mad, bad, and dangerous to know

I lay on the dusty earth, tasting grit and feeling thoroughly displeased, as I waited to regain my breath so I could stand and face my new foes. How dare they challenge an elegant creature of the night such as myself? I would make quick work of them.

But before I could arise, a shadow loomed over me, resplendent in black-and-red silks, standing beside a tall roan stallion. A pistol glinted at his side. A wide-brimmed hat obscured his pale mien; he tipped it down further with a gloved hand as he spoke in a slithering voice; “A pleasure to meet you, my lady.”

I could not veil my shock. A vampire shooting down a fellow creature of the night? This was unheard of—an insult to our Lord’s name.

I floated to my feet as gracefully as I could, banishing the dirt from my cloak. “I cannot say the same. In what way have I harmed you enough to warrant such a vulgar act of disrespect?”

The vampire did not answer. The hem of his robe flitted like a bat’s wing in the wind, hiding his figure. “I have heard much about you, even from my home crypt. The legendary Virginia Frost. What have you to say about your bloody reputation? The men you have slain? The ranchers whom tell of the bat-winged woman draining their sons of precious lifeblood?”

“Only that I have made our Lord proud,” I said stiffly, baring my fangs, “unlike some of our brethren.”

“I only travelled such lengths to confirm the truth of these legends, Mistress Frost,” he said, tipping his hat once more.

“Well, we have been introduced.”

“And I must offer my sincerest apologies for the rudeness—I only wished to witness your powers for myself.”

He was gazing at the bullet hole in my chest—or rather, the lack of one.

“Few vampires have such healing capabilities, Mistress. What is your secret?”

I turned, unwilling to grace this unnamed creature with my presence any longer, and began to stride across the red dirt. Surprisingly, he allowed me to leave without further words.

However, twenty steps later I heard the clop of heavy hooves on the road. Beside me the stallion came riding up, matching my swift pace.

“Mistress Frost,” the man called from his perch atop the saddle, hat still concealing his eyes, “I beg your attention for one moment longer.”

“Off with you, foul beast.”

“Are you not lonely? Traversing this abhorrent little town on your own?”

““I have been familiar with ruins too long to dislike desolation.”” Our Lord Byron’s wise words come smoothly to my lips.

“And yet I have heard your name on the lips of so many.”

“And that is where it should stay, and not on yours.”

“Such biting words, Mistress.”

“And they may well bite your head off if you ride that horrid horse any closer.”

Unaffected, the man kept up the pace, no matter how I increased mine. I watched the moon, which was drifting closer and closer to the horizon. The first glimmer of dawn light was cresting the flat red hills ahead.

“The summer sun arrives,” he announced. “So I must take my leave. But before the sunlight besmirches your flawless complexion, Mistress, it seems only fair that I should offer my own name.”

I stared at him. “Well?”

“Zachariah ‘Long Shot’ Gore,” he said, and then he was gone in a flicker of smoke, like a whisper on the febrile wind. His horse remained where it stood, looking a bit confused.

I swayed where I was. Zachariah ‘Long Shot’ Gore? The vampire, the myth, the legend? The infamous pariah who had once led our noble clan into the Wild West, to roam amongst the broncobusters and drovers who once ruled cowboy time? Zachariah Gore himself had been the one to shoot me down from the clouds?

I shook my head. “Men,” I grunted.

The castle wasn’t the same to me anymore. The same blood-drenched cobblestone floors didn’t give me the same comfortable feeling as it used to, and the stained-glass windows that shielded us from the sun didn’t make me feel any safer. Victor was to blame, for making me feel like everything I thought I knew was a lie.

Him? Jealous? Why? And of what? I wasn’t sure of anything other than the fact that I hated and loved the way he made me feel, simultaneously. I laughed at myself, because as Lord Byron once said, “Always laugh when you can. It is cheap medicine.” And I cannot argue with a man as wise as Mr Byron was.

The sun was setting, and I was getting ready to head out. I couldn’t stand to be here anymore, full of people checking on my wounds and asking me how I was feeling. Even though I told him that I felt no worse than a mild case of barrel fever, they still insisted on fussin’ about. Like, goodness, I wasn’t down in the blazes just yet.

Even Josephine, who usually spent her time nagging me and telling me I was no more useful than a cow with no legs, was buzzing around me like a persistent fly. I needed to spend some time outside of the castle, away from people who knew about me and Victor. Away from Victor himself. Remind myself of why I’m better off far away from him, and people like him.

I pulled on a wee vest and tied a bandana around my neck, making sure I had my best cowboy hat on. I chucked on a holster and sheathed a pistol. Whether or not I would actually have to use it, I didn’t care. I just wanted the protective weight of a lethal weapon on my thigh, just in case the fangs didn’t cut it.

Just as I went to yank open the big heavy doors, I heard the beat of a small pair of wings above me. I sighed, letting the doors fall shut.

“Alright then,” I almost yelled, leaning against the wall in defeat. “Y’all caught me. I don’t want no bobbery. I just want some time to myself.”

The bat did not reveal itself. It just fluttered from corner to corner, keeping an eye on me. I tapped my boot on the ground, impatiently.

“Look, I’m just headin’ out to have me a dandy old time,” I told the bat, showing my palms in surrender. “And then I’ll be back. “I only get out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.” Lord Byron said that, you know.”

The bat morphed from a winged rat into a fully fleshed human right before my eyes. Victor smirked from the other side of the room, whilst I rolled my eyes.

“I’m leavin’,” I groaned.

“Hold on,” Victor called, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “I just wanna talk.”

“Well, I don’t wanna talk to you.”

“I’m mighty sorry for what I said to you in the hospital last night,” he said, head bowed in sincerity. “And for the unnecessary squabble in the crypt.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not up for any jests.”

“Not a jest, Alistair,” Victor swore, taking a dangerous step forward. He took his hat off in one sweep, and pressed it against his chest. “I shouldn’t have confused the way I did, and I shouldn’t’ve stabbed you when I really wanted to kiss you. That was burrow milk of me, and I’m very sorry.”

I blushed beneath the brim of my pristine cowboy hat. Kiss? Me? Surely, he made a mistake. Surely, it’s just a jest. It cannot be fact that Victor ‘No Teeth’ Church, fancies a small little vampire cowboy such as I.

“I must go—”

I start for the door, but Victor is there before I can open them. His hands move to either side of my face, bringing even more heat to my cheeks.

“Forgive me,” he begged, his eyes boring into mine, shining with tears. “Please, Alistair, forgive my foolishness. I act madder than an old wet hen when I feel things I think I’m not supposed to feel. Like affection, and desire.”

I want to look away, but I can’t. I think I want to move away from his grasp, but I can’t. It feels as if my face was destined to be cradled by his paws.

I peel away from his touch and whisper, “I forgive you.”

I first saw Angelique ‘The Silent’ Fortune outside of town in an inn the size of a pin. The walls dripped with cobwebs. Torches flickered on the walls. When I walked in, the floorboards creaked beneath my heels, turning every man—and woman’s—head toward me.

A wind whistled through the door. Somewhere, an eagle cried.

Head held high, I glided to the bar. The man polishing the table looked weary, his moustache lank, pointed ears drooping.

“What’ll it be?” he snapped.

I leaned an elbow on the stained wood and pulled my lips into a smile. “A pint of your finest red.”

Grumbling, the man ran his fingers over the labels on the shelved bottles, pulled one down from a shelf and poured me a glass.

I lifted it to the light. “Ooh. Lovely viscocity. Delightful shade.”

The man looked briefly chuffed. He straightened his ascot. “Straight from the sherrif’s son. Went out for a ride the other day, rode into the wrong side of town.”

“Impressive.” I raised the glass in a salute. “Well, as the Lord himself said—“Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.””

The innkeep watched as I downed the glass of blood in a single gulp and wiped it from my lips. I held it out to him for a refill.

“Another, fine sir?” I asked.

Three glasses later, I was reclining, comfortably full, in one of the leather booths. The interior of the inn reminded me somewhat of my old crypt—the smell of blood and mildew, the weathered stones, the tapestries of our noble ancestors adorning the walls. I breathed in the familiar scents with satisfaction.

Someone bumped my elbow. I looked up, teeth already bared, only to see a fine-boned face looking down at me.

The woman raised her pale fingers to her lips. “My sincerest apologies, my lady.”

I waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing to it.”

She lingered for a moment, eyes drifting to the bloodstains on the lapels of my coat. “Celebrating something, Mistress?”

“I suppose you could say that.” I raised my empty glass. “Three-hundredth birthday today.”

She gasped prettily. “Truly? My dear, you look barely over two-fifty.”

“And may I enquire as to your business tonight?” I gestured, as politely as I could, to her blouse. She blinked down in surprise at the metal pole protruding from her abdomen.

“Oh, this?” She giggled. “I had completely forgotten.”

“Who would do such a thing to such a lovely lady?”

“A foolish stablehand. Inspiringly plucky, I have to say, but foul-tasting.”

“Ah.” I showed my fangs in a smile. “Suppose the townsfolk should leave you alone now, shouldn’t they?”

She laughed. “At least until they learn to use wooden stakes instead of steel. May I join you for a glass?”

That night we drank til the innkeep’s stores were almost run dry. By the time we retired and the inn was almost empty, he looked ready to drive a stake into my own stomach.

“You know these blood stores aren’t endless, Mistress Frost,” he muttered, hovering angrily over to the shelf for another bottle.

“As far as I know, blood is a renewable resource,” I said. “So what’s the problem?”

I winked. The man practically vibrated in his fury.

I flew Angelique back to her apartment, a modest loft at the outskirts of town, the both of us gliding silently through the night on bat wings so as not to attract the attention of the sheriff’s men patrolling the streets below.

“Will I see you again?” I asked before I left her.

“I should hope so,” she said. “There should be a hunt next week. Everybody’s going.”

“Ah, the summer hunt, of course. How could one forget?”

“So you are coming?”

“Of course, if only to see you.”

We turned human-shaped and stood for a moment, outlined against the summer moonlight. I pressed my lips to the back of her hand in solemn farewell.

“You are quite the flirt, Virginia,” she smiled.

I raised my eyes to her and recited, “”She walks in beauty, like the night—Of cloudless climes and starry skies—And all that’s best of dark and bright—Meet in her aspect and her eyes.””

I left her before she could respond, slipping off like a phantom into the night, my cloak wafting around my ankles as I flew. Maybe living in this town wouldn’t be so horrid after all.

That was when someone shot me.

The scent of blood filled the air as buckets of the stuff poured out of my left side. Victor ‘No Teeth’ Church laid in a heap on the ground, pinching the bridge of his knows in an attempt to stop the relentless bleeding. I would be lying if I said the wet crunchy sound of his nose breaking beneath my fist wasn’t the most satisfying thing I’ve ever heard. I would also be lying if I said that fighting him, the brief moments that our skin touched, wasn’t the most euphoric feeling I’ve ever experienced.

Josephine was yelling for a medic. I wanted to tell her that it would’ve been much worse if I hadn’t had an ace in the hole, a silver dagger in the back of my chaps, hidden from Victor.

“You’re really dyin’ to head over to bone orchard, aren’t ya?” She spat, holding my wound closed with her hands. “You shoulda backed off as soon as you saw him dig for his canon.”

I shoved her off. “Well, it’s not like I was in apple pie order, Josie. Next time he wants to try anything, weather it’s with a shooting iron or nothin’ but his two fists and a death wish, I’ll shut his big bazoo before he can say “Let’s have a shoot off.””

Just as I was starting to feel wheezy, ol’ Boone Cassidy, the one and only vamp medic for miles pulled up. He fixed me up real good, a couple stitches in my side to plug me up, and a lollypop just for not cryin’.

I was lying helpless in my hospital coffin, an IV full of blood plugged into my arm, when the heavy, antique door flew open, taking some dust with it.

Well, blow me down, it was Victor ‘No Teeth’ Church. A band-aid draped across his nose, his right arm in a sling.

I tried to sit up, but my body wasn’t having it. It nothing short of squealed when I breathed too hard.

“What in God’s name are you doing here?” I growled, my heart pounding just from his eyes on me.

“I’m here to acknowledge the corn,” he said, titling his cowboy hat down. “I didn’t start fightin’ with you because I felt like it, y’know.”

I gritted my teeth. “So, why? Why start barkin’ at the knot if you didn’t just feel like it.”

Teacher: Please stop making that joke. We've moved on to Percy Bysshe Shelley.