS CONTEST TO WIN A FREE AUTOGRAPH OF

STEPHEN KING!

DEAN KOONTZ!

LAURELL K. HAMILTON!

WRITE A REVIEW OF ONE OF MY BOOKS ON AMAZON AND WIN 5 ENTRIES!!

WRITE A REVIEW OF THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH

AND YOU ALSO GET ENTERED INTO MY ...

MYSTERY MIRACLE CONTEST!

{more of that later -- but speaking of Victor Standish ...}

It is nearing October and many folks' favorite holiday ... HALLOWEEN!

This following excerpt is from the 3rd Victor novel, MYTH-TAKE (still in production as is his sequel, MORE THAN A NAME :


{Victor's plan to rescue Abigail Adams from the evil Theordora has succeeded. Kinda. Two of his ribs are broken. He's hurting all over. And he's in better shape than Abigail!}


The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.

We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.

I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.

"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."

"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."

"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."

"Y-You are not even in the same galaxy as humble, whelp."

"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."

I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"

"Why?"

"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."

Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.

In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.

To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...

which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.

Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.

Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."

"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right? Like -- when pigs fly. Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."

Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."

"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."

"Do not be familiar, boy!"

"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"

I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.

"Don't remind me, boy."

I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."

Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.

Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.

All right! About fragging time.

You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.

By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.

But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.

It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.

The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.

In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.

We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.

Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.

Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."

Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.

Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.

Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."

I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."

Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."

Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."

Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.

I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."

My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.

Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.

Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.

Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.

I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.

Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.

"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"

Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"

Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.

The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.

And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.

I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."

I smiled very, very cold. "And like Theodora just found out : sometimes it's Trick."
***

TRICK OR TREAT_A VERY MERRY HALLOWEENY BLOGFEST

Another snippet from my YA, THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH,

as my entry in Mia's VERY MERRY HALLOWEENY BLOGFEST :

http://literaryjamandtoast.blogspot.com/2010/10/zombies-sparkling-things-vampires-and.html :


The throbbing cut on my temple oozed blood along my cheek and down my throat. The revenant, Abigail Adams, looked down with hungry eyes at the blood and my throat.

We were both hurt bad. Me less than her. Sometimes it paid to be a smaller target.

I was supporting her down St. Peter Street. We made a pretty strange pair -- even for Halloween.

"You bite me," I wheezed from the broken ribs that were screaming at me, "and I'll drop you on your elegant butt."

"Standish," she husked. "You are not as funny as you think."

"No. I'm funnier. I'm humble like that."

"Y-You are not even in the same galaxy as humble, whelp."

"You know why I don't drop you on your ..."

I coughed up a bit of blood, " ... manners?"

"Why?"

"Because no matter how rank you are, Empress Theodora is worse."

Theodora, Empress of The Unholy Roman Empire that had Europe squirming in its clawed fist. She hadn't always been a revenant.

In the year 500, she had been the daughter of a bearkeeper in the circus -- which explained her unique thoughts on life.

To her, life was a circus of blood where humans were trained to dance to her whims by the school of pain. Her sexual games were twisted ...

which gave me a world of reasons to help Abibail Adams.

Forget about finger sandwiches. There were other parts of my body she would make a snack of if she caught us. I shivered at the thought.

Abigail smiled sadly at me. "I will kill you myself before I allow that travesty to touch you."

"Ah, let's have a sign for that, all right? Like -- when pigs fly. Besides, we're almost to Meilori's."

Abigail sighed, "Theodora will never let us reach it."

"That's what I'm counting on, Abby."

"Do not be familiar, boy!"

"Hey, who has a hand snug in your corset here?"

I had rescued Abigail Adams out of Theodora's New Orleans' mansion. The bitch had her enemy stripped to her underclothes to humiliate her.

"Don't remind me, boy."

I saw the proud pain in her face and husked through my own pain, "She humilated herself, not you, by doing that to you."

Abigail's face softened, then went stiff and cold. St. Peter Street was changing in spurts and flashes all around us.

Street and store signs had changed to gothic script. Snarling gargoyles were the design of choice.

All right! About fragging time.

You couldn't walk into Meilori's in the daytime. Only at night.

By day, the corner of Royal and St. Peter housed the majestic Royal Cafe. At dusk, the corner mysteriously transformed into Royal and Rue La Mort. And Meilori's stood revealed to the night and its children.

But this wasn't just any night. This was Halloween.

It was Samhain, summer's end. It had nearly marked New Orleans' end as well. But its people were a hardy lot.

The Celtic New Year began this nightfall. When your adoptive father is named McCord, you learn these kinds of things.

In ancient Welsh tradition, this evening was called The Three Spirit Night, when all kinds of beings could roam between realities. And I was betting my and Abigail's life on that.

We turned the corner. There stood Royal Cafe.

Empress Theodora and Major Strasser stood tall in front of it.

Abigail groaned, "I told you, Victor."

Victor, huh? She really did think the game was up. I smiled like a wolf. It was only beginning.

Theodora was dressed in a black leather outfit that, if it were any tighter, would have split at the seams ... if it had had any seams.

Her lips curled. "And so the mighty Adams dies because she listened to a human boy."

I flicked mocking eyes to Strasser, then to Theodora. "Hey, I see you brought your trained bear."

Strasser growled, "Let me taste of him first."

Theodora smiled dreamily. "No, his delicasies are mine alone."

Night hungrily swallowed dusk, and the surroundings became full of nightmares.

I smiled coldly. "Lots of luck with that, Bitch Queen."

My vision blurred. My head became light. Reality stretched as if it were taffy being pulled by an insane demon-child. The world looked as if I were seeing it from the wrong end of a telescope.

Ghost demons murmured hollow promises to my ears. My legs went all weak. I felt as if I were about to topple off the street and fall into madness.

Meilori's stood towering over me. Torch-lit iron lacework balconies stretched up high into the foggy night. I couldn't make out the building's top.

Leathery wings sounded up high in the thick fog that masked the remaining balconies. I heard the thud of a heavy body, the ear-aching screech of talons against steel, and a husky laugh of hunger about to be fed.

I tore my eyes away before I saw something I'd have nightmares about.

Abigail yelped, but I held onto her with one hand and onto the still-forming surface of Meilori's with the other. I yelled at the top of my bruised lungs.

"Victims of Theodora! Hear me! She is here. Here!"

Despite the pain it cost me, I yelled louder, "And tonight she is helpless not you. Not you! Take her! Take her and her pet killer. Take them!"

Theodora stiffened as hundreds, then thousands of writhing figures of mist solidified around her. Strasser pulled his Lugar. It was snatched from his fingers and tossed at my feet.

The Empress and her killer struggled like escaped inmates from an asylum. No good. They were overwhelmed.

And in a blur of screams, blood, and writhing bodies, Theodora and Strasser were gone.

I looked up at the very pale Abigail Adams. "Sometimes it's Treat."

I smiled very, very cold. "And sometimes it's Trick."
***

BLOGFEST OF DEATH entry / DEATH NEVER APOLOGIZES

I am shortly going into madness.

53 hours of nearly straight work with perhaps 3 hours a night sleep. 24 hour blood drives to replenish our dangerously depleted supply are necessary ...

and near murderous (for me.) So I am posting early for a promised appearance in my friend's, Tessa's, blogfest.

It is finally time for Tessa's BLOGFEST OF DEATH http://tessasblurb.blogspot.com/2010/05/announcing-death-scene-blogfest.html

This comes from FRENCH QUARTER NOCTURNE. Some have noticed that Samuel doesn't kill often. There is a reason. And now, you'll see it for yourself.

{Sam is in the mirror world with his mysterious Apache blood-brother, Elu. His brother has just berated Sam for not ... feeding.

He is now showing Sam how the mayor of New Orleans is in danger from his aides who are actually members of the Russian mob} :

Elu shook his head.

"When is the last time you fed your hunger, Dyami?"

"It's ... been awhile. I haven't met anyone bad enough to leech from."

His right eyebrow shot up. "The rapists and murderers in the Convention Center were not dark-souled enough for you?"

"They were children. Rabid children. But children."

Elu scowled. "You must explain your maze of rules to me one day."

"As soon as I've figured them out myself, you'll be the first to know."

Elu gestured gracefully again, and a scene of mist wavered to life before the two of us. "I think I have found three souls dark and aged enough even for you, Dyami. But beware. Cossacks taste bad."

The filmy window to my world showed a scene of one of the best suites in the Hyatt hotel in New Orleans that I owned.

It was on the 27th floor as I recalled. Nagin would gag if he knew it was me that offered it to him when he had made it plain he planned to stay out the hurricane. I owned a good bit of my city through dummy corporations.

Nagin was pacing about like a caged tiger, his eyes shining from lack of sleep and fatique. I knew the feeling. He was surrounded by aides.

Most were soft-bellied bottom-feeders. But I spotted the three members of the Russian Mob, though their clothes were similar to the toadies.

The Russian Mob or Bratva, Russian slang for "brotherhood."

It was a brutal organization.

Since 1991 and the fall of the Soviet Union, it had gained considerable power and influence.

I might have been more impressed if I hadn't known they were unknowing catspawns for the European Revenant Empire. The ERE as I called it. I refused to call it what its empress Theodora called it, even in my head.

Revenants. Vampires.

Neither name really did justice to the horror they were. I had crossed trails with them off and on since 1853, when aboard the Demeter, I had scared pure hell out of them by revealing I could kill them through acupuncture.

But back to the Russian Mob.

It was easier for Theodora to control since it was made up of diverse criminal syndicates, not one global entity. She could play one off the other, keep them off-balanced and easier to manipulate. I had thought she and I had an agreement.

America was off-limits. The rest of the world was her playground. Maybe I didn't understand how she thought.

Now, KGB agents, them I understood.

One of the three Russian mobsters playing undercover aides to Nagin I recognized as KGB. I didn't know his real name. He probably had forgetten it as well since he had used so many false ones in the past.

And that he would join something called Vory v zakone or "thieves in law" was almost funny. Almost. But after the fall of the Soviet Union, KGB agents had found themselves unemployed and had taken their skills to where they were welcomed.

I wonder where his tattoos were hidden?

Probably had gold stars on his knees, symbolizing he would kneel to no man. The Russian Mob was a lot like the rest of the world when it came to symbols. To them, the tattoo was a precious symbol, so prized that ultimately it became the reality.

No room for miracles and the divine gift of compassion. I didn't begrudge economic and educational progress. But was it really progress? And at what price and in what coin? More questions. And not an answer in sight.

The other two mobsters weren't hard to spot.

The Gulag changes you, the way you hold yourself, compact and ready, and the deadness in the eyes, mute testimony to the murder of the soul within. They were probably posing as security. An oxymoron if there ever was one.

If Elu wanted me here, they were working for Nagin to be in the perfect position to kill him. And now, during the chaos of Katrina was the perfect time.

Nagin was pacing, listening to the voice he most loved to hear : his own.

"The people of our city are holding on by a thread. Time has run out. Can we survive another night? God knows. And who can we depend on?"

The KGB agent clamped a hand on Nagin's broad shoulder. "You can depend on me."

"I know I can, Peter."

Nagin shook his bald head. "But who else? We are going to lose a sizable portion of our population."

I made a face. Lose? He meant the dead. Was he worried about the votes or the lives? I was hoping he was concerned about the lives.

A toady on the edge of his chair seat urged in a tinny voice, "Mr. Mayor, we need a decision."

Nagin scowled, "You guys are pushing me in an area that I don't want to go. I don't want to lose another person."

He bit his lower lip. "This is a sad day in the city of New Orleans when you want a hero to make a decision such as this."

Now, I was the one doing the frowning. What was he talking about? I stopped worrying about trifles. Peter was slipping his right hand under his jacket. Crap. It was happening now.

He preached to the captive congregation. "I mean doesn't it strike you that God is mad at America? He's sending hurricane after hurricane at us."

He was worked up now, ignoring the fact that the three Russian mobsters were white. "It's time for us blacks to come together, to stop killing one another. I don't care what people are saying Uptown or wherever they are. By the end of the day, New Orleans will be a chocolate city the way God wants it to be."

Peter stood up slowly. Nagin looked at him, his face frowning like a prune. Peter slipped his hand completely under his jacket. Crap. He was going to kill him now.

Peter dropped his cultured pose, speaking his words heavily tinged in an Russian accent. "I have always preferred bitter chocolate myself."

The automatic with the long silencer was held steady, aimed right between Nagin's startled eyes, and Elu wryly smiled, "Time to save the 'hero,' Dyami."

He shoved me hard into the misty scene, while ripping my right glove off. "And feed that hunger of yours."

Damn Elu. Not in front of the mayor. I appeared seemingly out of nowhere to those in the suite right beside a slack-jawed Peter. I wrapped what passed for the fingers of my right hand around the Russian's throat.

"I dunno, Peter. I've always been partial to white chocolate. How about you, Nagin?"

He stepped away from me, his trembling fingers to his open mouth. "Oh, God. Oh, God."

My right palm felt like I had plunged it into acid, and I arched in agony.

Flashes of the memories of Kirill {his real name, ironically meaning "lord"} stabbed into my repulsed mind.

Not just memories, but the smells, sounds, and sensations of those images sizzled into me.

Gutting his first victim with a linoleum knife. Kissing the young girl that would later become his wife. Strangling her twenty years later. Bouncing his little boy on his knee. Pouring acid into another boy's face of the same age in front of the screaming father. Getting drunk the night Russia fell.

A thousand thousand unwanted sensations and images seared into me. I staggered.

His two fellow Russians drew their weapons.

To my heightened senses it seemed that they moved under water, slow and strangely graceful. My world on fire, I took Kirill's automatic from his withering fingers. I shot the two of them through both eyes.

That way they would endlessly wander through the Spirit World, blindly seeking the peace that would be denied them. Or at least that was what Elu used to believe. Like me, he had come to doubt much of the lore attached to the Great Mystery.

The soft-belied aide closest to me wet his pants. "Sweet Jesus. Sweet Jesus. Mother Mary help me."

I looked down at him. "Seeing as how you sold yourself to the world a long time ago, pilgrim, I think you're a mite late."

As I dropped the completely withered corpse of Kirill, Nagin looked at me, his face gone pasty. "What the hell are you, McCord?"

I forced down my self-revulsion and smiled like a wolf. "Full."

****************
And there you have it. Samuel McCord has become what the Apache call a Gahe ... drainer of the souls of men ... and hater of his own. I hope you enjoyed this glimpse into Sam's personal nightmare.
****************