Page 1 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

Prologue

What is your secret fear?

Satan came to visit me today.

Me! Zebulan, a mere Hebrew of no great fame, in the presence of the Boogie Man of Sin! And not a welcome mat in sight. Hah! If I had one, I’d try to hide under it. And I am not easily frightened.

You probably think that I mean Satan’s visit as a metaphor for some bad deed I’ve committed. God knows . . . rather, Satan knows . . . I’ve committed plenty. No, I mean the real deal, scary-as-hell (pun intended . . . can you tell I’m losing it here?), evil personified, primo devil.

Really.

Can’t you see him? He is standing right there before me.

In person.

Well, not “in person” precisely because, as everyone knows, the biggest, baddest of all demons isn’t a person. Never was. Lucifer, as Satan was known in the beginning, existed as an archangel for eons, if not forever, before his fall from grace, never having started as a human, or so it is said. People do not realize that angels were created by God, and that humans do not become angels after death, no matter how good they might have been. Blame the misconception on movies like It’s a Wonderful Life with the line about angels getting wings every time a bell rings. Hah!

I am rambling, mentally, as you can tell. A defense mechanism, I suppose. It’s either that, or scream with fright. You’d think there was nothing worse than the torture I have undergone this past year. I’ve grown at least two inches, thanks to the rack. (And I was already more than six feet tall.) Flaps of skin hang here and there from the floggings. (Needles and thread would come in handy, not to mention a nurse. I would do it myself if I could. But I am tied up at the moment. Ha, ha, ha!) No toenails or fingernails. (Ah, well. Saves money on manicures and pedicures, not that I’ve ever had either.) Barbed wire around my cock and round-the-clock porn shown on a ceiling screen. (Ouch! Gives new meaning to “Ring Around the Rosie.”)

The only reason I still have eyes or a tongue is because Jasper, another fallen angel, wants me alive for centuries to prolong my agony. He thinks I betrayed him.

I did.

But back to Satan. Believe me, a visit from the Essence of Evil does not bode well for me, especially when he deigns to visit me in The Pit, this hidden cave deep in the bowels of Horror, Jasper’s castle headquarters.

Jasper is king of all the Lucipires, or demon vampires (in case you didn’t know), of which I have been one for the past two thousand or so years. Leastways, I had been until the Big Transgression. That’s what Jasper calls my attempt to join the other team, as in vangels (Viking vampire angels). And, no, I am not a Viking. But I would try my damnedest to become one if it meant release from this demonic obligation. I’d even wear a ridiculous horned helmet, and learn to ride a longship, and eat that stinky gammelost, and . . .

“You find humor in my presence, Zebulan?” Satan’s voice is so soft and beguiling one might be fooled into thinking his feelings are hurt. Does the Chief Devil even have feelings?

“No. I was grimacing, not smi . . .” My words trail off as I turn to look directly at Satan for the first time.

He is beautiful.

Holy hellfire! I’m not sure what I was expecting. Demonoid form, for sure. Scaly green skin and tail and drooling mung. Claws with razor-sharp nails. Blazing red eyes and fangs. A darting, snake-like tongue. Maybe even horns.

But, no, he is in humanoid form, and his appearance is so attractive it startles. Even Jasper, who stands in the background, still in demonoid persona, gazes at his master with awe.

Satan has long, silk-like red hair. Who would have ever guessed a demon redhead? But then, redheads do have a reputation for fiery personalities. His skin is the creamy color of aged ivory. A perfectly muscled, tall body is shown off in black leather tunic and tight pants tucked inside tooled ebony snakeskin boots. The chain belt around his waist is pure gold. About his neck is another gold chain from which hangs a crucifix, of all things, meant to be a sacrilege, I assume.

Satan carries not the caricature pitchfork portrayed in Christian images, but a long-handled whip with dozens of hair-thin, silver flails with weighted tails. The calm expression on his face is belied by the way he keeps tapping the whip against his knee, causing the metal to shimmer in the dim candlelight of the cave and make a metallic shushing sound.

Shush, shush, shush!

It is Satan’s eyes that are the giveaway, though. Clear green orbs against a blood red background that almost seem to pulse with fury. They are mesmerizing in their attempt to draw a person into their cyclonic swirls of sin.

Shush, shush, shush.

The eyes and the repetitive rhythm of the whip hypnotize.

Shush, shush, shush.

I look away, afraid of what I might say or do if I fall under the devil’s spell.

“Thou hast wasted enough time, Zebulan. ’Tis time to admit thy betrayal, beg for forgiveness, and promise to remain a Lucipire, never to stray again.”

Shush, shush, shush.

Do a demon vampire’s work for eternity? Continue to fight the vangels. Prey on human sinners. Kill, kill, kill. My body count is well over a thousand by now. The prospect of continuing that dark work is more horrific to me than anything Satan might do to my body. “No. Kill me and get it over with.”