Young humans think that Vampires sparkle in the sun.
Not quite so young humans think that Vampire blood is good for sex, while the Vampires drink bottled blood.
Mid-age humans think that Vampires can be controlled by a chip in their head.
Older humans think that Vampires don’t like garlic and burn in the sun.
Regular human readers of this blog think they know how to deal with Vampires.
The Police won’t believe in Vampires, but they may consider having your mental health examined.
Soldiers believe their gun would help against Vampires.
Dogs don’t like the smell of Vampires.
Cats don’t bother to tell me what they think.
Livestock… come on, you don’t think I’d ask a cow for her opinion?
A Werewolf recently admitted that there may be one or two nice Vampires, but that most of them were way too high-nosed.
Elves don’t like the smell of Vampires either, but as they all carry a bow and wooden arrows, they feel safe.
Dwarves place bets on how often they can decapitate the same Vampire before he gives up.
Orcs didn’t answer to my inquiry for an interview.
Ghouls know only two categories – dead, deliciously rotten food and not-quite-dead, moving food. Of course, rotten but moving food puzzles them.
Harpies… well, one asked me if they come with cream. Another said she never plays by the rules, so she doesn’t care about Umpires.
Sirens don’t know songs about Vampires.
Most Mermaids have never heard about such a creature. Those who did are dead.
A Sphinx told me, “The last three couldn’t answer my riddle. Can you?”
Griffins fight Vampires, but don’t talk about them.
Phoenixes don’t care.
Witches think male Vampires can be fun in bed.
Warlocks think female Vampires can be fun in bed.
Fairies think Vampires are entertaining.
Dragons… well, as long as Vampires know their place, they can be tolerated.
Latest Release on eXtasybooks (July 15th): Lioness Crusade
Invaders beware—the Lionhearts are coming for you to kick some alien ass!
“If the invaders are the plague of this universe, then we’re the antibodies,” April claims. Together with her family, she starts a crusade against the overwhelming number of enemies. That she might need a few millennia to find them all can’t dim her determination. But then she learns she may have to die first.
Is it hubris to venture on such a mission? Or is the mission’s failure already factored into April’s plans, is it just about suicide with guns blazing, about taking as many of them with her as possible to satisfy her hunger for revenge?
“Why here?” Zoe asked that evening, while we were eating Dragon fire-roasted deer. “Why Yosemite?”
“As a little girl, I came here with my father every summer. I thought I could find my way back to my roots here and become a bit more grounded. This Admiral here, Paladin there is right and important, but here in the forest I’m finally just April, that is, the old April. I have to remember.”
“Then I have to thank you for including me,” my companion said. “I don’t belong to this part of your life.”
“That’s wrong,” I objected. “Right here you belong first. I told you that as a child I’ve dreamt of a Dragon with green-and-golden scales, right after your first transformation. In my dreams the Dragon was living right here, in this forest, among these trees.”
Zoe looked around, took her time to soak up the environment, tuned in to it. She tried to grok the forest, to understand it all around, to reach out with mind and feel.
I can hardly describe it correctly, not to mention copying it. It doesn’t do to enhance your own sensual reception until you literally can hear a fir needle drop. It doesn’t do to finally see the forest among the trees, you need to grasp the complex system of life in its entirety. Nor does it do either to understand the eco system, to recognize how every part from microorganism to human interlocks or which purpose the dropping needle serves—it’s also necessary to understand the underlying motivation. Why is the system so complex? Why do needles drop? Why can the forest offer us comfort or fill us with fear? What’s the forest’s soul?
But this time it was different. There was another sense calling for attention.
“Can a forest have a signature?”
She focused straight on my eyes. “But yes! April, you grok the forest?”
It wasn’t comparable with my companion’s bright signature at my side. If every life form had a signature, some kind of immaterial radiation that still could be spotted by sensitive people, then the signature of a Dragon was million-fold brighter than that of a human, and the signature of a beetle million-fold brighter than that of a tree. However, it was present, a noise floor always around us, which we couldn’t sense because it was so natural and so little modulated.
Nevertheless, it was there, and with some mental discipline it could be sensed, even if not measured.
“Yes, I grok the forest.”
She reached out an arm and put it around my shoulder. “I love you.”
“Yes, I love you, too.”