Authors: Scott Nicholson
Fangs In Vain
Fangs In Vain
A Sabrina Vickers Vampire Novella
By Scott Nicholson
Copyright
©2012 Scott Nicholson
Published
by
Haunted Computer Books
See
Scott’s new post-apocalyptic thriller!
CHAPTER
ONE
She’d searched every inch of his
body—twice—and hadn’t found so much as a single dragon tattoo.
So much for the bad-boy thing.
Still, he was not without
his…qualities.
Sabrina Vickers stretched and
yawned, or at least as much as she
could
stretch, given the confines of
the boat that doubled as Luke’s bed and coffin. The boat look odd in the middle
of the bedroom, perched on old wooden crab cages, but it rocked just fine and
she would have been severely disappointed if Luke hadn’t been eccentric, given
his status.
The first light of dawn was making
a pink stain on the windowsill, and if Luke was to be believed, he’d soon be
going up like a torch in a gasoline tornado.
But he’d pushed it, he said,
wanting to squeeze out every precious minute with her. Sure, they were both
immortal beings, but while Sabrina was 24/7, Luke only had the night.
And when she had tried to argue
that working the night shift meant he really only had
half
of forever,
he’d done that thing with his tongue and she pretty much shut up after that.
Now his eyes were closed and he
was entering that drowsy, cute stupor of his. He’d asked her to drag the cover
on the boat when she got up, because he was too drained and limp to drag the
heavy canvas into place. She looked at the graying canvas, watching the
sunlight leak across the room, wondering how long forever really lasted.
I could leave the lid off and
this relationship would be toast.
Talk about trust issues.
Sabrina was as tormented as Luke,
only in a different way. And she was curious about what other acrobatic tricks
they could perform with the geometry of the boat’s curves. So maybe one more
night on Earth, and
then
she’d get serious.
She strained to loosen the canvas,
which Luke had easily tied with two fingers just after sunset. He was good with
two fingers, although she suspected he was just showing off a little.
While she had supernatural powers,
extraordinary strength wasn’t one of them. God had explained that if a bunch of
angels were set loose with Roid Rage, then that might play right into the
devil’s hands. No, angels had to work with a more subtle strength, dispensing
goodness and love and light and, of course, avoiding fire and temptation.
No wonder Armageddon was going to
take a damned millennium.
Aside from the boat, Luke’s bedroom
was like that of the typical beach bum’s, with a couple of surf boards leaning
in the corner, a classic poster of Bo Derek in a sandy bikini, and a mirror
emblazoned with the Budweiser logo. The mirror was an odd choice, given that
Luke couldn’t see his own reflection.
Luke’s parrot, T-Bird, was perched
in an open cage. He whistled and greeted her with his favorite words. “Duck and
cover, duck and cover.”
Sabrina peeled the canvas into
place, battened it down, and sat on it a moment. The sun lifted above the Atlantic and bathed the room. Luke had picked a pretty little cottage, which was painted
sky blue and had a white picket fence around the crabgrass yard. Beaufort, North Carolina was the last place in the world you’d expect to find a vampire,
although she’d teased him about the pickets and what the villagers would do
with them once they caught on.
He’d laughed, flashing those sexy
fangs, and said Sabrina could scatter fairy dust on them and turn them all into
pacifists.
He was so dense sometimes.
She fluffed her wings and shook
them, sending a few downy feathers to the floor. “Wings fly away,” she said,
the magic words that made the wings vanish, though they left two long scars
down the back of her shoulders.
She grabbed her blouse. It was too
thin so she had to wear a bra, especially because of tourists. All those teens
strutting around in bikinis, but you could count on Joe the Plumber from
Ida-freaking-ho or Fred the Mathematician from Podunk to break his neck in half
trying to see through a woman’s shirt because it was naughtier. Truly, she
didn’t see why God even bothered.
Speaking of which.…
Sabrina got down on her knees,
although God had told her a dozen and seven times that subservience wasn’t
required from those who had already proven their faith. But she’d also been
raised to respect her elders, back before she’d died hideously and in great
pain. But, heck, she’d forgiven God, because God had sure forgiven
her
for a lot.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the
warmth of the morning on her skin, even though it threatened sudden death for
her lover.
“Dear God, thank you for this
blessed day and the chance to do great deeds,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” He said.
“And thank you for the many
bounties and joys of this Earth, and give me the strength to honor You and all
the things of Your creation.”
He didn’t answer, so she went on.
“About last night—you weren’t watching, were you?”
God cleared his throat. “Umm.”
“That’s what I thought. Well, I’ll
give you a progress report. Luke’s not all that well-informed, or maybe he’s
just not talking, but it seems the Gog and the Magog are still assembling
forces of darkness. It looks to me like a lot more research is required.”
“So you’re not yet ready to
ascend?”
I thought you were omniscient.
“I’m
very eager to master ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on the harp, but this is an important
mission, and I promised to give it everything I’ve got. I wouldn’t dream of
leaving Earth before my work here is done.”
“Your sacrifice will not be
forgotten, Sabrina Vickers.”
“Thank you. Amen.”
She finished getting dressed,
choosing a floral tropicwear skort to get a little tan on her legs and a pair
of open-heeled canvas deck shoes. All that alabaster and gossamer got old after
a while, and she didn’t have to worry about skin cancer anymore. She closed the
curtains nice and tight, although they didn’t completely keep out the sunlight.
“Luke, why couldn’t you have
chosen a creepy New England mansion with a basement?” she said to the
coffin-boat.
No response. But one thing you
could say for him, he didn’t snore, unlike most men she’d known. He slept like
the dead. Or as close as he could get.
She put away the dishes—Luke only
owned three—and headed into the sunshine, double-checking the door to make sure
it was locked behind her.
Beaufort was a mix of old and new,
with rows of weather-beaten houses left over from the town’s days as a fishing
village. Scattered here and there were new, opulent cottages designed to mimic
those of the working class, but built on high piers and with little lookout watchtowers
on top so everyone would know who was captain.
The waterfront business district
was full of tiny shops that sold postcards, driftwood door placards with
sayings like “Happy To Sea You,” shellacked seashells, and the obligatory
overpriced sunglasses. Business traffic was a little slow this morning, since
it was September, the tail end of the season.
The air carried a hint of salt,
with the breeze coming in over the ocean, which suggested a late-afternoon
thunderstorm. Occasionally the clouds became dark and thick enough that Luke
was able to rise, so to speak, for a few hours even though it was still
technically daylight.
One can only pray for rain.
Sabrina made her way to the Bean Scene,
the little coffee shop where the locals still claimed the corner tables and the
magazine rack had more graphic novels and music publications than copies of
Senior
Fitness.
In other words, more Charlie Sheen than Martin Sheen.
The shop smelled of burnt Folger’s
in the style they liked to call “French roast.” She’d visited France a time or
three, and they didn’t scorch the piss out of the beans there. But Americans
loved to label things “French” so they seemed more exotic. Like “French
kissing.” But people swapped tongue just as well in every other country she’d
visited.
Except Texas. Guys in Texas couldn’t kiss worth a damn. But Texas wasn’t a country. It just liked to think it
was.
“Hi, Sabrina!” Cherry was behind
the counter, wiping out mugs and stacking them into a lopsided pyramid.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Sabrina said.
“How was the band?”
“It was fine, until they went into
the Jimmy Buffet medley and Roy started slamming down the rum-and-cokes. I wish
you guys could have stayed.”
“Well, Luke works the night shift,
and we have to make the most of our time together. If you know what I mean.”
Cherry glanced down at the
counter, a little dejected. “Yeah. You get a Coast Guard hero and I get an
alcoholic real-estate agent.”
“Roy’s a good dude. You know, when
he talks to a woman, he keeps his eyes above her neckline. That’s saying
something.”
“I suppose,” Cherry said, a little
wistfully.
It was all Luke’s fault. That
mesmerizing stare of his always penetrated women to the depths of their souls,
and once shaken and stirred inside, mere mortal men became somehow diminished
in those women’s eyes. Sabrina didn’t suspect Luke had done any flirting with
Cherry, but women had a way of hoping for the best. It was about the only way
they could make it in this realm of strife and sorrow and mutant testosterone.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,”
Sabrina said. “Tonight, we’re going to take Luke’s boat across the sound. Stop
off at Portsmouth Island and have a little bonfire. Roy can bring his acoustic
guitar and I’ll bring the wine.”
Cherry brightened, flipping back
her fine, blonde hair. Her friend looked a lot more like the stereotypical
angel than Sabrina did. She had the big blue eyes, the pert but not overly
noticeable breasts, the lithe form, and a certain airy and ethereal radiance
about her, although she was as flesh-and-blood as they came.
Sabrina, on the other hand, was a
little stacked, and no matter how she tried, her hair always ended up in loose,
dark tangles that were dead sexy. And she wasn’t a waif by any means. Sure, she
couldn’t lift coffin lids with two fingers, but she was solid, and wouldn’t
dent when the Gog shot their stupid little arrows at her.
Strong armor for strong work
,
God had said when fitting her with wings.
“Okay,” Cherry said. “It’s a
double date. Speaking of doubles, I assume you want the mocha latte?”
“Hook me up.”
CHAPTER
TWO
Suitably caffeinated, Sabrina went
to the maritime museum, where she worked as a part-time desk clerk and tour
guide. The museum was only three rooms, so she didn’t have to do much guiding,
but God had insisted she take a “square job” in order to blend in. Plus, God
had a hunch that the Gog were plotting a sea invasion as the opening salvo, and
He wanted to establish a beachhead.
Maribel, the wizened little woman
from the Yucatan Peninsula, was on duty today. A volunteer, she looked as if
she could pass for sunken treasure herself, with deep creases on her forehead
and pitted skin, though her eyes were as dark and clear as obsidian. Sabrina
had only worked with Maribel a few times, but she often caught the woman
staring with intense interest that made Sabrina uncomfortable.
“Looks slow today,” Sabrina said
to her. “I guess I’ll be dusting ropes and anchors again.”
“And sweeping,” Maribel said, with
a slight lisping accent. “Always the sweeping with so much sand.”
That was an understatement.
Luckily, the museum had a little open-topped exhibit designed to mimic the
beach, with models of crabs, seashells, and plastic terns, pipers, and gulls. It
was a simple matter to tip the dustpan into the exhibit, always taking the time
to fish out the gum wrappers.
“Hey, as long as we keep
Blackbeard’s Ghost happy,” Sabrina said.
Blackbeard the Pirate had prowled
the Outer Banks three centuries before, and his flagship
Queen Anne’s
Revenge
had run aground off Beaufort in the early 1700’s. According to the
information posted with the exhibit, the remains had been found in 1996, and
now a few pieces of blackened wood and corroded steel fixtures were spread along
one end of the museum.
Because Edward Teach, the
historical figure, was a little too obscure for modern audiences, a cardboard
cut-out of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow had been employed to advertise
the attraction.
“Here there be Pyrates,” the banner
proclaimed, and the exhibit had been a summer hit.
“Do you know anything about
Blackbeard besides what you read in the materials?” Maribel asked, giving that
inquisitive squint that made Sabrina so uneasy.
“Only that he was hung,” Sabrina
said.
The old woman gave a little half
smile. “Oh, yes, he was well hung.”
Creepy. She’s a little too old
to be risqué.
“Uh, yeah,” Sabrina said. “I think
I need to go water the seaweed or something.”
“But Edward Thatch offers an
interesting moral dilemma,” Maribel said before Sabrina could scurry off.
“‘Teach,’” Sabrina said, knowing
it was rude to correct her elders but glad to be right about something. “His
name was ‘Edward Teach.’”
The dark Hispanic eyes took on a
sparkle. “I knew him as Thatch. And he never killed anyone except in battle,
despite the depictions of your popular culture.”
“Fine. As long as I’m not around
on International Talk Like A Pirate Day, I hope the exhibit is a smash.”
“He once seized a ship that
carried three dozen slaves. He could have sold them or killed them, but he set
them on a Caribbean Island and gave them freedom. Several even joined his crew.
Does that sound like an evil man?”
Moral dilemma? Slavery? Creepy
little references to a past life?
“Holy hell, you’re my guardian
angel!” Sabrina said, realizing too late that a family with three kids was just
around the corner.
Maribel smiled and gave a little
bow. With the wisdom of experience, she lowered her voice. “God doesn’t turn
anyone loose without an ally,” she said. “No flying solo on this mission.”
“Okay, enough about Blackbeard,”
Sabrina said, moving closer. “What do you know about the Gog and why we’re
here?”
“Don’t confuse age with
knowledge,” Maribel said. “Some angels have been floating around Earth for
hundreds of years and they are still mastering the alphabet. We each must
pursue our personal spiritual journey at our own pace.”
Great. I finally get a guardian
angel and she’s a cross between Yoda and Buddha with a little Dr. Phil tossed
in for good measure. Why me, God?
Thunder rumbled far out to sea,
which Sabrina took as a “Because I said so.”
“Okay, fine,” Sabrina said.
“Here’s my theory, since nobody’s offering up any doubloons and gibbets or
whatever. More than a thousand ships have sunk off the coast here, which is why
they call it the ‘Graveyard of the Atlantic,’ and all that negative energy has
created a vortex that’s opened a route for the Gog.”
“The Gog?”
“You just hinted that you slept
with Blackbeard, and now you go all coy?”
“Ah. The
Gog
. They have
been known by many names in my time.”
“Well, that’s what God calls them,
and that’s good enough for me.”
Maribel leaned conspiratorially
close and whispered, “Have you ever noticed how close those two words are?
‘Gog’ and ‘God’? Makes one wonder, yes?”
Sabrina held up her hands and
backed away. “Oh, no. I’m not playing that game. I know a test when I see one.”
Maribel smiled again. “The devil’s
been known to employ double agents. Speaking of which, I hear you’re shacking
up with a vampire.”
Sabrina glanced up at the ceiling,
hoping her stare would burn right through the clouds.
I thought you said you
weren’t watching, God.
“He’s a neutral entity,” Sabrina
said to Maribel.
“But he’s tempted, no?”
“No.”
Maribel pointed at Sabrina’s neck.
“Then why the hickey?”
Sabrina touched her neck. She
hadn’t even noticed. Man, that Luke was
good
. “Uh, I was flying around
the house and bumped into a chandelier. It was a little embarrassing. You know,
‘Go toward the light’ and all that.”
“An angel disguised as a moth,”
Maribel said.
Guardian angel or not, Sabrina
wasn’t all that interested in being grilled about her sex life. “Okay, where
are
your
wings, then?”
“I’m grounded. I had a very mortal
weakness—”
“Ah, the Blackbeard affair.”
The old woman sighed. “One of
many.”
“So you have the job of watching
over me and making sure I don’t screw this up. Because God probably thinks I’m
headed down the same path as you.”
The family had completed its tour
of the museum and the youngest child, a sneering boy with strawberry ice cream
all over his chin, came bolting to the counter. “I want a toy ship! I want a
toy ship!”
“Models of
Queen Anne’s Revenge
are $19.95 plus tax, and all proceeds fund the salvaging and restoration of the
real ship,” Maribel said sweetly.
“I only got a dollar.” The kid
then screamed. “
Daddy! I want a ship
.”
A harried-looking man in a
Hawaiian shirt entered the room, a camera on a strap bouncing against his ample
belly. “Sure, son. Whatever you want.”
Maribel rolled her eyes toward
Sabrina. It was well known that the road to hell started with getting what you
wanted. Desire was the cause of all suffering, and one of God’s most difficult
jobs was to let most prayers go unanswered.
Which is why Sabrina had tried to
keep Luke a secret. Earthly love was understandable and holy, but the dead and
the undead were supposed to rise above the petty pleasures of the flesh. They
were supposed to aspire to a higher love.
It was a little hard to aspire
when Luke ran his cool lips over her throat and let his hands work their own
brand of magic.
“I want that! And that. And that.
And that,” the boy said, pointing to four souvenirs in rapid succession.
The man dug a wallet out of his
back pocket as his wife and teen daughter entered. The daughter wore ear buds
and her eyes were glazed, finding My Chemical Romance on her iPod far more
interesting than natural history. The mom had brassy-orange hair and appeared
to have undergone a good bit of enhancement surgery. Her skin was stretched so
tight it looked like one more cheese puff would cause an explosion.
“Blackbeard key chains are $4.95,”
Maribel said cheerfully.
“You don’t need no key chains,”
the wife said to the boy.
He picked up a book on pirates
which, predictably, had Johnny Depp on the cover. “I want this!”
“You don’t need no old books,” the
wife said.
The man in the Hawaiian shirt
stood with his wallet thumbed open, looking back and forth at the various
products as if watching a tennis match.
“I want the ship, Daddy.
Pleeeeez
.”
Apparently “please” was the magic
word, even if it was whined, so the man took one of the model kits and placed
it on the counter.
“You don’t need no ship,” the wife
said, already heading for the exit. The teen popped her gum and followed.
“All proceeds fund the restoration
and salvaging of the real ship,” Sabrina said, giving her Hostess Ho-Ho smile.
The man glanced at her breasts.
Sale.
After they were gone, Maribel
said, “I can’t be everywhere at once, so I’m just going to have to trust you.”
“Trust an angel? I thought you
were supposed to be wise.”
“Don’t confuse experience with
wisdom, Sabrina.”
“Great. I get the only guardian
angel in the universe who is still trying to get her act together.”
“You save the world from the Gog
and I get brownie points, so it’s all good,” Maribel said, wiping the boy’s
grubby ice-cream fingerprints from the countertop.
“Silly me, expecting easy
answers.”
“Your head is in the clouds, but
it’s because of Luke, not your holy work.”
Sabrina frowned. “Excuse me. I’ve
got some sand to sweep.”