Broken Heart Tails (Broken Heart Vampires)

by Michele Bardsley

  “I fear not,” said Raine. “He will find you. He always does.”

  Sylphina nodded. “Then the sacrifice is necessary.”

  “For good to endure, sacrifice always necessary.”

  “Oh, my darling!” Amethyst popped off the couch and wrapped Sylphina in a warm, lavender-scented hug. “May your journey to Yalinia be a peaceful one.”

  “Thank you, Elder.”

  Amethyst let go, sniffling. She drew a tissue out of her sweater sleeve and wiped her nose.

  Raine rose and embraced Sylphina. “I, too, wish you a peaceful journey, child.”

  “My thanks, Elder.”

  “One last thing,” said Raine, regret tingeing her voice. “You must draw your brother away from us.”

  “Of course.” Sylphina had already planned to go as far from her home as possible. Synd wouldn’t blink an eyelash at harming the Elders. Hate burned in him as bright and hot as his own dragonfire.

  “There is a place in Oklahoma. The town is called Broken Heart. I believe the vampires there will help you. Ruadan is familiar with our kind—and Ash could meet you there.”

  “What if Synd finds me there?”

  “Broken Heart knows how to handle the dangers,” said Raine. “They are a strong community.” She stroked Sylphina’s red hair, her gaze wet with unshed tears. “Though you cannot be with us during your transition perhaps being with other immortals will be of some comfort.”

  Sylphina lowered her head, a sign of respect, but also to hide her own tears. How could she be comforted?

  She was going to die.

  Alone.

  * * * * *

  Libby lay face-down in the dirt, spitting out grass and rocks. Something warm and wet trickled down her temple, and she rubbed at it with trembling fingers.

  Blood.

  “Oh, my God! Libby!”

  Her mother’s terrified voice sounded muffled. Libby shook her head and realized the fiery blast just moments earlier had muted her hearing. Dora stumbled toward her, her own face streaked with dirt and blood.

  Libby’s whole body ached as she rolled onto her side and stared at the fire consuming the old barn. Even though she was yards away and protected by the tree line, the heat was intense. Her mother reached her and pulled her into her arms, hugging her so tight Libby couldn’t breathe.

  She stared over her mother’s shoulder, unable to look away from the fire as it reached jagged, flickering fingers toward the blackened sky.

  Libby woke up, the thin coverlet clenched between her fists. She sat up and flipped on the bedside lap. Her heart raced and sweat beaded her upper lip. Damn it. She hadn’t dreamed about the night of the bombing for a long time. Wasn’t ten years enough time to just to get over it, already?

  The motel’s bed was rock-hard and the pillows flat, but it was still better than the RV’s couch. Combing through her hair with quivering fingers, she tried not to wonder if the dream’s reappearance was a portent. She’d had a knot in her gut ever since her parents had announced the Broken Heart investigation.

  She went into the bathroom and poured a glass of water from the tap. It tasted metallic, but she gulped it down anyway. She returned to the bed and flopped down, so not ready to go back to sleep. The digital alarm clock blinked 2:08 a.m. Usually, sleeping in a motel felt like heaven, especially after being confined to the RV for weeks at a time. Tomorrow, they would cross Oklahoma’s border. Her parents wanted to stop in Tulsa and help with a haunted house investigation then … Broken Heart.

  Screw sleep.

  She grabbed her laptop and booted it up. Then she logged on to the PRIS forums and looked up the Broken Heart messages. Comments about everything from vampires to Bigfoot had been posted. She scrolled through the vampire posts. She had a healthy respect for the unknown, for the mysterious. But vampires? Really? She couldn’t fathom the idea of some undead guy sucking necks for food. Her mother had written a whole volume about the deamhan fola. Dora believed in vampires. In fact, she and Brady had worked out an odd sort of hypnosis (coupled with one of Brady’s cranial electro whatsits) that she said guaranteed they couldn’t be glamoured by the undead.

  Hoo-kay.

  Under the “Miscellaneous” category, she found a reference to a zombie attack.

  My friend Ryan went to Broken Heart to visit his grandma’s grave. He said that some people wouldn’t let him into town because there was a gas leak. He snuck through the woods and got into the cemetery. This dead dude scared the shit out of him. His skin was all gross and peeling off. He didn’t have no eyes, either. Then these bad-ass wolves came running in and tried to eat him. Ryan ran away and said he’d never go back. You ask me, Broken Heart is full of weird shit.

  Zombies? Riiight.

  With a sigh, Libby shut off the computer and climbed back into bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in the paranormal or that she hadn’t seen some seriously strange crap … it was more that feeling she wasn’t living her own dream. Was paranormal investigation really gonna be her life’s work? And though she wasn’t psychic or really all that intuitive, every time she thought about Broken Heart, her stomach knotted.

  She fluffed the pillows and flicked off the lamp. Then she stared into the dark until she fell into restless sleep.

  * * * * *

  The fireball hit the BMW on the passenger side. The car skidded to the gravel shoulder, the flames so hot, Sylphina felt her dragon roar with longing. She dove out and rolled, the rocks biting into her skin. She popped to her feet and scanned the sky.

  Synd was not there.

  Sylphina studied the car as it melted into a heap of twisted metal. A warning shot. Her brother hadn’t wanted to kill her. Just freak her out.

  Mission accomplished.

  She was at least an hour away from Broken Heart with no way to get there—at least not by human means.

  Sylphina realized she would have to morph into her dragon, which was exactly what Synd wanted. Killing her in her human form wouldn’t be as much of a challenge, and Synd loved a challenge. Plus, he loved being a dragon, considering his human side weak and nearly useless.

  Staring up into the night sky, she renewed her vow: Synd would not get her powers. No matter what she had to do.

  For good to endure, sacrifice is always necessary.

  * * * * *

  Libby’s dad parked the rental car on the side of the road. It was edging toward ten p.m. Unlike most of the highway they’d traveled on the way here, this section had no working lights. It was the kind of dark that set her teeth on edge, a cold, bleak night that kept secrets.

  Broken Heart’s secrets.

  “We really gotta walk?” Libby groused as she zipped up her parka.

  “Other investigators haven’t had much luck driving into the town,” said her mother. “They get stopped and re-routed. More than a few remember driving through it without stopping, but nothing else.”

  Mom’s theory: Vampire glamour.

  They exited the car. The cold was like knives, sharp and unrelenting, even in her lungs. Their breath puffed out into little white clouds. Her dad stamped his feet.

  “Use the walkie talkie feature of your cell phone. You’re Crystal One,” said Mom. “I’m Ruby Two, and your dad’s Sapphire Three.”

  Libby stared at her mom. “And we can’t use our names because…”

  “Brady suggested this as a security measure,” said Mom. “I got to pick the code names.”

  Terrific. Libby heaved her purse over her shoulder and tucked the cell phone into her coat pocket.

  Her father pointed across the road and toward the pocket of woods. “Go through there and stay to the north. You should reach the cemetery in about fifteen, twenty minutes.”

  “Did you read about the zombie attack on the forum?” asked Libby.

  “Oh, zombies are basically harmless,” said Mom. “You know that. They’re not exactly quick on their feet.”

  “If they have feet,” pointed out her dad. “Sometimes they crawl tow
ard you. Then you really have the advantage.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” said Libby drolly. “Where will you be?”

  “We’re sticking to the tree line on the south side and following the road toward the convenience store.”

  Mom and Dad gave her a hug, then set off.

  Libby crossed the empty highway and entered the forest. She walked at a brisk pace. The only sounds in the strangely silent forest were her shoes kicking up dead leaves and snapping twigs.

  Every so often, she felt as though someone—or something—was watching her. Her flashlight beam barely cut through the thick darkness. She’d been on plenty of investigations on her own. This one was no different. Her heart thumped with fear and excitement. Maybe this time they would find something real. And finally walk away with irrefutable proof of the supernatural. Hell, at this point, she’d gladly shake Bigfoot’s hand. Anything so her parents could get the proof that would make their life’s work worthwhile.

  She’d been walking a good ten minutes when she heard a howl.

  Not just any howl. A spine-tingling, blood-curdling yowl that echoed through the forest. Like an idiot, she stopped, slowly turning in a circle to determine the source.

  This is when the horror-movie heroine gets whacked by the ax murderer.

  The howl came again. Then another, and another. Three blending into one.

  That was definitely not Bigfoot.

  Libby picked up the pace, walking as fast as she could without tripping over fallen logs and other forest debris. In the distance, she saw the trees fade into a clearing.

  The cemetery.

  Right now, zombies were looking pretty good. She clutched her flashlight and her purse, and ran … toward Broken Heart.

  Eva and Tamara’s Word List

  In Don’t Talk Back to Your Vampire, Eva LeRoy and her daughter, Tamara, play a daily word game. They pick a “word of the day” and then attempt to work it into a conversation. The words are usually archaic and strange, which makes them difficult to use. And that’s part of the fun!

  Below, you’ll find one of Eva and Tamara’s word lists. You can spend the day being a jollier, or in my case, being a sarcast. Heh.

  Bugaboo: Something that causes fear or worry; a make-believe monster.

  Felicific: Giving or getting intense pleasure.

  Jollier: Someone who jollies (banters, jokes).

  Minutiose: A person who concerns himself with minute details.

  Persifleur: One who banters, offers frivolous talk, and displays mild derisiveness.

  Risibles: One’s sense of humor; sense of the ridiculous.

  Sarcast: One who uses sarcasm.

  Splenetic: A sullen, or bad-tempered person.

  Subrisive: Not quite laughing; smiling broadly.

  Ustulation: The act of scorching or burning.

  Wowser: A puritanical person.

  If you are a minutiose person or you enjoy erudition, Eva recommends the following books:

  Ehrlich, Eugene. The Highly Selective Thesaurus and Dictionary for the Extraordinarily Literate. New York: HarperCollins, 1994, 1997.

  Hook, J.N. The Grand Panjandrum and 1,999 Other Rare, Useful, and Delightful Words and Expressions. New York: Macmillan, 1980.

  Deleted Scene from I’m the Vampire, That’s Why

  It’s not that I believed Patrick. Because I didn’t. But even so, I blanketed him with sympathy. A “mind” hug, if you will. Patrick loved his brother. And that was a truth I understood. He “hugged” me back, the swirling energy wrought by his fear and anger melted back into him.

  Patrick’s gaze met mine. She was not drained, he whispered into my mind, she was viciously attacked, but not by Lorcan. Not by any vampire.

  I couldn’t prevent the shudder that wracked me. I don’t think I want to know what else hunts humans.

  Linda and Stan looked from me to Patrick, but both remained silent. Linda looked like she was going to cry again, and to be honest, Stan looked a mite teary-eyed himself.

  In the uncomfortable silence that ensued, Stan awkwardly patted Linda on the shoulder. “Mrs. Beauchamp … Linda … we are all very sorry about what happened. We are trying to make reparations.”

  “Reparations?” she screeched. “For murdering us?”

  “N-now, L-Linda,” Stan stammered as his patting technique went from inept to frenetic. “I’m very glad you are alive. You’re too pretty to be … uh, dead dead.”

  I’d seen Linda in full temper only once. Ten years ago, she asked me to help her sort items for a garage sale. I showed up in time to see her husband Earl hauling ass, literally because he was naked, through the front yard. He clutched a pair of jeans and one snakeskin boot. All the rest of his stuff was scattered on the lawn. Well, except for his .38 Special. That was in Linda’s hands.

  She had decent aim. Almost winged him. But Earl had a damned good survival extinct and a healthy streak of cowardice. He was also an expert in dodging bullets since he’d nearly gotten killed a dozen times by irate husbands, boyfriends, and fathers.

  After Linda emptied all six rounds, she looked at me and said, “I’m done with that lyin’ cheatin’ bastard. If he ever looks in our direction again, I will shoot off his balls and watch him bleed to death.”

  And I had wisely replied, “I’ll post the bond. And buy the tequila.”

  With sorrow and fury working overtime, I figured Linda would pick up the nearest blunt object and pummel the clueless men. Yeah. There probably wouldn’t be enough pieces of Stan and Patrick left to identify the bodies.

  To my shock, Linda blinked at Stan, who was an inch shorter than she, and said, “You think I’m pretty?”

  The Axed Plot from Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home

  When I wrote the original manuscript for the fourth book in the Broken Heart series, Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home, I decided adding aliens to the paranormal mix would be fun. In fact, the idea of a vampire being skeptical about alien life forms cracked me up (still does, actually).

  Unfortunately, not every idea or plot wins over the hearts and minds of editors. In the case of Wait Till Your Vampire Gets Home, my editor invited me to consider a different idea—and honestly? The dragon angle worked much better, and really turned up the heat (ha, ha) on Libby and Ralph’s story.

  Below, I’ve included a few scenes from the original manuscript that include the aliens.

  Ralph sat on the couch with me and drew me into his arms. His kissed my neck, which made me forget about everything except what I wanted him to kiss next.

  Then things got really good. So good, my heart started knocking hard against my chest. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Ralph looked up from nuzzling my breasts; his eyes were glazed. I imagine his delirious expression matched my own.

  “Do you hear that, Libby?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, drawing him down again. “It’s my heart. It’s trying to beat out of my chest.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  He looked up again and frowned. “No. I think it’s the door.”

  We both sat up. I groaned in frustration. “Can’t you make them go away?”

  “I’ll try,” he said. “Just in case I can’t, you better at least put on your shirt.”

  He used his fingers to comb through his hair then went to answer the door.

  I stuffed my bra between the couch cushions then buttoned up my shirt. My hair wasn’t easily mussed, but I combed through it as best I could. I just hoped whoever it was went away and fast.

  “Libby?” called Ralph, his voice grave. “Can you come here?”

  My heart jumped. Had the vampires figured out that I didn’t leave? Maybe Patsy had sent her minions to physically toss me out.

  With trepidation, I went to the front door and peeked over Ralph’s shoulder.

  Four people stood on the front porch, but only recognized two. I gripped Ralph’s shoulder and stared. Oh. My. God.

  “Happy birthday, Liberty!” said my mother, beaming at me. “We have a bi
g surprise for you!”

  * * * * *

  While Ralph took a quick shower and got dressed, I settled with my parents and their friends in the living room. Mom and Dad hugged me until I couldn’t breathe. I had to admit, it felt really good to see them again.

  I pulled in extra chairs from the kitchen and sat in one; my parents took the others. The two silent fellows sat on the couch. They had the unnerving habit of staring at me without blinking. Meeting their gazes made my eyes water.

  “This is Cullen,” said Mom, pointing to the taller one. “And this is Zane. Actually, I named them because their real names are far too complex to pronounce.”

  “Hello,” I said politely. “Did you just join PRIS?”

  They looked at each other then at Mom. She laughed. “No, dear. I met them in New Mexico.”

  Suspicious now, I studied them more closely. They refused to discard their coats and gloves; both wore the same style Levis and sneakers. They had shaved heads and were on the lean side. Their brown eyes were large and almond-shaped. Their skin appeared as if it had been stretched too tightly against their skulls. It reminded me of that scene in Men in Black, where the farmer’s wife claimed the alien was wearing “an Edgar suit.” I saw wisps of blue tattoos on their necks, too.

  Oh jeez. Bikers? Ex-convicts?

  My mother believed everyone was good-hearted. It was one of the reasons Theodora Monroe didn’t feel the slings and arrows of cynics and snobs. She regularly befriended people who didn’t always have the best intentions. And if they stole from her or conned her or insulted her, she treated them just the same as if they’d been kind to her. I had never mastered this way of dealing with people.