Page 46 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Zeb couldn’t stop smiling.

He was by no means safe. From the Lucipires, the vangels, or his own weak body. But he had escaped from Horror, and there was hope. Hope was everything.

Vikar, Harek, and Mordr had given him blood “transfusions” all day yesterday and through the night to supplement what he’d already received from Cnut, Trond, and, of course, Regina. This morning, he was a new man. And he was hungry as a bear, lured by the scent of frying bacon and coffee coming from down below.

After showering and shaving (his face, not his head), he donned some clothing left in his small bedchamber and made his way down the back stairway to the kitchen, the one originally intended for servants. The fact that Vikar hadn’t locked him in didn’t surprise Zeb. They knew good and well that he had nowhere else to go, and besides, Zeb had made it known for years that he yearned to become a vangel.

Slowly, and carefully, he moved, holding onto the rail. They were steep steps, and his legs were still weak and his soles not completely healed.

There were several people standing about, or sitting on stools at the long island. He had eyes only for the one whose cinnamon scent swirled about and hit him like a cloud of welcome. She wore a long dark blue gown, plain, with no adornment, belted at the waist, but loose, and her red hair hung down her back in a thick braid.

“Why are you dressed like a nun?” he said, coming up behind her.

She turned quickly and almost spilled the glass of juice she held in one hand. “You’re awake, finally,” she said, ignoring his remark about her attire. “Everyone’s been waiting for you. Michael will be here soon.”

Ah, so that was the reason for the modest attire. Trying to impress the big guy. Little did she know, but her restrained appearance could not compensate for her recent actions in rescuing him. She might as well be wearing Wonder Woman tights with a winged W on her impressive bosom. “I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar.” Or something like that.

“Stop looking at me there,” she sniped.

“Okay,” he said and continued looking.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Almost human,” he replied, and they both laughed at the irony of his remark. He would never be human again, and he wasn’t sure he would want to be.

She glanced at his groin area. “Are you ready for me to remove the stitches?”

He grimaced at the prospect. “Doctor Sig came in last night. He already did it. With a topical anesthetic.” Sigurd Sigurdsson was an accomplished physician who maintained a vangel headquarters on a Grand Key island, which also housed a pediatric hospital.

“Great!” Regina said, but appeared disgruntled. Had she wanted to take on the task herself? Probably. Not because she wanted to handle his goods, but she was a woman who wanted to be in control of everything. Fat chance in a castle full of men! Including a physician.

“By the by, did you have to use red thread?”

He could tell that his question caught her off guard. She even blushed. “It was all I could find.”

“Before Sig removed the stitches, every vangel in the house insisted on viewing the spectacle so they could mock me. Some said I looked like a candy cane.”

“I didn’t think about how your precious part would look. I was more concerned about saving your fool life.” She raised her chin defiantly.

He should have stopped provoking her, but he was on a roll. “With your cinnamon breath and cinnamon body odor, I have to wonder if you were putting your mark on me.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous,” she said and gave him a shove, which caused him to grab for a nearby stool and sit down. She sat down next to him.

He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed prodding Regina so. He just did.

A serving girl vangel came over and placed a mug of coffee and plate of bacon, eggs, and toast in front of him. She gave Regina a cup of coffee, as well, and took away her half-empty juice glass.

Regina motioned toward a sugar bowl and creamer with a raised eyebrow, but he shook his head. He liked his coffee black. She did, too.

“Where is everyone?” he asked. Those in the kitchen were mostly lower-level vangels. None of the VIK or warrior vangels he’d come to know in the past. Nor their families.

“Everyone has eaten already, in shifts. There are so many here. The children and their mothers are in the family room watching cartoons or playing video games or reading with ear plugs in. Mostly the vangels are either in the weight rooms in the basement or outside in the fields practicing their fighting skills. Still others are dipping weapons in the symbolic blood of Christ. In truth, everyone here is doing some kind of work to help in this war effort.”

Except her, apparently. “Dare I ask about the Crazy Coven?”

“Locked in one of the dungeon cells. Thor is with them.”

“Who’s Thor?”