Thursday, May 17, 2012

Edith and Baylah drink a toast to DONNA SUMMER

First of all, before we start, let me direct your attention to a little bon-bon left as a COMMENT after yesterday's post by the great Southern tale spinner, O.G. Tomes, where she gives us a peek into one of her latest books A TEST OF FAITH. Reads like a movie. I like that. Go to for more. A 'clickable' link at bottom of comment.

                    AND NOW, BACK TO OUR SHOW

Vampires have trouble with tattoos. It's not a question of infections, or things like that. Microbes cannot harm them. But the pigment tends to disappear. It just dissolves and goes away. How they excrete it, I do not know. Zebulon is not an alchemist.  But I do know they leave no scat and pass no water. However, they do perspire. A light dewiness appears on the skin. So perhaps it escapes that way? They continue on as they were at the time of transformation, preserved as if in amber. 

Baylah has a tattoo, a small one. I believe it represents some pre-Islamic Tuareg talisman. It's on the outer side of her left wrist... a small, black stylized camel spider, applied while still a mortal. 

Edith admired it. They're having tea right now, snug in the little, jewel-box apartment above the piano bar. I can hear the muffled tinkling of the show tunes wafting through the floor. Baylah can drink tea. Not too much. Just a little. She lets it slide down drop by drop. Tomas can tolerate certain varieties of distilled spirits. That's just the way it is. Papa can handle thick, yeasty beer...and occasionally a chewy pine nut. Don't ask me about the pine nuts. Perhaps it has to do with his great antiquity? 

Now he's singing 'Last Dance.'  It isn't a show tune, but not all of them are. Baylah got to know Donna Summer back in the early days. She'd appear in small, South Street clubs. Baylah loves to dance. Well-off admirers  squired her about the city in stylish Cadillac El Dorados. You know the cars, the ones with those discreet, little  'opera' windows. Miss Summer never knew she was a vampire. Not everyone can handle that. Some believe the lies spawned by The Inquisition. Others fear magic of any kind. Still, Baylah did give her a small vial, a beautiful, faceted crystal thing, like a pendant. And you know what was inside. It held a few drops of her blood... relics of a 'saint' not truly dead. I know they were in contact over the years. Some letters passes. Some phone calls. Maybe they spoke of the magic? Maybe she knew the truth by then? But she never drank the 'special drug' inside..... Pity. Zebulon cannot tell you where she is on my side now. I do not know. Death is a big place spanning many Heavens and countless Hells. I have only been to some of them. And think on this~~~ to be dead for a heartbeat, or for a billion years is all the same to us. Dead is dead is dead. I have heard of some who reincarnate and go widows returning to Florida. But I have never done it.... not yet.

So the two unusual creatures, the Piney witchy-woman and the Sub-Saharan former princess sit at the small, polished dining table in the lavish pied a terre and raise a cup to the vanished diva, as the last well dressed, tipsy patrons exit the cozy piano bar down below. If it  was winter, the cold air would refresh them. But this is May, when such things never happen.

Most vampire nights are devoid of drama, though poignant just the same.


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And for a different take on the VAMPIRE genre, take a look at the very well received, BEST SELLING  books by ANDREW HARDING at a delicious melange of THE MENTALIST meets CSI with a dash of enchantment and a healthy dose of NINE AND A HALF WEEKS..... a REALLY HEALTHY DOSE!!

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