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IN THE WORKS

Possible story about Father Lanzoni

 

 

Chapter 1

 

 

Father Giovanni Lanzoni strolled through the park's narrow, deserted, twisting paths. A brilliant yellow moon hung low in the sky, illuminating his way, though he needed no light to guide his feet. He was Nosferatu, one of the oldest of his kind. As such, he was blessed -- or cursed -- with supernatural senses and preternatural strength.

 

Like all vampires who had survived more than a century or two, he had grown to love and appreciate the beauty of the night. He enjoyed being able to see clearly in the dark, to hear the flutter of a moth's wings, to be able to move from place to place with astonishing speed, to think himself across great distances, to move faster than mortal eyes could follow, to dissolve into mist. So many amazing supernatural powers, all his to command.

 

He had never expected to survive so long. He had always been a pacifist -- given to contemplation rather than conflict. As a child, he had dreamed of dedicating his life to the Church. It had proved to be all he had hoped for and more. He had loved the discipline, the interior silence, the sense of inner peace born of service and self-sacrifice. Hearing confessions…

 

He grinned inwardly as he recalled his most recent confession. It had come from Nick Desanto, an ancient vampire turned by the infamous Queen of the Undead -- Mara, herself.

 

He had known Mara for centuries. They had met when he was still mortal. He had been a young priest at the time, hoping to render aid and comfort on a battlefield in Tuscany. She had been in search of prey. The only thing that had saved him that night had been her surprising reluctance to harm a man of the cloth.

 

They had met again when he was a young vampire. He had been badly hurt, close to death, when she found him. A little of her ancient blood had revived him. They had both undergone some amazing changes since that long ago night.

 

In the years since then, he had made many friends and a few enemies -- both mortal and immortal -- in countries around the globe. As a priest, he had willingly given up all thought of home and family. But now, having lived celibate for so long, he thought he would gladly give up immortality to know the simple joys of one mortal lifetime. To experience a woman's love. To father a child. To watch his sons and daughters grow and have children of their own. What good was living a dozen lifetimes when you had no one to share it with?

 

The DeLongpre/Cordova coven was the closest thing he had to a family. He considered himself blessed indeed to be a part of their lives and to have officiated at their weddings.

 

His steps slowed as he gazed at the vast expanse of the sky. Worlds without end, he mused. Times changed, the world itself changed, but he remained forever the same. In mortality, he had been an ordained priest. As such, he had made vows of chastity, poverty, and obedience. He had been celibate in life.

 

And in death.

 

 Lately, he had begun to rethink his vow to remain chaste. Though he was, at least in his own eyes, still a priest, he was no longer recognized as such by the Church that doubtless thought him dead long ago. He had no parish, no superior. Why did he cling to vow that, after so many centuries, were very likely no longer binding?

 

Why now, after so many centuries, did he suddenly feel so alone? So lonely?

 

He thought of Mara again. She had spent centuries refusing to be tied down. Yet, she had been married twice -- once to a mortal, and now to Logan Blackwood, the man she had loved for centuries. She had been blessed with a son.

 

Others of his kind had found companions. Roshan DeLongpre. Vince Cordova and his twin sons, Rane and Rafe. Mara's son, Derek. Niklaus Desanto. Vampires one and all. Yet each had found love. Even feisty ex-vampire hunters Edna Mae Turner and Pearl Jackson -- both turned far past their prime -- had found life mates.

 

Why not him? Perhaps it was time to remember that, in addition to being a priest,    he was first and foremost a man.

 

He chuckled softly. He was, undoubtedly, the world's oldest male virgin.

2-3-19

 

The beginning of yet another book. This one's a Western.

 

Chapter 1

 

He'd been on the run all his life. Running from the brutality of the white man who had been his father. Running from the stigma of being called "half-breed." He'd run until he got tired of running, tired of backing down, tired of pretending he was less than everyone else because his mother had been a Lakota medicine woman.

 

His mother. She had been the only good thing in his life. Kind, caring. She had loved him more than her own life and died at the hands of his father rather than let the bastard hit him again.

 

In a move that had become habit whenever he thought of her, he rested his hand on the butt of the .44 Colt at his side. The same Colt that had killed his old man. Zane Two Shadows smiled faintly. He had killed other men since that night but none had given him the same sense of satisfaction as emptying his Colt into his father.

 

He'd met a priest once who'd told him he was surely bound for hell. Zane had nodded, thinking he'd love to spend eternity tormenting his old man.

 

Throwing the dregs of his coffee on the coals, he kicked dirt over the ashes, then swung onto the back of his horse. With luck, he'd make it to town before dark. He'd had enough sleeping under the stars. It was time to treat himself to a bed, a bath, and a bottle. And maybe one of Sally's whores.

Another beginning that may go nowhere......

 

Chapter 1

 

And so he bestowed on her the vampire's kiss, sweeping her into a world of love and life that would never end.

 

With a heartfelt sigh, Evangeline closed the book. If only she could find a love like that. A love that was stronger, deeper, more enduring than mere mortal attraction.

 

If only vampires really existed.

 

Setting the book aside, Angie went to the front window and stared out into the darkness.

What if vampires truly did exist? Was that really so far-fetched? After all, stories and legends of the undead went back thousands of years and were mentioned in every nation and country on earth. If such creatures were only myth, why had the tales lasted so long? Bookstores and libraries had entire sections devoted to vampires. Why waste all that shelf space on something that never existed?

 

Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn't a valid argument. After all, there were tons of books about Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster and space aliens, too. There was no hard proof to back up the existence of any of those creatures, either. Of course, lots of people claimed to have seen Bigfoot and Nessie. Some folks had pictures, although they all looked photo-shopped. She had never heard of anyone who claimed to have seen a vampire. Then again, maybe those who saw them didn't live long enough to tell anyone.

 

A sobering thought.

 

Wishing real life was more like the novels she loved, Angie turned away from the window. And then she grinned. Maybe she should put an ad in the paper.

 

Wanted : Tall, dark handsome stranger

 

Who prefers the night. Object….

 

Angie frowned. What was her objective? With a shake of her head, she turned off the lights and went to bed. Maybe she needed to see a shrink, she mused as she pulled the covers up to her chin. After all, who in their right mind would want to spend their waking life in the dark, be forced to sleep in a coffin during the day, and exist on nothing but a warm, liquid diet?

#

In the morning, Angie carried a cup of coffee into her office and settled down in front of her computer. She been working as a data entry clerk for the last year. It wasn't the most fascinating work in the world but she was able to do it at home in her PJs, which was a big plus as far as she was concerned.

 

She worked steadily, taking a fifteen minute break to stand and stretch every hour or so. The morning flew by. She broke for lunch at one. As soon as she left her office, she found herself thinking about vampires again.

 

Did they really sleep in coffins? Were they truly dead to the world when the sun was up? Why would they be repelled by garlic? Or crosses? Or silver? What happened if they didn't like blood? Were they really immortal? If vampires didn't have a soul, and they weren't really alive, were they just animated corpses? And how gross was that?

 

Maybe she needed to stop reading paranormal romances and read cozy mysteries instead.

 

And maybe not.

 

She stared, unseeing at her computer screen. If one wanted to find a vampire, where would they look?

 

Google, of course! She'd go online as soon as she finished her work for the day.