Page 26 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Confusion reigned.

And then there were the voices.

He tried to swim up from the hot fog that was enveloping him, but he kept sinking back. He had a hazy recollection of being rescued by the vangel witch Regina, with the aid of the three witch Lucipires known at Horror as the Crazy Coven. Beau Doucet, Patience Allister, and Grimelda, whose surname he didn’t know. He also recollected something involving a hot air balloon, then a wild five-way tandem teletransport to his island. That must be where he was now. He tried to open his eyes, but the lids were so heavy. Instead, he concentrated on the voices, trying to differentiate one from the other. Beau’s was obvious, being the only male. Regina’s was assertive and rather bossy, truth to tell. Patience seemed gentle and mostly quiet. Grimelda cackled so much that it was hard not to associate her with old age and witchliness.

His mental assessment of his present situation was interrupted.

“I can’t get the fever down. We’ve got to do something. Now!” Regina said.

“I could brew another potion,” Grimelda offered with a cackle.

“Please don’t. The smell is enough ta make a possum puke,” Beau said in a deep southern drawl. He was Cajun, from Louisiana, Zeb seemed to recollect.

“The only thing I can smell is summer rain. Sweet and pure and—”

“You’re losin’ it, Regina, bless yer heart. Patience, bring some more cool water fer Regina to bathe Zeb’s body. Maybe that’ll bring his temperature down. His skin is hotter ’n a Bourbon Street hooker on a Saturday night.” Beau again. “He’s already naked, and Ah doubt he’s gonna rise ta the occasion if ya touch him intimate like. Not with them stitches. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Why’d you use red thread?” Patience asked.

“It was all I could find,” Regina replied.

“It looks cute,” Patience said.

“Cute ain’t what a man wants a woman to say when she looks at his favorite part,” Beau pointed out.

“I once knew a man whose cock was red as a beet,” Grimelda revealed.

“You people are nuts,” Regina muttered.

Zeb agreed, but didn’t have the energy to say so.

Much later, at least he thought it was much later, Zeb heard Regina say, “He needs blood.”

“Grimey already put a bucket-load of fish blood in that brew of hers,” Patience said.

“I did not,” Grimelda protested with a cackle.

“Not fish blood, you fools,” Regina snapped.

Zeb sniffed the air in her direction and realized that she smelled like cinnamon. Had he noticed that before? He couldn’t remember.

“Ah could use a swig or ten of human blood,” Beau remarked. “Ah swear, if a plane wrecked nearby and survivors came aseekin’ some kinda Treasure Island, Ah’d have the whole lot of ’em drained before they could say, ‘Where’s Tom Hanks?’”

“You’d have ta beat me away first, with me own broom,” Grimelda cackled again. “I have such a thirst, my fangs keep cutting my bottom lip. Good fer cutting off fish heads, though.”

“Y’all think that’s bad,” Beau said. “Check these out.” A hissing noise followed that Zeb recognized as the sound of fangs coming quickly out of gums. He’d done it a time or two (thousand) himself.

“You are always showing off, Beau,” Patience observed, then added, “We must all still be Lucipires.” There was disappointment in her voice.

“Of course, we’re still Lucipires. Look at us,” Beau said. “Great-lookin’ scales, by the way. Specially the ones on yer boobs. I didn’t know nipples came big as maraschino cherries.”

“Moron! If your tail were any longer, you could screw yourself!” Patience sneered. Not so soft-voiced and gentle now.

“Ah already can,” Beau boasted.

“I kin peel the skin off a toad with my claws,” Grimelda bragged.

Zeb realized in that moment that the Crazy Coven must be in demonoid form. It must be crowded in here. His bedroom in the bungalow was not very big. More important, Regina better be careful. You never knew what a Lucipire might do. Even when they tried to be good, their inclinations were hard to control sometimes.