I'm a Vampire and I Count

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. I’m a Vampire and I Count Copyright © 2005 Jackie Rose ISBN: 1-55410-247-2 Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher. Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.Extasybooks.com

Dedication: To the memory of Anne Lewis, founder of Friends of Homeless Animals of Northern Virginia and all of their wonderful volunteers and contributors, who gave Ingrid Foha her name. “If you save one life, you have saved the world.” In the hopes of helping them do it, I plan to give them the royalties from this book. (To learn more about them and their adorable animals, go to www.foha.org).

Jackie Rose

Prologue

I

n the two-hundred-year-old Fredericksburg, Virginia historical mansion, rented for the weekend from the Parks Department, Count Victor Vyrdelek was greeting his guest. He was dressed (or possibly overdressed) for the occasion. Standing six feet three inches tall, he was slim and elegant in the black opera cape that rose over his high white lace collar. Matching his piercing dark eyes, beneath his heavy brows, his black curls swept onto his broad shoulders. His nose, lips and chin seemed chiseled in snowy marble beneath his high white forehead. Tall white candles lit the imposing figure with almost unearthly glow. They flickered against the ebony grand piano, the clawfoot mahogany table and the crimson velvet curtains. To make the scene complete, four tall and pale women stood behind him, their long hair trailing down the backs of their flowing white robes. Was he a vampire? Do werewolves hunt in the woods? His visitor was a vampire, too, although this was 1

I’m a Vampire. and I Count less obvious. Tiffany Golden tried hard to avoid such stereotypes. To her, the whole set-up made him look as though he had a stake up his ass. Still, he was a vampire master and might therefore control a few of their—for want of a better word— people’s votes. Her candidate needed them all desperately. Having spent the last four years of her life helping Senator Felix O’Neill (D-Mass) get elected president, she saw no reason to change her plans afterwards. Instead, she was rallying her people (if you could call them that) under her rousing slogan, “I’m Undead— and I Vote”. Looking at the women behind him, she felt sure that he controlled those four, at least. For that reason, she tried hard not to wince as she thought of what stereotypes they were. Their filmy white gowns clung to their slim but sensuous figures and ended in sleeves that drooped to their feet. An especially tall, pale brunette wove to and fro while waving her hands like a modern dancer. It looks just like a vampire movie, Tiffany thought—then remembered that movies tried to look like the real deal, which this certainly was. George Zagorsky would love it, she decided— thinking of her sire, who was always trying to sound like Bela Lugosi and look like Frank Langella, without much success. As soon as her host spoke, she realized that Bela Lugosi, on the contrary, was trying to sound like him. Frank Langella could only have hoped to look so good. 2

Jackie Rose “Good evening,” he said, as he nodded towards her briefly, then fixed her with his compelling gaze. Normally she would have laughed at such an opening. But when this guy offered that all-toostereotyped greeting, it did not sound corny at all. It sounded, instead, exactly like what a vampire master should say. His voice left her suddenly realizing that Bela Lugosi and Frank Langella did not begin to cover it: He looked better than David Boreanaz on his best nights, in ‘Buffy’ and ‘Angel’ combined. Sure, Angel was an awful Uncle Barnabas (which was like an Uncle Tom for vampires) but he still looked pretty hot. “I am Count Victor Vyrdelek,” he said, bowing slightly again. Despite herself, she drew back in fear as he moved forward, until he took her hand and raised it to his cold lips. That’s one of their ethnic folkways, she told herself. She had no reason to feel such strange agitation. At the same time, she noted that his collar had not left his neck while he lowered his head—the surest sign of a terrific tailor. For a girl who was used to seeing her friends wearing off-the-rack burial suits, that tailoring was a turn-on, too. “We have seen you on the television,” he said. “We know you are one of us. I have invited you to answer your questions about our mysteries.” In an even lower, slower and more seductive voice, he added, “Is there anything you wish to ask a vampire master who has led the undead for six hundred years?” “The undead, the undead,” the Rockettes 3

I’m a Vampire. and I Count wannabee echoed, as she glided from one side to the other. “I do have one thing to ask…” The visitor wondered if she should call him ‘master’, then remembered the American flag lapel pin on the collar of her navy blue suit. Americans did not say ‘master’. ‘Your excellency’ seemed all right, though, so she finished her sentence that way. “Ask what you will,” he said, as the candles flickered behind him. “Ask, ask, ask,” whispered the tall, pale woman— or whatever—as her body wove in time. “Our Ylenia was a dancer,” he explained, in a rather apologetic tone. Tiffany nodded, having figured out that much for herself. “I can ask you whatever I wish?” “Yes, my child, anything.” She tried not to wince at that incredibly patronizing ‘my child’ line. “How many vampires do we have in Ohio?” For a moment, he seemed stunned into silence. All four of his brides—or whatever—stared at her, motionless, obviously even more confused. “Ohio?” he demanded. “It’s a swing state,” she explained. “Swing? You mean like the dance music?” He had cut a few rugs in his time, but that had had nothing to do with Ohio. “It means we could carry the state for the Senator, with a few hundred vampire votes. Then he’d really owe us big time. Even bigger than he does now.” 4

Jackie Rose “I am afraid that I do not have that information,” he answered, obviously trying to hide his growing annoyance. “It is not one of the great vampiric mysteries.” “If you don’t know, then you don’t,” she assured him. Still trying to salvage something from the occasion, which had kept her from a rather crucial session of the AADP (formerly the American Association of Deceased Persons), she gazed beyond him at the four brides. “Are any of you ladies registered to vote?” she asked. “They speak only a few words of your language,” he said. “But I don’t think you have to be fluent in English,” she assured him. “I think they can even demand a ballot in—Hungarian, is it?” “Romanian.” “Well, fine. Many of our first union organizers came from that part of the world. If they are Communists, that’s all right, too. My grandfather was a party member himself.” “They are not Communists,” he snarled, through gritted pointed teeth. “They are not even American citizens, so they can’t vote for anyone.” “Well, not everyone thinks that should be a barrier.” “Speaking of barriers,” he demanded, obviously trying to change the subject before the discussion got completely out of hand. “Do you want to know what a vampire cannot do? Besides going outside in the 5

I’m a Vampire. and I Count sunlight, of course.” “Well, what we can do is vote, of course,” she reminded him happily, equally determined to get the conversation back onto the presidential track. “The Supreme Court decided that the election laws say we have to be residents of the states we are voting in, not that we have to live there. So the point became completely moot of whether we are living or not.” “This is obviously a whole new world of vampirism,” he informed her in a tone that clearly told her he did not approve. “But our people here still follow the old traditions,” she assured him, as a new thought struck her. “We respect our vampire masters. If you could tell them all about the wonderful things that Senator O’Neill will do for us, they would certainly listen.” “What things?” “Well…” she mused. Glancing at his customtailored wardrobe and even more luxurious surroundings, she quickly realized that he was well above the income limits for the blood-bank food stamps. Instead, she said, “Someone has to be Ambassador to Transylvania.” “I have no desire to serve your administration, even if I could.” “You could become a citizen,” she assured him. “I have no desire to do that, either. I am a Transylvanian noble.” “But that’s such a stereotype!” she could no longer keep from exclaiming. “And you are incredibly annoying.” Fighting for calm, he added, “I am sorry to fail in courtesy, but 6

Jackie Rose you really are.” “That’s all right, I’ve heard that before,” she assured him with a shrug. “Why do you think I was still single at age twenty-six? If George Zagorsky had known how irritating I was, he would not have given me the dark kiss in the first place.” “Well, you are with us now,” he decided, in tones of obvious regret. “So ask me what you wish to know about our heritage.” She hoped he did not notice her look of dismay. Having heard about her original ethnic heritage throughout her life, she had no desire to do the same thing afterwards. “I’ll tell you one thing that the Senator will do for us,” she said. “He will add vampirism to the federal list of disabilities.” “Disabilities!” he exclaimed, as his eyes turned red with rage. “Our heritage is not a disability.” “Of course not,” she assured him. “But it would help us get all kinds of advantages. Employers would not be able to discriminate against us.” “I am not seeking employment, and I do not need any such advantages.” “You don’t, of course,” she retorted, in some resentment. “But not all of us are wealthy nobles. Or gifted dancers, either,” she added tactfully, with a nod towards Ylenia. The willowy brunette smiled coldly, which was presumably the only way she could. “But I must not stop you from leaving,” he said. “You have a long drive back to Fairfax County and must be there by dawn.” 7

I’m a Vampire. and I Count In an unaccustomed burst of guilt, he added, “But I have heard about that Northern Virginia traffic, and you might be tied up in it when the sun rises. So perhaps you had better stay here, just to be safe.” “No problem,” she assured him. “I’ll have plenty of time to get there. If I don’t, I can pull over and sleep in the trunk. I’ve got some of my native earth there, just in case. Well, thank you for inviting me. And if you change your mind…” “We won’t.” He could barely wait for Ylenia to close the heavily paneled mahogany door behind his unwelcome guest before she heard him snarl, “Ohio, indeed!”

8

Jackie Rose

Chapter One

T

he winter wind roared through the snow-capped Carpathian mountains, to be echoed by the howling wolves. The castle inhabitants heard the beasts even through the small, high windows, built six hundred years ago so that archers could shoot from behind them. The casements stood beneath the turrets, from which other defenders had poured boiling pitch. In a room—no, make that a chamber—with red— make it crimson—brocade walls, a pipe organ played a mournful, menacing melody. Beneath the carvedstone mantel, flames rose high enough to reveal the scary scene. The wind battered in vain against the gray stone walls, which sheltered the satellite dish on one of the pointed roofs. Staring at the television, Count Victor could barely believe his rapidly-reddening eyes. It was enough to make him wish that he had never set up that satellite dish at all. Alternatively, he hoped that the wind would blow it to the ground, preferably in the middle of an American news show. 9

I’m a Vampire. and I Count This one showed President O’Neill with his hand on the Bible, taking his oath of office. Tiffany Golden was not to be found in the semi-circle of people behind him, because it was the middle of the day. Neither was her sire George Zagorsky, although this was only partly because he was one of the undead. The other reason was that he was in California, campaigning for Congress, with the president’s endorsement. It was one of the ways he was repaying his vampire voters. Count Victor Vyrdelek shuddered at the very thought. Vampire voters, indeed! But he was long since past caring what those Undead-Americans did, just as long as they kept the most ancient laws of his race. And Tiffany Golden had smashed those to smithereens. If she had shown the least regard for tradition, then President O’Neill would not have been standing out there shivering in the January sun. He would have been waiting indoors, preferably in his family crypt, assuming that the vulgar upstart actually possessed such a thing, and did not spend his Father’s Days searching through some crowded churchyard. He certainly would not have put his hand on a Bible without getting third- and fourth-degree burns. Yet the new president had certainly enjoyed the kiss of the vampire. Thinking of Tiffany’s freckled face, her tousled long red curls and her lively ways, Victor was sure that ‘enjoyed’ was the word. They certainly knew each other in the—pardon the expression—Biblical sense. The count had long suspected as much, from the 10

Jackie Rose fanatical devotion she had shown her candidate, to the point where she had used an interview with the vampire master to ask about—he shuddered again— Ohio. But they were more than suspicions now, based on reports from his own men in Washington. In triumphant tones of telepathy, they had told him that Washington was abuzz with this rumor, among all the others. The president had spent his election night with his vampire vixen—or his interred intern, as the local vampires told him, with long-distance telepathic smiles. But had the president-elect then stayed in his bed the next morning and for every day after that, as she progressively drained his blood? Had he then been buried (with full honors, no doubt) only to rise again as American’s first vampire president? He had not! Obviously, the kiss of the vampire had not been the Kiss of the Vampire for him. It was not that Count Victor wanted an UndeadAmerican president. He didn’t even particularly hope to see an undead Prime Minister of Romania, no matter how much his tribe had done for the tourist industry. But what was the world coming to, if the kiss of the vampire was no longer the Kiss of the Vampire—if, in short, she had gone to his bed without transforming him into anything more than another oversexed chief executive, which was hardly likely to impress anyone who had known the Founding Fathers personally, as he had himself. Next thing you knew, vampires would be selling the dark kiss for coin—or even better, American 11

I’m a Vampire. and I Count dollars. That might earn his impoverished country more money than tours of Dracula’s Castle, but still… There was a right and a wrong way to do everything, and seducing men without turning them into vampires was definitely wrong. Why, his own lovely brides—and he gazed around the room at them—had been getting unwary visitors out of their trousers before trousers were invented, but always as a prelude to luring them into his clan. Otherwise—well, then, there would have been a well-known word to describe their home, but it would not have been ‘castle’. And he would have been a common—well, there was a word for that kind of person, too, but it was not ‘vampire master’. The brides were doing their best to hold up traditions, even now that they were alone. Simona was playing the organ while Ylenia improvised a seductive, slithering dance. Neither was terribly talented, but at least they tried. Crina and Nadia were taking turns arranging each other’s hair and commenting on the results—a necessary service, in the absence of mirrors. Nadia pulled one of Crina’s long golden curls over her shoulder and onto her flowing white gown. Their perfume overcame the inevitable musty odors of the castle’s age. Tiffany Golden probably did not even own a flowing white gown, at least not for everynight wear. She obviously preferred those navy dress-for-success suits with the inevitable enamel American flag lapel pin. Judging by the way her red curls stood out in all 12

Jackie Rose directions, she had probably given up even trying to comb them or have a sister vampire do it. Not that she could have many sisters, considering how reluctant she was to enlist the vampire brothers who could have created them in turn. While she had learned to apply her pale-orange lipstick by touch alone, she did not bother with perfume, for which no mirror was needed. As a result, she smelled as fresh, clean and American as her Ivory Soap. Definitely an annoying woman, as she was the first to admit—and therefore not worth thinking about this long, especially when it meant neglecting the guest who stood before him now. Lounging back in his throne-like carved mahogany chair, Victor nodded a welcome to the muscular young man with the shaggy red-brown hair. The youth had been a lot shaggier a few minutes ago, while howling at the winter moon. “Ah, Constantin,” the host said. “You have changed back early tonight.” “I am going to see a young lady,” the werewolf answered, lowering the red-brown eyes that matched his thatch of hair. “Another Lycan?” he asked, proud that he had used the courteous term. “Well, not exactly,” the Lycan replied, lowering his head. Then he lifted it quickly again. “She has great sympathy for us, though. She knows how we are suffering, with the tourists hunting for us and some of our own people willing to sell the silver bullets to them. One of the hikers saw them hunting and told her.” 13

I’m a Vampire. and I Count Moving forward eagerly, he added, “She is in a group that can help us, perhaps even get the government to stop the slaughter.” “What group is that?” Victor pulled back suspiciously. “It is called People United for Mercy to Animals— PUMA.” “Another of those American inventions!” he cried, jumping from his seat in a manner that momentarily frozen Simona’s long fingers on the keyboard and Ylenia’s feet on the Persian carpet. Only the werewolf fearlessly held his gaze. “Even the American president’s wife is working for animal rescue. The best people from the highest society are doing it.” “High society!” the count sneered. “A makebelieve aristocracy. And I suppose your young lady is a society debutante?” “Actually, she is—or was. They are supposed to do service projects nowadays and this one was hers. Anyway, Ingrid is coming here, and she will be my guest.” “And under your protection, I suppose,” the count replied, glaring. “Well, she is your guest, so we must make her welcome—to your house, that is. We have had enough American nonsense coming here.” PUMA, indeed! he thought. I did not mind that American nonsense as long as it stayed in the US of A—California, preferably. But now it is coming here, and I must put a stop to it. That means I must put a stop to the creature who was causing it all, by bringing her firmly under my spell. Ohio, indeed! 14

Jackie Rose

Chapter Two

F

irst, though, Ingrid Foha landed at the Otopeni Airport in Bucharest, having taken the Romanian Airline from New York. Once inside the terminal, she looked around for the man wearing the sign ‘Constantin Lupinksi’. When she saw him, she could not help wishing for a moment that her principals allowed her to use a body perm on her long, fine, almost white-blond hair. Surely, she could have found a hair coloring that had not been tested on animals. It was not fair, of course, that a man did not need any enhancements—at least, a man like this. With his square jaw, powerful arms and broad shoulders, he must have made a formidable werewolf indeed. But his good looks could not make up for his complete lack of sensitivity to his fellow mammals. Otherwise, he would not have been wearing a bearskin coat that emphasized both his muscular frame and his own russet coloring. She had learned to know fake fur when she saw it, even though she avoided it for fear that it would arouse a taste for the real thing, and his coat was the 15

I’m a Vampire. and I Count real deal. So, she feared, was the added allure of its raw animal scent. “Welcome to Romania.” He gazed down at her with those red-brown eyes in a way that made her knees buckle inside her brown corduroy trousers. His accent made them fold up even further. With great guilt, she realized that the bearskin aroma did the same. Fiberfil had no smell at all, enticing or otherwise. She was just glad that she had found a jacket in a baby blue that almost exactly matched her eyes. He soon showed that he was as strong as he seemed. Seemingly without effort, he lifted her two vinyl bags. This left her with nothing to carry but her own quilted cotton Vera Bradley tote, in the Animal Kingdom pattern. Since this design had long since been retired to Vera Bradley Heaven, she had to diligently search the Internet for it, but it was well worth the effort. It showed the lynx, bird and elephants dwelling happily together, which was the PUMA member’s dream. Almost as fortunately, the background color happened to be pale blue, so it went with both the Fiberfil jacket and her eyes. “You must be hungry,” he said. “Will you let me take you to lunch?” “I can pay for myself,” she assured him, knowing that the unemployment figures here were in the double digits, while the poverty statistics were even higher. “I will pay for both of us,” he told her firmly, then smiled. “I have a very good position.” 16

Jackie Rose “And what is that, if I may ask?” “I howl.” Confused for a moment, she soon smiled in return and said, “You mean, you haul things.” “No, I howl. Our Count Victor needs a werewolf to stand in front of his castle howling, and I do that for him.” Rather defensively, he added, “Otherwise I would be out hunting, so it is only right that I should be paid for my time.” Ingrid was also paid, for her leadership of PUMA, but decided not to argue with him any further. His salary could probably cover the meal better than hers, since she was not paid very much and what she did earn went to cover her travel costs. Instead, she said tactfully, “Well, I should think so. It sounds like a very tiring job. But I hope you will choose an inexpensive place, because I don’t want to get into the habit of eating at restaurants I can’t afford.” On my PUMA salary, anyway, she thought. She saw no reason to tell him that she could have afforded almost anyplace perfectly well, including the Four Seasons, on the allowance her parents gave her. They were especially glad to subsidize animal rescue since the first lady had made it so stylish. But she did not want him to think that she was just a dilettante debutante, even if she feared that she was. “And of course I know it must have a vegetarian menu,” he said, in the Eastern European accent that curled her toes beneath her buckling knees. “But I know several places that serve our famous fried cheese. It may not be low in calories,” he added, with 17

I’m a Vampire. and I Count another toe-curling smile on his full lips. “But it is animal friendly, as you would say.” “I’m afraid I can’t have it,” she answered regretfully. “Cheese comes from cows, and they are treated pretty poorly.” Hastily, she decided that this was not the time or place to launch into her usual spiel about how there was no retirement home for them. “What can you eat then?” he answered, obviously trying hard to hide his exasperation. “I am a vegan,” she told him. “That means no animal products.” For a moment, that stumped him. Then he smiled triumphantly and said, “We have a famous vegetable stew and tomato-cucumber salad in our country. I know a very nice place where you can order them and still see the real Romania.” Unfortunately for her principles, the place was so Romanian, the menu was heavy on the meatballs. Their scent was so alluring, it was hard for her to keep her mind on the excellent vegetable stew. She could hardly blame a werewolf for being a carnivore, she realized. But he was now in his human incarnation, as she sternly reminded herself, and thus had free will to choose turnips. Still, she was inclined to be tolerant, knowing that she could not overturn his cultural conditioning overnight. She assumed that the directors would take her word for that, since she was the one with her vinyl boots on the ground. When she contacted them on her laptop in the privacy of the ladies’ room, she learned differently. 18

Jackie Rose PUMA could not possibly spend its resources to defend a person who was not at least a vegetarian, even if he was only a person part of the time. At that, they were making a concession by allowing him dairy products and eggs, rather than insisting on a strictly vegan diet. As she rode with him from the capital to Transylvania, she sought a way to tell him so without any success. For one thing, she did not want to distract him as he tried to navigate the icy winding mountain roads. Instead, she much preferred sitting silently as close to him as her seat belt would allow, especially when she heard the howl of the other werewolves. She did not think they would attack a brother (or whatever they called each other), but she decided that she must look to them like a potential meatball platter. Of course, there were things about her that might change their minds, but she doubted she’d have time to explain them before they struck. **** Without a native to guide her, Tiffany Golden was seated in the Club Vampyre a few days later. Her left leg was crossed over her right thigh and jiggling angrily. Some horrid compulsion had drawn her to this dreadful place, as soon as she had read about it in the guidebook. By constantly studying the map page, she had easily found it in time for dinner. Things being how they were, she had had no fear of wandering alone 19

I’m a Vampire. and I Count through the strange town after dark, even with the signs that marked a tourist, such as the guide book in her hand. Getting there for lunch, of course, would have posed real problems. But as long as she stuck to the nighttime, the only one with problems would be the fool who dared accost her. The food was tasty, but the surroundings were not. It was, in fact, the worst kind of tourist trap meant to lure the foreigners who had come here to see Dracula’s Castles—which were so numerous, she had to wonder if George Washington had slept in as many Virginian tourist sites. Talk about stereotypes! She shuddered as she looked around her. Plastic skulls and bats were hung against black walls that dripped with red paint, and eerie recorded organ music filled the dimly lit room. Naturally, the servers wore black wigs, falling down the backs of their flowing white gowns. Why, it was just as bad as going to South Carolina or someplace and seeing the servers in blackface with turbans on their heads. And why couldn’t someone attract tourists by showing the true vampiric lifestyle? She shook her head: That would seem too tame. So much of her afterlife had been spent trying to fight these stereotypes. Her leg jiggled faster than ever, as she wondered why Count Victor could not do the same. With vampires like that, you did not need slayers. Why, anyone else might well have believed that he had lured or seduced or even abducted her, with the 20

Jackie Rose words he had whispered to her, day after day, as she had tried to fall asleep because she had a busy night ahead. Soon the temptation to obey his summons had grown irresistible—no, not to obey his summons, she corrected herself hastily, but to accept his invitation. Still, she had not dared to tell President O’Neill the real reason why she had decided that she just had to go to Romania. With the economy in such a state, as she informed him, its undead citizens were trying as hard as anyone to get to the Land of Opportunity. Once here, they would hopefully remember who their friends had been. This did not, of course, include those like Count Victor, who had been born with all the opportunities they would ever need, including his castle and an inheritance to support it. She might have suspected that he had gotten it via ancestors who had lured unsuspecting heiresses into their lair, but that would have been such a stereotype, too. Needless to say, she had not mentioned the master vampire who was calling to her. That would not have increased the president’s commitment to undead rights. They had been spending the evening in the Lincoln Bedroom when she told him about her travel plans. She had insisted on using that particular chamber, on the basis that she was in no position to discriminate against ghosts. And, as she had assured him, none of the un-undead were likely to venture there late at night, the first lady included. So she had sat up in the Victorian mahogany bed, 21

I’m a Vampire. and I Count with her back propped against the lattice headboard. They had just enjoyed another night of love that did not include the dark kiss. The country was not yet ready for a vampire president, he repeatedly told her, and she had made a point of assuring everyone that it could only be given consensually. She had therefore started by lightly kissing his curly black hair and steadily working her way down to his cheeks, shoulders, chest, arms, hands, belly, thighs, legs and all points south, without heading back north to his neck. He had then followed suit. When she had asked him if she did not feel cold to his lips, he had assured her once again that it only reminded him of how lucky he was, because none of them—not Roosevelt, not Clinton, not even Kennedy—had ever had vampire pussy. But obviously even that distinction was not half as impressive as vampire votes. She realized that once again when she told him her travel plan. “I’ve been thinking,” she had said. “You know how Bush and Kerry both fought for the Hispanic immigrants… and we’re getting Romanian immigrants now. Some of them have to be vampires, and we want them to know that America is their land of opportunity, too. “If your own liaison to the vampire community went there to meet with them in their own country and, you know, discuss their concerns, they would understand who’s looking out for them.” His cold blue eyes had glittered against his hard, dark, handsome black-Irish face and a smile had touched his thin lips as he considered the possibilities. 22

Jackie Rose “I’ll miss you,” he had assured her. But she guessed from his tone that he would have missed those vampire immigrant voters a lot more. When he said, with a new tone of eagerness, that he would give the story to Cassandra Bailey for her Words from Washington program, she was sure of it. Vampire pussy was pretty scarce, but network anchorwoman trim was a real status symbol, too. **** So now Tiffany was waiting for Count Victor to summon (no, invite) her to his castle by telepathy. He had better tell her how to get there, too. If he thought she was going to turn into a bat and fly, he could think again. Summon though he might, she did not know how to do it. And she would never have tried to do such a stereotyped thing, anyway. To her surprise, she soon learned that the telepathy went both ways. I see you have finished your cheese pastry, he said silently. You are trying to like it because it is an authentic Romanian delicacy, but it is not sweet enough for your American taste. You would much rather have a Dairy Queen Blizzard with M & M’s. Did you summon—I mean, did you invite me here to discuss desserts? she thought in reply, irritated by the fact that he could read her emotions so easily. Will you tell me how to get to your luxury home or am I supposed to guess? Guess! he invited silently. And it’s a castle. A vampire’s castle, she repeated in dismay. But that’s 23

I’m a Vampire. and I Count such a stereotype! Trying to remember what her Aunt Sylvia, the Realtor, would say, she offered, Can we call it your estate home? Or historical residence. It’s a castle! And I don’t care what your Aunt Sylvia would say. Whatever you call it, I still don’t know how to get there. I don’t know how to fly like a bat, and I can’t hitchhike in this weather. And buses, trains and taxis probably can’t get me all the way up the mountain to your estate. So I suppose you will send a horse carriage with blackened windows. That’s the kind of stereotype you would think of, she added to herself—before realizing that he could hear that, too. It is not a stereotype, it is the best if not the only way to get here, he shot back silently in return. And it is not an estate, it is a castle. She was unable to silence the thought that added, It’s a stereotype, too. When a building dates back to the fourteenth century and has holes for archers to shoot through, he added, with a great and obvious effort at patience, I think we can safely call it a castle. Historic home, popped into her mind, no doubt remembering Aunt Sylvia. Or historic mansion? Castle! With no need to read her silent response, he added, somewhat defensively, And I was not shouting. After centuries of practice, he knew how to shut his thoughts off like hanging up a telephone—or, since he prided himself on being up on things like that, shutting down a computer. He did so hastily, to keep her from hearing the rest of his musings. 24

Jackie Rose You would make anyone shout with all those crazy changes you are making. Historic home, indeed! That is something that belongs in Ohio. But all this will end when I make you one of my brides. Then you will submit to my power as all the others have done. **** Although she did not really need a coat, Tiffany wore a silver Fiberfil number all the same. While hardly as committed as Ingrid to the cause of animal rights, she had nevertheless heard of PUMA and tried to support them whenever she could. Also like Ingrid, she carried a quilted cotton Vera Bradley bag. This one was in the floral Hope pattern, whose profits went to breast cancer research. Not that that was much of a problem for her any more. She was sure that she looked just like any other American tourist, complete with the EnglishRomanian phrase book now clutched in her hand. But, as the driver obviously realized, your average run-of-the-castle visitor was not likely to be riding his carriage to Count Victor’s stronghold in the dead of night. He had, however, seen enough of such visitors that he was not much impressed by this one. “Vyrdelek?” he asked, from under his heavy muffler, as he held the carriage door open for her. It was, she saw, the door to an old-fashioned black funeral coach, leading her to wonder angrily how many stereotypes the count was inflicting on his persecuted people (or whatever you called them). 25

I’m a Vampire. and I Count “Da,” she replied, after a quick glance at her phrase book, with what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She had not needed the slim volume to tell her that ‘Vyrdelek’ was the native word for ‘vampire’ as well as Count Victor’s family name. Rather uneasily, she wondered if his ancestors had given their surname to the original UndeadRomanians. Or, on the other hand, if he had adopted it in order to spread another stereotype. “You said yes,” he observed, as he closed the door behind her, took his seat in back of the horses and grasped the reins. “I am trying to learn English.” “And I am hoping to practice my Romanian,” she answered brightly, calling over the partition between them. “Buna seara.” “And good evening to you, young lady. Over there, you see the Metropolitan Cathedral.” He pointed to it just as though she had been any other tourist, which left her vaguely disappointed, to her own surprise. In America, people had at least found her to be worth a few curious stares. Obviously, she would not have an opportunity here to bring credit to her people (or whatever). But that all depended on what you meant by that term. She realized that immediately when he pointed to himself and said, “Vladimir.” “Tiffany Golden,” she replied. At that, he whirled at her and stared in amazement, as though he really were about to cross himself for protection. “Golden?” he demanded. “Evreica?” 26

Jackie Rose “Watch the road!” she replied. “Evreica from America!” he murmured in awe again. Vampires, he could see every day. But a Jewish girl from America…now that was obviously something to tell all the other villagers about. “You are many in America?” he demanded. “You are few here. We hear about you but never see.” That’s because you helped the Nazis kill us all, she thought. This time, you did not have to be a vampire in order to read her thoughts through her sudden silence. “Vyrdelek save many,” the driver told her, in a rather defensive tone. “They saved all they could. You ask Count Victor the story.”

27

I’m a Vampire. and I Count

Chapter Three

“C

ome in,” her host said, as the silent maidservant pulled open the stone front door, to reveal a hallway lined with armor. She could hear the organ music coming from an upstairs chamber, helping to set the eerie scene. Actually, it sounded more like “coooome eeeeen.” Although it would have been too corny for even George Zagorsky to say, it seemed to fit this vampire master as well as his perfectly tailored black suit. Of course, he had to say “Come in,” she realized, or she could not have entered his house. A servant’s greeting would not have done. Technically, that limitation applied only to mortals, but there was such a thing as good manners, too. He must have had a rather extensive staff. She had realized that when she saw his castle perched on top of the mountain, surrounded by white houses with peaked red roofs, belonging to those who served him. When she saw how well kept and spotlessly clean the castle interior was, she was sure of it. One of those white houses must have belonged to a greenhouse gardener. The count was holding a floral 28

Jackie Rose bouquet that he extended gracefully to her. That did not seem to suit the image, and she thought for a moment that he was trying to overcome the stereotypes. Her silent approval did not last long. “A dozen roses,” he told her. “I know that is the usual number in America, but here an even number of flowers is only given to the dead. I do not forget our heritage.” She was left staring down at the crimson blooms in her hand. “They are still very beautiful,” she murmured. “As are you,” he assured her, with a courtly bow that sent his black curls tumbling over his high white brow. At once, she realized why vampires had been romantic heroes for so long. Then, with some embarrassment, she remembered that he could read her thoughts. Lowering her head, she knew that, if her blood had still been circulating, she certainly would have blushed. Then he was looking over her shoulder. His guest felt vaguely like a homewrecker (or rather castlewrecker) as she turned to see his four brides floating down the stairs, led by the dancer and her organ accompanist. He should be giving them the roses, she thought. Hastily, she placed the bouquet on a nearby table, hoping that they had not seen it. “I give many gifts to my lovely brides,” he answered aloud. For a moment, she imagined herself floating down the steps with them. Then she remembered how clumsy she had always been in dance class and 29

I’m a Vampire. and I Count decided that floating was definitely not her thing. She would have tumbled down the stairs, most likely, embarrassing everyone. “But you must be tired from your long trip,” he said. “Our Crina will lead you to your room.” As she trudged up the winding stairway, Tiffany only wished that she could float behind the elegant blonde. She would not have minded sporting those long golden curls, either. As Crina led her through the long, dark upper hallway, her guest found herself feeling like an unwary traveler from a vampire movie—always a thankless role. But even such a person would have tried to say something. Pulling her phrase book from her suit pocket, she squinted in the dim light from the torches spaced along the wall. Finally, she found a sentence that might suit the situation. After silently mouthing the words two times for practice, she asked, with what confidence she could muster, “Imi plac rochiile.” Then she hoped that Crina would know she had just said, “I like the dresses.” At the same time, as a vampire, she was glad that she did not have to find a way to ask, “Where’s the ladies’ room?” “Multumesc,” the blonde answered. After more frantic scrambling, Tiffany was relieved to see that it really did mean “thank you,” as opposed to, say, “It’s too bad you don’t have a gown like mine, because that suit is not doing a thing for you.” “Imi plac!” Her guide announced, as she pushed open a paneled door. Tiffany nodded with enthusiasm, once the phrase book had told her that 30

Jackie Rose Crina was pointing at ‘her room’. It was, indeed, her room, she realized happily, and probably the finest one where she had ever slept, the Lincoln Bedroom included. Gleaming green-and-gilt brocade wallpaper provided the setting for the elaborately carved pine mantel and the picture frame above it, which displayed a sixteenth century court lady’s portrait. Looking more closely, she realized that the lady in question was one of the count’s brides. She could barely a restrain a shudder at the thought, based though it was on sheer bigotry. As she sternly told herself, the undead of five hundred years ago were obviously not any deader than last week’s green recruit—or deathly white recruit, if you wanted to get technical about it. Heavy darker green velvet draperies added the final touch of luxury, along with safety from the sun. The four-poster bed provided plenty of room for scattering the native dirt she had carried with her in a Vera Bradley tote. She fought off the thought that there was something scary about it. After all, she was the one that visitors were supposed to fear. One of those flowing white dresses would definitely have helped. She just could not imagine anyone holding up a cross, star or crescent to ward off a figure in a navy success suit. Even more firmly, she pushed away the mental picture of herself lying with Count Victor in the same bed. 31

I’m a Vampire. and I Count **** Werewolves, on the other hand, did not have to worry about their wardrobes. Diet was another matter. “Vegetarian!” Constantin howled. “How am I supposed to be a vegetarian? Wolves are carnivores. If I try to live on vegetables, I’ll go blind.” “That’s cats, not canines,” she told him. “And it isn’t only vegetables. You can have eggs and dairy, too.” “I need meat!” he told her. “I must have it.” “But let me show you what you can eat,” she told him. She turned to the suitcase that stood on the bedspread. Adorned with heavy red Romanian embroidery, it was a vivid splash of color in the white plaster room. Briefly, she imagined going into his adjoining bedroom, climbing under the bedspread and waiting for him on the soft mattress, even if it had been stuffed with the feathers of innocent birds. Unfastening the luggage clasp, she pulled out a large white cardboard bag. His lips moved as he tried to make out the English writing. Then his red-brown eyes widened with horror as he succeeded. “Veggie-Pet Vegetarian Dog Food?” he demanded. “Made of grain and beans?” “It’s packed with protein,” she insisted. “It’s a lot healthier, and many dogs enjoy it, too.” “And how would you know?” Instead of answering, she pulled open the white 32

Jackie Rose curtains. “No!” he cried, an instant before his jaw extended into a muzzle, fur grew over his body and he fell to all fours on the ground. His expression was still human enough to register amazement as Ingrid was transformed into a fluffy white Maltese dog. She weighed seven pounds now, consisting mostly of long white fur, immense black eyes and a panting pink tongue. The wolf glared down at the Maltese from his intelligent brown eyes. The Maltese gazed back up through her great, appealing black ones. He growled down at her, baring his fangs. With that, the inevitable happened. The Maltese sprang at the werewolf, who turned and raced from the room. His howling took on a new note of mournfulness that night. It sounded vaguely annoyed, too, as it was echoed by the yip-yip-yipping of the little white dog. **** They returned to their human shapes when the sun rose, and they found themselves lying on the bedroom floor. “You chased me away,” he accused her. “It wasn’t your fault,” she consoled him. “A big dog is always tolerant of a silly little one, because he thinks it’s a puppy.” “And how did you ever get to be a were-dog anyway?” he asked, as he stood and helped her up from the floor. 33

I’m a Vampire. and I Count “Well, I do a lot of animal rescue,” she said, trying to pull the last snowy twigs out of her brown corduroy pants—not the best fabric, she realized, for running across the ground, especially when you belonged to a breed that was so close to it. “I went to the shelter when it was open one night, and they told me that they had just gotten a beautiful Maltese. I could not understand why anyone had put such a little darling in a shelter, until she bit me when I took her home.” “So you took her back to the shelter?” “Of course not!” she cried. “I’m no killer. And I couldn’t have taken her during the daytime anyway, when she was working as an office temp. She still guards my house at night and sends out my letters during the day, so I got a really good deal all around.” “Except that you’re now a were-Maltese yourself.” “And what’s wrong with that?” she demanded, lifting her head to glare up at him. “Shouldn’t I have empathy for the animals we care for?” “First vegetarian dog food,” he grumbled, shaking his shaggy head. “And now this. I was chased out the door by a lapdog.” “A toy,” she replied, without thinking. “A Maltese is in the toy category.” “A toy dog!” he shrieked in dismay. “And a vegetarian werewolf. My God, is nothing sacred?” **** Tiffany Golden, on the other hand, had no such 34

Jackie Rose dietary options. When she came down for breakfast the next night, she was glad to see her crystal pitcher of blood, surrounded by matching goblets, on the gleaming oval mahogany table. It was kept gleaming, she realized, by one of the unseen army of servants who came from the village during the day and were careful to return there by dusk. “We have a lot to drink here,” she said, staring rather suspiciously at it. “Did it come from the blood bank?” “No, we are not taking it away from sick and injured people who need transfusions,” he answered, having seen, as always her thoughts. “We buy it from the villagers. It is their major source of income. “And we pay them very well,” he added, while the word ‘exploitation’ was still forming in her mind. “Much more than that could earn from anything else they could do.” “Speaking of the villagers,” she replied, as a new thought struck her, “one of them told me an interesting story. He said that the vampires had saved many Jews from the Germans and he told me to ask you how you did it.” A smile spread over his sculpted-marble lips as he placed his glass back on the table. “It is a rather amusing one,” he replied, turning towards her, with the full effect of his piercing gaze. “When the Germans came, they naturally occupied my castle, since it is the highest point in the region and overlooks everything else. Some traitor had warned the soldiers not to look straight at me, so I 35

I’m a Vampire. and I Count could not control them that way.” The memory brought a faint smile as he went on, “So instead, I played the perfect host. I took them down to the burial vaults and opened some of the coffins to show them the skeletons inside. Some still seemed to be trying to push the lids away with their bony fingers—they had been buried alive, so sad. Naturally, our Simona was playing her music to entertain our guests. “I said they were welcome to come even further down the stairs and read the memorial tablets. Instead, they raced upstairs as fast as they could, without bothering to look for hidden doors and hallways.” “Which led to the rooms where the Jews were hiding.” She could not help smiling at the thought. “We never doubted what the Germans would do to them,” he said, with a shrug. “We knew what had been done to us, when we were hunted through the centuries. So you see, my dear young lady, there is a place for stereotypes.”

36

Jackie Rose

Chapter Four

B

ut the alpha male werewolf was much more than just a stereotype. And there was no way around it, Ingrid feared. She had emasculated this one totally. Due to their respective animal instincts—her Maltese ferocity and his wolfish tolerance—she had robbed him of his manhood…or wolfishness, if you preferred. But she had one way to make it up to him. This was his night to howl—and she decided he would do it in more ways than one. So she waited patiently for his return from a hard night of baying in front of Castle Vyrdelek. He would have missed seeing her as he loped towards the house, until his wolf’s ears heard her Maltese panting. He looked down to find her gazing up at him, in the light of the full moon. As a wolf, he could open his front door with his paws, allowing her to scamper in after him. Whimpering with impatience, she clawed at the nearest chair until she managed to jump up onto the cushion. Then she turned and wriggled her round furry bottom at him in unmistakable invitation, while 37

I’m a Vampire. and I Count wagging her tail like a white flag of sensuous surrender. Her panting grew ever louder, faster and more urgent. Soon she heard him baying just as passionately in reply. With a final primal snarl, he pulled himself up behind her, then grasped her bottom in both paws. Pulling her against him, he thrust his manly—or, rather, wolfly—organ deep into her pink little opening. Like all such entrances, it expanded to welcome the invader. She breathed his animal fragrance as he enjoyed her faint perfume (purchased from the village store for just this occasion, and applied when she still had opposable thumbs to do it with). His thrusts grew ever faster and deeper, and her tiny body started opening and closing in response, until both came closer and closer to the final burst of ecstasy—leaving them to fear they would be stuck together, wolf and doggie style. But his paws were powerful enough to finally push her away in the instant after the final thrust. As the wintry light finally started to filter through the windows, they became again a naked man sprawled on the floor and woman lying over the chair in front of him. Her bare legs were thrust out behind her and her round bottom faced him—except that it was pink now. He tried to cover his manhood with both hands, but dropped them when he remembered what had just passed between them, making it much too late for modesty. “So now we are a man and woman together,” she 38

Jackie Rose said with a sigh, as she bent down for her trousers, giving him yet another spectacular rear view. “The same species,” he grumbled, shaking his shaggy head. “That is not what we did before. It was a perversion. Inter-species sex. Even those Orgazm Books have rules against that.” “Not at all!” she assured him. “We are in the same species, even if I am in the canine section and you are more lupine. A dog and wolf can create fertile offspring, so they are the same species. I mean, you and I can’t have offspring, because were-creatures don’t reproduce that way, but regular dogs and wolves can.” “But they don’t reproduce together in nature,” he answered stubbornly. “So they are not the same species at all.” “Well, we are as natural as anyone.” She thought of reaching out to him for another bout of lovemaking, in human form this time, where their species was unquestionably the same. She was glad to have saved herself from an embarrassing rejection when he said, “I need my food now. Even vegetarian.” **** It was, obviously, a night for love—or sex at any rate. Tiffany, in particular, was soon to enjoy the best lovemaking of her afterlife. She was with the count when the subject came up, among other things. “Vampire sex is another stereotype,” he said, as he hit her full force with his commanding gaze. “But that 39

I’m a Vampire. and I Count one is true.” Glancing around, she realized that the brides had long since glided away and the servants were nowhere to be seen. He is trying to vamp me! She thought and was immediately furious with herself for sinking to the worst stereotype of all. From his amused smile, he knew it, too. “George Zagorsky was my sire, but he was nothing special,” she objected. His sudden glare of disapproval took in both George’s failure and her own indiscretion in talking about it. “George Zagorsky,” he muttered. “Watching Bela Lugosi and Christopher Lee to find out how to behave. He never had any proper training, so he had no idea how to use his powers. And by the way, Theda Bara was a vamp. A very nice lady and a superb hostess, but a mortal nonetheless. We are called vampires.” “George will probably be elected to Congress,” she pointed out, with belated loyalty. “That will make him one of the thousand most powerful men in the world.” As he shrugged that off, she saw that his suit was so perfectly tailored, it did not even wrinkle at his gesture. “But he still will not know how to do this.” She turned towards him, lifting her face to his, expecting him to make his point with a passionate kiss. But he had something else in mind. His gaze lifted her from her chair and set her down again on the long table, neatly avoiding the heirloom crystal. It’s the power of suggestion, she assured 40

Jackie Rose herself, her eyes opening wide. I just jumped up and landed here. I always thought I could probably fly, if the situation came up. “Do you call this suggestion?” he asked in some annoyance. Her navy wool skirt climbed up to her waist of its own accord, and her pantyhose slithered down to her ankles and tumbled onto the floor. His trousers did the same, as he silently rose from his place and stood over her. “Hey, cut that out!” she snapped aloud. “Do you really want me to?” he asked, also aloud, in his most seductive tone—which, considering his centuries of practice, was very seductive indeed. “Well, that’s not the point. It’s nuts!” “You didn’t answer my question.” “And you aren’t supposed to take my clothes off telepathically.” “Americans are still so Puritanical. Am I supposed to do this?” “Oh, wow!” she whispered, as she found herself sliding easily down the table until her legs dangled over the edge. As her knees lifted, she honestly did not know if it was his desire or hers that had raised them. “Does it matter?” his mind demanded, answering her unspoken question. Then, hearing the horrified objections that suddenly clamored through her mind, he answered them by saying, “No, this is not rape. Am I using force, threats or fraud?” Her mind sped through the three alternatives. Then she shook her head in enthusiastic denial. Whatever you could call this act, it was certainly 41

I’m a Vampire. and I Count consensual. No matter what the reason was, her pussy was growing ever more eager to be fed, all but trembling in hunger. She threw it a scrap of meat from the table and the cat scampered away. Now it was her vagina that started to flex in desperate rhythm—invisible to a mortal man, but as obvious to him as a flashing sign: “Take me, take me, take me.” His lips sought her face, to cover it with kisses, from her brow to her lips. He smelled of a very costly, and therefore very subtle, men’s fragrance. You had to be very close to him before you caught the faint orange scent. It made her wonder if she had been right in thinking that nothing would smell fresher, cleaner and better than good old still made-in-theUSA Ivory Soap. She still felt that way about Colgate toothpaste and Listerine mouthwash. Therefore, she was very glad she had recently used them both when his lips covered hers. First, though, he whispered aloud, “Ask me to take you.” Take me, take me, her mind replied. “Aloud, I said!” “Fuck me, fuck me!” To her dismay, he drew back for a moment. “No need to be vulgar,” he told her. “You sound like someone in one of those Orgazm Books.” “Take me, take me,” she moaned, startled by her unfamiliar voice, having almost forgotten how to use it with him in their recent telepathic days. His thoughts tore off her jacket and blouse, so that 42

Jackie Rose his tongue could circle and caress her brown nipples. She reached up her arms to stretch around his shoulders, but he seized her hands and held them above her head. He left her barely able to moan again, “Take me, take me!” His cock raced towards her. “Shoo!” he hissed, and the rooster followed the cat out the door. As his penis thrust towards her, she spread her legs further to welcome him. Then she was as she pressing her own body forward and back to receive him into her very depths. She was surprised how deep they turned out to be. Bigger than President O’Neill! she thought. The count seemed startled and even shocked for a moment, then smiled proudly. Undoubtedly, she would have gotten around to giving the chief executive the dark kiss sooner or later. She had been right to spend election night with him, especially since he so obviously suffered in comparison to himself. Besides, that upstart grandson of immigrants was the most powerful man in the world. Power was sexy, as every nobleman knew from long experience (although not usually as long as his). Even that drippy little Vlad Tepes had made out like a madman, which he actually was. So Count Victor thrust even more deeply and proudly into her, as she pressed ever more urgently against him. When they reached the final burst of ecstasy, her emotions exploded along with her body, so violently that they almost threw him back into his seat. Now it was his turn to think Oh, wow, and to hear 43

I’m a Vampire. and I Count her ardent agreement. When they were sprawling, half naked, against the high, carved backs of their chairs, she could still feel him inside her, with the vibrations echoing again and again. “Oh, wow,” she kept gasping helplessly. “Oh, wow. Oh, wow.” “Oh, wow, indeed,” he said, also panting from the exertions. “You will be my most beautiful and beloved bride.” For a moment she was thrilled at the proposal and could hardly wait to call her mother in Florida about it. Then she realized exactly what it was that he was proposing and did not think her parents would be pleased. “You mean, with Ylenia and the others?” she asked. “I am supposed to stand behind you, waiting for unwary travelers to enter your luxury home?” “How unwary can they be?” he demanded, with a shrug. “Everyone in the village is always pointing us out to them, usually crossing themselves at the same time. Most of the tourists are coming here to see it. And it’s a castle.” “You’re right,” she admitted. “Luxury home sounds like something that Boll Brothers or Richfield American is building in a gated community, with about five units to an acre. Your estate home, then?” she asked hopefully. “Castle.” “Historical estate home?” As he glowered, she went hastily on, “How about historical mansion?” “It’s a castle!” “Can I call myself a countess, then?” she asked. 44

Jackie Rose “I suppose so. The others don’t care that much about titles, but then, they are not Americans.” “Most Americans don’t agree to be someone’s fifth bride,” she retorted. “I mean, not as long as he is still married to the first four.” He waited patiently, while she thought it through, willing her to make the obvious connection. “But I was the president’s second bride, sort of,” she realized. “And with him giving all those news flashes to Cassandra Bailey, I was probably about to be moved down to third place. Here we don’t have to worry about a congressional investigation, at least. But do you have enough for us all?” “Have you heard any complaints?” he asked smugly. Not even about Simona’s organ playing, she thought, then lowered her head in embarrassment as she realized that he had heard her. She just hoped the lady in question had not. As she stood to pull her skirt on again, she considered making a pun about ‘playing his organ’ or ‘playing with his organ’, but decided it might not work in Romanian. Leaning back, he watched with pleasure as she fastened the skirt, then sat down again as she extended her leg and started slowly pulling up her pantyhose. “I will give you the most beautiful gown of all,” he promised. “It will be the purest silk, and I will see through it like one of those stockings.” To his dismay, her hands stopped at mid-knee. “But I don’t want to go around dressed like that. It is 45

I’m a Vampire. and I Count such a stereotype!” Seeing him glower again, she conceded, “I could get a nice nighty if you want to see me in that.” To her surprise, rather than arguing, he shook his curly black head and gazed sadly at her. “The village women earn their livelihood by sewing those garments,” he told her. “But if you would rather buy a nighty that was made in China, I am sure it will cost us much less. I hear that the seamstresses earn about thirty cents an hour there.” As hard as he was obviously trying to keep her from seeing it, he could not hide his amusement and triumph. He had won, and she knew it, feeling her shoulders sag. She might overthrow centuries of tradition with a flick of her hand—she might refuse to change her costume in order to please him—but there was no way she was going to outsource the town’s chief industry. **** There was more than one way to skin a cat, to quote the repulsive American phrase. More specifically, there was more than one way to enthrall a bride and stop her from constantly challenging his traditions, which had nothing to do with counting votes in Ohio. Then her shoulders straightened again, as another notion struck her. He pulled his own shoulders back, as though preparing for combat. He did not need his telepathic powers to realize, with growing dismay, that she was planning another campaign. 46

Jackie Rose It would, he feared, make her efforts to elect the president seem like a high-school civics project by comparison. And it almost certainly involved Ohio. **** As the moon rose again the next night, the wolves were standing in a circle when the alpha male started howling. His solo performance continued until one after another took up the call. And, by his side (or, rather, pretty far below it), his beta female started yipping. “Howl, howl, howl—yip, yip, yip—“ the creatures of the night sang together, in their fearsome harmony, even though the yip-yip-yipping tended to ruin the ‘fearsome’ effect. But Constantin was the pack leader, the alpha male. In more modern terms, he was the one earning the salary, which would have made him pretty impressive to his countrymen right there. So no one dared to tell him that his mate, while certainly as loud as anyone else, was not even mildly intimidating. In the same submissive spirit, they glanced silently at the bag of vegetarian dog food that she had thoughtfully left behind a tree, while in her daytime form. It did not smell very inviting and could certainly not compare to the spoor of their prey. It smelled, in fact, like damp cardboard. Still, their alpha male had spoken, during the daylight hours when he could still do so. They could not quite follow his arguments—something about how his American mate had some friends in her 47

I’m a Vampire. and I Count country who would help protect them from the hunters, if only they themselves would abandon the chase. And she herself was a were-canine (if not lupine) who found her own packaged provisions perfectly tasty. But he was the alpha male, so arguments were not needed. So as their prey fled from their own sounds and smells, the wolves gathered suspiciously around the heavy cardboard sack. Their hostess had pulled the metal staple open while she still had an opposable thumb to do it with, so now she needed only to push it over. Her fluffy muzzle butted in vain against the twenty-pound bag, until her partner rose and toppled it with one shove. The nuggets spilled onto the ground like a deer’s flesh and blood, making its odor even stronger. But the deer’s remains had always been tempting, while this substance was anything but. Their leader seemed not to notice. Seizing some of the nuggets between his fangs, he chewed with a great deal of noise. With some hesitation, his followers dipped down their own muzzles to take a few small morsels into their wide, slavering mouths. “Gack!” The sounds of nausea were the same throughout the entire mammal world. The werewolves spent the rest of the night spitting out the hard nuggets and trying to drive the taste out as well. It was hard to go on howling in an intimidating way when you were afraid it would end with the unintimidating sounds of throwing up. Only Constantin and Ingrid were left to bay and yip at the Moon. While he would have been impressive enough by 48

Jackie Rose himself, she did ruin the effect. It was enough, the others realized, to make a werewolf want to take his chances with hunters shooting silver bullets, especially since they usually made so much noise with their tramping around that they never hit anyone anyway. But their alpha male had obviously mated with her, and wolves mated for life.

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I’m a Vampire. and I Count

Chapter Five

“V

or-bit engle-zeste do-am-na?” Tiffany asked her new sisters, or sister wives, or blood sisters, or whatever she was supposed to call them. (She secretly felt that blood sisters sounded sort of lesbian, but when in Romania…) Clutching her phrase book, she had just joined the other brides for the first time in her flowing white gown. She was sure it looked absolutely ridiculous under her unruly red curls, and that the American flag lapel pin on her shoulder tended to ruin the effect. They were courteous enough not to comment. Unless, of course, as she realized with displeasure, they were so used to new recruits joining the harem that they hardly noticed now. But four wives was not a harem, she assured herself. It was more like an alternative lifestyle. Although in their case it was not alternative, it was their ethnic folkway. And, as she soon realized, some of the others who followed it were as modern and educated as she was. “I speak English,” Ylenia answered proudly. “I was 50

Jackie Rose a student at Bucharest University. I studied modern dance there. I met him when he came to a recital and asked me to come dance privately for him.” Some pick-up lines, Tiffany decided, were equally popular among the males of all species, un-dead and un-un-dead alike. “So you are not some stereotyped village maiden whom he seized in the fourteenth century. And what about your accompanist?” Fortunately, that lady did not know enough of the Englezeste language to stop playing as Ylenia replied, “Simona was a village maiden whom he seized in the fourteenth century.” “Oh.” Nadia had proven to be the lady in the painting. That accounted for everyone but Crina, and Tiffany decided not to ask. Instead, she arranged herself on the brocaded chair as sensuously as she could and inquired, “How would you feel about dancing in public again?” “You mean, leaving here?” Ylenia asked, lowering her head in understandable suspicion. “Not at all,” the newbie assured her, her eyes gleaming red with excitement. “Believe me, I am not trying to get rid of you. On the contrary…” **** “Tourist trade?” Count Victor exclaimed, glaring at them all in turn from his unquestioned place at the head of the table. “Do you mean like all those towns around all those Castle Draculas? Or like our government’s plan for a”—he seemed about to make 51

I’m a Vampire. and I Count the sign of the cross himself—“Dracula theme park?” “Yuck!” she answered eloquently, from the other end of the table. He did not seem to have heard. “I know you are afraid of my running out of money before you run out of time, which in our case is virtually infinite. But I assure you that my inheritance was very well invested, and the market always goes up over the years, which, for us, are virtually unlimited again.” “But what about the people in the village?” she demanded, her eyes flashing as she leaned towards him, exposing the bosom that her new gown barely veiled. He leaned forward in return, bringing her that faint orange fragrance again. It was almost enough to make her forget to say, “They don’t have investment income, and their unemployment rate is just as high as the rest of this country.” “We will not sell our heritage for gold,” he grumbled, leaning back again. “Or even American dollars.” “We don’t want to sell it, either,” she assured him. “We want to show the real, authentic vampire experience, so the un-undead will come to appreciate our culture and heritage.” “Un-undead?” he demanded. It sounded just as awkward in Romanian. “Well, you know. Vanillas. I know that the American BDSM community has taken that one already, but you are pretty dominant yourself, so you should be able to use it.” “Why does every group in America have to call 52

Jackie Rose itself a community?” he demanded, in some annoyance. “Next you’ll want us to be trying to elect a senator to Parliament.” As she leaned forward even further with her eyes gleaming even more brightly, he said, “No. I am not standing for the Senate and I forbid you to run around getting votes for me.” “Then how about Daytimers?” she asked, settling back again and returning to the original topic. “Instead of Vanillas? It sounds like an appointment book.” “It is. But every group has some word that means the others, the outsiders, the ones who are not like us. Vanillas is about the nicest one I know.” “How about just calling them tourists?” Ylenia asked, giving Tiffany a new regard for her sisters. “That’ll do for now,” he agreed, perhaps without even having realized that he had accepted the plan. Seeing Ylenia smile faintly into her goblet, Tiffany realized that she now had a lot of regard for them. As the dancer turned to explain the new project to the others in Romanian, he saw their faces light up with excitement. “Da, da!” Crina exclaimed, clapping her pale hands. “Turist!” And that word, as Tiffany realized, seemed to be the same in any language. “Well, I suppose I am outvoted,” he grumbled, glaring down into his goblet from under his heavy brows. “Just be sure they stay out of my way.” **** 53

I’m a Vampire. and I Count But tourism was only the start of the benefits that Tiffany and her new family planned to bring to that corner of Carpathia. When she wrote to her Aunt Sylvia, the Realtor, about her development plans, that good lady at once saw further possibilities. Tourism meant people buying houses, for use as vacation homes and/or as bed-and-breakfasts to accommodate other vacationers. Looking at the picture Tiffany had sent her, of white houses with peaked red roofs nestled beneath a Medieval castle, words came popping into her head— like ‘quaint’ and ‘charming’ and ‘fixer-upper’ and above all, ‘commissions’. Unlike her niece, she would have been delighted to get the listing for a ‘castle’, but that would undoubtedly have gone to a luxury specialist. If this worked out half as well as she was hoping for, she would not only keep her place in the 21st Century Real Estate Winners’ Circle (for home sales worth $5 million or more), she would be inducted into the Lifetime Hall of Fame. **** Ingrid had her doubts. “No hunters!” she warned her mate, when he told her about the plans that the count had shared with him. Of course, the tourist program would have a place for his werewolf friends, Victor had assured him, but she was afraid that they might attract the wrong element entirely. 54

Jackie Rose “No hunters,” he assured her. “Except with cameras.” “But won’t that frighten our friends?” Being, as they were, the stuff of nightmares and legend, he assured her, the werewolves would not be scared that easily. And of course the were-Maltese would be the hardest to intimidate of all. If anyone tried to fire on her pack, she would chase them right away. Or alternatively, he thought, she would lick them to death.

55

I’m a Vampire. and I Count

Chapter Six

A

unt Sylvia’s sister Rose Golden, the travel agent, put together the two-week vacation package. It included a tour of the castle (including afternoon tea) led by the count’s brides, a caravan to photograph the werewolves (along with the unique were-Maltese) and room and board in one of the colorful houses with a clear mountain-and-castle view. She asked Tiffany if they would be able to offer lodging in the castle itself for a hefty extra price, but her niece could not hold out much hope. The travel agent marketed the package (with group discounts) to the American Association of Deceased Persons, PUMA and other animal-rights groups, honeymooners and anniversary couples and even parents eager to introduce their children to other cultural groups, farther afield than Orlando, Florida. Her sales slogans thus included ‘Dig Up Your Roots’, ‘Wander With the Werewolves’, ‘Romania Means Romance’ and even ‘Carpathia is for Kids’. ****

56

Jackie Rose “And here we have a suit of armor that Romanian warriors wore in the fifteenth century while defending this very castle against the Turks,” Ylenia recited. Tiffany had warned her not to say ‘barbarous Turks’ or even ‘invading Turks’, because some of the visitors might be of that very ancestry and would therefore be offended. In her role as tour guide, Ylenia gave anything but offense. Between her filmy, clinging gown and her slow, sensuous gestures, she managed to make a simple guided tour seem like a seduction. As she led her charges on a singles’ tour further down the hallway, she could almost feel the males staring straight ahead at her retreating rear, rather than glancing sideways, to see the armaments she described. The females apparently noticed it, too. When she asked for questions, a single who was obviously pushing thirty pretty hard asked if she, too, could get a gown like Ylenia’s. “You can go to our dressmaker,” replied the startled vampire, who had been expecting something more along the lines of “How close did Bram Stoker come to telling the truth in Dracula?” Crina had assured her that the famed Victorian novelist had been absolutely full of it and that, in essence, he would not have known a vampire if she had bit him in the ass, which he unquestionably wanted her to do. Instead of providing this exotic inside information, the guide was reduced to saying, “Our dressmaker 57

I’m a Vampire. and I Count down in the village on St. Paul Street. Her sign says, ‘Dumitra.’” “Do you sell Romanian warrior action figures?” asked a balding and rapidly aging young man. “Action figure?” “It’s like doll, only for boys, in armor.” “Not really. I mean, not yet,” she added, thinking of the village woodcarvers and tinworkers, who would be glad to create a line of miniature Vampire Victors for the tourist trade. “Can I take your picture?” the same young man asked. This time, she was able to oblige. She instantly struck the pose she had once hoped to use for her recital posters, with her left fingertips touching her right shoulder and her right hand on her outflung right hip. She wondered if he qualified as an unwary traveler, then decided that he was much more valuable as an unwary consumer for local industry. For their purpose, it was fortunate that vampires showed up in photos, even if they could not be seen in the mirror. And she happened to photograph especially well, if she had to say so herself. “Do you have a Dancercise class nearby?” another thirtysomething bachelorette inquired. “Dancercise?” “I like to go three times a week.” “They have a class in Bucharest,” she answered. “In fact, I once filled in for a friend there, when I was a dance student.” Fearing that she had gotten out of character, she added, “Before I became a vampire, of course.” 58

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**** Crina still did not have sufficient English to guide a tour. But she soon learned enough to work with Sylvia Golden. The realtor had soon realized that she needed a native to help her. Just as she had predicted, many of the locals wanted to buy second homes to use as bedand-breakfasts or, alternatively, to sell their first houses to tourists who had fallen in love with the village’s quaint historic charm. Crina’s great-great-grandchildren were still alive, although they were rapidly growing too old and frail to care for their cottage themselves. With her encouragement, they sold it to Sylvia at a more-thanfair price. The satisfied sellers went on to tell their neighbors that they, too, could profit by listing their homes with 21st Century Golden. And this, in turn, naturally left the sellers in need of their own new housing—bigger or smaller, moveup or move-down, depending on their own requirements. With all these incentives, Crina soon learned the words for ‘charming’ and ‘move-in condition’ or, alternatively, ‘fixer-upper’ (for the homes that had crumbled into ruins centuries ago). Some of the foreigners naturally commented on Crina’s long golden curls. They themselves had usually been traveling for a long time and were thus the worse for wear. They asked Sylvia about a hairdresser—assuming, quite correctly, that Realtors knew everything about their communities, including 59

I’m a Vampire. and I Count even such vital services as beauty parlors and Chinese restaurants. Since Nadia sometimes came around to arrange Crina’s hair, the Realtor mentioned her name. Asking at the castle for ‘Nadia’, the tourists were able to point to their hair, pantomime a curling iron, hold out their currency and therefore get their point across. Sylvia felt a mother’s pride when Crina offered to help her sister find a house with enough parlor room for several sofas and a bathroom with a working sink. The local craftsmen soon transformed it into the Nadia of Romania styling salon. The Realtor herself became one of the steadiest patrons and directed her own clients there. She loved the way the stylist could transform her too-familiar backcombed flip into a riot of loose (if regrettably short) golden curls. **** At least Sylvia Golden’s hopes were realistic. She was a sixty-year-old woman and did not expect to come away looking like a six-hundred-year-old vampire. Other customers had a habit of jumping into her chair and saying, “I want to look like you.” I can’t blame you for that, the hairdresser thought, but you would have had to be born around the same time as Queen Elizabeth I and died twenty-five years afterwards. She had felt sure at first that such clients were doomed to disappointment. But, no, they usually stared into the mirror and exclaimed, “I look 60

Jackie Rose beautiful!” Luckily for the stylist, the subject could not see Nadia’s reflection in the mirror to compare with her own. That soon proved to be the least of her problems. The worst were the women who thought that they were free to tell her things that would have made a mummy blush, because she was their hairdresser and a vampire, too. Obviously, they thought that, in both roles, she was beyond being shocked by anything. She had picked up enough English and they had learned enough Romanian to let them do it. Like most people learning a new language, the first thing they acquired were dirty words. So she was shocked, but not surprised, to be grooming a lady who had come for her Silver Anniversary. “Congratulations,” she replied, as she used her razor to create the layers that would, she hoped, make the woman’s fine hair seem as lush and luxuriant as her own, or at least a little less thin and scraggly. “You must tell me your happy marriage secrets,” Nadia said. They probably included having a chance at a career that was much more exciting than standing behind a male while trying to impress unwary visitors. “Well, he likes me to suck his dick, of course,” the client said, beaming at the stylist in the mirror from over her bifocal glasses. Luckily for Nadia, the lady could not see her in return. She was so stunned that she came close to slashing her own thumb. As it was, the woman went placidly on, “But you vampires know all about that, 61

I’m a Vampire. and I Count don’t you? And you have dungeons in the basement, too.” “Oh, yes, from olden times. We don’t take tourists there now, but we might have a special program for Halloween.” “Not that kind of dungeon, silly,” the client answered, briefly touching Nadia’s cold hand—which would, the Romanian felt was sure, have been frozen from shock at this point, vampire or no. “I mean the kind where he can hang me in chains from the ceiling while he whips my bare bottom with a leather strap. You vampires do that all the time, don’t you?” “Not really.” Nadia was even happier now that the woman could not see her expression in the mirror, because it was somewhere between aghast and horrified. After listening to this, she really deserved a big tip. And she was starting to understand Tiffany’s dread of stereotypes. To think a sixteenth-century court lady had come to this. But on the other hand, she assured herself, no sixteenth-century court lady ever earned a beautician’s license. **** Tiffany found herself alone with the count during many long evenings, when Crina was showing houses, Nadia was styling hair and Ylenia and Simona were leading exercise class. They kept wearing the flowing white gowns that the tourists wanted to see (and occasionally 62

Jackie Rose purchase), even though combs and scissors were constantly thrust into Nadia’s sash, a book of home listings was clutched to Crina’s bosom and Ylenia’s garment was stamped with the letters ‘Vamper-cize’. As far as Count Victor was concerned, those professional props ruined the whole effect, even more completely than Tiffany’s American flag pin. Ylenia was doing nothing to restore the traditional atmosphere. Since the dancer knew she could not find a cottage, however colorful, with a dance floor—and since the only other option was the basement of the local church, which, for obvious reasons, was out of the question—she had set up her studio in the castle ballroom. The count and his newest countess were therefore treated to the constant thumping of feet on the wooden floor overhead, accompanied by a merry organ medley of showtunes and Ylenia’s encouraging cries. They could not escape to a quieter room, since the count chose to stay up here in the family area during the tourist hours. One encounter with the visitors in the Hall of Armor had been enough. They had all run after him begging for autographs, until he had taken refuge in the burial vaults downstairs. That was not open to tourists either, although Tiffany kept urging a special program for Halloween. “Two forward, two backwards, two to each side,” they now heard Ylenia announcing. “Weak backs, you can step instead of jumping. Then swing your hips in a circle—but slowly, seductively, please. 63

I’m a Vampire. and I Count Remember, this is Vamper-cize.” “Vamper-cize!” Count Victor exclaimed, wincing as fifty feet struck the floor above him. “And Crina and Nadia are both so busy, they don’t even think about luring unwary travelers any more.” “Well, Crina might lure them into paying too much for houses,” Tiffany pointed out. “And Nadia might convince them to get their hair cut too short.” “It isn’t the same! And how are we to win recruits when my brides are coming out of their coffins to sell houses or comb hair or,” he shuddered, “lead dance exercise classes, instead of giving unwary travelers the dark kiss?” “Actually, I’d been thinking about that,” she said, leaning forward eagerly in a way that made him draw back instinctively in alarm, fearing that yet another Campaign was in the works. “Why are we giving it away when so many people would pay for it? Staying young and beautiful forever—we could arrange special tours just for that. You know, with a private vampire consultation.” He did not need telepathy to know what kind of session she meant. Seeing the disapproving glare beneath his black brows, she went hastily on, “Their insurance might even pay for it, seeing how they will never get sick again.” “We do not sell the dark kiss,” he said, in a tone that clearly told her to look for other ways of stimulating the local economy. “It is enough that you convinced our American contingent that it must be,” he shuddered again, “consensual.” At the same time, he admitted to himself that he 64

Jackie Rose was glad she had not given the dark kiss to President O’Neill or any other man, consensually or otherwise. He was even secretly relieved that all his other brides were off doing other things. More and more, he found that he preferred being alone with his annoying new guest. But I can’t be monogamous, he told himself sternly. I am a vampire, not a werewolf, and we do not mate for life, let alone afterlife. Some things are still sacred. Still, he liked the way she kept coming up with new ideas, things that neither he nor any other vampire had ever thought of before, even when they were completely wrong. It was a challenging, even amusing new experience for him, like the impudent freckles that stood out so incongruously from her pale face. But if he thought she had brought him new experiences, he hadn’t seen nothin’ yet. “There’s a lot to be said for consensual,” she told him, as she stood and started gliding towards his chair, although, in her case, it always seemed to him more like striding. In any event, she was soon standing over him, straddling him with her legs “At least,” she added, “when it’s the woman who consents.” He pulled back in mock dismay. “So now you are going to lure me?” he demanded. “Something like that.” “But I am not an unwary traveler. So I am supposed to lure you.” “I keep telling you, we’ve got to stay away from stereotypes.” 65

I’m a Vampire. and I Count Showing him what she meant, she reached to unbutton his tailored black trousers, her fingers trembling with eagerness. “I can’t do that with mind power,” she whispered, “but you don’t seem to be resisting anyway.” “Not at all,” he assured her fervently, as she sat down on his lap facing him, her knees pressing his thighs together. “So your organ is mine.” “My organ is being used for that un-infernal Vamper-cize class upstairs. So instead I will give you my—“ gritting his fangs, he went resolutely on, “penis.” “Who is talking like an Orgazm Book now?” she crowed. “Whatever you call it, I want it right here.” Raising her robe to her waist with her left hand, she pointed with her right forefinger down to the place in question. He saw that her pelvis was squirming beneath the tight red curls. I’ll make you move even faster than that, he thought, as he raised his hand to her clitoris and caressed it in light, slow circles. They grew in speed as her body’s movements became faster and more urgent, accompanied by her moans, along with the equally frantic strains of Gloria coming providentially from upstairs. Her knees straddled his thighs and her hands pressed into his shoulders. When she lowered herself onto him, she was so wet and hot, contracting and releasing, that he thought she would reach orgasm long before he did. Looking at her staring face, with her head thrown 66

Jackie Rose back as her fingers gripped his powerful shoulders, he was sure of it. Her body was opening and closing rhythmically, pulling him deeper and deeper inside. When he felt sure that he could not possibly thrust even further, they both reached a height of ecstasy that left her gasping with her head on his shoulder, while he sprawled back in his chair in a most un-aristocratic way. By good fortune, the organ added to their pleasure by starting to play the soothing cooldown song, Laura. It was enough, he thought, to make a fellow forget that vampires did not mate for afterlife. **** Werewolves, of course, did. That’s why Constantin was trying so hard to hide from Ingrid the effects of his vegetarian diet. He could still howl as loudly as ever. But it took all his energy to drag himself to the foot of the castle, his coat could only be called mangy and his ribs were starting to show through it. His senses grew even sharper for protection—keen enough to hear the tourists telling each other how sick he looked. Even more humiliating, the hunters were saying they could not bear to shoot at him, since he was in no condition to run away. That Maltese who posed with him, on the other hand, was absolutely adorable. No normal man would have thought of shooting her anyway. It was cold comfort for her. The closest he could 67

I’m a Vampire. and I Count come to lovemaking was feebly patting her head with his muzzle. From the appraising way his pack members stared at him with their cold blue eyes, he realized that he stood to lose his standing and his income, assuming that they did not merely tear him apart. The dog food might have been as rich in protein as Ingrid promised it was, but he could not bring himself to eat enough to take advantage of it. Knowing that she naturally shared his caninelupine tastes, he could only admire the willpower she showed him in managing to empty her bowl while making yips of pleasure that, to him, sounded definitely strained. He could not even try to do the same. **** She noted, in turn, his distinct lack of gusto as she saw him forcing his muzzle into the bowl and resolutely gulping down a few of the larger morsels. With a pang of guilt, she realized how hard he was trying to please her and heard herself trying to hide her own sorrowful whines of sympathy. But if no normal man would have harmed her, there was, alas, always the other kind. One of them thought that a swiftly scampering ball of fluff made a perfect target and took aim. As soon as her mate saw what was happening, he tried to spring on the hunter, but fell short by several feet in a pitiful belly flop. Scrambling frantically to get back on his legs, he had to watch helplessly as the 68

Jackie Rose man turned his gun once more on Ingrid, with the obvious intention of putting a silver bullet right between her beautiful black eyes. Fortunately for them all, the sun was starting to come up, leaving the hunter faced with the dubious distinction of shooting an animal-rights activist. As tempting as that prospect was…especially when it would have allowed him to take away her PUMA Tshirt as a trophy…he knew that the authorities might have objected. Hunters had lost their permits for less. As he stamped off, they heard him muttering that he’d go hunting earlier next time and get both of them that way. So once she was back in her human form, she told Constantin that he had to go back to eating meat. “The corpses of slaughtered animals?” he demanded in surprise. “Better them than us,” she told him. “And you must know some farmers who practice humane slaughter. Or as humane as it can be. If you don’t, you can import the Kosher or Hallal meat. Humane slaughter is a religious matter for them.” When he looked doubtful, she added, “The farmers will start practicing it too, when you start ordering your pack’s provisions from the ones who do. After all,” she added, looking up at him with a gaze that was just as seductive as that of any Maltese, “you are the alpha male.” After a few good meals he was ready to prove it, too, and not just in his were form. He felt so frisky that he could not wait for evening and pulled her up from the table as she was writing out her monthly 69

I’m a Vampire. and I Count PUMA membership report. Membership was up, as she noted, since the group had found such an exotic new endangered species to protect. “Constantin!” she exclaimed, as he pulled her into his arms. “Is this right? I mean, aren’t we supposed to do this in our animal form?” “No rule we can’t do it both ways,” he told her. “In fact, this way, we know it is not inter-species.” As he embraced her, she heard him sniffing the clean, light fragrance of her herbal shampoo. The smell would have been much stronger to his wolfish nose, she realized, but she was sure it was nice enough as it was. She was wearing it with a clear conscience, too, since it had not been tested on animals. Naturally, they did it doggie style. Without thinking about it, he bent her over the chair and fumbled for the zipper of her jeans. He opened them almost as quickly as a wolf would have done. Then he pulled them down to her feet and she stepped out of them eagerly, fairly panting with excitement just the way she would have done in her furry form. Her panties quickly followed. He did not stop to pull off her PUMA T-shirt (even though it left him staring at the photo of a sad-eyed dog). Instead, he reached around to cup his hands over her small, firm breasts, feeling them easily through her sheer sports bra. Her round, pink behind was wiggling as ardently as her white furry version had done. If she had had a tail at the moment, it would certainly have been wagging. 70

Jackie Rose He could barely keep from falling into a wolf-like howl as he thrust himself into her. For once, he knew, he had no fear of getting stuck there. When he heard her wailing with joy, he knew that, in either form, he was still the alpha male. And when it came to his diet—well, what the PUMA directors did not know would not hurt them. An angry alpha male werewolf, on the other hand, could. **** While Tiffany did not use that term, she knew that the vampire master was, well, pretty alpha, too. And since she was in his ballpark, she told herself, she had to play by his rules. Or soccer stadium, considering the cultural context, or the gymnastic floor, but the principal was the same. She knew that that meant luring unwary travelers, but convinced herself that she was not likely to find any around, especially since, in her case, they would also have to be consensual, too. Anyway, the visitors were all supposed to stick together and follow the tour guide. But the balding young man who had wanted to pose with Ylenia managed to leave the pack and hide himself through most of the night—most likely in the hall of armor, behind one of the suits, she later decided. From that vantage point, the tourist must also have seen the count and his new countess go into the dining room together, before the master left for his library and his lady remained behind to linger for a 71

I’m a Vampire. and I Count moment over the really excellent rare vintage O Negative. She wheeled as she heard the massive carved door creak open. Then she remembered her new status and turned her head slowly, with what she hoped was a menacing glare. “If you had found anyone else here, she would have lured you to your doom, unwary traveler,” she told him. “You should have stayed with your group.” “I am not unwary,” he answered indignantly. “I’m from America too, remember, and I know that you only kiss consensually.” Looking at her voluntary victim, Tiffany tried to hide her dismay. She had secretly hoped that, if she ever did have to lure an unwary traveler, he would be better looking than this one—with straighter shoulders and more hair. As though guessing her thoughts, he said, “I want to live forever and be able to lure all the chicks and not lose any more hair.” Tiffany tried to sigh, then realized she had no breath to do it with and let her shoulders sag instead. She had hoped it would not come to this, but obviously, it had. For a moment, she thought of asking for a signed consent form, preferably with two witnesses, whom he would have to provide. That would give her a reprieve, at least. Then she realized self-reproachfully that that would ruin the moment for him. That was not fair at all, since it was not his fault that he was not as good looking as President O’Neill. Heck, he was not even 72

Jackie Rose as good looking as President Hoover, but that did not excuse her from her duties. So she rose and started gliding towards him, as sensuously as she could, gazing deep into his eyes. He stared back with mingled awe and desire as his hands fumbled with his Izod polo shirt collar. Even the organ incongruously pounding out Brown Sugar did not ruin the mood. Considering the age of the students, oldies really were goodies for dance exercise classes, as Ylenia had explained. Coming even closer to him, Tiffany could smell his sweat and eagerness. I mean, couldn’t he even have prepared for this momentous occasion by taking a bath? But she was a pro, she reminded herself, and she was supposed to be the one vamping him. She was just lucky that she was able to smell, when she could not breathe. The particles reached her olfactory nerves, even if the air that carried them did not. As she reached up to wind her arms around his sweaty neck, he obliging lowered his head. Then, to her secret relief, he suddenly pulled away as her lips reached the goal. “I’ll stop if you want me to,” she offered, pulling her head back. “No, go on,” he urged, squeezing his eyes tight. “I’m just a little nervous because this is my first time.” “Mine, too.” His eyes sprang wide open at that. “Not even the president?” Having long grown accustomed to this question, she had a ready reply. “Don’t you sometimes see him 73

I’m a Vampire. and I Count outside during the day, announcing things in the Rose Garden or something?” “Oh, sure, I see what you mean. Well,” he added, his pale eyes growing brighter, “This really is an honor for me.” Rushing right in where the president feared to tread: She could almost read his thoughts. But it was a distinction he was not destined to enjoy. She realized that as the door creaked open even more loudly than before. “Young man, you are supposed to stay with the tour group,” Count Victor thundered, fixing the hapless would-be victim with his most frightening glare. Considering that his eyes had turned bright red, it was very scary indeed. “The dark kiss is not included in the tour price.” “But it is strictly consensual,” he whined, as he struggled to lift his bent shirt collar back into place. “Nevertheless. If you want the dark kiss, Crina can oblige you. She’s at the 21st Century Golden real estate office in town. Just tell her that you want to buy a house here. Her employer has taught her to understand that in English, I assure you.” After the young man had virtually fled the room, the count turned his burning red gaze on his newest bride. “What do you think you were doing?” he demanded, glaring down at her. “I was luring a consensual wary traveler,” she retorted, glaring right back. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?” Obviously unable to think of a better answer, he could only say, “Leave that to the others. They have 74

Jackie Rose more experience than you do.” With a sudden inspiration, he added, “You might do it wrong and injure someone and I would get sued.” “But that isn’t the real reason,” she said, folding her arms as she kept glaring straight up at him. “You just want me for yourself.” “And what if I do?” “Then say so!” “I have told you often enough that I cannot say it,” he answered. “Vampires are not werewolves. We are not monogamous. That’s the rule. And I will prove it to you, the moment Ylenia gets done with her dance class.” “I thought we were not Peeping Toms either,” she told him, as she turned her face and ran from the room, hoping she was fast enough to keep him from seeing her tears. As she struggled to pull the heavy door shut behind her, she heard him mutter angrily, “Of all the castles in all the world, she had to walk into mine.” He had also seen a few movies in his time. **** Sylvia and Crina, on the other hand, were very glad that, of all the quaint-homes-turned-real-estate-offices in all the world, this balding young man had walked into theirs. “I am thinking of buying a house here,” he mumbled, his eyes lowered to the new parquet wooden floor. “I, er, heard that your associate Crina knows the community very well.” 75

I’m a Vampire. and I Count “She was born, raised and died here,” the Realtor assured him. With her client following, she went to the rear room, where Crina’s coffin stood beside the Xerox machine. He stared in horrified wonder as the lid creaked open, to reveal, first the quilted white satin lining and then the white-clad, golden-haired figure within. His terror grew as she opened her eyes and slowly emerged. Fortunately for her and her employer, another part of him expanded even more quickly. “Crina, dear, this young man would like to see some houses,” Sylvia Golden said. The lovely vampire needed no translation. If her employer had taught her one English phrase, it was that one, right along with ‘great location’ and ‘historic charm’ and the numbers one through four, followed by ‘bedrooms’ and ‘baths’. “You take this client, Crina,” Sylvia said, noting how often his lowered eyes glanced up at her youthful associate. The golden-haired apparition accordingly glided to the wall, where photos of houses were posted. ‘This just came on the market,” she said, using yet another of her English terms. While she did not yet speak fluent Realtor, she was certainly on the way. “Can you take me to see it?” he asked. Neither woman thought of asking why he had come to view the property at night. Obviously, he had come to see Crina in the hopes of a private consultation and was therefore a perfectly wary and consensual traveler. 76

Jackie Rose The entire village was within easy walking or gliding distance from the office, which thus possessed the three magic words of realty: loc loc loc. To illustrate the virtues of the central location location location of the newly-listed home, she pointed to the surrounding red-roofed white houses and shops, seen dimly in the moonlight, as a werewolf howled nearby—more powerfully than he had done in many nights, as her practiced ear told her. Taking the key from the lockbox (which professional courtesy still required, even though she had been formally invited inside) she opened the door onto the parlor. “Camera familie,” she said, having been told that ‘family room’ was a much more modern term. She did not have to look around to know it that it was being displayed to full advantage, since she had told the owners to always have it ready for showing. Pine branches were thus arranged on the wooden mantel and the scent of baking bread arose from the hearth. By the time this house was sold, she suspected, the owners would be so sick of their own home-baked bread, they would be living on saltines. “Historic charm,” she told him, as her right hand pointed around the room. With her left, she clutched the book of listings against her ample breasts, thus revealing their outlines even more clearly. “I want your historic charm,” he murmured, as he pulled her into his arms, leading her to wonder if she could write off her gowns as a business expense. As though of their own accord, her full pink lips 77

I’m a Vampire. and I Count reached towards his throat. She stopped herself while she still had time to whisper in her most beguiling tones, “Four bedrooms. Two baths.” He lowered his neck to her then, undid his top shirt button and pulled the collar down, in an unmistakable invitation. Just before her sharp teeth pierced his jugular, she was overcome by her greater, more driving need. “Loc mare—great location,” she declared, in her most seductive purr. Soon he will be among the undead, she thought, as she fed. And then he will buy this house for the full asking price. And I—I will be known as (a crash of imaginary thunder reached her ears)—Crina Vyrdelek, Licensed Realtor. **** Her blood sister (or whatever you called it) was about to get an even more impressive title—namely, Ylenia Vyrdelek, business tycoon. She had noticed the tall, lean woman with the graystreaked ponytail who came to her class almost every day for two weeks and seemed to be watching her even more carefully than her classmates did. At the end of that time, she lingered to talk to the instructor alone. “I would love to teach Vamper-cize in America,” she said. “But I cannot afford to pay you.” “I would pay you,” the visitor replied. “And so would many others.” “What would they pay me for?” 78

Jackie Rose “For the right to use the name Vamper-cize. And for the dance routines you teach and the organ music that goes with them. You could sell those vampire gowns, too, with an official Vamper-cize logo, but that would be extra. It’s what we call a franchise. Like Dancercise.” “Like Dancercise?” Ylenia asked. “I would own the program and sell the franchises?” Now her eyes were gleaming in a way that would have done Bela Lugosi proud. She could even record an exercise tape and write a physical fitness book. And here she had thought that being a vampire master’s fourth bride was a good deal.

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Chapter Seven

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hile President O’Neill no doubt had many wolfish impulses, monogamy was not among

them. If it had been present, that instinct would have been conquered by thoughts of Tiffany Golden. Her vampiric status set her aside from all other philandering presidents’ pets, thus ensuring that his memoirs would be a better-seller than Bill Clinton’s (even if you counted the e-book trade). She also had shown that open adoration that he did not find in a seasoned TV newswoman like Cassandra Bailey, let alone in the first lady, who knew him too well for that. Besides, the first lady was so busy with her duties, he felt sure that he would have been justified in taking a second, third, fourth and fifth lady as well. She was performing one of them in front of the TV cameras. Surrounded by crates of black cats and kittens, she was lifting up one of the feline friends while assuring the viewers that, “We in the Black Cat Rescue League know how sweet and lovable these darlings are, and how cruel it is to discriminate 80

Jackie Rose against them just because of old superstitions. They are no closer to the devil than we are.” Then she kissed the furry little face. Wincing, the president decided again to avoid kissing her on the lips. Not that he had been planning to do so anyway. It was bad enough that she was always cuddling the four mangy monsters she had adopted for their own home, knowing that he would not dare to send them back to the shelter for fear of losing the animalrescue vote for good. So they were always crawling around him, rubbing their furry black backs against his shoes and always seeming somehow to be staring at him from their unblinking eyes. They really did seem diabolical, he secretly thought, although he would never have dared to say so to the first lady, let alone to her cronies in the Black Cat Rescue League. He could use the black-cat-rescue vote, he reflected bitterly. He was starting to lose the vampires. His surveys had already sounded the alarm. At a cost of thousands of dollars in campaign contributions, these studies told him what should have been obvious to anyone who thought about it for ten seconds. The undead community was heavy on college graduates who tended to have traveled abroad (most notably, to Romania). And college graduates tended to make money. And people who made money tended to want to keep it, more than they wanted to see one of their number elected to the House of Representatives. In more technical terms, the undead were starting 81

I’m a Vampire. and I Count to vote their economic interests above than their ideological views. And for affluent college graduates, this meant supporting his opponents, rather than dancing with the one who had—in Washington jargon—brung them, namely Felix O’Neill. And never mind that he was trying to (metaphorically) dance George Zagorsky right into being the next congressman from (where else?) California. If this trend went on, his wife might actually be more useful than his lovely little liaison to the vampire community. Animal lovers crossed all political and economic lines. A TV commentator like Cassandra Bailey, on the other hand, would always be useful. But rumor had it that she was going at it hot and heavy with her TV shout-show co-host, Buck Patrick. He could well believe it, from the way they kept bickering with each other on their debate program. And he felt sure that it was true, once he heard that the public was calling them the ‘Dueling Duo’. The whole sordid story was soon to be published in one of those erotic electronic novels published by Orgazm Books, and it had lost nothing in the telling. It had certainly not omitted his own unflattering role. The writer had pretended that the whole thing was a fantasy, vampires included. By now, everyone knew better than that. Even if he could have won back Cassandra, competing with a radio rabble-rouser would have been beneath his dignity. It might have been different if she had been doing an ambassador, a Supreme Court justice, a former president or even a really, 82

Jackie Rose really big contributor, but as it was…he was not about to share his concubine-elect with a shout-show host. But Tiffany had not outlived either her usefulness or her youthful allure. Seeing that she was a vampire, she was not likely to do either. Even now, she was busy supporting a worthy cause, in a way that could be useful to his re-election campaign. Just as she had told him, by promoting Romanian tourism she was helping to win over the Romanian immigrant vote. Looking in his bedroom mirror then, he saw the smile reaching his famous cold blue eyes. He could think of an even more worthy cause for her to embrace, which would let him embrace her in a more literal sense. And this campaign was much more likely to win him public support, too. With his usual famous flair, he made the announcement on television, having extended a special invitation to the reporter from Romanian TV. Impressed by her notable success in promoting Romanian tourism, he was offering Tiffany Golden a new cabinet-level post as Secretary of Tourism. American tourism, of course. Because what moldy Romanian castle could compete with the beautiful reproductions at Disneyland, Walt Disney World and Colonial Williamsburg? And that new assignment, of course, meant bringing her back to America. **** Tiffany was alone when she saw the story on TV. 83

I’m a Vampire. and I Count Slouched against the high back of her mahogany chair, she was gently stroking her pussy until it jumped off her lap and scampered away. She was too dispirited to start stroking anything else. He is deserting me, she thought. He had planned to desert me for Ylenia tonight, and when that didn’t work out he still had three options left. Ylenia was practicing the new steps she had set to You Can’t Hurry Love in the smaller reception area next to the ballroom. Tiffany could also hear her rehearsing her well-rehearsed spontaneous encouraging remarks, “You can’t hurry love, but we all hurry to Vamper-cize, right, girls?” So, at that moment, Simona was the count’s bride instead. And, for the moment, she was the only one he had. Tiffany could imagine his enraptured expression as he sat close beside her, listening to her pounding out the incredibly over-pounded melody to My Heart Will Go On, better known as the ‘Titanic’ love song. Tiffany knew that he had many women, yes, but only one at a time—and as long as he had Simona, he would make her feel that she was the only one on Earth or under it, even if she did have the world’s most hackneyed taste in music. That was why Tiffany herself had stayed here as long as she had. Then she sat bolt upright and dropped her arms to her sides, as an even more familiar smiling face told her that she could perform a more vital service back at home. The president was sure she would do it, too, because an American vampire was first an American. 84

Jackie Rose **** Not ‘Vanillas’, she thought, that’s been taken. And not ‘Daytimers’, which could get us into a copyright suit. ‘Mortals’ wasn’t really accurate, because it literally meant anyone who could die, and vampires certainly could do that, too. It really sounded like a put-down, too, which was even worse than a stereotype. She thought of this to keep from thinking of other things, as she angrily buttoned her white blouse. The skirt felt awkwardly short and tight after the flowing gowns, and she suddenly realized that the classical long garments were actually less confining than the modern short success skirts. For one thing, you didn’t need either pantyhose or panties when your robes were trailing on the floor. Staring at the filmy, shimmery white gown lying on her bed, Tiffany wondered briefly if she should pack that, too. At first she decided against it, feeling that it would only revive bad memories. Then she thought of all the Washington women who might want to buy the same classic costume if they saw her wearing it—at appropriate formal occasions, of course. Otherwise, it was dress-for-success all the way. The gown sales would aid the Romanian textile industry without harming America’s own, which was shot to Hell anyway. Better Romania than China. The Romanian workers were much better paid, since the Chinese were still Communists. To her own dismay, she found herself wiping her eyes with the sensuous fabric before throwing it 85

I’m a Vampire. and I Count angrily into her Vera Bradley Red Bandanna pattern carry-on. She was even angrier, at both herself and him, when he came through the door carrying twelve roses. “Aren’t you supposed to wait to be invited in?” she demanded. “This is my home,” Count Victor replied patiently. “I can go anywhere in it I want.” “All right, fine, great,” she answered, knowing it was not up to her usual standards of repartee. “And thank you for the flowers. Just leave them here and go. I don’t want to miss my plane.” “Is that why you are crying?” he demanded. “Because you are afraid you might miss your plane?” I am crying because you are letting me go, she realized. When I told you about the president’s offer, you answered that it was a great opportunity and wished me the best of luck, as though you were losing an employee whom you had been planning to fire anyway. You all but told me to leave you, when you could have stopped me with a word or even a thought. But why should you do that when you still have your harem, between their classes, haircuts and home sales. And you know, you must know, that President O’Neill does not really want me back so I can encourage American tourism. You were too much of a gentleman to mention it, but you realize it as well as I did. He wants me to be his interred intern again. Well, screw you, Dracula, he’s the President of the United States, he’s the most famous and powerful 86

Jackie Rose man in the world and I want him, too. Who wouldn’t? Then she remembered to her dismay that her host could hear her own thinking. Instead of ordering her to stay with him or even to keep away from the president, he held out the bouquet of roses. “Look inside,” he ordered. “I really don’t have the time. You forced me to come here, and now I can’t wait to get home.” “Forced you? From here? You mean, with my mental power? Isn’t that a stereotype? I am asking you to please look among the branches?” “Why don’t you just let your mental powers force me to do that, too?” “Will you look inside!” he commanded aloud, glaring at her with rapidly reddening eyes. “Well, just to get you out of here,” she mumbled. Her own brown eyes widened as she found the little box attached to the branches. Tearing it open, scattering the shredded tissue, she found the fivecarat diamond ring inside. The flowers fell unheeded to the floor. “It’s a farewell gift?” she asked, realizing that she would have been holding her breath, if she had had any. “It’s an engagement ring! Or has America abandoned that tradition, too?” She was pushing it onto her finger—just to see how it looked—when she was stopped by a sudden thought. And this time, he did not need any paranormal powers to read it. “No, I did not give a diamond to my other brides,” 87

I’m a Vampire. and I Count he told her. “Most of them were dead anyway, before the South American mines opened. I gave them lovely presents, but not an engagement ring. “Not that they need presents any more,” he added ruefully. “They are all earning their own way. Now they are all trying to get their professional licenses. And of course they still have their willing wary travelers, too, whenever they have a moment free. But I will have you. And since it is so important to you, I will have you consensually.” “Oh, wow!” she said, gazing down at the ring and then up into his face. “Oh, wow. Oh, wow! You mean it?” “No, this is vampire humor. Of course I mean it! I’ll show you how much I do.” Lifting her into his arms, he dropped her onto the green velvet bedspread. “And what is this supposed to prove?” she asked, as she pushed herself up quickly onto her forearms. “That you are my bride, I just told you!” “Because you are going to take me? You have done that to me already and to the other brides, too, probably every way you could think of.” He thought of mentioning all the things that she had done with the president. Instead, he silenced her with his lips pressed against hers, as his mind unbuttoned her skirt and slid her panty hose after them, until they were lying in a pile at her feet. She raised her knees to straddle his hips as he pressed inside her. Without bothering to unbutton her blouse, he kissed the swell of her bosom that rose over her push-up bra. 88

Jackie Rose She pressed herself up to welcome him and her body started its rhythmic motion, pulling him ever further and faster inside. Once again, they reached the peak of ecstasy together before she fell back onto the pillow and he rolled over at her side. By force of habit she closed her eyes and gasped for breath, not realizing that she did not need it any more. In fact, as she lay there beside him, she could not imagine anything else that she would ever need. She had been an ambassador from the new world to the old one, and… “Ambassador!” she suddenly exclaimed, sitting up beside him. “You should be Ambassador to America. “Look how much the president owes to us Undead-Americans. Your own government would love to have an ambassador who has the president in his debt. You could have more influence than any unundead.” “I don’t want to be an ambassador,” he told her, as he pulled her into his arms. “I only want to lie here forever with you.” But as she lay with her face nestled against his hard, broad chest, she heard him wonder aloud, “Don’t all of you Americans call an ambassador ‘your excellency,’ even if they are too proud to do it for a count?” “Even the president has to say it,” she assured him. **** Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. To her great joy, she realized she had finally met 89

I’m a Vampire. and I Count someone even more annoying that she was. Better yet, during her absence, Ingrid Foha would be the lady of the manor house—oh, all right, the castle. Once the count started hearing reports about Ingrid’s carryings-on, he might decide that his own new consort really was a fine lady after all. Just for starters, Ingrid had told the chef that the goulash would have to be made with tofu. In vain he had shouted that the tourists demanded the real thing. The count himself had to intervene after finding the chef’s resignation note one morning, reminding her that the entire village made much of its livelihood from the tourist trade. Grudgingly, she agreed that the original recipe could still be used, as long as a tofu alternative was offered. Tiffany still did not fully realize that she’d met a kindred soul, however, until the substitute chatelaine strode triumphantly into the dining room to tell the master and mistress that her orders had been right all along. “We’ve got a Democratic delegation coming,” she told them. “We could not have done that without the vegetarian plates. So you’ve got to admit I was right to insist on offering them.” With some reverence, Tiffany realized that she herself would not have burst into such a blatant “I told you so.” “And my mother will be with them,” Ingrid added. “She’ll be so proud of me.” “Isn’t she from a wealthy old family?” the count asked cautiously. “They are often the biggest liberals,” Tiffany 90

Jackie Rose assured him. “They feel sure that, no matter how much money they have to give the government, they will always have plenty left.” “And Mommy is a real yellow-dog Democrat,” Ingrid put in proudly. “That’s an old American saying,” Tiffany explained, when the count seemed rather startled. “It means that she would vote for a yellow dog if he was the Democratic candidate.” “Well, partly,” the animal activist agreed. “But she insisted on being bitten by a were-golden-retriever, so she could be a real yellow dog Democrat, too. And Evie—that’s the First Lady, who is an old school friend from Miss Norman’s—Evie said she only wished we had more Democrats as devoted as that.” Tiffany was left with feelings close to awe. In her own worst moment, she would never have been annoying enough to drop the first lady’s name that way. Personally, she suspected that Evie was not really all that comfortable having a were-old-school-friend from Miss Norman’s, but was much too tactful to say so. She herself had had enough reason to be grateful for the famous tact of Evelyn Rand O’Neill.

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Chapter Eight

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ith her tact and courtesy firmly in place along with her constant smile, the first lady refrained from wearing her usual diamond-studded gold cross to the Ambassador’s Reception. Forcing her hosts to turn away from her, shielding their eyes, would have put a damper on the occasion. Instead, she wore a black-enamel cat pendant that she had purchased to support her animal-rescue group. This was one of the costliest benefit items, with genuine emerald eyes that, she knew, reflected her own in a startling, even unsettling way. Dangling from its thin gold chain to the top of her bosom, it also called discreet attention to her cleavage, rising over her green satin gown. Her full, firm breasts came as a surprise to those, including her husband, who were used to seeing them concealed beneath her trademark beige suits. Her golden hair was also freed from her trademark pony tail, to fall onto her shoulders, perfectly framing her high-cheekboned, thin-lipped face. It was the face of old Massachusetts aristocracy, in intriguing contract to President O’Neill’s Boston-black-Irish 92

Jackie Rose good looks. There was, in fact, probably one man in the entire country who would not have found her alluring. Unfortunately, that one man was the president. He had come to think of her as a campaign asset, to be displayed along with a brace of union leaders waving his election signs. And black-cat rescue was just the right kind of charity to earn her, and therefore him, the right kind of attention—unconventional, perhaps, but hardly controversial. She had been willing to put up with his notorious love affairs, just as long as she could pretend to be the only person in the known world who hadn’t heard about them. But now he was taking her to be received by the most prominent pussy of all—namely, his former liaison to the vampire community. The fact that she was now Ambassadress of Romania, having recently married the Ambassador, did not seem to discourage him in the least. And that meant war. In which, she told herself with a secret thin smile, she would be better armed than they thought. At least the ambassadress had the decency to look embarrassed. She was physically beyond blushing, of course, but she did keep looking down and away from her ex-lover’s lady. And she has better reason than that to look ashamed, thought the lady in question. It may be politically incorrect to call her a victim of the master vampire, but nothing can save her from being a fashion victim. 93

I’m a Vampire. and I Count Wearing that shimmering see-through white gown, the former Tiffany Golden looked like something dreamed up by Universal Studios. She had lost the droopy sleeves and added a pink bodice with bows, no doubt in the hopes of seeming a little less stereotyped. She looked like a vampire all the same, and was not even trying to be subtle about it. The first lady always tried for subtlety—or she always had, until that night. “What a beautiful gown,” she exclaimed, as the first couple greeted the ambassador and his lady in the embassy White Salon. “It is made by our own Romanian ladies,” Countess Tiffany answered eagerly, in what her rival hoped were embarrassed tones. “We are trying to get them into department stores. “As you see, we are adding custom touches, too, so they will be perfect for every occasion.” She selfconsciously flicked at one of the pink bows dangling from her waist. Just as long as the occasion is Halloween, Mrs. O’Neill thought, while smiling more cordially than ever. Then she remembered reading about how some vampires could read minds. At this moment, however, she did not care if this vampire could read hers. It would bloody well serve her right. Having been in this elegant room before, with the previous ambassadorial couple, Mrs. O’Neill noted with even greater amusement that the mirror had been removed from its gilt frame above the ornately carved white mantel. It had fit there perfectly, 94

Jackie Rose surrounded by the white walls with gilded wainscoting and crown molding. Now it had been replaced by a large painting of eighteenth century court ladies dressed up like shepherdesses. The ballroom upstairs had also been stripped of its embarrassing looking-glasses. A vampire would obviously search in vain for his reflection, while others would realize immediately that it was not to be seen. “Steak tartare?” the waitress asked, offering her silver tray. How nice, Evelyn O’Neill thought sarcastically. Raw meat: an appetizer that both the hosts and guests can enjoy. She took one and nibbled on it daintily while the ambassador’s quote-unquote lady gobbled two of them down in rapid succession. Then the beverages were brought around and the vampire proved that she really did drink—wine that is. An entire glass of Merlot, to be exact. The first lady suspected that it reminded her of her favorite beverage—blood, that is. “Madame President!” Count Vyrdelek exclaimed, approaching them quickly, obviously intending to rescue his own lady from the first one. “Your excellency,” she replied, holding out both hands. As the ambassador invited Mrs. O’Neill for a ski trip in Romania—thus displaying the fact that he had researched her second favorite pastime (following black cat rescue), or, more likely, had sent a third or fourth embassy secretary to do it—she noticed from the corner of her eye that the president was engaging 95

I’m a Vampire. and I Count the ambassador’s lady in a corner beside the crimson curtains. The first lady had enough experience in talking with foreign dignitaries to do it automatically, while listening to the other couples conversing. They assumed that no one else could hear them and, in most cases, they would have been right. “Have I congratulated you on your marriage, Countess?” the president asked, fixing her with his cold blue gaze. “Thank you, Mr. President,” she replied, still sounding decently ashamed. “I’d love to give you both a private tour of the White House—or, if the ambassador is too busy, I can take you alone.” Dropping his voice, he added, “to the Lincoln Bedroom again, just for old time’s sake.” “Well, that might be tempting,” she replied, in tones that were dripping with sarcasm to the first lady’s ears, although not, she assumed, to the president’s. Her eyes widened in her best vampiric gaze as she went on, “But if you piss him off, he might use his mental powers to make you do something really foolish—like touching Social Security.” At those ominous words, it was obviously all he could do to keep from crossing himself. Still, he persisted, “He would not have to know.” “If I know, he knows. It’s his mental powers. And besides,” she said, glancing towards the first lady. “Why don’t you show the Lincoln Bedroom to your wife? She might enjoy seeing it, too.” “She is not that imaginative,” he confided. “Of 96

Jackie Rose course, she is a lovely lady, who has been a great asset to me, but she is not very exciting.” At that, the first lady used her own mental powers to pick up one of the chairs and hurl it through the air. It struck the startled president on the shoulder. He turned in time to see the last sharp jerk of her head. And you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, she thought. These fragile white Louis XV furnishings are no challenge at all. Too bad it wasn’t that big heavy desk in the Oval Office. That would really have made an impression. Now that she had his attention, she took advantage of it by jerking her head at another seat until it threw itself into the fire. The gilded brocade cushions with their down stuffing produced the sickening stench of burned feathers. But he still didn’t get the picture. “Count Vyrdelek, are you channeling yourself through the first lady to give us this demonstration?” her husband demanded. “No, I am doing it all myself, darling. Your unexciting wife.” At that he came as close as he ever had to being stunned into silence. It took him a full two seconds to collect himself enough to answer. “But you can’t be a vampire,” he told her. “I’ve seen you in the Rose Garden, in broad daylight, many times.” “You know that vampires exist,” she told him. “They helped get you elected. Now our guests have told you that there are werewolves, too. But didn’t you ever wonder if there were other supernatural creatures, or even mortals with supernatural 97

I’m a Vampire. and I Count powers?” He thought about that for a long moment. Then he looked down at her enamel black-cat pendant with its emerald eyes, representing her pet charity. “Witches?” he asked. “You mean, you are a witch?” “You know that my family has been in Massachusetts for centuries. That’s one reason why you married me. Do you really think your bloodsucking bimbo is the one who got you elected?” “Do you mean that you are a Wiccan?” her husband asked. “Of course not. Wicca is a religion. I would never mix church and politics. Besides, we have always been Episcopalians.” “Blood-sucking bimbo?” Count Victor demanded. Glaring at the matching love seat that stood between the two armchairs, he sent it hurtling through the air. The president’s wife intercepted it in mid-flight. It shook violently as both powers assailed it and finally crashed to the ground, breaking one of its front clawfoot legs. Tiffany held up both hands for a truce. “No one wants to take on an old New England witch,” she said. “And no one wants to fight a vampire master, either. We’ve both got to stand together against the true force of evil.” She lowered her voice to an ominous whisper, “…the Speaker of the House.” This time, the president’s hand really did start rising to make the sign of the cross before he hastily clasped it behind him. “A wise decision!” the witch informed them. “And 98

Jackie Rose the president had better feel the same way. I have every respect for his office, but he’d better start showing some regard for me.” “Regard?” the president said, his blue eyes wide with awe. “I hope I can show you more than that. No president in our history has ever been married to a witch. I mean a real one, no matter what some people used to say about Hillary. “No wonder you’ve been so involved in black-cat rescue. And you used your powers to get me elected? Did you go all the way and sell your soul to the devil?” “Do you really think you’d be worth it?” she demanded. “No, it was just a simple little spell.” With satisfaction, she noted the disappointment in his eyes. Serves him right, she thought. Did he really think she would sell her soul for a man who was always cheating on her? “You didn’t stick pins in a doll?” “Of course not!” she answered indignantly. “I would not do anything that primitive. Besides, how could I get my hands on the Republican candidate’s hair? No, I just boiled one slice of beef tongue in silver and one in lead, so that you’d have a silver tongue and he…” “I get the picture,” the president replied, shuddering slightly. “And then I used the leftover tongue for appetizers.” At that, the president dropped his morsel of steak tartare back onto his plate. “Anyway, witches do not sell their souls to the devil or work voodoo anyway,” Tiffany put in. 99

I’m a Vampire. and I Count “That’s just another stereotype.” For a moment the president seemed disappointed. Then his eyes lit up again as he added, “I did not mean to insult our fine witch community. I only hope that you’ll help me win their votes for re-election.” “It will be the witches and vampires against the Vanillas,” she promised him. “And werewolves, too,” Tiffany added. “We have some in the animal-rescue groups. Even the head of PUMA is a were-Maltese. But can’t we find another word than Vanillas? The BDSM people have that one tied up. Along with each other, of course.” The first lady thought for a moment. “Donors,” she finally said. “It sounds brave and generous, like partners rather than victims.” **** Seeing how pleased the others were, the president did not object. “Just as long as you keep title of ‘contributors’ for the people who give money to me,” he said, with a smile. Then he grinned even more broadly as he thought again about his memoirs. Now he could write about sex with both vampires and witches. Or with one witch, he assured himself hastily. He did not want her throwing Jackie Kennedy’s heirloom chairs through the air back in the White House, so he had better leave her colleagues alone. And memoirs aside, she really was starting to look exciting to him now. The Massachusetts ancestry, the 100

Jackie Rose black cat rescue, the sudden appearances in swing states like Ohio—he should have guessed she was a witch. But she had always seemed too Vanilla to be any such thing. As he gazed into her emerald eyes, he saw that they were glittering almost coldly as his own. Fasten your seat belt, Mr. President, he silently told himself. It’s going to be a bumpy—but hardly boring— broomstick ride. His excitement grew as he started wondering how many witches there still were in New England. If so, they would tend to be from wealthy old families—but these were much less likely to vote their economic interests than those who had earned their own money. In other words, they would dance with the one who had brung them—starting with bringing the First Lady out of the broom closet as liaison to the witch community. Besides, the way the count and countess were looking at each other—as though they could not stop stealing glances, no matter what else was going on, witchcraft included—he did not have much of a chance there anymore.

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About the Author

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iving in Northern Virginia, Jackie Rose indulges her passion for history by touring restored colonial mansions. A resulting newspaper story on historical re-enactors led to a Virginia Press Association first prize. This was the first of five VPA prizes she earned during her ten years of feature writing for area newspapers. Her husband David shares her love for history, travel, cruising, Walt Disney World and their son Frank. He also supports other hobbies: working out with Jazzercise and buying the latest Vera Bradley pattern handbags. Her pet cause (literally) is animal rescue, which plays a prominent role in I’m a Vampire and I Count. It is the sequel to I’m Undead and I Vote, which took second place for Humor sales at Fictionwise.