Page 19 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Luckily, Zeb’s body was covered with a warm white fur cloak. It was colder up here in the sky than . . . (no, she was not going to say “a witch’s tit”) . . . than a Viking whaler’s butt in the North Sea. It was the Arctic, after all. In fact, Beau had had the foresight to toss in heavy outer apparel for all of them. Regina was wearing a red heavyweight wool cloak, making her look like a big red Popsicle. No matter! It covered her from neck to ankle, with an attached hood. Even so, it was still cold, but not as bad as it could be.

Unluckily, the cloak covering Zeb was precious white ermine, and one of Jasper’s favorites. “How was Ah ta know that?” Beau had asked after being clouted with a broom by Grimelda.

(Yes, Grimelda had managed to snag a few brooms from the closet before leaving. Talk about priorities! No gun, but a floor broom, a hearth broom, and a whisk broom. Their enemies would face death by sweeping!)

Beau had continued talking while Regina’s brain had been wandering with hysterical irrelevance, a sure sign of approaching insanity. Or terror. “Ah’m from the bayou. That fur could be skunk fer all Ah know.”

Help me, Lord, Regina prayed at that point. I had no idea it was so hard being an optimist.

There was an ominous silence in her head. Not that God had ever talked to her personally. Or St. Michael, for that matter. But she could hope, couldn’t she? Nope, Regina was on her own. Like always.

“While Zeb is unconscious, we should probably try to remove that barbed wire,” Regina mused.

Zeb’s one eye shot open at that. He tried to speak, but whatever he’d wanted to say came out as a squeak before he muttered a long string of words. It sounded like he was saying, “Lord spare me from Satan’s Red Riding Hood!”

“Ah doubt anyone has wire cutters heah,” Beau said.

“Good,” Zeb commented.

“I have cuticle scissors in my purse,” Patience offered.

Zeb made a choking sound again.

“You brought a purse?” Regina asked, as if that were important.

“Of course. A woman always carries her purse with her.”

Regina glanced toward Grimelda who held up a tattered cloth bag to show she agreed with Patience.

Beau put up both hands. “Not me.”

“Well, give me the scissors, and I’ll give it a try,” Regina told Patience.

“The worst thing that could happen is Zebulan becomes a eunuch,” Beau offered with a chuckle.

Before Patience had a chance to move, Zeb managed to grasp Regina’s wrist in a viselike grip. “Don’t. You. Dare,” he told Regina. “Later.” On those difficult words, he dropped her hand and fell unconscious once again.

“Well, I guess we can wait,” Regina said, rubbing her wrist.

For a few brief moments, she allowed herself to enjoy the peacefulness of floating with the mild wind currents as dawn began to rise on the horizon. At this time of the year, deep autumn, almost winter, there wouldn’t be much sun. In fact, there would be a short window of opportunity before darkness fell again.

They were about a quarter-mile above the ground, but all they could see below, aside from the icy tundra, were the occasional wolves or caribou. Dark color against all that white. The magnificent polar bears blended in with the desert-like ice. In fact, after peering closely, Regina could see a huge, lumbering mama bear with three of her cubs gamboling toward a pool of water, a sight she would have appreciated if she weren’t so distracted.

There was little or no turbulence, but the silence was deafening.

“I’m going to start to deflate,” Patience said, then murmured under her breath, “if I can figure out how.” She was the one steering the contraption. “You better wake Zebulan, for good this time,” she advised Regina. “Oh, and be prepared. I think these things land on their sides. So, make sure Zebulan is on top, or the weight of our bodies will drive those barbed wires in like porcupine quills. We’ll kill him for sure.”

“He’s already dead,” Beau pointed out.

“So are you,” Grimelda said with a cackle. “We all are.”

“What’s yer point?” Beau grumbled.

“Five dead people in a flyin’ gondola tryin’ not ta get killed . . . again. It’s rather laughsome, methinks.” Grimelda cackled some more. “We should take a picture ta have fer later. Does anyone have one of them eye phones?”

“Ya’ll are weird, Grimey,” Beau commented.

“No more’n you, boy,” Grimelda countered.