Mrs. Dracula: Vampire Anthology

by Logan Keys

  With a loud exhale, she searched Facebook for any local gun swaps. She also searched Craigslist. It looked like it was going to be her lucky day. Someone was selling several rifles and ammunition. She might even be able to feed and then hide the body, if she was smart about it. Anxious to get her daughter back, she sent an email to the Craigslisting, hoping no one else had done so yet. The listing was new, so she had a chance. While she was waiting, she continued to search.

  After what seemed like forever, her phone rang, startling her. Her voice had a slight tremor when she answered. As she made arrangements to meet the woman selling the guns, her smile grew. As the woman continued to ramble, her smile slowly faded. She did not care if the woman was angry with her husband and selling his guns while he was on a business trip. She just wanted the guns. Finally, after a few more moments, the woman hung up. Catherine had to program the agreed-upon location into her phone. She had no idea where this TA truck stop the woman rambled about was located.

  Eyes narrowed, Catherine looked around the truck stop. She was frustrated, mostly at herself. She had arrived early so she could look around and make certain the coast was clear. She had been here for a while, and had finally figured out what the women were doing. One would approach a truck, speak with the driver, and sometimes the driver would let them in the truck. Both the driver and the woman would disappear to the back with the curtains closed, the truck would sometimes rock, and soon the woman would leave the truck and head to another truck. Disgusted by what she was seeing, she was also fascinated. She could have been feeding off truck drivers. Eat, leave, and it could be days before anyone found them. By that time she could be long gone.

  Giddy with excitement at the thought of traveling, and the possibility she could be in another state before the bodies were found, she almost missed the woman pulling in with the green van. With one last thought about how easy it would be to stay ahead of the men by eating truck drivers, she turned her attention to the prey standing outside her window. Smiling, she got out of her car and soon was richer by several guns. As she re-parked the van in the back parking lot, she hoped it would be days before anyone searched it. She planned on being gone within the next twenty-four hours.

  She had been careful to park the van out of the sight of cameras. She was saddened that she could not feed from the woman, but it would have been too risky, so instead, she had strangled the woman and left her in the back of the van. If someone found her, maybe they would think she was one of the women going truck-to-truck. A truck driver would be blamed for the death.

  Back in the motel, Catherine loaded all the guns and put them in the car. It was getting close to dusk, and with her vision, she would not have a problem seeing and exploring the area around the house. Maybe she would get lucky and the men would all walk outside; shooting them from a distance seemed the best plan.

  Two hours later, she was ready to scream. Tears streamed down her face. It was not fair—she had been so close. She had seen the ship landing in the yard when she had returned, though she did not recognize it as she got close to the house. She was not close enough to hear what had been said, but she had recognized the woman who had stepped out of the ship with two unknown men. Dracula’s sister Mela, or Melanie, as she had informed Catherine.

  They had not even gone inside, but had spoken in the yard near the ship. As frustration had clawed at her guts, she had watched one of the thugs come out of the house with her baby girl and hand her off to one of the men from the ship. Everyone had hugged, and then that witch Mela and the man holding her daughter had returned to the ship, leaving the other man behind. Before she realized it, the ship had lifted and was zooming away with her daughter inside.

  She had not even tried to shoot anyone. She had been too busy looking at her daughter and trying to figure out how to get her back to realize that with everyone outside, she could have taken them all out in seconds. The appearance of a ship had also been a distraction. She had started planning how to steal the ship, instead of killing everyone. She had failed her daughter, and now her daughter was gone. The men had gone inside, four now instead of three. She needed a better plan. The urgency was gone, now that her daughter was gone. She knew where the men were living.

  But for now, she had a promise to keep. Two hours away was a sleepy little town with several people who needed to die. She would start by tracking down the man who got away. By the end of the night, the people of Golden Meadow would know terror she vowed to herself. And Dracula had no one to blame but himself.

  After she was done destroying the town, she would go to her home in New Orleans. When she returned here, it would be with a plan, one where she lived and everyone else died. When that ship returned, she would be the mistress of that house. And when the ship again left this backwater planet, she would be the pilot.

  THE BLOOD PRINCE’S BRIDE

  L.D. Goffigan

  Sofia Draculesti stepped out of her carriage, looking up to take in the opulent estate before her. It was a grand country estate that seemed to stretch endlessly, its fine brick façade gleaming in the early morning sunlight. Gardens dotted the surrounding grounds of the estate, and the sweet scent of flowers was fragrant and welcoming. Sofia smiled, her red lips curving as she surveyed it. It was the perfect setting for a respectable society ball. The guests who came tonight would have no inkling they were walking into a trap.

  The estate had once belonged to the Draculesti family. Vlad had told her of his family’s homes throughout Europe, describing their grandeur and opulence, all due to his family’s once great wealth. Her heart clenched in her chest as she thought of her late beloved husband; visiting his family’s homes had been one of the many things they planned to do together. Tonight, she would have her revenge on the ones who had murdered him.

  Sofia’s human servants scurried out of the carriage behind her, their heads bowed as they trailed her to the front door of the estate. Her manservant Jacques moved to the door to unlock it for her, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as she moved past him. He trembled as she moved past; she could smell his fear. Her servants were right to fear her. She had inherited Vlad’s servants and severely punished those who tried to flee their home in Transylvania after his murder. He had taught her the best punishments, the ones that made them never disobey, and they now went out of their way to please her.

  She entered the massive circular entry way of the estate. Indeed, her servants had carried out every detail of her instructions. The interior of the estate looked like the fine home of a wealthy respectable widow, with paintings from the Renaissance lining the wood-panelled walls, vases of fresh gardenias dotting the round table that sat in the center of the entry way. From where she stood, she could see glimpses of the rooms that lined the main hall; they were filled with plush furniture, fine rugs imported from the Orient, and gold framed paintings that decorated their walls. The pungent scent of roasting meats and vegetables drifted to her nostrils from the kitchens; the smell was so strong a human could detect it from where she stood. The estate looked nothing but welcoming and inviting.

  “Well done,” she said. Her servants relaxed their shoulders and expelled held breaths; she even saw one young maid whisper a prayer of thanks. Sofia knew her rage was terrifying. She had ripped out the heart of the last servant who displeased her and fed it to her dogs. Vlad would have been proud.

  She moved down the long hall towards the winding staircase. Jacques and two other servants scrambled after her, following her to her chamber on the second floor. Jacques again opened the door for her, and stood with the other servants, his back to the wall, eyes averted, as she stepped inside.

  Her breath caught in her throat. It was the replica of the bedroom she’d shared with Vlad; the same massive bed in the center of the room, the same paintings of night landscapes on the walls, the same vase of night lilies on the bedside table. The only difference was the large painting that hung above the bed. She moved towards it, blood tears stinging her eyes as she took it in.<
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  It was a painting of her Vlad. He wore a fine black suit, standing in the center of an ornate drawing room, his dark hair framing his handsome angular features, his dark eyes bold and challenging, his presence intimidating even in its stillness. It was a pale imitation of the commanding and charismatic man her husband had been, but it was close. She’d commissioned the painting from a vampire artist in Prague; he’d been an admirer of Vlad’s. She wanted the painting here, above her bed, to remind her of her beloved, and why she must succeed tonight.

  “Very well,” she said curtly, blinking back her tears. Her servants must not see her cry; she would not show them any weakness. She waved them out of the room. “Jacques, you stay.”

  He swallowed, lingering behind as the other servants fled. Sofia could hear his heart rate increase as he remained still, keeping his eyes on the floor. Discarding her cloak, she sat down on the bed. She hadn’t fed since they left Paris the night before. She knew she should wait; tonight there would be plenty of blood to drink. But she was feeling melancholic; feeding often pulled her from her periods of sadness, periods which had increased since Vlad’s death months earlier.

  “Come.”

  Jacques swiftly approached, he had learned the hard way not to hesitate when given a command. Sofia took him in with dispassion as he sat beside her, lowering the collar of his shirt, his skin pale. She had found him in a village in the southern countryside of France. He was handsome, with wavy blonde hair and deep green eyes; she’d considered turning him to make him into a companion. But she still loved Vlad, it would feel as if she were betraying him. Instead, she’d made Jacques her main servant and one of her primary blood sources. He feared her more than any of her servants did; he’d made the mistake of trying to flee her soon after she brought him back to Transylvania. She smiled as she eyed the permanent scar at the base of his throat. She knew he’d never try to escape from her again.

  Sofia leaned forward, sinking her fangs into his throat. After she drank her fill, she leaned back, wiping away the stray drops of blood from the sides of her mouth. Jacques was paler now, but he remained still, his eyes on the floor.

  “Did you know I was human once?” she asked, sinking back against the pillows of the bed, flushed with blood.

  “I didn’t, mistress,” Jacques whispered, after a long pause, keeping his eyes trained on the floor.

  “I was. A weak and useless human, just like you. Vlad and his sister Ilona attacked my village with a dozen of their followers. I was the only one not scared of him. He came into my family’s home, and my family all cowered in the cellar. Not me. I was drawn to him. I thought he was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Do you know what he said?” she asked, lost in her memories.

  “No, mistress,” Jacques whispered.

  “He said, ‘You are not like them. You belong with our kind’,” she said, a thrill rippling through her at the memory. “I hated our village and my family, they were cruel to me. Both of my parents used abuse for discipline. I didn’t realize it then … but I hated myself when I was human. My Vlad showed me another way. Another life.”

  She turned to look at the painting, memories of her time with Vlad consuming her thoughts. She left with him of her own volition after he attacked her village. Will you be mine? he had asked her that same night, before sinking his fangs into her throat, ending her human life so she could be reborn.

  It had been Vlad’s desire to take over the human world, and she became one of his most loyal followers. His possessive sister Ilona had hated her out of jealousy; she didn’t like anyone else getting close to her brother. Sofia had been close to him in a way that Ilona could not; soon after he turned her, Sofia offered her body to him, pledging her love and life to him. Even now, over a decade later, she could remember the way his dark eyes glittered with pleasure as he took her, while they consummated their love in a moonlit forest clearing. They had then married in secret, taking a Blood Oath to always be faithful to each other in heart, body, and mind.

  She blinked when she realized that blood tears were now coursing down her cheeks. Jacques was still staring at the floor, but she wiped them away.

  Vlad was murdered by a group that called themselves the Order of the Dragon, a consortium of humans and vampires working together. They had halted him from carrying out his plans of killing worthless humans so that vampires could take their rightful place as leaders of the natural world. After his defeat, many of his followers had fled or gone into hiding, all except for Sofia and his most loyal followers, who were intent on revenge. And she would have her revenge. In blood.

  She pushed aside her grief, yanking Jacques to her and sinking her fangs into his throat, craving more of his warm blood. It would give her much needed strength for the night ahead. She released him as he slumped over, unconscious. She sighed, giving him an impatient look. He would need another transfusion.

  She got to her feet, calling for her female servants. Outside the windows, she could see that dusk had already fallen, filling the sky with a brilliant array of colors. She had been reminiscing for quite some time.

  Her servants blanched at the sight of Jacques’ unconscious body on the floor, one of them left to fetch a male servant to remove him. The remaining servants averted their eyes; they had seen much worse in the days after Vlad’s death.

  After a male servant removed Jacques, her ladies dressed her in a silk blood red gown, with flowing skirts and a low cut bodice. She wore her waist length black hair free, and the green of her eyes sparkled in vivid contrast to the red of her gown. She slipped on the exquisite ruby wedding ring Vlad had given her the night they wed, gazing down at it for several long moments, recalling the happiness that flowed through her the night she received it.

  She appraised herself in the mirror one of her maid’s brought in to the room, smiling. She looked every inch the bride of the Blood Prince.

  Sofia made her way to the entry way to greet her allies, who arrived first. There were over twenty of them, male and female vampires dressed in their finest, all loyal followers of her late husband, intent on revenge of their own.

  “Relish in your duty tonight,” she said, once they were all gathered in one of the drawing rooms. She held up a wine glass filled with blood. “Tonight, we take revenge for what they have done to my beloved, to our Blood Prince. Their blood will be shed in his name.”

  Her allies raised their glasses aloft, shouting their agreement. Sofia smiled, anticipation filling her heart. I will avenge you, my beloved.

  Later, the guests arrived by the dozens, sweeping into the grand ballroom, dressed in their fine brocade and silk gowns, polite smiles on their treacherous faces.

  She greeted them in the entry way, a false smile pinned on her face as she murmured polite greetings, though she was screaming inside. The guests were all members or supporters of the Order of the Dragon. They thought her name was Charlotte Frainwether, a wealthy widow, and supporter of the Order. She had lured them here under the false pretense of celebrating Vlad’s defeat. The fools did not know she was the widow of the vampire they’d so proudly killed. Vlad was wise to keep their marriage a secret. None of them knew he had a widow who thirsted for vengeance.

  She entered the ballroom, the smile still on her face, watching as the guests mingled with each other, laughing and sharing stories, drinking wine, nibbling on the food her servants brought in from the kitchens. Hatred burned in her heart as she took them in. They were living and breathing while her prince was dead.

  But she kept to her part. Her smile remained on her face as she moved through the crowds, murmuring pleasantries to each of them.

  “We are delighted the Order destroyed Vlad Draculesti. Did you know he called himself Dracula? As if he were some sort of king? I feel terrible for his father; he’s a kind creature, and his children became monsters,” one sour faced brunette said to Sofia, who tried not to crack the wine glass she was holding.

  “The cities feel safe again,” one male vampire confided
in her, sipping a goblet of blood. “We celebrated the moment we heard the Order killed him.”

  “I celebrated as well,” Sofia replied, forcing herself to ignore the wave of rage that crested in her heart. Almost, she told herself. Patience.

  She waited until the hour grew late and many of the guests were drunk on wine and blood. She glanced across the ballroom at Lazlo, one of her allies, who gave her a small nod.

  Sofia moved to the dais at the head of the ballroom, watching as her allies subtly took up their positions near the exits. There would be no escape tonight.

  “Friends,” she said, revealing her fangs as she smiled. “I am honored you have come to my ball.”

  She waited as their attention turned to her, their smiles bright on their murderous faces.

  “This ball is a celebration,” she continued. “But not the one you think.”

  She waited for her words to settle. Many of the traitors laughed, thinking this was some jest, while others looked puzzled. But none of them looked alarmed. Not yet.

  “It is not a celebration of the murder of Vlad Draculesti; it is a celebration of revenge.”

  The smiles were fading now. Curious glances were exchanged, but there was no alarm. Fools.

  “I am Sofia Draculesti.” She raised her voice, ensuring that her words reverberated throughout the room. “I am Dracula’s bride. He was my beloved prince, and I believed in his plans for the world. I still do. Tonight, I shall have my vengeance for his murder.”

  She could now see the panic on the faces of the guests, the alarm. She had taken care to ensure that the guests had no weapons; in their arrogance and gullibility, they had allowed themselves to be searched before entering the estate, and any weapons were handed over. They were helpless.

  “Tonight,” she continued, her voice ringing over cries of panic, “you die for your betrayal.”

  She nodded at her allies, and the massacre began.

  Sofia leaped from the dais, descending on the first group of guests she could find. She took pleasure in sinking her fangs into their throats, ripping their hearts from their bodies. Around her, her allies did the same, tearing into each guest with their fangs and hands. She relished in the cries of her victims, their pleas for mercy. She showed them the same mercy they had shown her beloved. None.