A cool, September evening crept over the Holy Land. It happens sometimes. A breeze comes in off the sea, or maybe down from the mountains heralding the approach of the biblical New Year. In three weeks it will be 5762 s.e. (since creation). OK, OK, OK, so the number is symbolic. Each year stands for an epoch. And if you look at it that way, it's pretty accurate. I mean all that 'In the beginning' and 'Let there be light' stuff sounds exactly like a description of the big bang. But I'm not here to talk about the heavenly ordained calender. My job is to channel some more information about Roland and Laila. You see, something didn't go right. She's almost an elf....Almost, but a little different. You want to know how it shows? Well, elves rarely kill people. They take tiny bites here and sucky, little kisses there, but nobody dies. Or hardly ever dies. Only laila doesn't appear to be like that. She has the hunger, the true vampirina hunger. Her skin peeled. She was burning up and everything. Papa's essence is always hovering around this place. That's because Jonathon (his vampiric son) is here. But he butts into my mind too. And he says she was too old. Laila, I mean. She was too old to become an elf. She wasn't on the brink of puberty. She was already swimming in it. Had a box of Kotex in her drawer and everything. I guess it's on the mark to say she came a little late to the dance. So she's over the rainbow. Not actually an elf (although her ears ARE a bit pointy and her flying skills are pretty good), more like a hybrid. And that's extremely unusual. So we gotta see how this is gonna play out.
Remember, this was only her first true night and she already woke up with a vision ...a REAL vision. Roland didn't know what to do. He is totally an elf and they don't have to deal with stuff like this. But Renate sensed her need. Who knows? Maybe Papa sennt her. Maybe Moe, from The Three Stooges sent her. What the hell difference does it make? But that evening, when the sun went down, the surviving mother of all the life-eaters was there to greet her as she stepped out of the crypt. They have a lot of cryps on the Mount of Olives. Most are empty, the bones long ago finding their way into the lucrative relic market, or maybe they were carved up to make mah-jong tiles. What do I know. But some of the dead-boxes dug into this picturesque hill side are still occupied. And other camoflaged corpse condos have yet to be discovered. The place where Laila and Roland slept is like that. Nobody (no mortals anyway) knows where it is. They have to enter via an opened, deserted grave, squeeze through a crack-like niche in the back and shimmy down this little tunnel. But he (Roland) tried to make it homey. There's a stack of old comic books, some Teenage-Mutant-Ninja-Turtle sleeping bags and a couple of mag-lite flashlights plus a whole pile of double A batteries from this real cheap, 'Just Batteries' vendor in the souk (shuk in Hebrew). I'm not sure, but I think they got a few hand held, joker-poker, video games floating around in there too. Hey, vampires get bored too, you know.
So, let me get back to the 'Renate' stuff. She puts her arm around Laila and whispers something in her ear. If it was any other life-eater I'd be able to tell you what was said. But Renate is different. Does she mask her words (thoughts too) on purpose? I can't really tell. I mean she seems pretty level headed for a forty thousand year old supernatural (superpowered would be more like it) Cher look-alike. No, really, they do look exactly the same. People stop her on the street and start singing 'Turn Back Time' and everything. She just nods and smiles, but when she don't like the looks of 'em, she'll zap 'em with a real lose runny case of diahrrhea. Hey, being 'Witness-to-the Ages' doesn't necessarily give somebody an evolved sense of humor.
Now Laila was still all broken up over seeing her father and all. She is not about to give him up. She won't forget her family. But a true vision is a powerful thing. Renate, of course, understands this. So she hugs her and they 'crackle' through the air, all the way into the bedroom of some habitual husband poisoner...a real 'black widow', some sixty year old, paint-face bitch who makes a nice living stuffing tainted chunks a pickled herring down the pie-holes of her ninety year old bed partners. I don't know what they actually DO in bed. Pee the sheets is more like it.
So the hard looking thing wakes up, snorts a few times and lets rip with a fart before she realizes what's going on. Imagine, she got Cher and the girl from Slum Dog Millionaire standing there, in a shaft of moonlight, right at the foot of her bed. Takes her a few seconds to get her teeth in. I think she's sixty eight and only says she's sixty. But by then, Laila's moved in close. And after Renate pokes and pinches her a few times, she opens her mouth, exposing the fangs. This sets the old bitch off. She starts yellin' and kickin' her rough, yellow-nailed, boney feet. Like one a them extreme boxers she was. Renate had to straddle her thighs and pinch her titties a few times to get her to stop. But I think almost swallowing her lower plate is what actually did it, 'cause she was about seventy five percent choked to death by the time Laila bit into her neck (more like where the neck meets the shoulder) and finished her off.
Granted, it was not pretty. But vampires aren't made for 'pretty.' They're made to cull the wicked. And Laila's first night as a professional was a resounding success. The next part, where she starts calling for her father and crying till a whole bunch a snot came out her nose, a little less so.
Who knows? Perhaps one night she will catch up with him. Her father, I mean. But this night, the first night, Renate took her to this place to get her palms henna-ed and that sort of distracted her.
The life of an exotic vampirina....just like in the movies, right?
AND NOW FOR SOMETHING COMPLETELY DIFFERENT---------