Cleaning her mouth, Henrietta tucked the cloth into a pocket of the ruined dress, then slid up her belt to hold the front closed. The result still left a great deal of bare skin exposed. “Well, I suppose modesty is rather passé at this point,” she said, letting go of the ripped pieces. “We’re virtually married now, one flesh and all.”
“Almost literally.”
Under the frank gaze, Henrietta blushed. “So, my dearest love, how soon before I will need ...” She paused, then rushed through the rest. “How soon before I will need to feed?”
“Never, actually,” Richard said, removing a large amber ring from the pocket of his waistcoat and sliding it onto the second finger of her left hand.
At first, Rissa thought it was the same ring that she was now wearing, but then noticed little differences. Her grandmother’s ring had ruby eyes; the ones on Rissa’s ring were sapphires, and the wings were different, with much more detail.
“What do you mean?” Henrietta asked with a scowl.
“Keep this ring on, never take it off, and you can eat normally.”
“Normally. You mean steaks and chops and such?” Henrietta asked incredulously, admiring the ring.
“Steaks and chops and such. Whatever you wish, as much as you wish,” he said with a wide grin. “Even poison, if you like, my dear. But I don’t recommend it. Arsenic tastes simply dreadful, and belladonna always gives me most terrible wind.”
Shaking her head in dismissal, Henrietta then gasped as the dragon ring visibly shrank to perfectly fit her finger. “D—did ... did this just ...?”
“Oh yes, it’s magical. Didn’t I mention that?”
“No, you did not.” Turning her hand, Henrietta inspected the ring from different angles. “Does this marvel do anything else? Protect us from holy water or let us fly?” In the flickering light of the candles, the dragon seemed to be subtly moving.
Rissa leaned in closer. At last we’re getting to the good stuff.
“Only birds can fly, my dear,” Richard said wistfully. “As for the other things, if you never go Hunting, then you will have nothing to fear from anything blessed by a true believer, be it holy water, crucifix, ankh, whatever. But if you drink so much as a single drop of innocent blood ...” He did not finish.
“Fair enough, I suppose,” Henrietta muttered, then frowned. “If that is true, my love, then why do you always go to such great efforts to avoid passing in front of a church?”
“I ... have not always possessed these rings,” Richard said, lowering his head; each word came out with less volume than the one before.
Feeling his terrible shame, Rissa reached out to touch her grandfather on the shoulder, and Henrietta did the exact same thing, their hands overlapping. Only inches apart, the bejeweled eyes of the tiny dragons on their rings blazed with power.
After a moment, Richard shrugged.
“Perhaps a glass of mulled wine,” Henrietta suggested.
He forced a smile. “Sounds perfect.”
Taking his hand, Henrietta placed it on her arm, and together they strolled down the main hallway—with Rissa following again. There was still a lot to learn. She just fervently hoped that they didn’t have the conversation in bed. There was only so much of this parental intimacy Rissa could take before her head exploded.
Before entering the room, Richard slipped off his regimental jacket and draped it over her pale shoulders. She thanked him profoundly with a smile, and buttoned the front closed. Amused, Rissa could only guess that being married was one thing, but behaving improperly was something else entirely to the British.
The dining hall was brightly lit with a dozen candelabra, two oil lanterns, and a roaring blaze in the fireplace. A long table was draped in white cloth; on it were several dishes covered with silver domes, open boxes of chocolates, numerous decanters of wine, and two bottles of French champagne chilling in silver buckets full of ice.
“Why so much food if you didn’t know we could eat?” he asked, puzzled.
“Purely for the sake of appearances,” Henrietta replied with a vague gesture. “The servants ... you know.”
“I see. Quite unnecessary, but very wise.”
“Thank you.” Lifting a lid, she chose a roasted squab leg, and took a tiny bite. “Amazing! I can taste the age of the meat, along with each individual herb used in the braising, and even the wood it has been cooked over, a mixture of pine and oak.”
“Of course! All your senses are sharper now. Darkness no longer exists for us, and I often forget that there is such a thing as fog.”
“How wonderful!”
“Certainly helps in battle, I can assure you,” Richard said, taking the largest squab leg and then sucking the meat off the bone as if it were a Boxing Day sweet.
Both Rissa and Henrietta rolled their eyes. Men!
“Hmm, too much tarragon,” Richard said, opening a bottle of Merlot and pouring two glasses.
“Darling, out of curiosity, do many of our kind have similar such rings?” Henrietta asked, accepting the crystal goblet.
“Not to my knowledge,” Richard said, taking a sip and expertly lolling it about on his tongue to capture the flavor. With a guarded smile, he swallowed. “But then, these were rather difficult to obtain.”
“Meaning?” Henrietta asked, looking through the goblet. The cut crystal caught the reflected light of the fire and cast tiny rainbows across the man.
Opening his mouth to speak, Richard said nothing. Taking another sip, he then poured a proper drink.
Eagerly, Rissa braced herself. Here it comes ...
“Dear, where did these rings come from?” Henrietta demanded with a questioning scowl.
“Madagascar ... no, that’s a lie, sorry,” Richard said giving a long exhale. “I acquired them, along with quite a lot of other treasure, from a Chinese dragon.”
“A ... you mean a real dragon?”
“Lived in a cave, breathed fire, ate maidens.”
Her appetite abruptly gone, she laid the goblet aside. “Real enough, then,” Henrietta muttered. “Won’t he want them back?”
“Highly unlikely. They’re carved from his bones.”
“Oh. Then these are the only two such rings in the world?”
“No, there are others,” Richard grudgingly admitted, finishing the drink and pouring another. “I had to carve quite a lot of rings before discovering how to make them work properly.”
Yeah, and I know where the rest are, Rissa silently added. Now tell me who the antiques dealer is. Come on, you can do it ...
“I had an assistant once, named Dominic,” he began slowly, clearly choosing the words with care.
Bingo! Rissa almost burst into dance. Come on, say it, Dominic what?
“Excuse me,” Henrietta interrupted, “but did you destroy those rings, or have you had many other ...” She stopped, seemingly unwilling to go further.
Quickly setting down the wine, Richard took her hands in his. “No, my love, you’re the first to ever wear my ring, and the last.”
She smiled, and lifted her hands to cup his face. “I believe you.”
Me, too, Rissa added grudgingly. The sincerity in his voice rang true. It was sweet. Vampires fall in love just like everybody else. Who knew, eh?
“Dear, do dragons also get married?”
Choosing another squab leg, Richard raised both eyebrows in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“What I mean is, how smart are they? Are dragons merely animals, or do they have intelligence, even a society of sorts?” Henrietta saw the blank expression in his face and tried again. “Will the family of this slain dragon come after you seeking revenge?”
“All the way from Outer Mongolia?” Richard barked a laugh. “No, my sweet, they’re mindless beasts with less intelligence than an elected member of Parliament.”
“Then we have nothing to fear?”
“Well, not from dragons,” Richard muttered cagily, pouring another drink.
Cradling the goblet, Henriet
ta walked closer. “Whatever do you mean?”
“If a mortal should wear one of my rings,” Richard said, “they would be charged with fantastic ethereal power.”
“Such as ...?”
“Well, it would be different for each person. One might control the elements, while another could become a shapeshifter, or command animals.”
“And there would be no way to tell in advance?”
“None whatsoever.”
“Son of a bitch!” Rissa muttered, staring at the dragon ring with newfound respect.
Ever so slowly, Richard and Henrietta turned to look across the dinner table and stare directly at her.
Abruptly, Rissa had the feeling of coming out of the rear end of a horse again.
“D—did you h—hear that?” Henrietta whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
“Yes, I did. Quick, get behind me!” Richard snapped, pushing his wife out of the way while brandishing a fist. There was now a ring on each finger, the jeweled eyes blazing with hot power. “Begone, unseen spirit, and bother us no more!”
“No, Poppy, it’s me!” Rissa shouted as the ethereal light flared to fill the universe with blinding force ...
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pulling the Cadillac to the last fuel pump, Melissa got out and started filling the ever-hungry gas tank. The huge car had many good qualities, comfort being at the top of the list, but not even magic could raise her mileage above the single digits.
It was late at night; there was nobody in sight, which was a good thing. Melissa knew the reactions her unconventional appearance invoked. When dealing with the uneducated that scenario usually ended with teeth on the ground and her running away from the cops.
Can’t do that this time, Melissa noted dourly, watching the steady stream of traffic on the elevated highway. Rissa needs me, so I have to stay out of trouble. The mantra for the rest of this trip is: Speak Softly and Put Down the Big Stick.
Just then, a battered old Volkswagen pulled to the opposite pump, and an elderly woman got out. She was dressed in a white turban and a flowing gown covered with mystic symbols: crescent moons, hearts, clovers, and shooting stars. Gaudy rings flashed on every finger, and ratty old sneakers peeked out from under the embroidered hem of her gown.
“My name is Madame Olga,” she said without any preamble. “Be careful down there in Savannah, sister.”
“Come again?” Melissa asked, looking around the gas henge. Suspiciously, she eased a hand into her flowing skirt, and thumb back the hammer on Lady Magenta “Do what thou will, but harm none,” Madam Olga whispered over the thumping pumps, glancing about as if to make sure nobody else heard.
Releasing the weapon, Melissa beamed a smile. “The tattoos do sort of give me away, eh?” she said softly.
“A little,” Madam Olga grinned. “But I also have a touch of the gift.”
“Cool! What are your abilities, dowsing? Speaking with the dead? Making sense of our judicial system?”
“Fortuneteller,” she sighed, her native Southern accent appearing again just for a moment. “But I’m getting out of the game. Things have been going strange lately. There’s too much danger, darkness, and sex.”
Danger, darkness, sex? “Tell me more,” Melissa purred, her interest piqued. Just then, the pump chimed to a stop. “Be right back!” she said, hurrying inside. “I need an elixir vitae!”
“Coffee makes the world go round!”
“Indeed, it does.”
Nodding in understanding, Madam Olga waved. But when Melissa returned carrying two steaming cups of fresh coffee, the other woman and the Volkswagen were gone.
Draining one coffee as if it were a shot of whiskey, Melissa crumpled the cardboard container and dropped it into a waste barrel. From the very start, she had a strong impression that Olga wanted to tell her something important, but apparently her instincts were off tonight. Too much driving, not enough sex ... I mean sleep! No, she meant both.
Climbing into the Cadillac, Melissa tucked the other coffee into a hand-carved wooden cup holder and froze. There was a bowling ball bag in the passenger seat.
Getting out from behind the wheel, Melissa quickly circled the car, muttering every good luck charm she knew. Easing open the side door, she approached the bag as if it held a ticking bomb, which it very well might. She had encountered friendly smiling folks before, only to have them turn around and reveal that they were actually axe-wielding psychopaths, Satanists, or worse, Jehovah’s Witnesses. Those lunatics made the others seem like insurance salesmen.
Brushing back her long hair, Melissa carefully placed an ear to the bag. She heard nothing, so, throwing caution to the wind, Melissa gently pulled down the zipper and opened the bag. Inside was the largest crystal ball she had ever seen. Sweet goddess, it’s enormous! If there had been two, she would have thought that somebody had turned King Kong into a eunuch.
Running a finger across the translucent top of the ball, Melissa felt a warning tingle surge down her spine. A split second later, there came a bright flash of light from inside the sphere. Then it began to cloud over, the swirling ethereal mists parting immediately to reveal the handsome face of a blond man surrounded by occult symbols. Unbidden, the name “Dominic” came to mind. Obviously this was a mage, or perhaps a soothsayer. At any rate, a serious student of the arcane knowledge.
As Dominic smiled, Melissa did too in frank appreciation. Yummy was not too strong a word to describe the fellow. Piercing blue eyes, sensuous lips, aquiline nose, and a strong jawline. It’s a face fit for a queen to sit upon!
Then her smile vanished, along with every burgeoning carnal thought, as his mouth opened to reveal a pair of long white fangs dripping with red blood ...
***
The early morning air was deliciously warm and invigorating with the salty tang of the nearby ocean. Gentle azure waves crested foamily on the white sand beach, while far offshore dark towers of red rock rose from the lolling ocean like the broken teeth of ancient dragons.
The public beach at Adelaide, Australia was bustling with activity, the long stretch of glistening white sand packed with hordes of people sprawled on colorful towels soaking in the rays, young women and bodybuilders working on their tans, teenagers and drunks playing rugby, adults reading e-books, and children building sand castles and just larking about in the foamy surf.
Colorful beach umbrellas dotted the sand like psychedelic mushrooms, the small circles of shadow mostly empty, aside from the very young or the very old. The dichotomy of beach life encapsulated.
Standing alert on a centrally located wooden tower, a burly life guard dabbed zinc oxide on his nose to prevent unsightly peeling, or, worse, permanent freckling.
There was a score of surfers riding in the waves, mounted on a wide variety of long boards, short boards, and the ridiculously named boogie boards. Teams of armed police officers in T-shirts, shorts, and sneakers pedaled their speedbikes along the boardwalk, garbled voices crackling from the compact radios clipped to their gunbelts. Safely out of the way, a group of muscular young men lifted weights in the harsh glare of the sun, while countless dozens of teenage girls in scandalously small swimsuits lounged on the bare sand to spread suntan lotion on their smooth skin in a slow, almost sensuous manner.
Naturally, the volleyball players kept missing shots as they tried to watch the wanton display, and several times players collided with each other to fall in a tangle of limbs. But this had been the intention of the girls in the first place, and every crash evoked an explosion of delighted giggling.
All along the beach, vendors called out their wares as they pushed along wheeled carts stocked with hot dogs, cold beer, ice cream, cold beer, sandwiches, cold beer, sunglasses, cold beer, cell phones, cold beer, shark repellent, and the occasional bottle of iced water. But those mostly went to the tourists.
The music and laughter of the crowd merged into a general babble that was oddly similar to the cries of seagulls. Except that there were no gulls in sight along the vas
t expanse of the beach today. The sky was empty, aside from a few lazy clouds.
“Wonder what happened to the gulls?” a plump man asked, spreading lotion along an arm.
“Strange, eh?” an elderly woman answered, drinking a beer. “They normally only do this if a dingo is in the area.”
“No predators here, mate!” the man laughed, swinging an arm to gesture at the busy beach.
Staying safely inside the shadowy circle of the oversized beach umbrella, a slim young woman lay on a chaise lounge, closely inspecting a new piece of jewelry. Close by was a wrought-iron table draped with a heavy cloth burqa, just in case the umbrella was ever blown over by a sudden gust of wind.
“Are you sure about this?” Contessa Helga von Gunderson asked hesitantly, turning her hand around to examine the carved golden ring on her finger from different angles.
Standing directly in the bright sunlight, Dominic Meternich spread his arms wide. “Have I exploded into ash yet?” he laughed.
Wearing only swim trunks, the mature man seemed to ripple with strength, his body lean and firm as a racing whippet. Although badly scarred in numerous places, his skin was naturally dark and glowed with health. More than a few of the women on the beach closely watched him with openly lustful intentions, and one even slipped off a gold wedding ring to quickly hide it inside a baby bag full of diapers and formula.
“Curiously, you have not,” the contessa muttered, as a warm salty breeze blew in from the ocean, dusting everybody with a fine spray of loose sand.
Appearing to be barely out of her teens, the female vampire was over a thousand years old, her German name but Italian title telling volumes about her adventuress life. At the moment, the contessa was wearing a skimpy black bikini that wantonly displayed every ample curve, the tiny mesh triangles barely covering the exact minimum required by Australian law.
In an endless stream, men of every age and type kept pausing to smile at the shadowy woman, then each sullenly departed as she dismissed them with a curt gesture.
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