Table of Contents
December, 1476 A.D.
April 15th, 1912 A.D.
1977
1989
1999
2011
2013
About the Author
Book 0 of The Bloody Countess
Peter J. Wacks
Book Description
A dark comedy from the National Bestselling Author of Veronica Mars, Fast Times at Neptune High.
An epic battle is being fought between dying gods and supernatural creatures—and the world is caught in the middle. The last five gods band together in a desperate attempt to save themselves—and humanity—and everything gets weird. A clueless mortal is caught up in a madcap world of disco-obsessed kung fu vampires, werewolves having bad hair days, teenaged archangels, and the most unlikely combination of surviving gods … all of whom discover that they aren’t the things that go bump in the night!
This quirky, irreverently dark urban fantasy will leave you laughing—nervously—at the monsters hiding under your bed!
***
Smashwords Edition – 2014
WordFire Press
wordfirepress.com
ISBN: 978-1-61475-250-9
Copyright © 2014 Peter J. Wacks
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the copyright holder, except where permitted by law. This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Cover design by Emma Michaels
Art Director Kevin J. Anderson
Book Design by RuneWright, LLC
www.RuneWright.com
Kevin J. Anderson & Rebecca Moesta, Publishers
Published by
WordFire Press, an imprint of
WordFire, Inc.
PO Box 1840
Monument, CO 80132
***
Dedication
This book is for Mercedes. Always remember to stop and smell the absurd. Wait, kiddo, I’m rethinking the smelling part …
***
December, 1476 A.D.
***
Kaine
Kaine grabbed the hammer’s handle but Mjolnir, Thor’s hammer, wouldn’t move. Lightning flashed through the snowstorm. Crags and sheer drops surrounded him as he stood on the rocky outcropping on the side of the mountain Sildpollneset. He glanced at his youngling, then back at the god’s hammer. It was the stuff of legends, and the legends were, apparently, true in this case. Thor bled at his feet. The first of the immortals had fallen. Yet still the hammer was stuck.
Kaine wiped the golden blood off his mouth. “Drink child. The power you gain will be immeasurable.”
Vlad Tepes stared at his sire, then dipped his finger in the viscous fluid welling from the fallen god’s throat. “This makes no sense to me … how have you done this?”
Kaine smiled. “They feed on belief the way we feed on blood. They are no different than us, other than being able to feed on countless victims simultaneously. I attacked him at the source of his power. His food. That is what you are going to do, Vlad.”
The younger vampire looked confused. “How?”
“Belief.” Vlad leaned over and lapped at Thor’s throat while he listened. “While I attack the gods, you will attack the other gifted species. The Shifters, the Fey, the Angels, and the species that draw power from faith. It will take centuries, but you must change how they are seen. You must change what they are. Kill them as protectors. Make them villains, make them monsters. Then make them jokes. Take away the fear, and leave them no place to live but in stories.”
Vlad finished his meal and looked up to Kaine. “I believe I understand. The same way that the Ottomans disparage Wallachia and Christianity, attacking us with rumors, I must attack the very words that the commoners hear and speak.”
“Exactly. You have been given the gift of death. You have been cut free from the Threads of Fate. In a world of blacks and whites, you are gray. You can sway between the poles of creation. Not mortal, not divine. That is the curse, and the gift, of the vampire—and those like us.” Kaine reach down and tore Thor’s head off. He handed it to Vlad. “Give this to Stephen Bathory. He will deliver it to the Turks. The shifters are attacking his family, giving him this gift will do well to secure the future for you. You must pass along the protection of your country.”
Vlad turn the head over, studying it. “I don’t understand. Of all the things you have asked, why do you insist I must give up my homeland?”
Kaine placed a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I know you don’t understand. But the world must be shaped. I have been granted visions by my mother, the mother of Night. Someday, a werewolf will be born that cannot change. His blood will be the shape of the container we need. He will be able to hold power like no other on this planet. At the same time another like my brother will be born. When that vampire is born, one that doesn’t need blood, alongside the werewolf who cannot shift, I must have them both. The vampire can define the power within the wolf, and the wolf must be there when the unblooded is born. It is the key to our kind becoming gods.”
“We must reshape the world until the gods themselves believe that those two must be brought together. Changing the future is not an easy feat.” Kaine squeezed Vlad’s arm. “But while we shape events, I can promise you this—I will destroy the Boyars over time. You must trust me. I will hand you the world. You are so much more than you realize now. Your father may have been of the order of the dragon, but now you are the dragon, and when you roar it shall shake the pillars of heaven.”
The two stood in silence and watched as the snows slowly buried Mjolnir. Vlad stood, cradling the head. “I shall make them monsters. As you command.”
***
April 15th, 1912 A.D.
11:31 P.M.
***
Loki the Coyote
Somewhere in the North Atlantic Ocean …
A man, dressed in the rough-and-tumble fashion of the American Old West, strolled along the decks of the passenger liner. He stopped next to an elegant woman dressed in a flowing, midnight purple silk evening gown. Fiery red hair framed a perfect, dark-olive complexioned face, her impassive visage practically glowed in the moonlight.
Sounds of a band playing “Asleep in the Deep” and revelers laughing in the distant, crystal-sparkling dance room of the ship first-class section floated demurely across the decks. It was too bitter cold for most passengers to enjoy the night’s shockingly clear black skies. Not for this woman, though … or this man. They both stared into the icy gusts as if it were balmy summer. He brushed an errant lock of hair away from his forehead and inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of salt in the air. “Evenin’, Lilith.”
The woman regally nodded her head a single time. “Loki.”
“You look radiant tonight.”
“Considering the magnitude of the occasion, I thought I should.” She laughed lightly, a musical sound quietly permeating the roar of the ocean.
Loki watched the low shadow on the horizon. If you didn’t know it was there, it would have been impossible to spot. If you had looking glasses you maybe could see it, but Loki held the only pair on the whole ship. If the sky were only a bit brighter, or if a moon would surrender its merest
crescent smile … but the moon was absent on this night, and the invisible shadow remained invisible, though it didn’t keep its place.
“Indeed, my lady. I have brought the gift you sought.” Reaching into the pocket of his vest, digging around for a moment, and pulling out a small pearl, seemingly made of light. The Trickster grinned.
Lilith clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, my dearest Loki. I can’t believe you actually pulled it off. Are all of the Angel’s memories in here?”
Nodding solemnly, Loki rolled the pearl between his fingers. “They are, indeed. I don’t like doing this. He was a brave ally in our struggle against the gray ones. I fear that without him the gods will fall.”
Lilith nodded, watching out of the corner of her eye as the shadow upon the horizon grew larger. “The fall of the Angel now means that the werewolf that can’t change will be born. He is the key to stopping the vampire that doesn’t drink blood. If the Angel was not contained now and allowed to shape events, he would stop the wolf from being there when the vampire is born. But not now. Now we get an ally returned, and the balance against our enemies.”
She pointed at the pearl. “In sixty-five years, when his essence is dissolved and he finds a new host, he’ll be more powerful than ever. You know if we leave him in the state he is in, he will be worse than useless—until he drifts into oblivion.” She shrugged. “Losing his memories will bring him to the brink of madness. But he will fuse his soul to a mortal and the fiery sword shall rise again, my friend.”
“I get that.” Snapping his fist closed around the iridescent bauble, he grimaced. “The Gray Ones gather strength and our allies are all gone. They may be just a cabal of lesser powers, but they don’t bicker. Where our moves are plain, they are hidden, we stand alone and they strike as a united front, and we fall one by one. We stand alone. In this especially we stand alone, and it isn’t like either of us really trusts the other. Are we to simply spend the next century rebuilding allies, creating new power bases?”
Warmth challenged the bitter chill in the air as Lilith gently reached out to touch his hand. “Dearest Trickster, we don’t have to trust each other. We just have to work together for a few small centuries to save our kind. Yes, we have to rebuild. You’ve done the right thing with his essence. It will make the next century hard, but the end game will be ours.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it, Lilith; doesn’t mean I have to like it. We sit here speaking in cryptic riddles, and the whole damn world is going to hell.” Loki shrugged as he threw the small pearl into the ocean.
As the dark waters of the ocean closed over the luminescent stone, the light faded, swallowed by the inky darkness. Light sparkled in Lilith’s eyes. Ripples of power flowed back in time from the souls that were about to be released from life. Prophesy boiled up in the ancient Lilith’s mind, and she spoke. “So mote it be. Threescore years shall we wait, before the sword is found, and two score more before the pieces shall fall into place.”
Loki rolled his eyes, sighing. He didn’t believe this. The wolf and vampire had to be kept apart, not brought together. But he had to play along. For now. “All right, Lilith. I get it. You’re mysterious. You know you could just say that we’ll rock this shit in the nineteen seventies, and be dealing with it for forty years. Guess we have a bit to wait.” He brightened up a little bit as a thought struck him. “At least I get another century of fun before I have to start taking things seriously. Thank us for small favors, eh?”
Lilith threw back her head and laughed. “I doubt you will ever be able to take things seriously. Use this time wisely Loki, and prepare your pieces. Those that move against us are powerful, indeed, and by their very nature obfuscated from our view.” She held up a finger. “Yes, yes. I know. Language. They are beyond our influence. You know damn well what I mean.”
He tilted his head to the side watching the shadow looming on the horizon as it became clear that it was an iceberg. “True. However, power without humor is a waste. They get too serious. They lose sight of what’s important in the universe. So do you sometimes, Lilly-Pad. It is the nature … no, the gift of Humanity to laugh at itself, and its curse to laugh at each other.” His fingers curled into a fist. “And the Gray Ones don’t understand Gift or Curse.”
The looming shadow dripped blackness until midnight blue was visible in the iceberg’s jagged face, now only moments from colliding with the ship, serenely drifted through the tide. “They lose sight of humanity, and of the humans.”
Ice ripped through ship’s metal hull, tearing a tragic scar in the face of history, and unfolding legend. Savoring the moment of impact, the two gods leaned against the railing of the Titanic, consuming the stray prayers of those aboard as history was made. As more and more passengers flocked to the decks, some fighting with each other, some trying to help each other, all trying to reach the lifeboats, Lilith and Loki slipped gently over the side of the ship, floating serenely down towards the water.
The two gods landed lightly on the ocean’s surface, strolling away from the doomed vessel. Once they were a suitable distance away, they stopped and turned around, watching the final act of the terrible drama. Both focused intently, helping guide the souls of those whose prayers they had collected. For almost three hours the two gods collected souls, shepherds of the last wishes of the drowning. For some they eased passage to their final reward, while for others they sustained and even granted life, by guiding lifeboats miraculously to those who could be saved, or away from jagged ice and the dangerous flotsam that loitered everywhere.
As history’s quill penned its last stroke, and the “unsinkable” H.M.S. Titanic sank completely into its own icy sepulcher, the two gods departed, not to see each other again for over sixty years.
***
1977
***
Peter Criss
Peter held the baby boy, rocking him gently. Sunlight warmed the steps of the church. This wasn’t the first time he had been in this situation. Peter was just one of many supernaturals who worked together to create an underground railroad of protection for orphaned children with special needs. The priest looked at the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you that cat man from the band Kiss?”
Peter nodded. “I’m also a Felinthrope. I know that you provide protection. Coyote sent me to you. This boy needs protection. He needs a home.”
“Why does he need a home? What has become of his family?”
Peter stroked the boy’s check, calming him to sleep. “He is a shifter that didn’t carry the bloodline. His pack cannot protect him. They are mostly dead.”
The priest rocked back on his heels as his eyebrows went up. “No wonder you came to us.”
Peter nodded. “The church can protect him. We cannot. If we keep him in the community of the supernatural, he will be known for what he is. He will be used for what he can be. His destiny needs to be his own. He needs a chance to grow as a normal boy.”
Reaching out, the priest took the baby boy. “What is the child’s name?”
Peter blinked. “No clue. Uh … I’ve always liked the name Ian. And maybe, since I’m into rock … Stone?”
The priest nodded. “He will be cared for and protected.”
***
Lilith
Lilith savored the shape of events to come, anticipating the story’s unfolding with relish.
It started, where most stories paradoxically start, not at the beginning but long before. But in the case of this story, it also started in two places. With two individuals. Yet despite the vast miles that separated the two critical events, those tied to them were more intertwined than a double-helix strand of DNA. One helix, a vampire’s destiny, carried through a bloodline; the other, an angel’s. Two stories, divorced by time, space, and more … inexorably linked.
And Loki was playing right into her hands. She could taste the conflict with the Gray Ones. The supernaturals who were beyond death, beyond the control of the Sisters of Fate … Besting the Gray Ones was a must,
of course, but she would emerge the dominant divinity. So few of them were left. Only the clever gods had made it this far. History was a vicious bitch, and it was felling them all in its inexorable course. All but her.
Delicacy would be her byword. This war would take a toll, and each battle would be key, and in each battle were individual conflicts. Conflict … How easy it would be to lose the personal stories in the heat of rage and blood. But the stories, the lives, the prayers, that was where she and Loki derived their power. But Loki … the Angel was the key to Loki’s survival, and she had made sure that the trickster god, by his own hand, had sealed his own Fate.
New York glittered below her throne in the night’s clouds. The show was about to begin.
***
Elizabeth Bathory
Elizabeth straightened the lapels of her white polyester suit. Her rich, dark curls cascaded down her back, bouncing as she walked. The suit, straight out of Saturday Night Fever, shimmered as she strutted down the dark street. Despite the shadowy alleys lurking between stately gray high-rises, each trying to feign nonchalance, she walked by unconcerned.
Her hips swayed from side to side as she walked, daring the nightlife to come out and play. Most of the worst cutthroats and night crawlers had the sense to stay hidden. They fancied themselves predators, but they were bottom feeders. New York streets at night had a living feeling to them, that pulse-quickening quality also shared by predators and prey. No. Shared between predators and prey.
Those intuitive or sensitive enough could feel the untamed, hungry heart of the Night emerge. To Elizabeth, the bond had no real meaning. A time when she had to understand the prey, when she had to think like the prey, had never been, nor would it ever be.
She was the Night, capital N. Blood from a thousand virgins, and one immortal, had kept her young and powerful throughout the centuries. And her hungers, her lusts, had not diminished. On wings of seduction and guile, she floated through the streets, till she came upon what she was seeking.
Hair of the Wolf Page 1