by Sandra Hill
Reader Letter
Dear Readers:
Whew! Seven Deadly Angels books! Never thought that would happen. And now that all seven Sigurdsson brothers have had their stories told, what next? Well, if you’ve read to end of The Angel Wore Fangs, you’ll know that there has to be a story for Zebulan the Hebrew. And there will be. It’s titled Good Vampires Go to Heaven. And that one’s got to be the best of all. A tortured hero with a sense of humor deserves no less. And after that, who knows? Maybe there will be some others.
On the other hand, there are still more Viking historicals to be written. Tykir’s two other sons. Alrek the Clumsy Viking. Jamie the Scots Viking. And then there are those Viking Navy SEALs Jam and Slick and Geek. And don’t forget Tante Lulu, who can’t keep her busybody Cajun mouth shut for long. So many choices!
I have a long backlist of books available now in both print and e-book, and even audio, formats. Sometimes there are huge bargains for them, especially in bundles. Check the online bookstores and my website occasionally for details. Or sign up for my newsletter, which only goes out a few times a year, I promise. I can be reached from my website at www.sandrahill.net or my Facebook page at SandraHillAuthor.
As a side note, The Angel Wore Fangs is the first of my Deadly Angels books that turned into a time travel, which prompts the question: How could a modern person understand the language spoken more than a thousand years ago? We all know from Canterbury Tales and such literature that medieval English is almost incomprehensible to the contemporary reader. Add to that the fact that Andrea, in my story, would be in a country that spoke Old Norse, not to be confused with modern Norwegian. In fact, the closest we have today to Old Norse is Icelandic.
Well, here’s one explanation. Old Norse and Saxon English were similar. They shared many of the same words. Thus, they were able to communicate with each other, at least on a basic level. For example, these are some words that could be equally understood: anger (angr), cake (kaka), club (klubba), fog (fok), give (gefa), and outlaw (utlag). In fact, many of the concepts and terms in today’s English and American legal systems came from the Vikings. No kidding! But that’s another story.
As always, I love to hear from you readers. Wishing you smiles in your reading, and in your life. Until the next book . . .
Sandra Hill
Glossary
A-Viking—A Norse practice of sailing away to other countries for the purpose of looting, settlement, or mere adventure; could be for a period of several months or years at a time.
Aioli—A Provençal sauce made with garlic, olive oil, egg yolks, and seasoning, similar to mayonnaise.
Birka—Viking era market town located where Sweden is today.
Braies—Slim pants worn by men.
Burqa—Enveloping outer garment worn by women in some Islamic traditions to cover their bodies when in public.
Cassoulet—A rich, slow-cooked casserole containing meat and white beans.
Ceorl—Free peasant, person of the lowest classes.
Concubine—Mistress.
Cotter—Peasant farmer.
Crofter—Person who occupies and works a small landholding known as a croft for which he pays rent to a landlord, or lord.
Drukkinn (various spellings)—Drunk.
Ell—Unit of measurement approximating the length of a man’s arm from elbow to tip of the middle finger, usually about eighteen inches.
Fake-O—Synthetic blood drunk by vangels when other blood is not available.
Fireball—Cinnamon whiskey.
Fjord—Narrow arm of the seas, often between high cliffs.
Frey/Freyr—Norse god of peace and fertility, rain and sunshine.
Frigg/Frigga—Wife of Odin, Norse goddess of beauty, love, and marriage.
Frigg’s-day—Friday.
Frumenty—Thick wheat porridge cooked in milk, traditionally served with venison.
Gammelost—Stinky cheese, rumored to be so bad it turned men berserk.
Garderobe—Indoor privy.
Gunna—Long-sleeved, ankle-length gown for women, often worn under a tunic or surcoat, or under a long, open-sided apron.
Haakai—High-level demon.
Hákarl—Also known as rotten shark; fermented and dried shark meat that has an ammoniac taste and putrid scent; a Viking delicacy.
Handsal—The witnessed wedding contract.
Hap—A coarse coverlet.
Hedeby—Viking age market town where Germany now stands.
Hersir—Viking military commander.
Hird/hirdsman—A permanent troop that a chieftain or nobleman might have.
Hneftafl—Norse board game in which a king tries to escape from a besieging army.
Hoedown—Social gathering at which lively folk dancing takes place, a barn dance.
Hordlings—Lower-level demons.
Housecarls—Troops assigned to a king’s or lord’s household on a longtime, sometimes permanent basis.
Imps—Lowest-level demons, foot soldiers so to speak.
ISIS—Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham, extremist Muslim group.
Jarl—High-ranking Norseman, similar to an English earl or wealthy landowner, could also be a chieftain or minor king.
Jorvik—Viking-age York, known to the Saxons as Eoforwic.
Kaupang—A Viking-age market town, one of the first towns in Norway.
Knarr—A Viking merchant vessel, wider and deeper than a regular longship.
Lamprey—Jawless fish resembling an eel with an odd, toothed, funnel-like sucking mouth, called the vampire fish.
Land of the Midnight Sun/Polar Nights—A natural phenomenon that occurs in northern regions, including Norway, in which it stays light almost all day in the summer and stays dark almost all the time in the winter.
Lingonberry—The fruit of a short evergreen shrub.
Longships—Narrow, open water-going vessels with oars and square sails, perfected by Viking shipbuilders, noted for their speed and ability to ride in both shallow waters and deep oceans.
Lucifer/Satan—The fallen angel Lucifer who became known as the demon Satan.
Lucipires—Demon vampires led by the fallen angel Jasper.
Lutefisk/lutfisk—A traditional dish made from dried and salted, whitefish preserved with lye.
Manchet bread—Flat unleavened circles of bread.
Mancus—A unit of measurement or coin equal roughly to 4.5 grams of gold or thirty silver pence, also equal of one month’s wages for a skilled worker in medieval times.
Mead—Fermented honey and water.
Merde!—Shit!
Mjollnir (various spellings)—Thor’s hammer.
Motte—A high, flat-topped mound; a motte and bailey castle would be a wood or stone keep on a raised earthwork, surrounded by protective ditches and palisades.
Mung—Type of demon, below the haakai in status, often very large and oozing slime and mung.
Muslim—A religion based on the Koran, with the belief that the word of God was revealed through the prophet Mohammed.
Neeps—Turnips.
Nettles—Stinging nettles can be used as an herb as well as a nutritious and delicious food; once cooked they have a spinach or cabbage flavor.
Norselands—Early term referring not just to Norway but all the Scandinavian countries as a whole.
Norsemandy—Normandy.
Odel rights—Rules regarding inheritance.
Odin—King of all the Viking gods.
Oyster Shooters—Raw oyster in shot glass, topped with bourbon (or vodka), Tabasco sauce, and squeezed lemon, then down the hatch in one swallow.
Percherons—Breed of draft or war horse, first seen in the former Perche province of France.
Pottage—Thick soup or stew made by boiling vegetables, grains, and whatever meat or fish is available, sometimes added to over days so that the content became questionable.
Privy—Outdoor toilet.
Purdah—Practice in some Muslim countries of women living in separate rooms or behind curtains, or d
ressing in all-enveloping clothes when out in public.
Sagas—Oral history of the Norse people, passed on from ancient times.
Sallat—Medieval salad.
Samite—Luxurious and heavy silk fabric, often including gold or silk thread.
Sennight—One week.
Serf—An agricultural laborer under the feudal system, working under a lord’s estate.
Sharia—Interpretation of Islamic law requiring strict adherence to traditional precepts, very strict particularly involving women.
Skål!—Cheers!
Skald—Poet.
Skyr—An ancient Norse cheese product, still made today, thicker than yogurt but not as grainy as cottage cheese.
Stasis—State of inactivity or numbness, condition in which the person cannot move.
Tangos—Terrorists, bad guys.
Teletransport—Transfer of matter from one point to another without traversing physical space.
Thor—God of war.
Thralls—Slaves.
Tramp stamp—A tattoo on a woman’s lower back.
Tripe—Rubbery stomach lining of an animal that is cleaned and cooked for human consumption.
Tun—Measure of liquid capacity equivalent to 252 gallons.
Turducken—A dish consisting of a deboned chicken stuffed into a deboned duck, which is in turn stuffed into a deboned turkey; also called the Three Bird Roast.
Valhalla—Hall of the slain, Odin’s magnificent hall in Asgard (like Viking heaven).
Valkyries—Odin’s handmaidens who conduct slain warriors from the battlefield to Valhalla.
Vangels—Viking vampire angels.
Vieux Carre—French Quarter of New Orleans.
VIK—The seven Sigurdsson brothers who head the vangels.
Don’t miss the next
DEADLY ANGELS
novel!
Good Vampires Go to Heaven
by New York Times bestselling author
SANDRA HILL
Coming December 2016
Prologue
What is your secret fear?
Satan came to visit me today.
Me! Zebulan, a mere Hebrew of no great fame, in the presence of the Boogie Man of Sin! And not a welcome mat in sight. Hah! If I had one, I’d try to hide under it. And I am not easily frightened.
You probably think that I mean Satan’s visit as a metaphor for some bad deed I’ve committed. God knows . . . rather, Satan knows . . . I’ve committed plenty. No, I mean the real deal, scary-as-hell (pun intended . . . can you tell I’m losing it here?), evil personified, primo devil.
Really.
Can’t you see him? He is standing right there before me.
In person.
Well, not “in person” precisely because, as everyone knows, the biggest, baddest of all demons isn’t a person. Never was. Lucifer, as Satan was known in the beginning, existed as an archangel for eons, if not forever, before his fall from grace, never having started as a human, or so it is said. People do not realize that angels were created by God, and that humans do not become angels after death, no matter how good they might have been. Blame the misconception on movies like A Wonderful Life with the line about angels getting wings every time a bell rings. Hah!
I am rambling, mentally, as you can tell. A defense mechanism, I suppose. It’s either that, or scream with fright. You’d think there was nothing worse than the torture I have undergone this past year. I’ve grown at least two inches, thanks to the rack. (And I was already more than six feet tall.) Flaps of skin hang here and there from the floggings. (Needles and thread would come in handy, not to mention a nurse. I would do it myself if I could. But I am tied up at the moment. Ha, ha, ha!) No toenails or fingernails. (Ah, well. Saves money on manicures and pedicures, not that I’ve ever had either.) Barbed wire around my cock and round the clock porn shown on a ceiling screen. (Ouch! Gives new meaning to Ring Around the Rosie.)
The only reason I still have eyes or a tongue is because Jasper, another fallen angel, wants me alive for centuries to prolong my agony. He thinks I betrayed him.
I did.
But back to Satan. Believe me, a visit from the Essence of Evil does not bode well for me, especially when he deigns to visit me in The Pit, this hidden cave deep in the bowels of Horror, Jasper’s castle headquarters.
Jasper is king of all the Lucipires, or demon vampires (in case you didn’t know), of which I have been one for the past two thousand or so years. Leastways, I had been until the Big Transgression. That’s what Jasper calls my attempt to join the other team, as in vangels (Viking vampire angels). And, no, I am not a Viking. But I would try my damnedest to become one if it meant release from this demonic obligation. I’d even wear a ridiculous horned helmet, and learn to ride a longship, and eat that stinky gammelost, and . . .
“You find humor in my presence, Zebulan?” Satan’s voice is so soft and beguiling one might be fooled into thinking his feelings are hurt. Does the Chief Devil even have feelings?
“No. I was grimacing, not smi . . .” My words trail off as I turn to look directly at Satan for the first time.
He is beautiful.
Holy hellfire! I’m not sure what I was expecting. Demonoid form, for sure. Scaly green skin and tail and drooling mung. Claws with razor sharp nails. Blazing red eyes and fangs. A darting, snake-like tongue. Maybe even horns.
But, no, he is in humanoid form, and his appearance is so attractive it startles. Even Jasper, who stands in the background, still in demonoid persona, gazes at his master with awe.
Satan has long, silk-like red hair. Who would have ever guessed a demon redhead? But then, redheads do have a reputation for fiery personalities. His skin is the creamy color of aged ivory. A perfectly muscled, tall body is shown off in black leather tunic and tight pants tucked inside tooled, ebony snakeskin boots. The chain belt around his waist is pure gold. About his neck is another gold chain from which hangs a crucifix, of all things, meant to be a sacrilege, I assume.
Satan carries not the caricature pitchfork portrayed in Christian images, but a long-handled whip with dozens of hair-thin, silver flails with weighted tails. The calm expression on his face is belied by the way he keeps tapping the whip against his knee, causing the metal to shimmer in the dim candlelight of the cave and make a metallic shushing sound.
Shush, shush, shush!
It is Satan’s eyes that are the giveaway, though. Clear green orbs against a blood red background that almost seem to pulse with fury. They are mesmerizing in their attempt to draw a person into their cyclonic swirls of sin.
Shush, shush, shush.
The eyes and the repetitive rhythm of the whip hypnotize.
Shush, shush, shush.
I look away, afraid of what I might say or do if I fall under the devil’s spell.
“Thou hast wasted enough time, Zebulon. ’Tis time to admit thy betrayal, beg for forgiveness, and promise to remain a Lucipire, never to stray again.”
Shush, shush, shush.
Do a demon vampire’s work for eternity? Continue to fight the vangels. Prey on human sinners. Kill, kill, kill. My body count is well over a thousand by now. The prospect of continuing that dark work is more horrific to me than anything Satan might do to my body. “No. Kill me and get it over with.”
“You are already dead.”
Shush, shush, shush.
“Just send me to Hell then. You can torture me there all you want.” Brave words when I am shaking in my shackles!
Shush, shush, shush.
“Ah, that is the rub,” Satan says.
Shush, shush, shush.
“Alas, I cannot take you home . . . yet.”
Huh? I turn my head to look at Satan and, whoa! I understand immediately. This puts a whole new light on my situation. It almost makes the past year of torture worthwhile. Apparently, my eternal fate is in question. My good acts for the vangels must have gained me points Up Above. Oh, it wouldn’t be enough to get me through the Pearly Gates, but maybe Purgato
ry’s more tarnished portals. “My pal Michael must have put in a good word for me.” I start to smile and stop when my dry lips crack and begin to seep blood again, my fangs cutting deeper. It’s a wonder I have any blood left.
Satan hisses and lashes his whip across my chest. The metallic threads cause an excruciating pain, more like a searing burn. Thin welts immediately rise on my skin.
“You will not mention that name again!” Satan’s red-rimmed, green eyes are now totally red. He is still beautiful, though, dammit.
Satan refers to Michael, of course, the archangel warrior responsible for kicking the fallen angels out of Heaven, including Lucifer aka Satan.
“Michael, Michael, Michael,” I taunt, foolishly, but with great delight.
The whip shoots out again, criss-crossing the chest welts. I probably look like a blank crossword puzzle. Give me a five-letter word for person who taunts the devil. IDIOT. My warped sense of humor is the only thing keeping me from crying out with pain.
“Shall I send for Craven?” Jasper asks Satan. “My chief tortureologist has developed new methods of persuasion that are very effective.”
Tortureologist? More like one sick bastard with more muscle than brain!
“Not so effective if this sinner can stubbornly refuse to surrender,” Satan remarks.
Shush, shush, shush.
“Ah, but Hebrews ever were a stubborn race,” Jasper points out.
Not a wise move! Even Zeb in his pain-riddled haze knows that one does not argue with Satan.
Satan scowls at Jasper. Believe me, a Satan scowl is nothing to be encouraged. Better Jasper than me.
“I mean, of course Craven has not been so effective in Zebulan’s case, but . . . ,” Jasper attempts to backpedal.
“Watch and learn, Jasper,” Satan snarls. “The best torture works on the victim’s deepest despair. Their hidden fears. Their agonizing regrets. Their guilt. What might have beens. Their wish for do-overs.”
Satan gives his full attention to me now, and I try to make my mind blank, to reveal nothing. At the same time, I brace myself, ignorant of exactly what he plans, but knowing I am in for something bad.
It proves to be worse than I can imagine.