It’s time for Tuesday Tales!
Today we have a snippet from Nightside, An Erie Vampire Tale.
Our word prompt today is “Tall”. In this snippet Vincente and Akio pay a visit to Ian, the man who will turn our otherworldly duo into a mystical trio.
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!
“Do you think we might have a garden party in the summer? Like Templeton did?” I asked, slipping my free arm through his.
“Perhaps, but let’s get this dinner with the dogs out of the way first, shall we?”
I chuckled, the crisp air settling on my face as we neared the caretaker’s cabin. It was a darling little place, tucked back among some trees. A tiny stone cottage with scalloped slate shingles, several old mullioned windows, and a tall, sturdy fireplace with smoke rolling out of it.
“Go ahead and knock,” Vincente said so I did. I rapped three times loudly. The door creaked open slowly and Ian stuck his head out. “Good evening, we thought we’d drop by with a small gift to show you how much we appreciate your fine work!”
I held out the bottle of Jameson and his ever-present smile widened. “How kind of you. Come in and we’ll crack this open.”
He threw the door wide then waved us in with the bottle of whiskey.
I peeked inside. “Are you sure it’s not too late to come in and chat? I’d hate to keep your wife up or disturb her sleep. I have to assume she’s not fond of our kind of men since I’ve never seen her at the house.”
Ian chortled deeply. “Belinda Lou won’t mind. She keeps night hours as well. Come on in. It’s nice to have company come to call.”
“Even if that company is the undead?” Vincente asked as he followed me into the humble but homey cabin. The walls were smooth stone, worn with age, and the windows were steamed from the fire in the hearth.
“I’ve had worse sorts at my door in the past. At least you’re not hauling dead deer into my front yard like the wolves do. And don’t even talk to me about the damn pumas using my doorjamb to sharpen their claws, or my vegetable garden in the back for a litter box.”
A fat, gray tabby cat paraded out of a room to the right, saw us, yawned, and then climbed up into a stuffed chair to clean her lady parts.
“That’s not polite at all Belinda Lou. Those are the new bosses,” Ian whispered to the cat who gave us that disdainful cat look then returned to cleaning herself.
“I thought Belinda Lou was your wife,” I confessed, sitting down at a small table in a cramped corner kitchen after Ian had motioned us to do so. Vincente sat beside me, his back to a window that looked over the great lake.
“So I gathered.” Ian returned to the table with three tumblers, each with two fingers or so of whiskey. “Here you are. Drink up. To new friendships.”
We all raised a glass. I took a sip, coughed a bit, and then shuddered at the heat spreading in my belly. Vincente savored his sip for a bit. Ian tossed his back then shivered with delight.
“Now that is good whiskey. Only the Irish know how to make proper whiskey,” he rose, fetched the bottle, and sat back down to pour us more. “So, you look like you’ve got something you wish to say.”
Copyright 2019 ©by V.L. Locey
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LeeAnn Pratt says
Susanne Matthews says
This sounds very interesting. Leave it to a cat to not care about who or what’s around. Well done.
Flossie Benton Rogers says
Gotta love a group that appreciates Jameson! I got a kick out of this comeback: “I’ve had worse sorts at my door in the past.”.
Trisha Faye says
cute! Love it