Wednesday, February 2, 2011


Annie fell back into old habits. Papa encouraged her. She was quite good at sublimating and he loved to see her do it. She would melt into somebody's bed chamber, stand by the foot of the bed ,  and carefully uncover the feet. Then she's lean over, position her wide opened mouth above a particularly juicy looking toe or two, and quickly bite them off. The cut was so clean that victims rarely awakened. And her saliva worked its vampire magic, so the wounds healed immediately. Later, out on the street, she'd spit out the repulsive toesies and giggle. Then she'd skip off with her Papa, heading toward the real meal of the night. Her favorite game was 'third one out.' They'd walk the streets looking at the menu, but would always skip the first two interesting choices. But the third one was 'the winner.' That's the one they'd walk up along side, make vampire eyes at, and guide off into some dark corner. It could be a college kid coming home from a late night job, or a nurse on the eleven to seven shift, or some middle aged lothario leaving his completely disinterested little gold digger. What did they care. Soon there'd be a blue, cold flame. The body disappeared and yet another family  would be left in limbo. It could go on like this for a long time. True, Papa still wanted to confront Jonathon. He still entertained some nebulous idea of revenge. But freedom was good. 'Life' was good. The rest could wait. Still, deep in his underground lair, Jonathon knew how dangerous Papa really was. No one knew the actual extent of his abilities. He didn't truly know himself. So Jonathon stayed away. sometimes he'd sneak up to the moonlit surface and cull a deserving victim. And sometimes he'd depend on what the mole people brought him. It was far from perfect. He missed Sarah and thought of her constantly. But he could survive. There were two particular mole maidens who interested him. Pretty little things they were. Quite striking with their long, wavy hair, wide, shining eyes and quiet, modest ways. Lately they'd begun nesting together, piling their blankets in the same brick alcove and spennding their time intimately exploring the possibilities. It reminded him of the concubines' quarters he'd visited in the villas of certain relations back in old Granada and Seville. And he whispered them little songs, Spanish songs, Arabic songs, fom a life lived long ago. When finished, they'd steal off to one of the ancient, crumbling restrooms and carefully bathe each other by sterno light under the softly dripping pipes. But he never stopped longing for Sarah. So Baylah was safe at the seashore. And Jonathon was sheltered as well. The various humans laid low in the Pines. Our midnight reality ticked on. But Papa's Vatican persuers had begun to discover certain things. They had powers. They had tools. And they had collaborators too. He wasn't the only one sealed off in the dark away from the world. The noose, as they say, was beginning to tighten...

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