a love-sick puppy wherever they go.
Sir Differel Van Helsing [https://www.sir-differel.com/]--The descendent of Abraham Van Helsing and King Arthur, she heads the Caerleon Order, the premier monster-hunting organization of the United Kingdom and the Commonwealth. She commands Dracula, the most powerful vampire extant, and the greatsword Caliburn, better known as Excalibur.
He also writes a series of sword & sorcery stories set in an alternative universe known as the Lands of the Dreams of Men.
Kevin lives in Denver with his family and 4 cats.
For more information, see his website, Songs of the Seanchai.
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Discover other titles by Kevin L. O'Brien:
A fidus Aranea, Barbarians R Us, The Christmas Vampires, Dark Vengeance, Disposable Commodities, Feline Savior, Gourmand Hag, Immanuel, The Lions of Inganok, Man Friday, Masie's Mind, No Torrent Like Greed, Oak Do Hate, Post-Traumatic Redemption, Sacrificial Offering
Enjoy these other titles at fine ebook retailers everywhere.
Available on Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/story/list/20075368
Adventurer's Honeymoon, The Beast of Exmoor, A Deliberation of Morality, The Denver Walker, The Golden Mushroom, Gruff Tolls, Jigsaw Dragon, The Peril Gem, Rhapsody in Orange, Shenanigans, Youthful Indiscretion
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Connect with Kevin L. O'Brien Online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/KLOB_writer
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/kevin.l.obrien.1
Website: https://www.seanchaisongs.com/
DeviantArt: https://teamgirl-differel.deviantart.com/
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/Kevin_L_OBrien
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Sample Excerpts
From "Oak Do Hate"
She ran back out to the cart and rode off; the source of the glow seemed to be just ahead. As she got closer her anxiety mounted, and in her imagination she saw all sorts of horrendous possibilities, each worse than the one before. What she finally did see, however, mystified her as she slowed the cart to a halt.
In the space of the park between the stables and the lake, on either side of the path, were trees, dozens of them, maybe even a hundred or more.
"There aren't supposed to be trees here." But they were the source of the glow. Each one emitted only a feeble light, but together they lit up the night sky, if only dimly.
She got out of the cart and walked among them, examining each with the torch. She realized they weren't actually trees, just trunks sunk into the ground, all between five and six feet tall, with two boughs raised into the air, but with no branches, and curiously no leaves. That early in autumn there should still have been some, even if they had turned color. Another puzzling feature: each had a strange, knobby growth, like a giant gall, at the top of the trunk between the boughs.
It doesn't make sense. Aelfraed hadn't told her about any landscaping being done, and she had been out riding a couple of days before and hadn't seen anything in that area. It would take longer than that to plant that many trees. On top of which, it would have been faster and more efficient to plant seedlings, but no gardener worth his salt would plant mature trees just before winter. And why cut off the boughs, or leave just two?
As she shined the torch around, she spotted a small reflection in the middle of one of the galls. She kept the beam steady on it as she approached.
What is that? When she reached the foot of the trunk, she found something embedded into the wood. She studied it in an intent manner, trying to divine what it was. When she finally recognized it, her heart seized as her blood ran cold, and she backed away from the tree.
"Oh my Holy God!"
It was a pair of pince-nez spectacles.
She played the light over the gall. The pattern of the bark was identical to the facial features of Aelfraed, except they were twisted into an expression of terror. She shined the light on another tree; that one had the features of Mrs. Widget, with her granny glasses embedded in the wood. Beside her was a squat tree that looked like Holt, and beside him one that resembled Phillipa Trumbo, the pastry chef. Another reminded her of Doc LeClerc. She ran around the grove; all the trees had human faces on them, most of which she recognized as members of her staff.
In her growing panic she accidently ran into one of them. As she stepped back, she illuminated the gall-face and felt a jolt: Vlad's countenance stared back at her in a blank manner. Despair washed over her and she reached out to lay a hand on the bark. She wouldn't have believed he would end like that.
{Neither would I, My Master, but I am not finished yet.}
At first startled, she broke out into a relieved grin. You're alive?!
{In a manner of speaking.}
What of the others? Aelfread, Mrs. Widget, Holt--
{They are more alive than I. They are just encased in prisons of wood, as I.}
She felt her irritation flare. Why didn't you reply back at the house!?
{I could not. My prison prevented me. Only through this physical contact are we able to converse, yet just barely. Soon even this will become impossible.}
Oh. My apologies.
{You need never apologize to me, Master. Do you beg forgiveness of a pistol or a sword? I am only a weapon, albeit a broken one at present.}
Never mind that now! Tell me what happened.
{I cannot be certain; I have never felt anything like this before. It was a summons that took control of my body. I was like a passenger riding a vehicle. I recognized what was happening, but I could not stop it. Nor was I alone. I could sense that everyone on the estate was under its influence. Once we had gathered in this place, we were encased in bark, as you see.}
But why?
{I can feel this spell, whatever its origin, changing my flesh, my organs, the very bones of my body, to wood, as my feet become roots and my fingers branches.}
You're turning into a tree?!
{So it would seem.}
Why wasn't I affected?
{I do not know. I have no knowledge of this magic. You felt nothing?}
Something woke me up, but after that, no.
{When was this?}
I'm not sure; maybe thirty minutes ago.
{That was about when I came under its influence.}
Do you know who or what is behind it?
{I...yes. The Spirit of the Oaks.}
I beg your pardon?
{An ancient--Master! Beware, you are in danger!}
She caught movement out of the corner of her right eye. Turning, she pulled the Beretta out of her jacket pocket, thumbed off the safety, and set it to semi-automatic as she scanned the area with the torch. She caught a glimpse of something slipping out of the cone of light. She sprinted towards it and pointed the torch into its path.
It was just another of the trunks. Disappointed and puzzled, she stopped and started to swing the light away, when she spotted its leafy crown.
No, it was a willow, like those on the shore of the lake. But how did it get there--
It turned and "faced" her.
From "Disposable Commodities"
He laughed again and shook his head as he crossed the room to his desk. He dropped the messages on the blotter and took a moment to push down the upper panel of his window to get some fresh air, glancing down at the street twenty stories below. He then turned and opened the desk file drawer. Inside was a bottle of whiskey, half full, a thick-walled pewter bowl a foot across, and a crude ceramic jar stopped with a lead plug. He took out all three and set them on the desk. Pulling loose the plug, he poured a handful of grayish-green powdery salt into a glass from the wet bar and measured out a gram onto a slip of rice paper using a pharmacist's balance. He poured the unused dust back into the jar and replaced the plug before dumping the gram into the bowl. He walked into the middle of the room carrying the bowl and the whiskey bottle, set the bowl on the floor, and poured in a libation of the liquor. He sprinted back th
ree feet as the contents began to fizz.
Within seconds, a column of fine mist rose into the air. It billowed and swirled, and took on a female form. As he watched, it coalesced into a solid object, then faded away, to reveal a nude, voluptuous woman with an hourglass figure and skin the color of bread crust. She stood as still as a statue for a few moments, her eyes closed, then she inhaled sharply and started to breath. She tilted her head back, raised her arms, and stretched her entire body, as if trying to reach the ceiling. She lowered her arms in a languid manner, bending her elbows, and ran her fingers through her billowing mane of fiery crimson hair. Still lowering her arms, she caressed the sides of her face and neck, her shoulders, and her voluminous breasts. It wasn't until she rested her palms on her hips that she relaxed and opened her eyes.
She stepped out of the bowl. "How long has it been this time?" Her voice was a low contralto, with a sultry burr that sounded like a purr.
"Three months, Lily my dear." He raised the whiskey bottle to his mouth.
She frowned and raised an eyebrow. "That's the longest yet."
He took a swig. "Not as long as when I first woke you up. What year were you processed again?"
"1912." Her voice sounded tight as he took another drink.
"And the first time I let you out was last year. So, ninety-five years. Get the picture?"
She gave him a look that could curdle milk. "What do you
The Adventure of the Christmas Vampires Page 8