Blood Sisters_ Vampire Stories by Women - Paula Guran Page 0,144

the night he worshipped so ardently. As, in the end, it did. I am the real thing all right; big as life and twice as ugly.

But I am hardly the bloodsucking seductress Rhymer had been dreaming of all those years. There was no way he could know that his little trick would not only lure forth not just a vampire—but a vampire-slayer as well.

You see, my unique and unwanted predicament has denied me many things—the ability to age, to love, to feel life quicken within me. And in retaliation against this unwished for transformation, I’ve spent decades denying the monster inside me; trying—however futilely—to turn my back on the horror that dwells in the darkness of my soul. There is one pleasure, and one alone, I indulge in. And that is killing vampires …

And those that would become them.

Dawn is well underway by the time I re-enter the nave. The whitewashed walls are dappled with light dyed blue, green, and red by the stained glass windows. I take a couple of steps backward, then drop-kick Rhymer’s head right through the Lamb-of-God window.

The birds chirp happily away in the trees, greeting the coming day with their morning song, as I push open the wide double doors of the church. A stray dog with matted fur and slats for ribs is already sniffing Rhymer’s ruined head where it has landed in the high weeds. The cur lifts its muzzle and automatically growls, but as I draw closer it flattens its ears and tucks its tail between its legs and quickly scurries off. Dogs are smart. They know what is and isn’t of the natural world—even if humans don’t.

The night was a bust, as far as I’m concerned. When I go out hunting, I prefer bringing down actual game, not faux predators. Still, I wish I could hang around and see the look on the faces of Rhymer’s groupies when they find out what has happened to their “Master.” That’d be good for a chuckle or two.

No one can say I don’t have a sense of humor about these things.

—from the journals of Sonja Blue

LEARNING CURVE

Kelley Armstrong

New York Times #1 bestseller Kelley Armstrong has been telling stories since before she could write. Her earliest written efforts were disastrous: if asked for a story about girls and dolls, her story would—much to her teachers’ dismay—feature undead girls and evil dolls. She grew up and kept writing and now lives in southwest Ontario with a husband and children who do not mind that she continues to spin tales of the supernatural while safely locked away in the basement.

Armstrong is best known for her Otherworld series of urban fantasy (first novel: Bitten, 2001; final, and thirteenth, novel: Thirteen, 2012). In Armstrong’s Otherworld universe, few humans are aware that beings with paranormal powers exist. A female werewolf, witch, half-demon, necromancer, hybrid sorcerer/witch, and a human serve as narrators for the novels; vampires make appearances as supporting characters and are sometimes featured in short stories set in the universe.

Vampire Zoe Takano appears in one book and (so far) three stories. Featured here in “Learning Curve,” Zoe shows she can deal handily with human predators as well as misguided vampire hunters …

“I’m being stalked.”

Rudy, the bartender, stopped scowling at a nearly empty bottle of rye and peered around the dimly lit room.

“No, I wasn’t followed inside,” I said.

“Good, then get out before you are. I don’t need that kind of trouble in here, Zoe.”

I looked around at the patrons, most sitting alone at their tables, most passed out, most drooling.

“Looks to me like that’s exactly the kind of trouble you need. Short of a fire, that’s the only way you’re getting those chairs back.”

“The only chairs I want back are those ones.” He hooked his thumb at a trio of college boys in the corner.

“Oh, but they’re cute,” I said. “Clean, well-groomed… and totally ruining the ambiance you work so hard to provide. Maybe I can sic my stalker on them.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, please. Why do you think I ducked in here? Anyone with the taste to stalk me is not going to set foot past the door.”

He pointed to the exit. I leaned over the counter and snagged a beer bottle.

“Down payment on the job,” I said, nodding to the boys. “Supernaturals?”

He rolled his eyes, as if to say, “What else?” True, Miller’s didn’t attract a lot of humans, but every so often one managed to find the place, though they usually didn’t make it past