Vampires in America

by D. B. Reynolds

  Elke grinned in amusement. “Never underestimate the power of shoes,” she said, then gave him a little bow and hurried after Cyn and Emma. She didn’t want to miss a minute of this.

  The End

  An Introduction to Jared

  February 14, 2012

  An interview by an ambitious reporter

  (Between DUNCAN and LUCAS)

  IT PROBABLY WASN’T the best idea I’ve ever had . . . to ambush a power player in the middle of a political fundraiser. But Jared Lincoln’s a hard man to get hold of, and I really wanted that interview. Of course, it wasn’t just his political power that made me want to talk to him. I mean, that’s nice, but what really makes Jared an interview worth getting is the fact that he’s also a vampire. That’s right, I said vampire. Yeah, they really do exist. And, no, I don’t think they give a damn whether the rest of us believe in them or not.

  Real vampires are nothing like the ones in most books. They don’t skulk in the shadows and they don’t look like death warmed over. In fact, they’re not dead at all. No one wants to talk about it—especially not the vamps themselves—but from what I can beg, bribe, or steal from my various sources, vampirism is more like a virus—a super virus that grants virtual immortality along with a variety of superpowers. I suppose I was lucky that Jared didn’t simply zap me with his vampire superpowers that night, because he sure as hell wasn’t happy when I accosted, er, approached him during the fundraiser.

  “Jared,” I said cheerfully, addressing him like we were old buddies. “Rumor has it you’ve just been promoted.”

  He made some excuse to the society matron who’d been fawning all over him—as if she had a chance in hell with a guy who looked like Jared. She was old enough to be his mother, maybe his grandmother. Although, come to think of it and youthful looks aside, I have no idea how old Jared really is. I wondered then if he’d tell me if I asked. I know now that he wouldn’t have.

  Anyway, having sent the society matron gently on her way, Jared turned and gave me a very unfriendly look. His voice was smooth and mellow . . . and filled with disdain when he said to me, “And you are?”

  Ooooh, that hurt. Or, it would have, if I’d fallen for it. I’m no Barbara Walters, but I’m not completely unknown in Colorado’s political circles, either. He knew who I was. He was just being a dick. And, okay, yeah, a very attractive dick with a great voice. A dick I wouldn’t have minded getting to know better, if he wasn’t being such a . . . dick. Huh, maybe I’m carrying the dick thing a little too far. So sue me.

  “Come on, Jared,” I wheedled. “Why the secrecy? Reliable sources tell me you got the big promotion, the key to the executive washroom, that you’re moving up the food—” I stopped mid-sentence. Maybe food chain wasn’t the best analogy to use here.

  He laughed, perfect teeth flashing white against his dark skin, his head thrown back in genuine humor. He looked awfully human in that moment. But it didn’t last. He stopped smiling abruptly and turned the full force of his considerable presence on me, staring down from his much greater height. There was no laughter left there, no smile on his expressive lips. “Let it go,” he said bluntly.

  “Just tell me if it’s true,” I pushed. “Everyone knows Duncan’s the new vampire honcho in Washington, DC, which means there’s an empty spot in Raphael’s organization. And my sources say you’re about to fill the vacancy.”

  Jared snorted dismissively. “Tell you what, you tell me the name of your sources, and I’ll answer your questions.”

  I tsked. “Now, Jared, you know I can’t do that.”

  He shrugged. “Same goes.”

  I sighed and looked around, taking a long drink from my too-warm champagne. “I hate these things,” I muttered, not really intending to be heard. But I forgot about those vampire superpowers.

  “Now that’s something I can help you with,” he murmured, his deep voice sending shivers of pleasure rippling down my spine.

  I looked up and found his coffee-colored gaze regarding me intently, his eyes seeming to glow from within, like hot coals banked in a fire.

  “What . . .” I asked faintly, heart pounding. “What do you have in mind?”

  His smile was slow and confident, and incredibly sexy. And, no, I still didn’t get the interview. But . . . you know all that stuff you’ve heard about how vampire sex is out of this world fantastic, and how good it feels to have a vamp take your blood?

  Well, it’s all true.

  The End

  Huff ‘n Puff Interview

  with

  Raphael And Cyn

  Paranormal Haven

  August 15, 2012

  (Between DUNCAN and LUCAS)

  Transcribed from a digital recorder found in an abandoned automobile on Pacific Coast Highway in Malibu, California, a vehicle that was later identified as belonging to Huff ‘n Puff’s paranormal reporter. The reporter, who shall remain nameless until her whereabouts have been established, has been reported missing, and the police have no leads in the case.

  HELLO AGAIN, LOYAL readers! Yes, it’s me, your intrepid reporter from Huff ‘n Puff, which, by the way is doing way better, ever since my interviews with the vampire community started showing up on a regular basis. I hate to brag, but, well, the name Anne Rice has come up a time or two. (Ahem.)

  Anyway, I’m about to lay another exclusive interview on you. It’s January, as I’m recording this. I’ve just left Cynthia Leighton and her personal vampire lord, Raphael, who agreed once again to speak to me. Interviewing a vampire as powerful as Raphael is always a risk, but fear not, I go willingly into the lion’s den for you, dear readers.

  Once again, I braved the hectic traffic on Pacific Coast Highway and traveled beneath the dark and mysterious trees leading to Raphael’s Malibu estate. I pulled up to the gate, and . . . the guards were still wearing SWAT black—does anyone listen to my fashion advice? Apparently not.

  Okay, so, Malibu, vampires, beautiful white mansion by the sea . . . the usual. I parked my car by the front door, and gave the guard my keys (I still have the spare set in my purse, which might have saved my life, but that’s for later.) Anyway, after that, that vampire guard, Juro, the really huge one, met me inside the glass doors. I greeted him warmly, because, you know, we’ve met a few times and we’re like best buds now, but he just stared at me. And, hey, I get it. He’s on the job. He has a rep to maintain. I’m sure if we met, like, in a bar or something, he’d be all, “Hey, itty bitty reporter! How you doin’, babe!” But we’re both professionals, you know, and I respect that.

  So, moving on. My friend Juro tells me to follow him, and I figured we’d be going upstairs to Raphael’s office again, but instead, he takes me down this long hallway, and then to this big glass sliding door that goes outside. Outside? In January? I don’t care if it is Malibu, you think it doesn’t get cold here in winter? Well, let me tell you, it fucking does! But do I blow the interview because it’s cold? Hell, no. Didn’t I just say I’m a professional? This is part of the cost of my profession, dear readers. And I want you to know, journalism is a dog-eat-dog world, but I’m here for you.

  Where was I? Oh, right. Okay. So, Juro opens the big glass door and gives me a look. You know, the one that says Get the hell through this door. Or whatever. So, I got the hell through the door and into the cold, wet air of a Malibu night. And the first thing I notice is this thick wall of fog sitting right off the cliff in front of the house. I hate fog. I was on a boat with a guy once in Redondo Beach. We were only in the marina, but still. We were, you know, making out and he wanted me to . . . you know . . . and I didn’t want to . . . you know. But it was really foggy and I didn’t want to walk back to the car by myself, because what if I took a wrong turn and fell into the water or something, so instead I offered to. . . . Uh. Never mind.

  Where was I again? I’m kind of rattled tonight, readers, an
d you’ll soon discover why. But I need to tell you the whole story. So I walk outside (in winter!) and there’s Cyn and Raphael all tucked up with each other on a big double chaise, looking all cozy and comfortable and, most importantly, warm. Fortunately, they’re sitting by one of those outdoor fire pit things, and there’s a good fire going, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure they’re not going to invite me to cuddle. Not that I would. Not after tonight. But that’s for later.

  So, I sit down and pull out my recorder and my notepad, and I realize I’m going to have to make this quick, because fire, schmire, there isn’t a fire pit in the world that’s gonna keep me warm. If I’d known I was going to be conducting the interview in the Arctic, I would have worn my damn parka! (Ahem.) Anyway, I get started on the interview.

  “Hey!” I said, trying for cheerful even though I’m wondering why they couldn’t have moved their very attractive asses inside. “Nice seeing you all again.” Cyn was nice. She smiled and kind of waved. But Raphael clearly didn’t appreciate my effort, because he just stared at me the way he does, the way that makes you want to check all your body parts to be sure they’re still there.

  “Well, let’s get started then,” I said, because I’m no wimp. And because I had checked, and as far as I could tell, all of my body parts were still there. I started with the easy questions.

  “Cyn, last time I was here, I asked Raph, er Lord Raphael, what it was like to have you in his life. So, this time, I’d like to ask you the same question. You’ve been together a year now. What’s it like?”

  “Sheer hell,” Cyn intoned.

  And I kind of jumped, because I thought, Oh, my God, he’s holding her captive, and she’s, like, trying to break away and she needs my help, and thank God, I kept my keys, and . . .

  But then she laughed. “He’s a brute, but he’s my brute. I love him to pieces.”

  Raphael rolled his eyes and sighed, but then he kissed the top of her head, and it was just the sweetest thing. And I thought, Well, darn, he’s just a big puppy. . . . But then he looked at me that way again, and I remembered he was the real deal, the big Kahuna, the lord of all vampire lords, and that maybe he could read my mind, so I quashed all thoughts of puppy dogs.

  “Raphael, stop it,” Cyn scolded him. “You’re freaking her out.”

  That was nice of her, but completely unnecessary. I definitely wasn’t freaked out. I don’t do freaked out. I’m a reporter. So, I got on with my reporting.

  “Lord Raphael, rumor has it Cyn was badly injured on your last trip to Seattle. I have a source who claims he saw you carrying her off your private jet, and she looked—”

  Cyn interrupted with a glance in Raphael’s direction. “You reporters,” she said, speaking rapidly. “Do I look seriously injured to you? It was a broken leg. That’s it. And not even a full break, more of a crack. I’m already fully recovered.”

  I turned to Raphael to see what he had to say, but his eyes were kind of glowing, and I thought, Uh oh. I’d heard vamps were really protective of their mates, so maybe asking him about when Cyn was hurt wasn’t my best decision. I moved on.

  “Cyn, your friend Sarah got married recently, and now I see you’re wearing a gorgeous ring, too. Are you and Raphael contemplating a walk down the aisle?”

  “Not unless the aisle you mean is in a fine department store. We’ve done all the mating rituals we’re going to.”

  “No white dress, no big wedding?”

  “If I want an elegant dress, I’ll buy one. I don’t need to get married for that. And I’ve never liked big parties.”

  Okay, then. Not going there.

  “Lord Raphael,” I said, forging onward. “You recently purchased the last piece of significant oceanfront on the Northern coast. But you’ve been very vague about your plans for it. Care to share?”

  Raphael looked like he’d rather toss me off the cliff, but Cyn poked him, so, after giving her a narrow look, he said, “That acreage will remain undeveloped, as it should be. That’s why I bought it. There are too many of you humans cluttering up the landscape, as it is.”

  Well, geez. That wasn’t very polite, was it, dear readers? But it was nothing compared to. . . . No, wait. You need the whole story.

  Cyn kind of nudged Raphael when he said that. “What he means,” she started to say, but then Raphael turned his head to stare at her and she laughed instead. “Well, I guess he means exactly what he said.”

  I was so cold, I could barely feel my fingers at that point, so I went for the big question. It was the one question I thought might be dangerous, but it was the one I’d really come here to ask, so I gathered my courage. “Lord Raphael, I’m hearing all sorts of rumors about a war among the vampires. People are calling me almost every day to ask what I know, because, I’m like an expert in the paranormal community. So, I’m asking you, is there a vampire war coming, and do humans need to be afraid?”

  Now, I don’t frighten easily. I’ve ventured into the unknown time and again to get the story for my readers, the real stories, the ones no one else will cover. But when I asked that question, the whole world seemed to suck in a breath and hold it. Nothing moved. The wet breeze off the ocean stopped blowing, the fire in the fire pit froze in place. Even Cyn seemed to stop breathing. But Raphael . . . he smiled. And he’s a gorgeous hunk of male. But that smile was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen.

  “If there was a vampire war, human,” he growled. “It would be none of your affair. I suggest you cease prying into matters that are well beyond your ability to understand. You may leave now.”

  And that fast, the world returned to normal. A foghorn sounded off the coast, the fire was dancing once again, and I was colder than I could remember ever being. And I had to wonder if I’d imagined the whole thing. But I couldn’t get out of there soon enough. It was like my body had its own agenda. Juro appeared at the glass door and I was more than happy to follow him down the hall back to the front door. In fact, I was walking so fast that I passed him up in the hallway, and was already pulling out my extra set of keys by the time I got to my car. I didn’t even wait for the vampire valet guy.

  I drove as fast as I could back through the gates and under the trees, and once I was on Pacific Coast Highway, I pulled over as soon as I could and recorded all of this for you, dear reader. So, if anything happens to me, remember, my last thoughts were for you.

  And that’s the end of the recording. There were no other notes found in the car, and no other recordings to validate the events described. We leave it to you, our readers, to decide for yourself. Did the described events really happen? And where is our missing reporter?

  The End

  A Touch of Lucas for Halloween

  Paranormal Haven

  Halloween at the Haven

  October 2012

  (Between LUCAS and ADEN)

  LUCAS STROLLED along the dirt path between the booths, his head swiveling from side to side as he tried to take in every detail of the human gathering. They called it a Harvest Festival, though most of the patrons were in costume, and the theme was more Halloween than harvest. But whatever they called it, it was intriguing. There were carnival rides with people squealing in delighted terror as they spun around and upside down in ways guaranteed to produce violent vomiting. Especially given the variety and truly horrifying quality of some of the food being consumed. Everything imaginable was being deep fried, including some items that were never meant for the deep fryer. Deep fried butter? He shuddered. And they thought his diet was gruesome.

  Reaching the end of the row, he left the food vendors behind, and turned to the line of booths offering things for sale. All of the money raised, he’d been told, would be donated to this year’s causes, which included a new children’s reading corner in the local library, and support for the regional food bank. Having once lived on the streets of Ireland, with no food
and little shelter, he thought both of these were worthy causes, so he’d been spending money left and right. Even though he didn’t need and wouldn’t use any of the things he’d bought. It was the principle of the thing.

  “Lucas!”

  He turned at the sound of his lieutenant, Nicholas, calling his name. In public like this, he preferred his people use his name, not his title. Not that he stood on ceremony most of the time, anyway.

  “Nick,” he greeted his closest adviser as several of his security people caught up to him, and he was quickly surrounded by vampire bulk.

  “Sire,” Nick said in a low voice. “I’d rather you didn’t try to lose your security.”

  “Is that what I did?” he asked innocently.

  Nick didn’t bother to answer. They both knew what Lucas had done.

  “What’s that?” Lucas asked, seeing a long line of human males in front of a brightly decorated booth.

  Nick glanced over and rolled his eyes. “It’s a kissing booth, my lord. The women there are selling kisses.”

  “Really? Are the ladies comely?”

  Nick laughed. “It’s not supposed to matter. It’s for charity.”

  Lucas changed direction, heading for the kissing booth, but before he got there, he was waylaid by the honorary mayor of their small town. Lucas signaled his security subtly and they permitted the mayor to step closer.

  “Mayor Stevens,” he greeted the man, whose sole task as honorary mayor was organizing this festival. He was actually the owner of a very profitable ranch nearby.

  “You thinking of getting in line?” Stevens asked, jerking his head at the kissing booth.

  “Not really,” Lucas said thoughtfully. “Though I was wondering . . . where’s the one for the women?”

  Stevens gave him a puzzled look. “Thought you all had good eyesight, Donlon. Those are women in that booth, and some fine-looking ones, too.”