One of the bright lights in this undertaking is the fact that I am able to work with my wife, who happens to have a unique and supremely useful ability to call vampire to her. The scientific operations that explain her talent are beyond us at this point in time and, therefore, seem quite magical. There are, in fact, many things about her that seem magical to me, but those thoughts shall be reserved for my personal journal. Let it suffice to say that I feel blessed to have her with me.
Speaking of my wife, one of the tricky things about her involvement is the irritant caused by the fact that the vampire juveniles do not even try to disguise their interest in her. They may be the emotional equivalent of human teens, but they are dangerous predators in every sense, meaning their interest in taking blood is inextricably entangled with their sexual urges. We have managed this problem, to the best of our ability, by making sure that Jean Etienne is always present when Heaven is called to play.
The vampire were, if anything, encouraged to pursue boorish standards by their early super-Americanization. Their view of what might be acceptable behavior toward a man's wife was severely tainted by the videos they watched both at Jefferson Unit and when they were guests of the somewhat quirky demon, Deliverance.
Realistically there may never have been a chance of them expressing anything resembling a civilized manner. For example, one of the biggest hurdles we've encountered is that none of them can maintain any focus if there is a woman in the area experiencing menses. From what Jean Etienne tells me, only mature vampire with a measure of self-discipline can remain focused with such a distraction.
Apparently menstrual blood is irresistible to them. Jean Etienne unabashedly describes the ecstasy of burying their faces in blood-covered pussy and rolling around in a state of euphoria. It sounds quite similar to the reaction that might be observed when one gives catnip to a feline.
Unfortunately, since there is no way to control for the presence of menstruating women, this is an issue that will probably persist.
The thing that weighs upon my mind most fervently is the persistent thought that we can never say job well done until the last vampire in existence is either dead or cured. It worries me that the possibility of that seems unlikely and yet I know that the other choice, to do nothing, is not a choice at all.
***
POSTSCRIPT
Torn Finngarick called for a Guinness Extra Stout to be served to Glen, who wasn't used to alcohol at all and certainly wasn't ready for Irish black beer. He took a manly mouthful, thinking he had arrived, and promptly spewed it all over Torn in a spectacular demonstration of human fountain power. The other three members of Z Team laughed so hard they had to wipe tears.
"That was almost as funny as the night that Chokarzi stripper puked half a gallon of half-digested Cuervo in your face in the middle of a lap dance."
For reasons that defied logic, or perhaps because he had given them a much needed laugh, Z Team took a liking to Glen and accepted the news that they were reassigned to Jefferson Unit without any discernible reaction, violent or otherwise. When he informed them that they were to accompany him to Fort Dixon after the funeral, they simply shrugged as if they could care less. Glyphs said, "New York's no worse than any other place."
For all Glen could tell, that may have been Z Team's highest, most enthusiastic recommendation.
***
Excerpt from Book 5, Gathering Storm, Chapter One
"'Tis a good thing that Stormy and I are the bad asses that put the bad in Bad Company, else the two of us might be intimidated by unhappy wives standin' over us with mean faces and hands on delectably curvy hips."
"I concur," added Storm.
"You can concur until the cows come home Sir Storm, but you are still NOT playing in the Jefferson Unit Annual Rugby Match." Litha's voice was loud enough to make the babies get quiet and listen.
"Yeah. What she said." Elora couldn't really see what more could be added.
"We're playin'."
"We are."
"You. Are. Retired!" Elora countered.
"Retired is no' dead."
"And I'd like to add that we retired early. Lots of active duty hunters are older than we are and they'll be playing. There's never been a match that didn't have B Team represented and there's not going to be one this year either."
Elora huffed. "Since they retired B Team as a commendation to you..."
"And you," Storm added.
"Thank you for the thought, but not really and I don't think any of you would enjoy having me play. Stop trying to distract me. I'm in the middle of asking if you plan to still be repping for B Team when you're ninety."
The husbands looked at each other. They both sat on the sofa in Ram's and Elora's Jefferson Unit apartment with their arms crossed and looking like they had dug in to be stubborn.
"She might have a point," Storm said to Ram.
"We're no' givin' any points or any ground. With them 'tis always a slippery slope slidin' toward capitulation."
Storm looked at Elora. "We're not ninety now. We'll torch that bridge when we come to it. We're not even nearing thirty. And we're playing."
"Aye. We are."
Ram and Storm uncrossed their arms long enough to give each other a fist bump.
"Look," Elora began, "you're both young, strong, still in your prime and tough as they come."
"We're no' fallin' for the flattery approach."
"I'm just saying that you're also husbands and fathers with bones that can be broken and organs that can be ruptured." Elora left out the part about how she also hated overhearing the female spectators objectifying her husband. She already knew that he was the stuff of nocturnal fantasy and didn't need to have that driven home by listening to women talk about imagining him when they're with somebody else. Ugh!
They were silent and resolute. Resolutely silent.
Litha whispered something in Elora's ear and they withdrew to the bedroom, closing the door behind them.
"What do you think they're doin' in there?"
"I think they are saying that they will have better luck with a divide-and-conquer strategy."
"Aye. 'Tis my thought as well."
"Pact?"
"Indeed."
"Lust to dust."
"Sperm to worm."
"Womb to tomb."
Elora whispered to Litha. "Quiet. Ram's ears are amazing."
"Then let's duck out for a coffee. Or cocoa," she corrected.
When Elora nodded, Litha closed her fingers around her fellow conspirator's wrist and they popped into the lounge downstairs. The trip wasn't far enough to disturb equilibrium. It was no worse than a fast elevator drop.
"It won't hurt them to watch the babies for a little while."
Elora chuckled. "Neat trick."
They picked out two of the comfiest chairs, the ones that made sitting feel like a hug, and sat facing each other.
"Hmmm. Well, I'm thinking that we're not going to get anywhere as long as they're together. They're feeding off of each other and ratcheting up the resolve. We need to interrupt that feed."
"Brilliant. Let us have yummy drinks and then go to our separate bedrooms to see if we can't get their arms uncrossed."
Litha smiled and initiated a soft five.
"Does it strike you that they're bein' too quiet?"
"It's your bedroom. You go check."
Ram opened the door and said. "Great Paddy loves a fuck. They're gone."
"What?" Storm got up.
"Gone. G.O.N.E. As in your wife always brin's an unknown factor to the mix. Great Paddy, I'm glad we were never assigned to hunt somebody like her." Ram ran a hand through his hair and looked at Storm. "So. Guess who's babysittin'?"
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Moonlight: The Big Bad Wolf (Black Swan 4) Page 29
