It’s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have a snippet from Nightside, An Erie Vampire Tale.
Our word prompt today is “Snow”. In this snippet Akio, our fledgling vampire, is heading out to do some house hunting with his best friend, Templeton Reed, a skunk shifter.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
The next evening Templeton and I went to look at houses. I drove the sleek Jaguar that Vincente had bought several years ago, way before I came into his life. The roads around the lake were now free from snow and ice, and the XK-E was ready to roll. Why Vincente had a classic Jag when he never drove was anyone’s guess. He had amassed an incredible fortune, as many immortal supernatural beings did, so perhaps he just wanted to own pretty things. When you lived forever socking away cash was easy. I surely made use of the little red beauty whenever I could. My husband said it was because I was too newly turned and therefore still too reliant on the trappings of the mortal world. I disagreed with that. I just loved to drive lush sports cars at high speeds.
“Just so you know, while you’ll live if we crash, I won’t, so could we please get this deathtrap under 90?” Templeton squeaked after we navigated a wicked S-turn on the way to the old Concolor estate, the fourth stop on this night of house-hunting.
“Sorry,” I replied, easing off the gas. Templeton let go of the dash, the strong smell of his nervous state wafting by my nose. “She’s tight though and the tires are new.”
“Good for the tires. And people wonder why I’d rather travel by paw.”
“The last time you went off by paw you ran into the lake.”
Templeton sniffed indignantly. “It was my ‘Spring is here’ celebratory dash and I wasn’t wearing my glasses.”
“You dashed alright,” I snorted, wheeling the car through a high gate that sat at the bottom of the steep hill. “I hope this one suits better. The last places were all dumps.”
“Mm, yes, seems some of the high breeds thought ruining the homes they’d lived in before they ran back to Europe was a final slap in the face of all us upstart lesser breeds.”
“I’ve seen enough cat scat to last me for years. Stupid elitist attitudes. They could have stayed and made this magical community a good one for all its inhabitants.” The Jag climbed the winding drive with ease, the shifting smooth, the engine purring. God she was a beauty and wouldn’t leave me sitting in a puddle like my last shadowing excursion had done.
“True, they could have, but some people prefer to cling to the hatred because change terrifies them,” my friend sighed, his aroma dwindling now thankfully.
“As does losing power,” I added and got a grunt of agreement from Templeton. We rode on another half-mile or so, and then crested the hill. “Wow,” I muttered when the house came into view.
“Yes, the Concolor family was one of the oldest and wealthiest of the big cat packs in North America,” Templeton said as we pulled up next to the silver BMW that the only magical realtor in Erie drove. “They had this place built in the late 1800’s to Grand Madame Alice Concolor’s exact specifications. The old bird loved the color purple and you’ll see it splashed about inside in certain areas, as well as the outside color of deep plum.”
I parked the car then turned my head to stare at my bespectacled best-friend. “How do you know so much about all these old, crusty shifter families?”
“I worked at the Office of Transmogrification and Records for over eighty years as a lineage clerk before it blew up. I can recite those old bloodlines in my sleep,” he said then gave me a soft smile.
Copyright 2019 ©by V.L. Locey
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