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."
***

RACHEL'S and CALLY'S POWER OF TENSION BLOGFEST_THEATER OF BLOOD/LESSON OF PAIN

Rachel Morgan & Cally Jackson have a fascinating blogfest idea :
THE POWER OF TENSION :

http://www.rachel-morgan.com/2011/05/power-of-tension-blogfest.html

You have no more than 300 words to brew tension into your scene - jealousy, familial, danger, sexual or something even more primal.

My entry is from my YA urban fantasy, THE LEGEND OF VICTOR STANDISH, the whispered tale of the 13 year old street orphan who wanders into the dangerous world of my undead Texas Ranger, Sam McCord :

My 300 word entry comes from the chapter entitled : THEATER OF BLOOD/LESSON OF PAIN --

I slowly woke up. I hurt all over.

My head. My wrists. I looked up.

Crap.

I was hanging from my bleeding wrists, slowly swaying. A spotlight stabbed down upon me.

Applause.

I was hanging from handcuffs attached to chains from a stage's ceiling. I blinked my eyes to clear my throbbing head.

Hard footsteps to my left. Boots. As black as the Nazi S.S. uniform of the man heading towards me.

Seeing the man sent an ice pick stabbing into my chest.

Captain Sam had pointed this guy out to me. He'd warned me to stay away from this vampire with the strange stitching all around his neck.

Major Strasser.

He stopped a foot away. He ignored me. My feelings weren't hurt.

He turned to the slowly swaying people in the front row of the theater. I fought down a shiver.

They were swaying to the beat of my heart.

He smiled. "You are new to the Hunger. I will begin your orientation with a lesson on Blood Bags."

Their swaying got faster as my heart became a jackhammer. I was more scared than I had ever been. But I was Victor Standish.

"Can I skip class, Teach?”

He slashed my cheek with a riding crop. "Blood Bags are to be silent!"

"What about dirt bags?”

Again the riding crop. "Silence! The next slash will take out an eye."

I could take a hint. I shut up.

He turned to the new vampires.

"Blood Bags are slow."

He hit me in the cheek with the crop.

"Blood Bags are weak."

Again with the crop.

"Blood Bags are ...."

He swept down in the same arc. I ducked, snatching his crop from his hand with my teeth and spitting it out onto the stage.

"... unpredictable, Fritz."

Strasser roared in anger.
***

RIGHT TURN ON DEAD

Hurricane Katrina has shredded New Orleans. Politicians are scrambling to toss responsibility for the fiasco on anyone but themselves.

The two great undead world powers are about to square off for the final conflict.

Just outside the fabric of reality, ancient beings strain against the unraveling barrier holding them back from destroying all life on earth.

And in the nexus of all dimensions, Meilori's, the doomed Samuel McCord ponders just what one lone undead Texican can do to stem the tide of death ...

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

RIGHT TURN ON DEAD

"I move in all kinds of circles, meet all sorts of people. I learned

engraving from a counterfeiter, accounting from a swindler.

A succubus once tried to teach me the tango. But nothing doing. I didn't have the

hips for it."

- Samuel McCord


I turned around and faced my newly re-born night club. Meilori’s was back. And it had only taken a small fortune to make her return breath-taking.

Luckily, I had stumbled across more than a few lost treasures in all my manhunts. When the last owner of a fortune is several centuries dead, it made giving it back harder than just keeping it. But I spent it wisely. Or tried to.

My night club shimmered in the dim illumination of spinning, sparkling chandeliers. Meilori’s stood on a busy French Quarter corner. But even so, it seemed to go on for much longer and wider than it appeared from the outside.

Which made sense. It was wider and longer within than without.

Courtesy of Rind, the Angelus of Death, my place led into a crossroads of dimensions that only a few could enter and from which even fewer could return.

Everyone was safe who stayed up front. Those who ventured deeper did so at their own peril. The sign to my place read : HERE BE MONSTERS. TO VENTURE DEEP WITHIN IS TO CHANCE NEVER RETURNING AT ALL.

Not that many paid much attention to the words, mind you.

But they had only themselves to blame if they never returned from the shadows. Besides, New Orleans had lost a good many visitors long before my place showed up.

The city had just lost a cite more since then was all.

Hicock was playing poker in the far table, his new spectacles gleaming on his nose. He nodded. I nodded back.

He gestured to an empty seat beside him. I shook my head. I kept my gambling limited to my life not cards.

Major Strasser, immaculate in his black Nazi uniform, sat closer to me. I ambled to his table. He smiled with sharp white teeth.

“Still hold Casablanca against me?”

“Not so you notice. Remember I shot you in your withered heart, not in the acupuncture point that could have killed you.”

“Just so. Is it really the year 2005 out past those doors?”

“Yes, but I’d advise against going out there. Go back the way you came. You’ll still have years of blood and madness across all of Europe if you return that way.”

He stared at me curiously. “You know how the war ends?”

“Yes ... everybody loses.”

"I come as representative of both the Fuhrer and Empress Theodora ..."

My face became the stone my heart felt. "One's already dead. The other will be if she touches New Orleans again."

"You are a fool."

"Lot of that going around."

I turned from him and made my way to the gleaming bar. And yes, if you are wondering --- there were mirrors on the walls -- when you could see them.

Each table surface was reflective as were the steps of polished marble scattered in random spots along the length of the red carpet sweeping it seemingly into eternity. Elu got lonely sometime.

And he also got --- hungry.

What can I say? Meilori’s is that kind of place.

I was in my dress black western suit. Black shirt, black tie, long coat, slacks, boots. Even my broad Stetson was black. I sighed.

I missed Sammy in his all white attire. Samuel Langhorn Clemens was probably having them all in stitches somewhere in a far better place than my night club of the damned.

I blinked back hot tears. Sixty odd years is a long time to know a friend. I missed him.

I slowly moved through the room that seemed to become larger, wider, deeper the longer I was in it.

The president of modern France sat with his young love. They were chatting with Marie Antoinette, her slender throat neatly stitched so well only I could see the slight scar of the incision. She smiled coldly at me.

I tipped my Stetson to her and moved on. That was one of the problems to my night club.

Every aisle led to a place you’d rather forget. Every table brought back memories of what you had done or should have done.

And every woman reminded you of another woman. Or in my case, one woman. The only woman. Meilori.

Off to the left was one of my internet jazz stages. Erin Bode was singing in the middle of its spotlight.

She was an up and coming jazz vocalist. She didn’t like to be type-cast as a jazz vocalist. There were worse things to be called. I should know. I had been called most of them.

I liked her. Meilori would have, too. Erin had called me up and volunteered to sing at my place.

She had wanted her fee to go to the Katrina Relief Fund. All the money from the live internet feeds of tonight and the nights to follow would help the hurting in my adopted city.

As Erin was singing “Alone Together,” Toya, the club's manager, swayed up to me. I smiled wide at her, the image of the six year old I had found out by my dumpster settling over her Cleopatra features.

Skin the color of milk coffee gleamed under the swirling lights above us. Her black dress was so short that it could have qualified as a long blouse. Any shorter and it would have been a wide belt.

Tonight she was dressed as a buccaneer. Lafitte would have made her captain of his ship, if not his heart.

Me? My compass had left me seven years ago. And I was lost, so lost.
**************
Wander too far into Meilori's and this song will become your theme :

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."
***

GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 23_GOOD TO KNOW, DIFFICULT TO LEARN

{"The truth is forced upon us, very quickly, by a foe."
- Aristophanes.}

{Frazzled ghost of Sam Clemens here.

DayStar has left us in the supernatural jazz club, Meilori's,

just in time to be met by the ghosts of Bogart and Bacall --

and to be assaulted by Major Strasser of the Nazi Gestapo. Roland's journal carries on from there.} :

When the world goes insane, time does not freeze nor does it slow.

Your mind just kicks into overdrive and seems to lock onto the strangest things in rapid succession :

Strasser raising his luger to fire.

Bogart and Twain firing their automatics at the same time.

Strasser, a revenant, laughing as he twists aside both bullets easily.

His fingers going around the throat of a startled Bacall.

Marlene's saber appearing as if by magic half-way through the Nazi's throat.

Bacall tearing her own throat free as Marlene's saber cuts the rest of the way through the revenant's neck.

Life snapped back into fluid focus as I heard Marlene husk, "Heads I win."

As Strasser's headless body thumped on its butt to the tiles, Mark Twain grunted, "Tails you lose."

I stared at the body, quiet as roadkill ... but not as pretty. Strasser, being Strasser, ruined the moment.

"You fools," rasped the disembodied head. "I have been cursed by McCord. I cannot die."

Mark Twain muttered, "Seems like it was us that got cursed in that deal."

Humphrey tossed his napkin over the head. "For our digestion, Fritz."

"Get that off me, swine."

Lauren leaned down, lifting her husband's napkin, balling up her own, and shoved it into Strasser's open mouth. "Put a sock in it, Nazi."

Mark Twain said, "Valkyrie, you killed pretty easily there."

Marlene's eyes grew haunted. "To killing there is no easy nor is there pretty."

She squeezed shut her eyes as if to block memories that forced themselves upon her anyway. "Twice while I was entertaining the G.I.'s on the front lines, our position was over-run."

Her blue eyes opened, but they only seemed to see the past. "I was put with the wounded for my safety."

Her lips twisted. "Safety. The German soldiers knew I was there. More, they knew Hitler's price on my head."

She roughly cleaned her saber on Strasser's body. "To defend the wounded I had to kill."

She handed me the cleaned saber, her eyes locking with mine. "I did it without shame then ... and now."

She stared back off into scenes she couldn't forget or shake. She was trying to tell me something. But what?

I sighed. The truth. It was good to know, difficult to learn ... in time.
***

GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 22_EVERY DOGMA HAS ITS DAY

{"We hear only what we understand."
- Goethe.}

{Sam Clemens, ghost here. Roland, Marlene Dietrich, and I have escaped the mysterious DayStar,

only to be threatened by the Gestapo's Major Strasser ...

and a revenant, to boot. Roland's journal takes it from here.} :

Besides a startled Lauren Bacall, Humphrey Bogart gestured with a .45 automatic. "The war's over, Fritz."

Strasser flicked dead eyes to the ghost. "To some the war is never over. Besides, I, too, have a gun."

Humphrey smiled thinly. "Mine's bigger than yours."

"Mine, too," grunted Mark Twain, his own .45 automatic drawn and aimed at Strasser.

"While mine is longer," smiled Marlene, the saber that had been in my left hand now in her right.

Never taking her eyes off Strasser, she husked to me, "The saber is of my essence. It comes to me when I will it to do so."

The major's eyes narrowed as he looked from Mark to Marlene. "Ghosts do not move this fast. Something is wrong."

"Yeah, Fritz," mocked Lauren. "You are. Every dogma has its day. Nazisim had its hour, and it's long over."

Major Strasser looked at her with contempt. "The Reich will never die."

Marlene spoke low. "But you will, Strasser, if you do not drop that luger."

He glared at her. "You stole my pre-Castro Havanas."

I felt my mouth drop. "Cigars? Cigars! You're upset about stupid cigars?"

He pouted. "They were pre-Castro. Very special."

"Special?," Mark snapped. "You're a revenant, Strasser. You've beef jerky for a tongue. You could smoke rope for all the taste you'd notice."

Strasser's eyes were glittering beads of arrogance. "They were special."

Marlene snorted, "The way you bragged of them was obscene. It was as if you were begging me to steal them. So I did ... for a peace-offering to Papa."

He sneered, "And did it work?"

She dropped her eyes. "Quite the opposite."

Strasser's face tightened like a ballon about to pop. "And here in Meilori's, even ghosts can die."

"For cigars?," I exploded.

"For honor!," he shouted.

And things went very crazy, very fast.
***

GHOST OF A CHANCE_CHAPTER 21_THEY WERE NEVER DEFEATED;THEY WERE ONLY KILLED

{"If there's one guy,

just one guy

Who'd lay down his life for you and die

It's hard to say it

I hate to say it,

but it's probably me."

- Sting ("It's Probably Me.)}

{Samuel Clemens, ghost, again. Roland has managed to escape DayStar but with the threat of a return engagement.

Meilori's, being what it is, we are still not safe. We are not even in the same galaxy with "safe." And I will let Roland take it from here.} :


As DayStar's laughter lingered in the shadows,

the world around us smudged like a wet painting being smeared by an angry, dissatisfied artist.

The tango dancers were replaced by men in tuxedo's and women in gowns. Grace Jones was gone.

Duke Ellington and his band replaced her, playing "Harlem Nocturne." I felt as if I had wandered into some hellish nightclub of the 1930's.

Marlene hugged my right arm. "You were so brave, Liebling."

I felt sick inside. "I was not brave. I was what I had to be."

One finely etched eyebrow arched, and Marlene husked, "That is what it is to be brave."

Mark Twain winked and nodded. "What she said ... but without the sexy throb."

From the table to our left laughed a shockingly familar voice, ""I've seen it go worse with DayStar."

I turned and stiffened. A mature Humphrey Bogart. And next to him, a young Lauren Bacall. And across from them both,

the revenant (vampire),Major Strasser, in his dress white Gestapo uniform.

In his right hand was a luger. Pointed right at us.

His arching black eyebrows reminded me of swooping birds of prey. The black moustache seemed almost to crawl above his thin lips.

His eyes were as flat and glassy as a snake's ... but without as much warmth. "I will take care of the 'worse.'"

Mark Twain grunted, "What is it with everyone and lugers? They think one in the hand means the world by the tail."

Major Strasser barked a laugh. "Or a nuisance in the grave."
***

CHARACTER INTERVIEW BLOGFEST : WHAT THEY CAN SEE THEY CAN KILL

I'm starting another 8 day straight work gauntlet with half of that being on call. Also life is offering me an opportunity to be wiser and stronger than I feel. So I'm entering Sangu's intriguing blogfest a day early.

It is time for the CHARACTER DIALOGUE BLOGFEST hosted by Sangu :
http://sangumandanna.blogspot.com/2010/05/character-interview-blogfest.html

I want you to know I had to drive all the way to the French Quarter to do this. And while reading and writing horror can be fun, living it is quite another thing :

It was twilight. Lean as a hunting wolf, Samuel McCord was walking beside me. His whole body seemed coiled like an overwound clockwork mechanism.

Despite all that, he seemed to glide though the shadows as if they parted for him lest they touch his cursed body. I glanced at the reflection in the store window beside him.

I went a little cold. A tall Apache dressed in buckskins was reflected, not Samuel. His dried-apricot face looked my way. I tried to swallow and couldn't.

There was fresh war paint on the Apache's face. He shook his head in silent reproach. Lightning split the angry skies above me. Did he cause that?

In a voice of distant thunder , Sam said, "Elu's not happy about this, partner."

"Why?"

"We're going into Meilori's."

"Yes, I need to ask some questions of my characters who come to life only inside your jazz club."

"Son, you need to breathe, eat, and sleep. The rest is negotiable."

He suddenly stopped at the corner of the French Quarter street we'd been walking. My mouth went desert dry. I was about to see something I had only written about.

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

Words. Just words. Sight hollowed out my chest.

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. Sam took my arm gently.

"The first time's always the worst," he said low.

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. I saw the weathered sign hanging above the door : Here Be Monsters. I saw the gleaming window in front of me.

In strange, flowing script was the one word : Meilori's. The letters were rippling into different designs and fonts. My eyes seemed to stretch along with them. I saw, not my reflection, but Elu's. He spoke in words low and grim.

"Inside you will see those of whom you write, Scribbler. But more. They will see you. And what they see they can kill. You may walk in. You may not walk out."

Sam smiled crooked, "Of whom? Elu, you're showing off that education of yours."

"I am trying to show the Scribbler the path to life."

"I mean to keep him safe."

"You have meant to do a lot of things at which you failed."

"Tonight won't be one of them. Roland and I have already talked about this. He'll be safe."

"Let us hope so for the Scribbler's sake."

The scribbler in question was scared spitless so I didn't say a word. Sam took my arm and led me through the swinging wooden doors that reminded me of an Old West's saloon. He saw me glance long at them.

"Yeah, I took these from Hicock's saloon in Deadwood. I thought it might make him feel more at home."

"Will we see him inside?"

Sam smiled sad. "Let's walk in and find out."

We walked in, and I hushed in a breath. It was like something out of a Sherlock Holmes movie or an elite West End bordello. Victorian portraits hung on walls draped in crimson velvet. Chandeliers spun, shimmering down their soft light upon tables with people in clothing from wildly different eras : samurai drank saki with Vikings guzzling mead. Mobsters from the Roaring Twenties played cards with French Musketeers. A toga clad emperor flirted with Marie Antoinette.

How could I tell? The fine stitching all around her slender alabaster throat. And the royal look of scorn she daggered at both me and Sam.

"Come," rasped a voice that had it been a face I would have slapped. "Sit with me."

A tall Nazi in the black uniform of the S.S.

"Major Strasser?," I frowned.

"The very same." He looked past us to the still-swinging doors, then back to Sam. "It is the year 2010 out there?"

"Yes," said Sam softly.

"Then, you know how the war ends?"

"Yes," Sam nodded. "Everybody loses."

A tall woman with skin the color of milk coffee swayed up to us. I tried to keep my face calm. But she was dressed like a buccaneer in a skirt so short it qualified as a wide belt.

She smiled impishly. "Keep those eyes on my legs any longer, and I'll have to charge them rent."

Sam chuckled, "Be nice, Toya. Roland's a guest."

One thin eyebrow arched. "You're that Roland? You knew about this place and still you came?"

"I'm not that brave, Toya."

She led us to a round, gleaming mahogany table where three people were already sitting. "Or that smart either. I'll bring your ice tea in a minute."

"How did you know I was going to order ice tea," I stammered.

A velvet voice spoke in strained tones, "I told her."

I looked down upon a face that could have had pacifists starting wars and saints embezzling orphanages. It looked oddly out of place on a woman in nun's robes. Magda. The gypsy who two thousand years ago had stolen a centurion's nails at a very infamous crucifixtion.

And that meant the priest sitting next to her was Renfield. He was so skinny I could almost smell his bones. And he was so tense I almost expected him to vibrate in place. And I didn't blame him.

Renfield and I both looked at the tall man sitting far from him and Magda. Though no shadows should have been masking his body, they were all around him. It was as if they radiated from him.

"Hello, DayStar," said Sam low. "You weren't invited."

In a hollow voice like the ringing of distant ghost bells in the night, DayStar chuckled, "And since when has that stopped me?"

Gray eyes burned from out of the darkness as they evaluated me. "So you think you know me well enough to portray me, talking monkey?"

I forced my throat to work. "The question is do you know yourself?"

His long right forefinger nail etched a childish drawing of a gallows on the surface of the table. I smelled sulfuric acid. Elu had tried to warn me.

DayStar murmured, "If you're going to answer a question with a question, things will get ugly for you and amusing for me."

Sam stepped slightly in front of me. "He's a guest, DayStar."

"And you will stop me just how?"

"Like this," Sam smiled, and he pinched the hell out of my cheek.

"OW!!"

I sat up straight in bed, rubbing my throbbing face and letting out a long sigh of relief. Sam had been right. It was always safer to visit Meilori's in dreamtime.

Gypsy, my cat, was curled by my pillow. Her green eyes opened, seeming like windows into mysteries humans would never understand. Proving the magic of dreamtime was still in the air, she purred in spoken words.

"I don't know about you. But that scared the piss out of me."

*************************************

Hope you were entertained by that as much as I was writing it. Here's something stirring to end it all with :