Dating Dracula, Jr

by Minda Webber

  Dating Dracula, Jr.

  A Supernatural Series for Young Adults

  By Minda Webber

  CHAPTER ONE

  I come from a long line of body snatchers, probably the top-notch body snatchers in America. No, make that the world. Some people might think it’s gross digging up bones or corpses, but who asked them? It’s no big deal, but then I’ve been doing it since I got out of diapers.

  Well, I didn’t actually help much then; I just pretty much played in the dirt making mud corpses. Being in on robbing graves, I learned the business backwards, forwards, up and down. Especially down since that’s where most graves are, unless you’re in Louisiana and are dealing with family crypts, which I’ve visited by the way. Louisiana, I mean, not visiting the crypts, although I’ve visited more than a few mausoleums in my short life as well.

  Everybody thinks Louisiana is this great place for vampires, zombies, ghosts and stuff that makes up our nightmares. But when you’re in the business of corpse robbing, you generally get a feel for things that go bump in the night-besides shovels. Things like vampires, ghosts and ghouls. And I’m gonna tell you now that New Orleans doesn’t have squat compared to Texas. We have just as many, if not more, of the paranormal junk going on here. Oh, and if you’re wondering about werewolves, they don’t hang out in cemeteries. Too many headstones and too much temptation to lift a leg instead of chasing after and biting people.

  Anyway, like I was saying, for my age which, by the way, is sweet sixteen almost seventeen, only leave out the sweet - I’m one of the very best grave robbers in the business. That is why tonight I’m going out grave robbing. Not for the family business, but just for fun and kicks.

  You see, my friends and I want to steal a corpse for a really good cause. Our high school mascot at Hawley High School in San Antonio, Texas is a bearcat. How bogus is that? Do you know what a bearcat is? Believe me, I’ve asked around and you’re not the only one who’s clueless. I’ve been going to school here for two years since my freshman year and I still don’t know what a bearcat is. But I do know what it isn’t.

  It isn’t exciting or scary; it’s just lame. So the guys I hang with, and that includes girls, are going to steal a corpse for our mascot. Our friend Seth, will then raise it up as a zombie.

  We thought maybe we could be the Hawley High School Zombies or Walking Dead, you know. The pep rally signs will be a lot better, certainly spookier, and real sick. Since my best friend draws them, it makes her happy. Anyway, I’m off to get the shovels and picks for our night in the cemetery. It shouldn’t take us too long since we’ve got some pretty good diggers on our team; and me.

  Oh, by the way, the name’s Frankenstein.

  Yeah, I know you’ve probably heard of my dad, Victor Frankenstein. And no, he’s not some mad scientist with some whacked out hairdo, who stands out in electrical storms trying to get lightening to strike his monster. No way. He’s just a normal type guy, a dad, who happens to have an interest in reanimating flesh and making relatives out of body parts.

  You see, he comes from a long line of Frankensteins. And we all have had the same interest. Pretty much, if your last name is Frankenstein, you’re going to get into reanimating things, which of course accounts for the reason that we’re number one in grave robbing. And I might add we get along okay with vampires. That’s important if you hang out in the paranormal community. You don’t have to go around wearing steel neck-ties or dog collars around-the- neck when working in the graveyard.

  My name is Victoria Jewel. Everyone calls me V.J. I was named after my dad, granddad, and great-granddad and so on, except I happened to be a “surprise”- a girl. But my dad didn’t mind. He was happy to have a girl in a long, long line of boys. Besides, he made me a brother about eight years ago when my mom kept having girls. I have to admit my little brother does our name proud; he really is a little monster.

  One of my best friends will be going with me tonight, Debbs Van Helsing. She’s just turned seventeen, is pretty and has the palest blue eyes you’ve ever seen and blonde hair. She’s also got freckles which she hates so she never goes out without base. She also wears dark brown mascara since her eyelashes are as light as her hair.

  You know how my family knows all about corpse manipulation and grave robbing? Well her family is the expert on vampires. Well actually, she’s the expert in getting rid of vampires except when they’re good. You see, vampires are a lot like humans; good guys and bad guys and then the really evil guys. The Van Helsings deal with the bad or evil vampires by staking them or beheading them.

  Debbs has been my friend since my family moved here to San Antonio when I was in fifth grade. She’s not that talkative, except around her close friends. She likes burritos, the color blue and cats and she’s touchy about being called a vampire slayer. All her family is. They refer to it as exterminating. It makes sense because they also own a bug company, the kind that gets rid of pests, all kinds, termites, ants, spiders, ghosts and vampires. They have to do bugs when the vampire-hit business slows down. Did I mention they’re predominantly Italian with some Dutch thrown into the genetic mix?

  Anyway, Debbs, Jason, Hart and I are going to do the grave robbing deed tonight which is wicked, the good kind, not the bad kind. I like digging in the dirt and hanging out in cemeteries. Some of my best memories are there. A lot of people might think it’s dangerous with all the spooks and stuff about. But if you know what you’re doing and how to protect yourself, you’re pretty much okay if you aren’t doing it alone. And the people you’re with know how to defend and destroy the evil guys with really long, sharp teeth and claws and stuff like that.

  Since I hang out with the guys that are on the paranormal fringe, we do okay. We’re not Goth, since that’s so out of the scene now, even though we have a large Goth crowd at my high school. But if I wanted to be a pretend vampire, or even a real one, and lose my best friend Debbs, all I’d have to do is go find one rising from the cemetery. I could bribe him into making me one. It might not even take a bribe since I’m a Frankenstein. I can say that with pride because we are kind of well-known in the paranormal community.

  Anywhere I go, I just say my last name and dead people and undead people and pretty much the rest of the supernatural community listen. It could make a person really conceited and I probably am in a way. But then if your last name was Frankenstein you probably would be too. Still, in spite of all that, I didn’t have a date for the Halloween dance last year and I don’t have one this year either!

  CHAPTER TWO

  The cemetery we chose to rob was large and decorated with oaks and weeping willows (I guess the city of San Antonio has a sense of humor) with the tree branches shedding their leaves like they always do in late October. It was, if I say so, rather atmospheric. The trees, with their mostly naked branches stretching skeletal fingers towards the sky, were rubbing together making crisp noises as the gang and I worked on the grave we needed for our zombie mascot.

  In the distance a rumble of thunder adds to the drama, with thin silvery veins lighting up the blackness, causing the headstones to glow a ghostly white. Sweating slightly, I turned adjusted my mining hat. You see, we don’t leave home without a mining hat if we are going to be robbing graves. I’ll tell you truthfully, that I’ve tried more than a few different things that put out light at night. Mining hats in summer or fall in San Antonio are hot to wear, but nothing works as well because it leaves your hands free. When you’re digging graves and watching out for vampires, ghouls or zombies- you need free hands.

  We’d been digging for over an hour and had just now gotten to the coffin of choice. I couldn’t see it yet, but I grinned when I heard Jason’s shovel hit it, a loud resounding thud. Jason grinned too. He’s cute when he grins
with his wavy black hair that curls around his collar and his soft hazel eyes.

  His IQ is off the charts. He scored the highest in Texas on his SATs and fourth in the nation. We kind of dated when I was a sophomore. I’m a junior now, he’s a senior, but it didn’t work out. His eyes may be soft and all warm, but they’re misleading. He’s too smart and way sharp. What I mean by sharp is that Jason finds all your weaknesses and uses them to cut you into tiny pieces with his criticisms when he gets mad at you.

  Since I do admit to having a touch of vanity running in my blood, not only about my last name, but about my skill in robbing graves and cheerleading, I don’t like feeling lousy about myself because of something Jason said to me when he’s mad. I’m five-foot-eight and wear a size ten, but I’m more comfortable in a size twelve. There’s not an ounce of fat on me, I’m muscular like Debbs, but I’m big-boned where she’s not. She wears a comfortable six and tops out about five-foot-five. Where Debbs is really pretty, I’m just kind of average, well as average as one can be who is a Frankenstein; with red hair, not the carrot color, but more coppery, and dark gray eyes.

  When Jason gets mad he rags on me about my weight and hair and sometimes attacks me when I miss stuff in math. I always miss stuff in math, which I hate. I feel about math class like I do about going to the dentist when I’ve got a cavity. But I love English and science classes.

  Again Jason Jekyll grinned at me. “Looking good.” He was standing next to me, a little taller, but not much; as he stuck his shovel down hard again. Then he grinned some more as the metal hit hard wood. Yeah, Jason Jekyll. And yes, he’s related to the Dr. Jekyll, who is his great, great-grandfather. The old guy is still alive by the way, due to some of the formulas he invents.

  Of course his skin is really, really wrinkled and he has a memory like a leaky cheese grater. But he’s Jason’s great, great grandfather so we all play nice when we run into him at the asylum. Oh, he’s not committed, just lives on their grounds like Jason and his father do. Jason’s father is a psychiatrist and head of the insane asylum for the paranormal in San Antonio.

  Jason’s mother doesn’t live there since Jason is a product of a broken home; and I do mean that literally. One night his house was wrecked because a busload of seamstresses crashed into it. But then they are a rowdy bunch, always cutting up or on the bias. Anyway, Jason’s mother and his father are divorced. She lives in, of all places, Cleveland, Ohio. How bad is that? Nothing ever happens there, except for an occasional ghost sighting. That’s why Jason lives here.

  “Did you hear that? Sweet, we hit pay dirt,” Debbs said, smiling at us. If anyone knows the sound of a shovel hitting a coffin it’s a Van Helsing.

  I glanced at her. I could make out the outline of her short blonde hair sticking up from under the mining helmet. Her face was in shadows. She keeps her hair short because it makes it easier when staking vampires. They can use long hair as a weapon to catch you with. She also learned it from growing up with a bunch of hair-pulling brothers.

  Debbs didn’t wear her toughness like armor, she just was tough. Growing up with four brothers and chasing after things that bit back has taught her to reach down inside and find an inner core of strength, even after you thought you couldn’t go on or had lost the old-stake-the-vampire-in-the-heart game. You just keep going, kind of like runners do after finding that second high.

  Anyway, Debbs is tough, but fair, and she has a good heart just like most of her family. Just because they kill vampires and ghouls, they don’t let it destroy the good within them. My dad says that it’s a sign of true character.

  Debbs rubbed her hands together while Jason and I smiled and started wiping away the thick layer of dirt on top of the coffin. “I can’t wait to get a new mascot. Man, this is wicked.”

  “She’s been practicing drawing zombie faces all through geometry class,” Jason laughed.

  “You sure this is the right coffin?” Hart Hyde asked for the third time.

  He’s Jason’s cousin. Hart’s a natural-born worrier; and accident prone. Maybe that’s why he’s a worrier; because weird stuff happens to him. Like if we go to eat at a Chinese restaurant, he never gets a fortune in his fortune cookie. I mean; once or twice, it’s an accident, right? But all the time, it’s wacked, it’s got to be some cosmic joke.

  Anyway, to let you know about Hart Hyde, well, he isn’t that cute. He’s big, his features are big. Like big eyes, big nose and big ears. He’s six-foot-two at seventeen years of age and still growing with hair the color of wet wood and hazel eyes with amber lights in them. His hazel eyes are the best thing about him and he’s sweet, if not real bright. He likes poetry and music. So do I.

  Hart wants to be in a band and make it big, but his uncle so far is vetoing the idea. Hart’s uncle owns a tanning company. Not for sunbathing but for tanning hides, such as buffalo and cows. They do a lot of business with the werewolves in the Southwest, since young cubs need something to practice on before they go chasing their own live prey. Cow and buffalo hides work pretty well.

  Hart’s parents died in one of those freak zombie-chasing- cow stampedes when he was ten, which left Hart with his uncle, who’s a bachelor and thinks he’s like Clint Eastwood or something. He’s six-foot-six and walks around in cowboy boots with spurs that have little bells on them. They make this tinkling racket all the time. He’s got this huge cowboy hat and he wears a poncho along with a gun holster complete with a six-shooter filled with silver bullets. At least he lives in Texas. In New York they’d think he was some kind of nut. Here, most people just walk across the street to avoid him.

  Hart’s uncle also drinks a lot. It can be embarrassing at times for Hart. Like when his uncle shows up drunk at the football games where Hart plays in the band. Or when he dances on top of the railing at the River Walk, downtown.

  “Look, I got the grave location from the usual source. This guy was just buried today. About six hours ago. So he’s fresh and we need fresh by the time we get him over to Seth's house to do the zombie spell.” Most times, I would get mad about being questioned about my area of expertise in finding the right grave, but Hart is Hart.

  My usual informant works in the mortuary business and calls in tips to our grave tip hot line almost every week at my house. San Antonio, being the large city that it is, has a lot of mortuary work on a normal day. On abnormal days when the paranormal community is up in fangs, then the funeral business gets to be booming.

  “I wish Seth was here,” Debbs said wistfully.

  She had fallen in love with Seth, a senior, also known as Seti Arabus about two months ago. Now all Debbs could talk about was hunting in cemeteries, staking the big, bad vampires and Seth. And sometimes Seth’s name actually came first in her list of things to talk about. That’s how I knew it was really serious with Seth. His family owns an upscale antique store in town. He’s the other guy in our motley crew and is a Mummy’s boy. He’s Egyptian with dark, dark hair and eyes which seem to look inside you and see all your faults. He’s very good-looking and is a fair necromancer.

  Seth moved here last year from Cairo and started hanging around with us about seven months ago. Debbs and Seth are a cute couple and they have the whole coffin and sarcophagus thing in common, plus Debbs loves guys who are hotties; and they both love burritos. We always have to take time out from important stuff to make a Taco Bueno run.

  “I can’t believe he got busted for toilet-papering the principal’s house,” Jason said caustically. “I mean it was only ten or so rolls of toilet paper.”

  More like twenty. I had seen Mr. Rooney’s house and it looked like a giant ogre with two runny noses had trashed the yard but good. I shrugged and wiped off some more top soil on the coffin. Jason, Hart and Seth along with two of the jock crowd had TP’ed the principal’s house two nights ago. Only Seth got in trouble. But then Seth’s parents can be kind of funny about wrapping, even toilet paper, but gee, you should see their Christmas presents.

  Hart wiped away the last of the dirt as J
ason and I began to raise the lid. Debbs, held the large hand-held flashlight we brought along for extra. She held it up high so that it shone brightly down on the corpse in front of us.

  Debbs almost swallowed her gum. “Would you look at that? It’s wacked.”

  I was looking. The corpse was laid out on a red satin-lined coffin, which by the way is really lame. Nobody uses red satin for coffins anymore. It’s like what European royalty used to use if you were one of the undead. But it wasn’t the tacky red satin I was looking at, but the corpse. He had dark blonde hair that was kind of wavy and pulled back probably in a long pony tail. He had high cheekbones, sculpted lips and was the best looking corpse I’d ever seen. And I hate to brag, but I’d seen a lot.

  “His skin color isn’t right.” Debbs said suspiciously, her blue-green eyes narrowing. She meant that his color should be paler and his features not so lifelike. He was also about ten years younger than my grave informant had told me and that wasn’t good.

  “He’s fresh,” I replied warily, carefully looking over the body. He was all that and more. And dead. What a shame to die in your early twenties. Especially, when the corpse was that good- looking. “And he’s young.”

  Debbs heard the catch in my voice, the uneasiness, because she reached in her pocket and pulled out a Da Vinci stake. It was, of course, not the original Da Vinci Stake. That was in a museum in San Antonio donated by Debbs’ family. Debbs’ Da Vinci stake was thirteen inches long and razor sharp at the tip. It was painted a bright sunny yellow. Debbs happened to like colored stakes as opposed to the natural grain woods.

  “He’s got blue eyes,” Hart said. Again stating the obvious, which meant something wicked, not wicked good but wicked bad, only Hart hadn’t quite realized yet or he’d have leaned back some.

  The deep blue eyes blinked.

  The corpse wasn’t just any corpse!