Page 58 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Alas, he had not been offered that choice and probably never would be. He did not even want to think about the option that had been offered to him, remarriage . . . and to a witch, no less. All right, a vangel witch, he conceded. But still . . .

“Back to the old Norselands?” Grimelda scoffed. “It’s hard living there. Cold. Snaring food. Making potions. Did you ever try to gather snails’ tails in the middle of winter? And possum cooked over an open fire tastes worse than blood.”

Michael shrugged, not caring about the old crone’s discomforts.

“And I would go back to Salem where every other woman is accused of witchcraft?” Patience appeared horrified. “I don’t think I could bear being burned at the stake again. I had to screw every man in town then, too, just to have food to eat. They deserved to die. All twelve of them! The bastards!”

There went any hope of Patience being a swimsuit model.

Zeb had figured that Patience had not been a model Puritan, but he hadn’t known the details. Now, he did.

“What if we don’t accept this offer?” Beau asked.

“You would be cast out into the world, visible to any Lucipire with a nose for thy demon lure. You would probably be back in Horror within a day. Mayhap Jasper would give the lot of you a second chance, after unbearable torture. I doubt it.”

“Talk about an offer you can’t refuse!” Beau commented.

“But Salem in the seventeen hundreds? Pfff! I refuse to go back there,” Patience said. “How about modern-day Massachusetts?”

“I’d rather be a Lucipire than live in that hut again,” Grimelda said.

It became obvious that these two had not learned a lesson in Horror. They would complain and resist living their old lives over until they ultimately committed grave sins again. Even Zeb could see that. Michael undoubtedly saw much more.

In a blink of an eye, Patience and Grimelda were gone. Poof! No smoke. No abracadabra. Just gone.

“I hope she took Thor with her,” Regina murmured.

“I doubt it,” Zeb murmured back. “You’re stuck.”

“We’re both stuck, if we get married. Ha, ha, ha!”

“Wouldst thou care to share the joke?” Michael inquired.

Zeb and Regina went mute.

“Whoa!” Beau said, putting his hands up in surrender. He was still reacting to the abrupt disappearance of his comrades in sin. “Ah accept, Ah accept. Ah know which side mah biscuit is buttered on.”

“As you say,” Michael pronounced. “Resume thy old life then, Beauregard Doucet, back in Louisiana. Make sure to remember where thou hast been these past twenty years. As a young Lucipire, mayhap the evil has been too far embedded in you.”

“Ah intend ta try harder,” Beau said. “Ah think Ah’ll move ta Alabama, put myself far away from Lilith so Ah’m not tempted ta wring her evil neck.”

“Good idea,” Michael agreed. “One other thing, if you do decide to stay in the bayou, go visit a woman named Louise Rivard, best known as Tante Lulu. She is a good friend of St. Jude, the patron saint of hopeless causes. She might be able to help you.”

“Ah know her!” Beau said. “Everyone up and down Bayou Black, in fact, throughout Loo-zee-anna, knows Tante Lulu. And Ah certainly qualify as hopeless, guar-an-teed.”

“Go with God, then.”

And Beau was gone, too, leaving just the four of them in the room. Zeb, Regina, Vikar, and Michael.

What now?

They all stood, three of them rather stunned at how quickly Michael had acted. And how dramatic . . . no, miraculous . . . his actions had been.

“Vikar, we will go upstairs now where you can show me the battle plans. I heard there were more bombings in Lebanon this morning and a sulfurous smelling fire burning down an entire block in Las Vegas.” Michael turned to Regina and Zeb then. “I’m sure you two have much to discuss about thy future plans.”

What? No! No plans! “Don’t you want my input?” Zeb asked.

“Later,” Michael said.