“They aren’t silly or horrible, romances are upbeat and fun to read," my bosom buddy protested.
"Yeah," I added, flipping another ice chip at Davide. He gave me an open-mouthed silent hiss that raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Skeptic I might be, there was no reason to be stupid and tempt powers I wasn't sure didn't exist.
Miranda stilled. "What about those vampire books you are both addicted to?"
Something in the air between us thickened. I wondered if an electrical storm was on its way. "What about them?" I asked.
"They're dangerous."
"Dangerous? How can books be dangerous? They’re just a series of stories about heroes who happen to be vampires, Miranda. It's not like they advocate the drinking of blood or anything."
"Some people," she said to me, without taking her gaze off of Roxy, "believe them to be a guide to their fate."
I looked between her and Roxy. The latter was sitting quietly, picking at the leather thong on her sandal, not meeting our eyes.
"Some people believe every word written in them to be the truth."
I shook my head. "No one really believes in the Book of Secrets' Dark Ones," I told Miranda. "They're just really dark, broody heroes that turn a lot of women on, myself included, I'm not too horribly embarrassed to say. Just because we like the stories doesn't mean we believe that vampires really exist."
"I do," came a soft voice.
I stared at my friend of nineteen years.
"I do," she said louder, with more confidence, an obstinate set to her jaw that I knew well. "I believe they really exist. C. J. Dante, the author of the Book of Secrets series has done extensive research in the Moravian Highlands, the area the Dark Ones live. He even moved there so he could be closer to them, so he could study them and learn their ways. I believe they exist."
She must have felt the weight of two sets of disbelieving eyes, because she hiked her chin up even higher. "Well, I do!"
"Roxy..." I shook my head. "Honey, I know it's a tempting thought to believe that such things really exist, but come on! Vampires? Men who drink blood and burn up in the sun and wander around all tormented and angsting because they haven't found the right woman to save their soul? I'll admit some of the guys you've dated might meet a few of those qualifications, but we're going to have to a have a long, long talk if you're going to start believing in ghosties and goulies and things that go bump in the night."
I had forgotten in whose house I was sitting.
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," Miranda said quietly.
"Yeah, but I don't think Shakespeare had Moravian Dark Ones in mind when he wrote that," I argued.
She just looked at me with light, light grey eyes that reminded me of a full moon at its brightest. Her belief in things that I doubted made me uncomfortably aware of just what I was doing sitting in a circle of candles. "Look, why don't we get on with this. Dr. Miller wants me to re-catalog the entire biology collection before we leave for Germany, and I'd like to get some sleep before I face a bunch of books on fungi and spores and mildew in the morning."
"No," Roxy said stubbornly. "I want to hear why Miranda believes in the good powers she uses, but won't admit the possibility of a darker side of the same power."
Miranda shook her head, her red curls a riot of crimson and gold in the candlelight. "I never said I don't believe in a dark power, Roxanne. I do, most profoundly. There are things I have seen that I hope I never see again, but that type of danger is not what I'm speaking about. I'm talking about the power of a persuasion, the intent of the author who includes in his fiction ideas dangerous to your soul."
“Dante writes them as fiction, true,” Roxy argued, “but all of his followers know the stories are based on truths he has uncovered during his research. You should see the websites devoted to the genealogies of the people Dante has written about—”
“They’re romances for the masses, glorifying the cult of bloodsucking killers.“
“Oh!” Roxy stormed, leaping up. I reached out to grab the back of her leg, but she sidestepped quickly until she was almost out of the circle. “Bloodsucking killers? I’ll have you know that every single Dark One is tormented, very, very tormented by the horrible truth of his life, and none of them kill people. They just borrow a little blood now and again. I don’t see what’s so wrong about that!”
“Roxanne, if you don’t sit back down, you will break the Circle of Truth, and the Invocation will be useless.”
She sat down with a hrmph. “Take it back, Miranda.”
“This Dante is guilty of brainwashing you, of seducing innocents like yourself into thinking the darkness found in men's souls is something to be tampered with...”
"Luke, beware the dark side," I intoned in my best Obi Wan Kenobi voice.
Both women turned astonished faces at me. I gave them a weak smile and held up my hands. "Sorry, I thought it was funny. You know, Miranda, I don't mean to be picky, but some of what you believe could be thought to be a bit...well, out there."
She raised an eyebrow. "My beliefs are not the point—it is the silliness of these books, these novels that you and others insist on believing are real that I'm concerned about."
"I don't believe they're real," I said at the same time Roxy muttered, "They're a lot more real than some things I can name."
"Only the foolish meddle in the darkness in men's souls," Miranda warned.
"Dark Ones are not really evil, they just look that way!" Roxy snapped back.
They glared at each other until I decided to mellow them both out.
"Would you two lighten up a bit? You're giving me the creeps with all this talk about the dark power of men's souls and stuff."
Miranda was shaking her head again, even before I stopped speaking. "The dark power within each of us is nothing to joke about, Joy."
"Right. Sorry. So why don't we agree to disagree?" I asked, gesturing between the two of them. "Roxy will continue to believe that there are actual Moravian Dark Ones wandering around looking for women to save their souls, and you'll continue to believe that famed author C. J. Dante is a nutball bent on world domination by brainwashing millions of frustrated housewives. K? Are we all happy now?"
"I won't be until she takes back what she said about the Dark Ones!"
Miranda sighed as she reinforced the bounds of the circle. “Very well, I take it back. They’re harmless little books that give you and millions of others pleasure, and as long as you realize they are fiction, completely fiction, and not a guidebook to exploring the dark forces within, I will withdraw my objections.”
I figured that was as much as an apology as she was going to give. Roxy evidently decided the same because she nodded.
“I want to warn you both, though,” Miranda added as she shook a long, elegant finger at us, “that those who play with fire should expect to be consumed by it.”
"Consumed by the fire of passion," I grinned at her as I fingered the ice that was left in my glass. "Sounds like something from one of Dante's books! I'm willing to bet there are worse ways to go, huh?"
Davide gave me another silent hiss.
MORE INFO ABOUT THE BOOK
Jim’s Blog was a promotional piece written for the publication of the fourth Aisling Grey novel, Holy Smokes, and featured Jim writing to his beloved Welsh Corgi girlfriend, Cecile. Penguin Putnam liked authors to write a short piece for readers when their new books were released, usually taking the form of a Dear Reader letter. I disliked doing those letters, so I tried my best to give readers something unique to read instead. What follows is Jim’s take on life in the madhouse that was Aisling’s life.
PERSONAL CORRESPONDENCE AND BLOG
OF EFFRIJIM, DEMON SIXTH CLASS
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: My love!
Dearest Cecile,
I long to suck your ears, my darling. The silky
smoothness of them, the piquant taste of the furry tips, the sensual little shiver you do when I engulf them in my mouth...I yearn for you, my sweet love. Do you yearn for me, too?
Slurps and sniffs,
Jim
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: Re: My love!
Jim:
For the fifth time in a week, will you PLEASE check your address book? I’m tired of getting these canine quasi-pornographic e-mails because something is messed up in your address book and they’re going to me instead of Amelie.
Aisling
PS—that’s just sick that you make Amelie read those aloud to Cecile. Have you no shame?
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: My love, Part Deux
Dearest Cecile:
How do I love thee? Shall I count the ways? I love the way your butt waddles when you walk. I love the grunts you make when you get to your feet after a long evening of cuddling with yours truly. I love it when we go for walkies, and you let me have the good poop spot. In other words, I love thee to the depth and breadth of my heart. Or something poetic like that.
Longing to sniff your butt,
Jim
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: Re: My love, Part Deux
Jim:
You don’t have a heart. Fix the address book. NOW!
Aisling
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: Adorable one!
My beloved, scrumdillyicious Cecile:
I have written three haikus for you in celebration of our eternal love.
You walk under me
With your tiny little legs
I drool on your head.
A tail-less butt wags.
It entices, arouses.
Come to daddy now!
I love you so much.
There is nothing I love more.
Oh, look! Dinner time!
Ever thine,
Jim
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: Knock it off!
Effrijim, I order you to examine your address book and remove my name from it! Immediately!
A very annoyed demon lord
To:
[email protected] From:
[email protected] Subject: Demon lords are so overrated.
Cecile o’ the ears:
Aisling is off her rocker. Yeah, again. I know it just seems like it was yesterday that she was completely gaga—oh, wait, it was just yesterday—but at this point, she’s several onions short of a tuna salad.
First, she got all bent out of shape over a couple of misdirected e-mails. Then, this morning, this little conversation took place:
[Scene—living room. I had the sunny spot on the couch, and possession of the Sunday papers. Life was good.]
Aisling came into the room, followed by that butt-kissing demon Tracy who was yammering away about being the acting Venediger—that’s the head honcho of the Paris Otherworld.
“But my lord,” Tracy said, trying to foist a clipboard on Aisling. “You said I only had to be Venediger for a day or two, until the citizens of Paris rose up and elected one themselves. It has been three weeks now. Three weeks! I cannot possibly do justice to your lordship’s business and be Venediger as well. I beg you, please find someone else to do the job.”
“I told you yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before the day before yesterday that I was doing everything I could to de-Venediger you, but until things settle down in Paris, you’re just going to have cope.”
“But my lord—” Tracy said in one of those annoying whining voices that I knew grated on Ash’s nerves.
“Look!” she snapped, whirling around from where she was gathering up her cell phone and purse and keys and stuff from where she’d strewn it around the room (and she has the nerve to call me a slob!). “I am doing the best I can, OK? But it’s not a bowl of kumquats for me, either!”
“Cherries,” I corrected her, smirking to myself at the frustrated look on Tracy’s face. I just know it wants my job. Ha! Fat chance it’ll get it from me! Aisling is devoted to me.
“You!” she snarled, spinning around to point a finger at me. “How many times do I have to tell you? That’s Drake’s antique couch, and your shedding butt is not allowed on it. Get off it now, or I’ll send you to work in the demon software factory! Pronto!”
“Crikey, keep your grimoire on. It’s just a few hairs,” I said with much dignity as I withdrew from the couch onto the dog bed she insists I use. Like I’m an animal or something! Sheesh!
“I understand that your lordship is having a difficult time adjusting to being a prince of Abaddon, but I, too, am having problems. The amount of stress I’m under having to do both jobs with which you’ve saddled me—” Tracy started to say.
“Stress!” Aisling shrieked. I mean, a real shriek, the kind that is so high and screechy, it makes you squint your eyes when it pierces your eardrums. “STRESS! You think you’ve got stress?”
Tracy started backing up when she stalked toward it. I have to say, I felt a bit sorry for the demon—Ash’s eyes are bad enough under normal situations, but when she’s all wigged out, they are positively creepy.
“I...I...” Tracy stammered.
“You only have two measly little jobs! Try being a demon lord, a wvyern’s mate, a Guardian, and a prince of Abaddon all at the same time if you want to know what stress is!” she snapped, still walking forward toward the demon.
“I understand, but—”
“Try being proscribed, just a hair’s breadth away from eternally damned for a little stress,” she continued, backing Tracy into a corner.
The demon looked around nervously, licking its lips. I snickered to myself, but quietly, ‘cause there was no way in Abaddon I wanted to draw Aisling’s attention to myself.
“You think you’re stressed?” She snatched the clipboard from the demon, scrawled her name on the top piece of paper, and slapped it back across Tracy’s chest. “I’m mated to the wrong friggin’ dragon! Now there’s some stress!”
“Yes, but—”
She took a deep breath. I slid off the dog bed and went to stand behind the couch. Not to hide, you understand. But dark power started to glow in a corona around Aisling, and that’s never a good sign.
“And on top of it all, as if all of that wasn’t enough to give a girl an ulcer, I have a wedding to plan.”
“A wedding?” Tracy squeaked, pressed so tightly against the wall, its body started to flatten. “Yours? Con-congratulations.”
“Thank you!” Aisling leaned forward, her face in the demon’s, her weird white eyes glowing with vivid intensity. “But even that I could cope with. No, it’s the other part, the truly frightening event, the thing so horrific that I can’t sleep at night, I can’t eat, I can’t enjoy Drake’s fabulous body. It’s so completely terrifying, I’m ready to throw in everything and run away to live in a cave in the deepest, darkest reaches of Tibet.”
Tracy’s mouth dropped open for a second. It swallowed hard a couple of times before it finally got out in a hoarse, frightened whisper, “Fires of Abaddon—what is it that’s happening?”
Aisling stood up straight, a look of martyred, hopeless doom etched deep upon her features as a little tremor shook her body. “My family is coming for the wedding.”
Tracy fainted dead away. Aisling struck one final dramatic pose, then gathered up her things, told me I’d better not pee on the back of the couch (geesh, you have one little error in judgment, and they never let you forget it), and stormed off to inflict herself on some poor innocent at Hannah’s House of Bridal Joy.
And so you see, my beloved and adorable one, just how bad things
are here. Ash is running around like a hell hound with its head lopped off trying to get ready for this wedding and her family’s visit, Drake is being all manly and bossy like he normally is, and me...well, I’m a bit lonely. I miss Nora, since she can’t come by any more because of Aisling being proscribed and all. I miss taking walks with Aisling—István or Pál goes out with me now, ever since one of the red dragons tried to do me in with a hacksaw. I miss yacking with Rene—he’s gone back home to take care of his own family. But most of all, I miss seeing you wiggle. I just hope this wedding business is over soon, so life can settle down to normal again. Or as normal as it gets around here, which, admittedly, doesn’t really follow the definition of the word.
Mucho lickies, babycakes.
Your everlovin’,
Jim
My Heart Will Go On and On was written at the request of Penguin for the release of Much Ado About Vampires. It explained a bit about why Cora knew who Alec was, and why she reacted as she did. After a bit of discussion, Penguin actually tucked this short story into the main book, but I’m including it here for folks who haven’t dipped into that book (or any of the vampire books).
My Heart Will Go On and On
Monday
6pm
“What do you see, Corazon?”
“Um. Mud.” I sensed the hypnotherapist’s disapproval of my answer, and qualified it. “Well, mud and grass and stuff like that. But mostly just mud.”
“Are you sure she’s under?” Patsy asked, her voice sounding dubious. “She doesn’t look hypnotized to me. CORA! Can you hear me?”
“I’d have to be five miles away not to hear you,” I said, cracking open an eye and peering at her from where I lay prone the couch. “I’m hypnotized, you idiot, not deaf.”
“Is she supposed to know she’s hypnotized?” Terri asked, sitting on the floor across from me, watching with bright, interested eyes. “That doesn’t negate the regression, does it?”
“Hypnotism isn’t a magical state of unknowing,” Barbara the hypnotherapist answered. “She is simply relaxed, in touch with her true inner spirit, and has opened up her mind to the many memories of lifetimes past. I assure you that she is properly hypnotized.”