When Skies are Gray, Part 1 – Love at First Sight : (2009) The Second Jack

…Back to the Beginning…

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

Crow walked up to the kid and squatted down beside him.  Something, smelled like a kitten, hissed from inside his coat.   Crow swallowed.  His dry mouth tasted like demon.  He scrubbed his face with his hand lost for words.  He had just killed this kid’s mother.  Manson’s mocking voice rang in his ears laughing as Crow inflicted death on another boy.  But what choice had Crow had?  If he hadn’t killed the woman they’d both be dead.  But Manson would still laugh.  The murderer would find a sick delight in knowing Crow had orphaned an innocent kid, just as he had been orphaned.   Crow dropped his face in his hands.  Rage like a volcanic eruption of magma filled him and spewed up and out.  Crow lunged up with a growl and drove his fist through the back alley wall.  The bones in his hand crunched.  He had orphaned a kid.  Another flying punch at the wall.  He had given Manson the opportunity to mock him.  Why hadn’t he stayed in the hotel?  Crow relished the pain in his broken hand.  This kid’s mom lay dead beside him, the least Crow, the killer, could do was take on a little pain.

A new voice rang out in his head.  Murder and killing were not the same thing, it pointed out.  Manson embraced murder.  He destroyed his soul with a passion while destroying others.  Killing, the voice spoke with a sad smile, could be good.  Killing, the voice said with a tear, could save.  Crow struggled with the battle between the two voices.  Manson and the other.  The other?  Olive?  The sad smile.  The silver tears.  All his beautiful Olive.  From afar she reached towards him.  She helped him.

He braced himself against the alley wall and took a deep breath.  Peace calmed his soul, something he could not remember every happening in the past.  He never felt calm.  He never felt soothed.   He took another deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” Crow found his voice.  He found his strength not in her blood, but in her beauty.  “I’m sorry this had to happen.”

Fear rolled off the kid in stronger waves than the rotten, decomposing smell of the trash.  His large eyes took in only the dead woman.  He did not move closer to her, or her moat of blood.  He did not cry.

“It came one night.”  The kid shuddered.  “I was scared.”

“The demon?”  Crow lifted his head.

“Yeah.”  The kid nodded.

“Well, it won’t be coming back, for now anyway.”  Crow watched his hand heal.  He regained his composure while his bones re-knit.  Healing done, he came back down to eye level with the kid.  “But, I’m still sorry about your mom.  I wish there’d been something I could’ve done to save her.”

“She wasn’t my mom anymore.”  He took his eyes off her body and turned them on Crow.  “My mom went away the night that monster came.  She won’t come back will she?”

“No,” Crow said.  He hated to say it, but lying wasn’t going to help the kid move on.  “You got a Dad?  Or a place we can take you?”
His coat hissed again, and he reached inside to quiet the kitten.

“No.  The monster ate him first.”

The deadpan voice and glazed eyes told Crow all he needed to know.  The woman had offered her husband first to the demon while her son watched.  If Crow had not come when he did, the kid would have been next.  He was right, she was not his mom.

“Are you a Super Hero? Like Thor or Wolverine.”

“Meaning I’m not Captain America?”

“You don’t have a shield.”

“Good point.”

“At least he didn’t ask if you were Tony Stark,” Zephyr whispered in his ear.

Crow cringed.  He’d take Wolverine.  At least that guy had the guts to not just blindly follow whoever spoke the most eloquently.  And he knew how and when to fight.  Yeah, a Wolverine comparison would do.

“It’s hard to explain, kid, but I’m one of the good guys.  I’m not gonna hurt you.”  Crow held out his hand.

Zephyr kicked him in the neck.  “You doofus.  He hasn’t got any tattoos.”

“What?” Crow said.  He could see the kid didn’t have any tats.

“He can barely see you.”

“Quit sitting there like a useless fairy and get us a light then.”

“Don’t be mean,” she said.

“Are you talking to me?” the kid said.

“No, hold on and you’ll see.”

Zephyr took a dandelion tuff from the belt at her waist.  The white feathery pappus glowed.  One by one they opened and fluttered up, up, down and over the kids upturned face – always refilling, always falling.

“What’s that?” the kid whispered.

“It’s magic.  Demons aren’t the only supernatural thing in the world.  There’s a fair number of good things out there too….and lots of beauty,” he mumbled the last part.  Images of Olive dancing in her garden, laughing in a field of flowers, and tidying the room around sleeping friends washed through him.  There was great beauty in this damned world.

“Is she you’re sidekick?”

Zephyr grinned from ear to ear.

“I guess you could call her that.”

“Cool.”

Crow held out his hand and Zephyr fluttered over to it on silent wings.  The dandelion pappus fell on his fingers like a tiny firework without the heat.  Crow held her out between himself and the boy.

“This is Zephyr.  She’s my friend and has been a long time.”

Zephyr bowed.

Crow held out his other hand, Zephyr’s light catching Olive’s seasonal tattoos.

“The name’s Crow.  And while I’m not a super hero, I am a dhampir.”

“A dhampir?  What’s that?”

“You probably won’t believe this, but it means I’m half vampire, half human.”

The kid gasped taking his hand and shaking it. “You are a super hero.  You’re Blade!”

“Okay,” Crow said.  “You watch too much TV.”

“I don’t watch TV,” the kid said moving closer.  “Why do you have a such girly tattoos on your hand?”

Crow held his hand closer to the light taking a fresh look at Olive’s servant tattoos.  Out of context, he guessed they were feminine, what with the rain drops and the star, but at least he did not have a flower or something on his fingers.

“These belong to a young woman named Olive who has powers over the seasons.  I am her guardian.  That’s why I have them.”  He pointed at another tattoo on his left forearm. “A candle with a moth is Zephyr’s symbol.   It tells everyone I’ve got a Wiznit as a sidekick.”

“What’s a wiz? A wiz? A wiz-what?” he stumbled over the name.

“A Wiznit!” Zephyr spun in a circle on Crow’s hand sending a spray of light raining down on them.

“It’s kinda like a fairy, but not.  And don’t ever call her that.”

The boy smiled.  “I never knew magic was real.  I thought all the stuff in my comics was made up.”

“Most of it is, kid.”

“Do you have any tattoos, Ms. Wiznit?”

Zephyr laughed, a sound like spring – full of life and light.  The alley warmed with the sound.

“Only one, and my name’s Zephyr.”  She held out her hand showing the boy the black silhouetted of a crow etched there.

“I have one of those!”

“A crow tattoo?” Cold fear rushed through Crow.

“No.  Watch.”  The boy raised his arm.  “Acorn, here!”

Crow ducked.  Out of the night sky a small sparrow fell.  He landed on the boy’s arm, and plucked at his coat in a friendly way.

“See?”

“I see.”  Feelings of annoyance at his servant tattoo being compared to a sparrow, and relief because the boy did not have a similar tattoo washed through Crow in two consecutive waves.

“I don’t have any cool tattoos,” the kid said hanging his head.

“You don’t have any ties to the other planes and their magic,” Crow said.  “That’s the only way to get tats like this.”

A kitten poked its face out of the top of the kid’s jacket.  And then another.  They both eyed the sparrow, Acorn.  He hopped a little further down the kid’s arm, well out of reach.

“But you do seem to have an animal affinity,” Crow sighed.  “You got a name?”

“Jack Darren.”

Crow’s stomach dropped.  What were the odds of finding a lost boy who just happened to be named Jack?  Jacks did not have real good luck in his family.  He reached up and rubbed the list of names on his arm.  Old man Jack’s was there right along with the others.

“Do you have any grandparents, Jack?  Someplace I can take you?”

Jack tilted his head to the right.  Zephyr’s light played across his round face.  Sky blue eyes, too serious for his age, moved back and forth in thought.  He reached up and brush back a mop of brown hair.  Another jerk clenched Crow’s gut.  Jack could be Olive’s child, so closely did his face and hair, other than being only one color, resemble her.  Even his eyes were shaped the same, just blue instead of green.

“No.  I don’t know.”

“Okay, let’s get you back to the hotel and clean you up.  We’ll go from there.”

Jack’s stomach rumbled.

“I second that,” Crow said.  With his enemy defeated, his body demanded food.

Crow stood and sniffed the air.  Jack stood and did the same thing.

“Zephyr?”  Crow said.

“Nothing now, but you both reek of demon and trash.”  She covered her nose with her hand.

“Thanks.  But it’s not us I’m worried about. Let’s go.”

Jack took his hand.  Crow squeezed his fingers, awkward, but touched by the kid’s trust.

“Sorry Jack, we’re not walking out of here.  Too slow and too easy to get tracked.”

He lifted Jack up with a quick swing and flung him on his back.  The kittens between Crow’s back and Jack’s stomach wriggled.  Acorn fluttered down to the ground.

“Wait.  Put me down.”

Crow set him back down.

Jack reached in his jacket for the two kittens.  He moved them into side pockets.

“Any more pets?” Crow helped him climbed back up in a piggy back position.

“No, just these three.”

Acorn flew up out of the alley and waited for them on the roof.

“Good.  Now hang on.”

Crow leapt for a window sill and then to the top of a building.

“Holy cow, you are Blade,” Jack said in hero-worship awe.

“No, I’m a dhampir.”  Crow crouched on the building scenting for any follow-up demons.

“Can you go fast?”

“You have no idea,” Crow said.  He shifted away from the alley with the dead woman back across the buildings to his Olive.  Like a warrior returning from battle with the spoils, he headed back to his woman, victorious.  But did a little boy with kittens in his pocket and a sparrow following behind count as spoils? How had he managed to add to his rag-tag band such a seemingly useless member?  Like Jack needed to add ‘hunted by serial killer, demon summoner, vampire slayer’ to his list of woes.  Crow guessed that beat getting eaten or possessed by a demon most days, but not by much.  And he could still end up dead.  But, Crow couldn’t just leave him in the alley next to the monster his mother had become.  Besides, he had a feeling Olive would be more than delighted to take in the kid, pets and all.

Jack cheered in his ear thrilled by his exhilarating ride.  Crow shifted faster and faster leaving the kid breathless in the wind of their passing.

Something was wrong.

Crow slowed before he could even see the hotel sensing something…what?

Jack, arm wrapped around Crow’s throat, bit off the last of a yell going quickly silent.  Zephyr stood.  She tensed sensing Crow’s unease.  He moved closer shifting from shadow to shadow while he sniffed and listened.  Nothing.  He could not smell a thing.

Their hotel window came into view.  Crow stopped.

“The candle.  It’s out.”

He rushed across the last three building tops and straight through their hotel window, broken and open to the dark night.

“No!”

Something had ripped their rooms to shreds, torn apart, and destroyed beds, blankets, chairs and clothing.  Crow looked around, dismayed.  He did not registered Jack letting go of his shoulders and dropping to the floor.  Stunned, he stood there.  Dread ballooned inside him.  He doubled over and threw up.  His stomach revolted as a fear he could not stop avalanched him.  Olive??  What had he done?  How could he go bust a demon like some high school jock needing to prove his testosterone levels while something attacked the people dependent on him?

A groan came from under the overturned entertainment center.

Crow shifted to it.  Lifting it up with one hand, he set it aside.  A bruised, broken, and bleeding Stan moaned on the floor.  Blood bubbled on his lips.  Crow dropped to the floor.  He cradled his old friend in his arms.

“Crow?” Stan gasped.  “They took her.  They came after you left, and took her.”

“Who?” Crow’s voice was ice. Never split up, never split up, never split up, his heart pounded.  Why had he left?  How could he have been so stupid?

“The Gray Coven,” Stan whispered.  His eyes fluttered and closed.

“Crow!” Zephyr called from the other room.  “It’s Rose. She is hurt, but alive.”

Crow held his friend unable to comprehend that while he had been saving Jack, Olive had been taken from him.  He had just found her.  He had just filled that hole deep within his soul.  Now she was gone.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

Writing Journal

I’ve reached a unique cross-roads with my writing which I’m trying to sort out:

I want to be published.

I hate editing.

Or I hate doing the final edit.  You know, the one where you have already edited the same story about six times now and you’re just ready to do something else.  I’m at that stage.  I want to get published.  In fact, I’m to the point where I feel like I need to get something published, something finished, if I want to keep calling myself a writer.  I think creativity is amazing, but I think follow-through is the real test of art.  You can sing all day, but can you sell a record?  You can paint until you’re black and blue all over, but does anyone else want your art on their wall?  To put it another way: Can I quit my day job?

Can I write a good enough story and follow it through to the end, the very end, the published end.

This point I’m at.

I need to pick a story and carry it to the end of its life and let it fly free, or fall with style.

Where does this realization leave me?  At two points:

1.  I need to make time amongst all the other things I’m doing to finish prepping a book, so that I can start the long process of publishing.

2. I need to pick one of the three books I’ve finished to publish.

If someone else can do these two things for me, that’d be great.  I had to laugh cause I talked with a dear friend about both these points and after much discussion realized there is no right or wrong answer.  I just need to pick one.  Darn.  I’d rather there be a right or wrong answer because at least then the choice would be made.

 

Here comes the list of how I spend my time and then How I could do it better:

Step 1: Let me list out the writing commitments I have now.

-Blog: Friday Series (Weekly)

-Blog: Saturday Quotes (Weekly)

-Blog: Monday Review (Weekly)

-Blog: Wednesday Writing Journal (Weekly)

-Editing: Inheritance (Stage 1 of Final Editing)

-Writing: Hero’s Story (New Material)

-Beta Reading/Creative Writing Class: Read Classes Work

-Beta Reading/Creative Writing Class: Teach Monthly 4 hour lesson

-Marketing: Weekly blog updates

-Marketing: Daily Blog Reading

-Marketing: Daily Blog Commenting

-Marketing: Daily Blog Responding

-Marketing: Daily Facebook updates/group interaction

-Marketing: Daily Twitter updates and responses

 

Step 2: What are my Personal Priorities:

-Blog: I’m committed to keeping the Friday blog post and Saturday Quotes up. The Friday Blog post serves as an excellent editing method.

-Blog: The Quotes is easy enough to keep up.  They take less than five minutes.

-Blog: I could alternate the Monday Review and Wednesday Writing Journal.  One every other week, so that would free up some time.

-Beta Reading/Creative Writing:  Too helpful to lose, too many possibilities for the future, good source of future beta readers.  This doesn’t really cut into my writing time.  It fits in other areas.

-Marketing:  This is the main area I could cut back or out.  The first focus needs to be using my two hours of writing in the morning for writing.  NOTHING ELSE! If this means less time to market or chat, that’s the way it needs to be.  It means leaving the internet off, no emailing, no chores either.

-Writing: I need to have a plan.  Monday/Thursday needs to be write and edit for blog.  Tuesday/ Wednesday needs to be edit novel for publishing. Friday and weekend times need to be work on New Material.  Other times, like evening or extra moments may be dedicated to Blog Reading, Commenting, and Follow Ups which may be done on my phone or tablet.

 

Well, that mentally frees me up.  Sorry if that means I have less time to read all of y’alls amazing stories, but a writer needs to write.  I know you understand.  And I’ll try to dedicate some time to keeping up with everyone.

 

Now, to the hard part:  Which of my completed three stories do I focus in on to publish?

When Skies are Gray – the beginning of the Dorian Chronicles and the world, but in the middle of being a series on the blog.

Inheritance – already featured on the blog, stage 1 of final edits about 70% complete, but really the second part of the Dorian Chronicles.  (And I’m probably going to change the name to fit better with When Skies are Gray.)

Happy Thoughts – same world as the other two, but the first novel in my Vampire Hunter series, more well written, well received, but not far along in the editing process.  It has been edited once, alpha read and nothing more.  To get this novel up to snuff would require a major rewrite, whatever is between alpha and beta reading, another edit, beta reading, and then a final, two stage edit….then off to the editor I’m paying to edit it and then to a publisher.

 

Sigh.

 

The last and final piece of this puzzle is the fact that there is one more story in the Dorian Chronicles still in my head.  I won’t be able to write it until after I finish Hero’s Story (my New Material) and Travis’ Story which are book 2 and 3 of the Vampire Hunter Series.  After those are done I can write the last part of the Dorian Chronicles.  This leaves me at the point of do I publish the Vampire Hunter Series first giving me at least another year to two years before being published?  Or do I go with When Skies are Gray, giving me two books published more closely, but a third being pushed out a little further?

 

Hmmmm…..In typing this up, I think I found the answer!  Drum roll, please!  The obvious answer, both mind and heart agree, is to publish When Skies are Gray – book 1 of the Dorian Chronicles.  This both feels like the place to start, cause it is the starting place, and makes logical sense since it will get me two published novels fairly close together.

 

Yea!!!

 

Now, world.  I will still be here, just not here as much.  Bear with me as I focus my writing time on finishing the job and stay tuned to published novel.  For those of you who follow my blog, you can be assured this publishing will include some sort of promotion.  Since I don’t know whether I’m going mainstream or Indie I won’t make any specific promises.  But, you’ve encouraged  me, pushed me and supported me and I won’t forget that.

Refreashing the Muse

 

My life has been crazy for the last, oh, six months or so.  My husband and I owned our own business, and on September 1, 2012 we celebrated our 10 year anniversary at our flagship Boutique.  When the party finished, we decided to sell our company.  I spent the following six months prepping, selling, doing taxes and training two sets of new owners – one for each of our locations.  Then, as soon as I finished that I jumped in the deep end of learning to manager our home which includes learning to cook healthy meals, keep up a yard in much need of some TLC, repairs, decorating, planning, budgeting, teaching a creative writing class, and what not.  Up until August of 2011 we had always lived in small apartments, not a house, so most of this work has been delegated to other people.   When I wasn’t doing all that, I’ve been visiting with friends who I haven’t been able to spend much time with over the last 10 years and re-earning my babysitting stripes through my growing number of nieces and nephews.  Now, I have two sets of friends getting married and my baby sister/best friend having her first baby!  Shower time people!

So, my Husband, being the good man that he is, suggested I sneak in a vacation somewhere in the mess and kinda recharge and refocus my life.  Smart man.  In April, we took a mini vacation together while house sitting for my parents and then I flew out to California with them to go to a conference with my Mom and visit my older brother and his family who live out there.  Back home in beautiful Texas, I came down with a cold and took my vacation.  I think the cold actually helped, cause it kept me from doing anything but resting which was the point.  To rest and recharge.  No cooking, minimal cleaning and nothing else but muse recharging. 

To recharge my much overtaxed muse, I decided to read the Silmarillion, the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings back to back.  I have done this once before several years ago.  It’s my goal to do it every decade.   I accomplished my epic reading in about 10 days.  It was fun to sit out on my back porch for hours reading Lord of the Rings.  I must say, Mr. Howard Shore wrote the perfect music for that epic story.  It rained.  The wind rustled the leaves of our oak and pecan trees and I just snuggled in and lost myself in Middle Earth.

I took a day off from reading on Tuesday to write.  It was my birthday and that’s what I wanted to do!  Great fun!  I spent half the day sitting in Starbucks editing a demon fight and the rest of the day on my back porch getting to know a new Vampire Hunter and his crew.  It was so nice just to write.  Just to let my fingers fly with no time constraints, no To DO list, and no other stories demanding editing time.

While on vacation, my husband took me to breakfast twice and we ate Mexican food and pizza.  I started Band of Brothers which I haven’t watched before, and we went and saw Star Trek – it came out just in time for my birthday!  I loved it!!! Great movie!   Then to round out the week I continued reading Terror at Beslon – which has inspired me to learn a little more about hand to hand combat for my own stories –  and writing.  I avoided all my major editing projects and just focused on a story that kinda blindsided me when I started watching Hannibal.

All in all, it was a very restful and somewhat crazy couple of weeks, but I’m back in the saddle and ready to go!  On Wednesday I’ll talk a bit more about the story I’m working on and why I keep hopping around.  So….now to tackle my new life!

Quote of the Weekend

“It’s not smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing for a living.”

- Will Graham in the Hannibal TV show.

(I think I might steal this line for the next person who annoys me.  If you haven’t seen this show….watch it!!!)

When Skies are Gray, Part 1 – Love at First Sight : (2009) Give up Forever

…Back to the Beginning…

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

Running, shifting at a speed only another fast vampire could match, possibly one only Benj could match, Crow crossed the roof tops.  He leapt the alley-ravines without slowing or recalculating his pace.  Soon the flat top roofs dotted with air conditioner units of the business district gave way to the pointed roofs of homes.  Crow raced up one side and down the other without a sound.  Not even the small animals, raccoons or squirrels, living in the dark attics heard him with their sensitive ears.  But they sensed him.  They smelled him.  Trembling, they curled deep in their insulation lined beds, and hid from the predator stalking the night.  Crow, uninterested in the warm blood of the small creatures, leapt up the side of a white gabled house.  A lighted window at the point stood open.  It spilled a song into the night along with a golden glow:

                And I’d give up forever to touch you

                Cause I know that you feel me somehow

                You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll every be

                And I don’t want to go home right now*

“Tough life, buddy,” Crow whispered to the singer.

A chill slithered up his spine – who but a vampire has forever to give up? Who?  The troublesome thought carried him onto the next roof, over that, and up the next.

His heart pounded against its cage of bone.  He reveled, relaxed, loosened up with the pumping of his blood and the swiftness of his run.  The last bit of his Olive-hangover slipped away like a few tendrils of fog dissipated in the night winds.  The shifting was mindless, emotionless.  It demanded nothing but greater speed and dexterity.  Something Crow could deliver.

“Wait!” Zephyr yanked on his ear.  Crow stopped.  He scented, his nostrils flaring to bring in more air to his lungs.

The demon….and something else, some trapped human….was near.  Crow continued south.  The homes returned to businesses  and shops, some still open even this late at night.  But the demon hunted in a place past them where businesses went bad or started that way on purpose.  Beyond honest men and women who shouldered the responsibility of employing others to places where employees were abused, underpaid, or even more like slaves.  Where lies and theft laid under the foundations of wealth instead of hard work and opportunity.  Beyond hope and dignity to despair and shame.  There, in that darkness, the inner darkness of any town or city, the demon hunted.

Staying on the rooftops, Crow shifted closer to the creature from hell and the human it possessed in order to walk this plane.  A gentle breeze blew in his face taking his sent away from his prey allowing him to slip in close.

There!

Slowing, stopping, Crow crept to the back edge of the roof of the adult video store.  Behind him, the giant yellow XXX of the large sign obnoxiously broke up the night sky.  Ignoring it, focused on his target, Crow leaned over the edge.  He groaned.  The large smoldering creature, wings spread, had his back to Crow.  He bent over something at the end of the alley.  The industrial dumpster turned to small cardboard box next to the massive muscular legs of the demon.  His wings could not open even in the alley designed to accommodate a semi filled with inventory.

“Aren’t Angels supposed to deal with these?” Crow growled to no one in particular.

“I thought you were looking forward to this after your last demon fight?  You know, the one you got pummeled in?”

Crow glared at her.

“Got any sign of the possessed?”

“Look down at the end of the alley.”  Zephyr tugged at his ear in that direction.

In the deepest shadow, oozing fear, hunched the demon’s prey and the demon’s possessed.  Crow squatted down on the roof to see through the monster’s legs.  A boy and a few animals cowered in the corner.  Beside him stood a wild woman with a ragged dress rippling in the heat waves of the demon’s fire.  How had a child crossed the demon’s path?  Then the scent hit him.  The child and the women were homeless, the pets as lost as they, but the smell that turned his stomach was the scent of family.  The woman, her eyes glowing with the power of the damned, was the boy’s mother.  Crow tensed, ready to pounce.  The woman flung her hand at her son, and offered him to the demon’s hunger.

Reaching under his coat, Crow palmed his two Glocks.

He leapt straight up gaining height and momentum, and then dropped.  As he control fell towards the creature from hell, Crow emptied both clips into its back.  The woman yelled.  Crow’s metal, wiznit blessed bullets did no more than irritate the demon and enrage the woman.  All Crow wanted was to distract them from the boy.  He dropped into the alley.  The asphalt cracked under his black boots.  The demon turned towards him with a snarl.

Mission accomplished.

Crow growled back, yanked up a smelly trashcan, and hurled it at the demon.  The bloody heat of battle drowned him.

Bring it on.

It ignored the trashcan as it thudded against his chest.  Rotten food and plastic DVD covers spilled all over the alley.  The demon lifted an industrial dumpster and chucked it at Crow.

“Not good.”

Crow lunged forward.  He dived under the airborne dumpster and pulled the Jade Gun from his holster.  He rolled.  Stopped.  And shifted to his feet just as the demon smashed into him.  It slammed him against the alley wall with one hand, and roared in his face covering him with burning spit.  Crow brought the Jade Gun under its chin and pulled the trigger.  A hollow-point erupted in the demon’s head.  Surprise flashed across its face as its lower jaw blew off and its tongue slapped down on its chest.  The demon jumped back.

“That’s right, show some respect.” Crow wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  He took a step towards the demon hoping it would back down.  Instead, it grabbed a large round trashcan lid and came for him tongue wiggling.

“Too much to hope for,” Crow sighed.  He rushed forward, swerved under, and side to side.  With a duck, he dodged the lid working to get inside the reach of the demon so he could shoot him in the head again.

“It’s not gonna work.  Gotta get the possessed!” Zephyr said.

Crunch.  A sickening sound.  Dodging one lid, Crow forgot to watch the demon’s other hand.  Out of nowhere, another lid sideswiped him across his right shoulder and slammed him into the wall.  The Jade Gun flew from his hand down into the alley, nine shots still in its magazine.

With a curse, Crow ducked.  The left trashcan lid took a bite out of the wall just over his head.  He glanced down the alley.  Where was his gun??  There!  The Jade Gun rest inches from the kid.

“My gun!” he yelled.  The kid did not budge, did not even look at him.

“Zephyr! Gun!”

The demon dropped a lid and grabbed Crow’s leg, yanking him off his feet.  Crow dangled upside down in the air, his body turned to come face to face with the jaw-less demon.

Crow yanked back and slugged the demon in the nose.

“Kill him, kill him,” the wild woman screamed.

Slobbering, the demon twisted his leg.  Another sickening crunch.  Pain swam down his body and clouded his vision.  He shook his head trying to clear his sight.  Fire burned through his jeans.  Like a rag dog, the demon swung him through the air by his broken leg.  Crow black out for a few seconds.  His eyes popped open just as he struck the back alley wall.

Crush.  Things splintered, cut and pierced.  Nerves sounded the alarm.  Vampire powers rose to the surface, trumping anything human to stay alive.

Next to the kid, Crow crumpled.  Pain from the three smashes and now the healing reverberated through his body.  Without waiting, Crow stood up and rolled his shoulders.  Broken bones connected and muscles regrouped.

“No?” the kid whispered.

Crow glanced down.  Two large eyes searched his face.  The kid held out the Jade Gun.  Zephyr hovered by his shoulder, two thumbs up.

“Thanks kid.”

“What are you?” another whisper.

“That monster’s worse nightmare.”

With a salute to the kid, Crow charged the demon, ducked under its fist, grabbed its slobbery tongue, and scaled its torso.  Jade Gun pressed to brain.  Pulled the trigger.  Turned, while its brain processed the bullet now flying through it, and Crow shot the woman.  She dropped.  A shell, bleeding into the street, empty and broken.

Demon brain and parts splattered the alley.  With a sizzling steam they disappeared.

The smell of ozone faded replaced by the stink of trash.

Crow groaned.  He slumped against a trashcan and gulped in air.  He wiped his hand on his jeans the demon spit burning his palm.  The skin healed.  He twisted his neck right, then left, and gathered his two other guns, reloaded them, and stuck them back in their holsters.  For a moment he stayed standing.  His eyes searched the night sky.  He had done it.  Without a drop of Olive’s blood he had taken care of the demon.  He listened for sirens, but in this part of town gunshots were ignored not challenged.

“You okay, Crow?” Zephyr fluttered to his shoulder.

“Yeah.  Never better.”

“What about the kid?”

Crow sighed.  He pulled himself together and turned to the child crouched in the dark, filthy back corner beside the body of his dead mother.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

*Song is not mine, it’s Iris by the GooGoo Dolls.  All rights belong to the GooGoo Dolls.  If at any point in time they wish it to be removed from this story, please contact me at worldsbeforethedoor@yahoo.com.  Please don’t post in the comments.  Thank you for your understanding, and thank you for this amazing song! It is used only because it is loved!

Quote of the Weekend

“It’s fear, Jack.  The man deals with a huge amount of fear.”

“Because he got hurt?”

“No, not entirely.  Fear comes with imagination, it’s a penalty, it’s the price of imagination.”

- Red Dragon by Thomas Harris

(I’ve been blessed with a pretty good imagination and memory at this stage of my life and I can tell you, fear is often the price of imagination.  You learn real quickly which paths to stay off of.  I think this is what makes Thomas Harris’ character Will Graham so appealing.  He walks those paths in the place of the rest of us. )

When Skies are Gray, Part 1 – Love at First Sight : (2009) Candle in the Window

…Back to the Beginning…

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

A hangover with sharp claws dug into Crow’s brain with a force designed to separate it from his spine.

“Dove!” he yelled lurching to his feet.  His eyes flew open.  He clawed for the Jade Gun but his hand came up empty.  Where was she??  Where was his gun?

“Hey handsome.” Olive smiled at him as she threw her head back after wrapping her hair in a fluffy white towel.

Crow’s surroundings came into focus through the red haze of his blood-high leftovers.  Olive had changed.  A clean turquoise tank clung to her still damp skin.  She jerked the tag off the back pocket of a new pair of  jeans.  Crow winced at the sight of bandages on her neck and wrist.  The wrist being bigger.  Fresh blood stained the white gauze.  Like an alcoholic, Crow both wanted and hated the blood, needed and despised it.  The claws pounding on his head dug deeper.  He held his head in his hands, and dropped back down on the bed covered with dirt and dried blood.  He held back a groan.

“Are you okay?”

Beautiful ivy tattoos running up two arms came into view.  Images of Olive’s life carved on flower petals poked up through the vines.  She ran a hand through his hair.  The headache lessened, but the his teeth elongated.  Olive winced.  Crow took her hand.  He pressed his lips over his teeth.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Olive said.  She gently adjusted her bandaged wrist in his hand.

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”  Crow released her hand shocked at the size of the bandage around her wrist.

“It was kinda a do or die situation.  Don’t worry about it.  I’m a strong southern girl.”

“We’re up North.”

“I know we are, but I’m not from here.  I grew up in the south.”

The bandage wrist haunted him.  It taunted him.  It proclaimed he was willing to hurt anyone to satisfy the need for blood, even Olive.

“You listen to me,” Olive suddenly said.  “You listen up right now, mister.  You did what you had to do.  If you hadn’t drunk my blood again, Dove would have kidnapped and or killed us all.   Don’t you feel guilty for one moment.”

“Do you have mind reading abilities?”

She flashed him a huge smile.  “No.  But you’re kinda easy to read.”

“Bad poker face, huh?”

“Something like that.”

The claws dug back in.  Crow moaned convinced his head might have just split open.

“Crow?” Olive put her arm around his shoulders.

“I’m all right,” he muttered through his fingers.  His headache plateaued into a moment of peace.  The world settled in around him filled with Olive’s sweet scent.  To taste that sweetness….Crow shut down the surge of vampire desire so fast he almost threw up.

“How long have we been here?”  He tried to be a man.  He had to be a man.

“A few hours.  Stan dropped us off and left to pick up some clothes and stuff.  Aunt Rose and I have showered. Stan’s in this one, but the other one is free if you want.  Zephyr used the sink.  Umm….” Olive looked around the room with one finger on her chin.   If she guessed his internal struggle, she did not acknowledge it thank goodness.   “Let’s see.  Stan brought you clothes, too.  He said we should all rest up.  Dove destroyed your duster, and most of your special holster thing.  I did get the Jade Gun, your Glocks, and shotguns.  Stan said something about not leaving them around where they could be found by the police or something.  Oh! There are burgers.”

Olive jumped up to get them.

“Sorry.  They may be cold,” she said as she handed him three double-patty burgers.

He ripped the wrappers off and devoured all three in just a few swallows.  The greasy beef brought an uneasy truce between his human and vampire side.  The headache disengaged its claws.  Nausea and any lingering desire for Olive’s blood eased off enough for Crow to feel in control, sane, and less bipolar.

“Wow! Hungry?”

Crow licked his fingers.

“Should I get more?” Olive put her hands on her hips.

With the red meat toning down his magical side, Crow enjoyed the woman-ness of her as a man, just a man.  Her curves, her smile, her nurturing, all with a towel wrapped around her wet hair brought his humanity to the surface with a pure desire as a man for a woman instead of a monster for a maid.  He forgot for a moment, in the late afternoon soon peeking in the cracks of the hotel curtains, who he was and what he was.  His desire was to care for her not possess her.  Was it too much to ask for that right?

“Are there more here?”

“No.  That was the last few.  I can run out and get some more, the place is just around the corner.”

The answer was no.  He did not have the right to be a man.  She needed protecting and he, according to the servant tattoos on his hands, was the protector.  He was the one with the power and the experience to fight and fight he must.  But….something whispered….could he fight?  Twice he had faced the Gray, and twice only Olive’s blood had saved him.  Did he even have the ability to protect her?  Did he even have the strength to go up against Manson, the Gray and Fortunatus?

“You shouldn’t leave the room, so don’t worry about it right now.” Crow pushed the whisper of self-doubt away.  He stood and wrapped his arms around her in one swift shifting.

“Note to self …” Olive said, lifting her arms and linking her hands behind his neck.

“What?”

“Meat does wonders for your disposition, unlike my blood. That just makes you sad.”

“True for any man, but your blood’s amazing.   I feel unstoppable, aware, alive when I drink it.”  He touched his forehead to hers.  “The meat helped ground me a little.  It’s less rich.”

“Such nice things to say, kinda creepy they’re about my blood.”

Crow closed his eyes with a sigh and a shake of his head.  Again, the answer was no.  No moment of forgetting for the Dhampir son of Benj and Sophie.  He could not put the monster part aside for the mantel of humanity.  Olive gave him a little kiss and nudge with her nose.  He opened his eyes to her teasing grin.

Stan came out of the shower.

“How you feeling?”  He only raised one eyebrow at their embrace.

“Don’t ask and I won’t tell you.”  Crow stretched and groaned.  Olive turned away with a smile.

“What do we need to do?”

“Nothing till the sun sets.”

Crow headed for the other shower, something else that was good for a man’s disposition –scalding water, a shave, and clean clothes.  Dirty sweat and flecks of blood ran down the drain.  Steam surrounded him.  His mind drifted on the balmy waves of nothing until the water ran cold.

After the shower, changed into clean clothes, he dropped down on one of the queen beds with fresh sheets.  Rose nodded off in the puffy chair against the wall.  Stan snored on the other bed.  Olive danced around the room picking up trash, tiding towels, tucking a blanket around Rose.  She hummed to herself as she flitted.  Zephyr curled up on a pillow settled on the night stand.  Olive covered her with a white wash cloth.  The wiznit breathed softly, sound asleep.

“I’m going down to the gift shop.  Need anything?

“Olive?”  Crow cracked on eye.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going down stairs.  I’ll be fine.  Besides, I’m going crazy in here.  I saw some plants down there, so even if something happens I can protect myself until you can rescue me.”  She poked him in the chest with her finger and then bent down and kissed him.

Crow grimaced, too tired to argue.  Olive was the only one who had had any sleep, and she healed faster with plants around.  He could not bring himself to argue, so he pointed to the credit card in Stan’s wallet and closed his eyes.  Olive slipped quietly out the door.

“It’s good to see that look on your face,” Stain said.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I was.”

“What look?” Crow propped his hands behind his head not really listening.  The thought of a battle without Olive’s blood resurfaced.  Like some dumb teen, he felt the need to prove himself.

“The one that says there might be something worth living for in this life beyond Manson.”

Did he?  Was there?  The ghost of a kiss touched his lips in a silent yes.

“You may be right, but let’s not say anything.  I wouldn’t want to hurt my tough guy reputation.”

“Heaven forbid,” Stan chuckled.

“Watch out.  You may have already passed me up.” Crow glanced at Rose in the corner.

Stan did not answer.  He rolled to the far side of the bed and slipped his hand in hers.  She squeezed his fingers without waking up.  In a few moments, his gentle breathing joined Rose and Zephyr’s.  Crow lay in the bed, coiled to spring.  Stan and Rose.  Seemingly out of nowhere, these two women walked into their lives.  Who was the more damned, the hunters or the women who loved them?  Rose, cause Stan slept holding her hand, gave Crow even more reason to check his skills.  He would not let Stan lose another woman to Manson anymore than he planned to let Manson have Olive.  Never.  The door knob turned.  Olive tip-toed back into the room.  She locked the door behind her.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she whispered.

“Waiting for you, beautiful,” he said, sitting up on one elbow.

Her whole face lit up.  She plopped into the bed at his feet with a blue plastic sack.

“Look.” She crossed her legs, and dumped several candy bars out on the duvet.  Crow picked up a Mars bar.  Chocolate and sugar?  Not as good as beef, not as good as blood, but a sufficient substitute for the moment.  Olive plucked a candle and a small ivy from the pile.

“A candle?”

“A witch needs a candle.”

Crow shook his head at her.  He turned in the bed and lay back down putting his head in Olive’s lap.  She ran her fingers through his hair and hummed.   He drifted off to sleep with the ivy reaching out to touch his arm.

The sun cast a veil of darkness over the earth as it sank below its curvature.  The moon, dressed in silver white, rose into the night sky.  Her weak light diffused the blackness in place of her more glorious sister.

                …in the beginning, a vision is always dark…Crow clenched his teeth, but could not suppress a growl.  Manson lounged on a couch with dramatic curved lines in a shadow-filled room.  Window-less walls hid any possible clues as to their location.  His recent struggle with the sun left a spatially disoriented feeling in his head.   No windows, and no sense of space meant no clue.  Manson for the win.  Crow should have had Stan bury him instead of just eating burgers.

                The only door in or out of the room opened and in came Fortunatus. 

                “You little piece….” Crow lost the sentence in a snarl.  Words left something to be desired when it came to Fortunatus.  “Someday, for Benj.” 

                Crow wished the visions let him project.  He wished he could fill the room with the hatred he felt for Fortunatus.  Just once, he would like to make that betraying piece of feces nervous.  Wait?  Crow glanced around the room.  Why was he here?  No one but Manson and his pet waited in the room.  There were no signs of tortured souls.  There were no mutilated victims.  Manson must have called him here cause it satisfied some sick whim.  Lovely. 

After straightening his cuffs and tie, Fortunatus opened the door to admit three outlandish vampires dressed in the latest distressed jeans and graphic tee trends with edgy, girly hairstyles, eyeliner, and sunglasses.

“You look like one of those idiotic rock bands dressed like that,” Manson sneered from the couch.  He crossed his legs not getting up to greet his guests.

“We may return to LeVidal, if you have no use for us.”  One of them stepped closer to Manson while gesturing back at the door.  Fortunatus closed it behind them.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Manson said studying his perfectly manicured nails.  “Besides you will want to see what I have created downstairs.  Even you, Kalogeros, will want to take off your silly sunglasses long enough to see this.”

“As you wish Manson, but remember we are doing this as a favor.  We feel no obligation to you.  Kaneís, allá tous eaf̱toús mas.”

Manson glanced at Fortunatus.

“No one but ourselves.”

Crow’s gut twisted.  How many years had it been since he last saw the Greeks?  Ten?  Fifteen?  Three of the oldest and most sadistic vampires indulging Manson did not come as a surprise, but it chilled him.  The Greeks with Manson made Crow’s burden bigger.  It changed the generational war from personal to planes.  All of LeVidal might join if promised the fun of human screams and blood.  Vampires, old, true not taken, flocking to Manson would bring him to the attention of the magical community.  But, he was still Crow’s problem.  The weight of what he witnessed pressed down on Crow’s shoulders.  No one.  No one would take out Manson but him.  And why was he seeing this?  Surely it was not to Manson’s benefit that he see an alliance with the Greeks?  Unless he wanted to taunt Crow with the inroads he had made with other magical creatures, like the demon he had joined with Dove.  Crow liked it better when Manson worked with only the Gray.  He liked it when Manson was too high and mighty, or ignorant, to work with anyone else.  This meeting was not a good sign.  It was dangerous.

“Fortunatus, take them down and show them our new toy shop?  And also the other room.” Manson waved them away.

Fortunatus hesitated.  Something new gleamed in his eye surprising Crow – weariness, disgust, and caution.  The vampire blinked and it was gone.  No way.  There was no way his soul, torn by murders, brought on this vision. Crow pushed the thought away.  Fortunatus had betrayed his father and had a hand in killing his mother.  That vampire deserved death more than anyone or anything except Manson.

With a bow, Fortunatus led the Greeks out the door…

Crow whispered a curse to the air of the hotel room filled with sleeping humans and witches.  Why had he surrounded himself with people he cared about?  People he cared about always died.  He and Stan must have been born under the worst set of stars.  The muscles in his back twitched with that ‘deck stacked against him’ feeling tightening them.

“Damn the Greeks, Fortunatus, and Manson all to hell.”

Crow’s skin crawled.   What if they came now?  What if he could not fight them without Olive’s blood?  He could not drink from her again.  Half damned he might be, but half damned could damn an innocent all the way.

He got out of bed and started pacing.  Everyone slept.  Their quiet, slightly off beat breathing grated on him.  He caught himself rubbing the back of his neck, and shifting from one end of the room to the other.  For fifty years, some of them with his Mom, most of them alone, he had never settled in one place for long.  The instinct bred in him since the beginning was to avoid Manson by staying right out of reach.  Never stay still.  Out of reach was where he wanted to be after that vision.  The walls of the hotel closed in around him.  His self-doubt filled him.  The night air sang a siren song to his vampire blood with sweet music.  And something else, something else…Someone or something out there.  Could he handle it without magical blood?

He needed to get out of this hotel room.  Now.  And he was hungry.  Again.  Hungry and not thinking about Olive’s blood.  He did not want that, not every again.  He could go for a steak.  Rare, bloody.  Crow picked up a napkin, wrote a quick note to Stan and shifted over to Zephyr’s pillow.  He poked her with a finger.  She ignored him.  He nudged her again.

She opened one eye at him.  Crow crooked his finger.

“When do I get my pocket back?” She picked herself up and fluttered to his shoulder.  She plopped down, stretched, and yawned.  Gathering two Glocks and his Jade Gun, Crow kissed Olive’s forehead and headed out.  Time to settle his gnawing fear once and for all.

The moon drew heavy clouds close, and wrapped them around herself.  The air, too warm for winter, was sticky with humidity.   Each droplet of invisible moisture was a vestiges of the storm Olive had called from the south.  A cool wind drove the clouds on.  The moonbeams illuminated their edges and turned them silver.  The moon called to him. She called to his vampire side, the side which had drunk Olive’s blood twice in 24 hours.  She sang a song of seduction.  She sang of the beauty of the night.

Crow soaked in the darkness.  It sat around him like a cloak, all grays and darker grays.  Zephyr rode his shoulder as he took the back exit from the hotel.  He rolled his neck loosening up.

“There is something out here.  In town and it is hunting.”

Zephyr turned her head this way and that scenting.

“It’s a demon hunting something, maybe us, maybe not.  With Dove being bound to that demon she has ties with them now.  She can probably call and control them.”

“Comforting thought.  It’s not her, though?”

“No.  It’s a different one.”

She was right.  Crow could smell it.  He could smell the ozone, fire, heat smell of the demon.  Unlike Angels which smelled of pure sunlight with a hint of rain, or flowers, leaves, living beautiful things depending on their type, demons smelled of ash, charred wood and burnt flesh.

This demon smelled like any demon, burnt, fried and crispy, yum.

“Great.  I was more in the mood for a vampire.  But, I guess a demon will have to do.”

He left the lighted exit of the hotel moving instinctively into the shadows along the unlit back alley.

“Got him?”

Zephyr scented again.

“There.” She pointed south into town.  “He seems distracted.”

Crow sensed it.  Whether the demon was hunting Olive or not he needed this fight.  Her blood still echoed in his veins, even with the little he had drunk, even with all it had to overcome, mildly diluted by burgers, candy bars, and sleep.  Her blood was some high, pounding, pounding, pounding.  The demon fight would rid him of her magical.  Plus, he could prove he did not need her what was in her veins.  If he did, she would not be there to save him.  Point proven either way.  He leapt onto the side of the building to his left and caught a window sill.  Lunged up and right to the hotel side, he caught a fire escape.  Back and forth up the four stories, he cleared the building and landed on the roof.

Leaping from wall to wall, tracking his prey over the roof tops proved easier than shifting through the streets, and more fun.  Crow took a last look back at the hotel.  A candle burned bright in the window of their room.

“A candle?” he whispered.

“To light the way back home,” Zephyr said.

“Just like Mom, but I’m coming home.”

The itchiness left Crow.  Calm settled between his shoulders like warm sun on his back.  For the first time in his life someone waited for him to come home.  He did not plan to disappoint her.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

Quote of the Weekend

Tandem

They say it’s risky
being on this road,
always exposed,
broken glass
and shards of pain
forever thrown
in the way.
But there’s also
risk in staying
home alone,
never rolling
down the canyon
at breakneck speed,
just sitting still,
heart locked up
in a cage, the key
tucked safe away
until a ripe old age,
untouched
by someone’s
idle hand.

- R.H. Mustard

(This was written by a friend and fellow blogger.  I discovered his poetry a few years ago via Twitter.  I love Mustard’s poems cause they are generally haunting, beautiful, longing and aged.  They are like a good story or a good wine.  Check out his blog!)

When Skies are Gray, Part 1 – Love at First Sight : (2009) Dove

…Back to the Beginning…

…Last time in When Skies are Gray…

He stumbled over the uneven, frozen ground.  His eyes flew open, but the world stayed dark.  Surprised and uneasy, Crow realized his eyes had been open all along.  He could not actually see anything.  His vision was gone.  A quick sniff and he knew he had not left this world.   He also was not in LeVidal – a city of eternal night.  The wind blew in his face, cold.  Another quick sniff and he smelled the sleeping grass, the few patches of snow, Olive in his arms – light as a flower, Zephyr holding to his ear, Stan with his guns, and Rose who smelled like lavender.  He turned his head up towards the warmth of the sun.  His skin stretched taut, the vampire cells ached.  No.  He still walked through the valley with Stan and Rose at his side under the damning sun.  He just could not see it anymore.

“Stan?” Did his voice tremble? Was he afraid? Yes! He could not see a thing.  One of his senses no longer functioned.  Afraid did not begin to describe what he felt.  What if they were attacked again?

“What?” Stan said, his voice sharp picking up on the oddness in Crow’s tone.

“I can’t see a bloody thing.”

“What?”

“I can’t see anything.  Everything’s black!” Crow practically shouted.

Stan pull up on his arm and Crow halted.

“You can’t see anything?”

“Are you listening?  Everything is black! Void.  Null.  Nada.  Gone.”

“Okay, okay.  Calm down.”

“How’s Olive?” Crow said.  Even though he could feel her slight weight in his arms, he could not tell if her skin was still pale, or if her darting eyes said she dreamed.  Crow listened.  He bent all his concentration on listening.  Her heart beat slow and regular, her breath came in and out.

“She’s still asleep.”

Crow adjusted his arms around her.  He pulled her protectively close.  Protecting her from what? He was the most dangerous thing here.  He was the one who could still smell her blood, magical and strong.  He could hear it rushing through her arteries.  Protecting her from himself?  Maybe.

“It’s the sun.” Zephyr said.  Her tiny hands press up and down the sides of his face where his several days old beard prickled.

“Are you sure?” Rose asked.

“It’s been a rough day, think about it,” Stan said.

Crow’s legs trembled.  He sat down before he fell down.  Sick sweat rolled over him, and strange images filled his head.  The world in his mind’s eye grew huge, until it towered over him, and then it shrank, shrank, shrank until he became a clumsy giant.  His head ballooned to an enormous size, like a silly cartoon character.

“Crow!” Stan barked. “Can you make it to town?  Do you remember how far it is?”

Crow squinted in his blackness – like that would help.  He lurched to his feet, but the ground rolled under them.  Crow swayed trying to keep his balance.  Too late, he dropped to his knees again.

“Rose, give me your coat,” Stan said.  “It is the longest and you can take mine.  I’ll be fine as long as we keep moving.”

A large coat fell over Crow’s head.  It smelled strongly of lavender and cat.  Crow breathed in through his mouth to keep from gagging on the old-lady smell.

Gradually, kneeling in the darkness of the heavy wool coat, focused on breathing, hidden from the righteous rays of the sun, the world stopped swaying.

“Stan?”

“Right here, Crow.”  Stan laid his hand on Crow’s shoulder.

“Help me up,” Crow said.

Stan took one arm and Rose took the other.  They pulled him to his feet.  Olive never even stirred.

“I think I can make it to town.  I still can’t see, but the world stopped spinning.”

“Okay, Zephyr was right.  It’s the sun.”

“The sun, the battle with the coven, a high from magical blood, which has me totally crashing now, fighting a vampire and mutant fey, oh, and let me not forget my fight with Mason and his new pet demon.”

“New pet demon?”

“Did I forget to tell you about that?”

“Sure did, kid.”

Crow smiled a half-smile under the coat.  It had been years since Stan had called him “kid”.  He used that name when he had attempted to provide some sort of father like guidance in the absence of Benj.  It was Stan’s way of saying he was worried about him – a comfort of sorts – or worried about what they had gotten themselves into – not a comfort.  Crow thought this might be the second time Stan had used the old nickname just in the last 24 hours, but he was not sure, could not really remember.

He took his time telling Stan about what he had seen in his vision.  It helped him to examine it from all angles, see if he missed any clues, and passed the time in their stumbling hike to town.  It helped him not think about the sun burning high over his head.

After the tale was told, they walked in silence each contemplating what Crow had seen.

“How far do we have?”

“We just got over the last of the hills so I think it will be about four more hours to get to town.”

“How much daylight?”

“Lots.”

Crow’s foot caught on a large tuff of dried grass.  He stumbled.  Exhaustion pushed, pulsed at the edge of his brain.  It dredged up a nauseous wave of blood lust from deep inside him.  Crow wished he had not drunk Olive’s blood back in the Gray’s basement.   All he wanted was more.  Crashing, burning, blood lust!  Beautiful, sweet, blood.  His human side recognized how close he was to the end of his rope.  Before he could do anything the vampire part surged.  It reminded him he had recently tasted some really sweet blood.  Some blood from the very beautiful creature sleeping in his arms.  Her blood, living, but not only living, brimmed with wonderful magic.  Her blood was like something you would get at Draught’s, Manhunter McGee’s bar in LeVidal: a dangerous concoction of magic and blood, a vampire’s high.  Only this would be unmixed with weak, human alcohol.

His father surfaced like a slap in the face.  Benj had felt this same way about Sophie and Cora’s mother.  Shame mocked Crow.  He had just raged at Stan about this same lust.  He had called his father the worst of beings, a creature without hope.  Crow did not want to feel this sick desire for Olive’s life.  He did not want this thing eating away at him, but how could he fight a whole half of who he was?  Why had he drunk her blood in the first place?  How could he have been so stupid?  Benj had known what drinking straight blood would do.  Benj had fought long and hard to avoid drinking the blood of the women he loved.  Benj had fought.  Crow jumped in head first and swam in a pool of it.

“Hold on Crow, we’re almost there,” Zephyr chanted from her perch on his head.

“Stop Crow.”  Stan pulled up on his arm.  “We’re on the outskirts of town.  I’m gonna go get us a hotel room and a car.  I’ll be back in two hours at the most.  Can you wait that long?”

“Do I have an option?” Crow muttered.

Stan squeezed his shoulder.  “I’ll hurry.”

Crow set Olive down by Rose, walked off a good fifty feet or so, and collapsed.  Space would give them time to run if lust for Olive’s magical blood overcame him.  Not that they would get away from him even in this state.

“Zeph?” he called.

“Yeah.”  Her little feet landed on his shoulder.

“If you sense any danger from me get Olive and Rose out of here.  I need you to stay awake and aware.”

“I’ll make sure you don’t hurt anyone.”

“Thanks.” Crow said.  His mind went as black as the world around him with Stan’s voice echoing through the darkness.

“Keep watch and keep that cell phone handy, Rose.”

“Just hurry, Stan.”

His labored breathing and pumping heart picked up pace as Stan jogged for town.  Crow hoped his legs held, and he didn’t have a heart attack.

“Just hurry, Stan,” he echoed.

The sun warmed the earth whispering of spring and life, but it damned the Dhampir.  Something smelled like fire.  Too far gone to do anything else, Crow wondered if he burned like any vampire should in the sunlight.  Damn him and his cursed family.  Good riddance….

The image of Olive surrounded by wild flowers, laughing and smiling,  flashed through him like the blade of a sharp sword.

Go away.  Let the fire come.

Olive’s green eyes and freckled nose close to him, her lips on his, her seasonal smell all around him….

Well played, mind.  Crow pulled himself together.  He strained against vampire morose and human laziness unwilling to die just yet.

“Zephyr?” he called.

His cloak stirred.  Zephyr’s honey smell sifted around him.

“Something’s coming.  Something bad.  Something joined,” she said.

“Dove.” Crow knew it.  “Well, that explains the burning smell.”

He lunged to his feet.

“Olive! Rose!” He yelled, lifting his head and scenting for them.  He oriented himself in their direction still unable to see.

“Get behind me!” Crow’s heart pounded.  Fighting a demon-witch without being able to see, and weakened by the sun was going to suck on every level, especially on the getting beaten level.

“What’s going on?” Olive sounded disoriented.  She grabbed his arm.

Crow pushed her behind himself away from the direction of the scent of fire.

“Can you see her, Zephyr?”

“Yeah, she’s coming from the west, to your left. And boy is she big.”

Crow pulled the Jade Gun from his back and aimed at the smell.  He fired.

“Close?”

“Nope,” Zephyr said.

“Done with that.”  Crow shifted in the direction of the scent.  When he closed in enough for her smell to be all he smelled, he fired again.  A loud growl rewarded him.  It came from almost on top of him.  He backed up a step.  A clawed, burning hand connected with his chest.  It flung him out across the dry winter grass.

With a painful crunch, he landed on his right arm.  His hand went limp.  He waited to heal.  It was awful slow in coming.  Too much of his vampire self concentrated on not giving in to the burning sun and lack of vision to heal.  A million foul words flew through his mind as the smell of Dove surrounded him again.  He crab crawled back, tried to get to his feet.  She dropped down on him crushing him into the earth.  His ribs splintered and his heart burst.

“I’m going to hurt you just enough.  I will get the reward no others, not even his vampire, has gotten when I return with you and the girl,”  Dove sang from over him.

Crow brought the Jade Gun up.  A small amount of feeling returned to his fingers.  He hoped he aimed at her leg.  Only one way to find out.  He fired.  The ground shook under him.  Olive, with her beautiful smell, called on the grass and weeds to grab at Dove.

Fire washed over them killing the plants.  Olive screamed.  Crow yelled for her, but Dove grabbed him up.  Blocking out everything, he concentrated on Dove’s smell.  In his mind, he saw her and fired the Jade Gun.

She dropped him with a yelp.  Crow shifted towards Olive’s voice.

“Olive?” He held out his hand groping like an old man.  She put her hand in his and he pulled her close.

“Drink!” she commanded.

“No, no.”

“Now!” She screamed in his ear.

He sank his teeth in her wrist.  Hot blood filled his mouth.  The magic raced through his dry veins.  Survival beat down the lust and took command.  Light refilled Crow’s eyes.  Healing surged through him.  His heart beat.  The world returned to him.

Crow dropped Olive’s hand.  Three swallows was all he need to regain his strength.  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned to Dove with glowing red eyes.  She waited with her head cocked and her hands on her hips.

“Feeling better or just more damned?”

“I’ve killed you once and I can do it again.”

He shifted, charging across the field.  Bullets flew from the Jade Gun and then from his Glocks as he shifted in circles around her.  The demon-witch could not match his fighting power joined with Olive’s blood.  He riddled her body with hard, metal projectiles.  Each time she reached for him, he was gone.  Five guns empty, Crow pulled his shotgun.  Olive called a summer storm from the southern skies and struck her with lightning, wind, and rain.  Never before had Crow had a fighting partner with such power.

Dove fell to one knee.  Desperate, she cast a final spell at Crow.  A net dropped over him and pinned him to the ground.  Electricity burned his skin, inside and out.  He screamed.

“Manson or no, I will take your head, and eat your heart.”

“Not much of one there.”  Zephyr zipped by cutting the cords of the net.

Crow rolled away from Dove’s smashing fists, pulled his last shotgun from its leg holster and fired into her guts.  The witch howled in pain and disappeared in a cloud of noxious smoke.

The dark world crashed back in on Crow.  He had taken only enough blood to fight Dove off.   It had been just enough.  He could never, never have another drop.  One more bite would change Olive forever into one of the damned undead.  A cold chill spread through Crow’s guts.  He had bitten her twice.  Twice he had tasted her blood.  Could he really consider his father more damned then he?  Benj never considered, never threatened Sophie with turning, yet here was he with Olive twice bitten.  How’s that for irony?  As if his horror at what would happen spawned her, Olive dropped down beside him.  She put her arms around him.

“Are you okay?”

“No.  I need to get out of the sunlight.  I need to get some real human food in my system.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The more of my vampire powers I use the more I succumb to their curses.  The more human I stay the more curses I can resist.  Right now I need a really big hamburger.”

Olive laughed.  Crow smelled Zephyr come close.

“Everyone okay?”

“Everyone but you,” she said

Crow laid with his head in Olive’s lap.  He kept his thoughts on the hunger in his stomach instead of the hunger in his veins.  Slowly, fighting each step of the way, the lust faded.  Crow fell asleep.  They draped Rose’s coat over him again, and waited for Stan in the beaten down, burned out grass.

…Join me, next Friday, for the continuation of the tale…

Writing Journal

Why do I do this to myself?  I often ask myself this question.  Why?  Well, I write about serial killers and read about soldiers, policeman and special agents.  I watch war movies, thrillers and TV shows like Hannibal.  Now….to make this very clear.  I do not enjoy a lot of gore and violence.  I don’t enjoy stories, shows, or movies that steep themselves in blood and torture like an ever darkening tea.  What I love, what thrills my soul, why I do it over and over even when it haunts me, gives me troubled dreams, makes me cry and sometimes even makes me a little jumpy is to remember.  To remember and honor the ones who give up a normal life to hunt serial killers and fight wars.  I do it cause I have a normal life.  These men and women give their lives to make sure mine is a little safer.  The least I can do is have a few troubled dreams for their sake.

I recently, as you know if you read Monday’s blog, finished reading Black Hawk Down only to follow it up with Terror at Beslan.  Let’s go from soldiers bleeding and dying to children.  Shudder.  Then I added in a little bit of Hannibal on Thursday nights.  Lovely.  But I’m not going to stop reading/watching these stories - even with troubled dreams.  I need to know.  I need to know what is going on in the world.  The dangers don’t go away if I ignore them, they get stronger.

From nonfiction to fiction, these are our warrior stories.  These are our Beowulf, or Odyssey.  I want to read and watch them.  I want to know about the boys who died in the sand.  I want to know about a whole town torn apart when it’s children were trapped in a school by murderers, and I want to watch Will Graham struggle with hunting the darkest of the dark without losing his own light.

All of this comes out in my writing.  I don’t just write about serial killers.  I write about the men and women who hunt them.  I write about people willing to give up life, love, family, and everything to hunt down the most vile of us and stop them.  I write about the dark alleys, the dark minds, the dark souls, but what moves me, what thrills me, and drives me is the solid anchors, the hope-filled minds, and the damaged souls of the hunters.  The hunters, the warriors, the willing sacrificers are what I want to know about.

I am a Rememberer – a holder of stories.  I will know and remember the sacrifice made on my behalf and I will honor it.

This is why I write what I write.  It may be fantasy.  It may be dark and grim. But it is for them.  I write it so they know that out there in the world there are people who pray for their safety, and who know what they have sacrificed.

That is why I put myself through this – it’s the least I can do for them!

Musical Muse: The Minstrel Boy by Joe Strummer and the Mescaleros.  The original version is 17 minutes long.  A lot of music for a $1.50!  I put this on my Battle Music playlist.  It’s not quite as heart thumping as the opening battle music for Gladiator, but the disjointed cords played over the words of the song and the military drums are very war like.  When the bullets start flying, battle becomes very disjointed, unearthly, and odd.

Also!!! Check out my video on my FaceBook page.  It was supposed to go on this Blog, but I couldn’t get it to work.  Thus, it’s on my FaceBook page until I can figure out how to upload videos.  Let me know what you think and any advice is welcome!