America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 5: Insurgency (19 page)

Walter lives a very quiet and private life,
residing with his family and horses, dogs, cats, and fish atop a
hill in rural Washington. Walt enjoys taking road trips to explore
ghost towns and casinos.

To find out more about Walter Knight and his
books, visit his web site at

www.waltknight.yolasite.com

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~BOOK PREVIEW SAMPLE CHAPTER~

BLOOD and SUNLIGHT

A Maryland Vampire Story

by

Jamie Wasserman

And Little Red Cap thought, “As long as I
live, I will never leave the path and run off into the woods by
myself.”

–
Little Red Cap, The Brothers
Grimm

PART I

Fall

Prologue

“...and they lived happily ever after.” The
man closed the book and waited.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, darling,” he said, smiling to himself.
He was never lucky enough to get away with reading just one
story.

“I’m not sleepy.”

“You haven’t tried. Close your eyes,” he
recited. This was their nightly ritual.

“It won’t help.” The little girl frowned, sat
up in bed, and crossed her arms.

“Would you like some water?”

“No.”

“Another blanket?”

“Daddy...” the little girl whined.

“Another story?” the man asked, sighing.

The little girl nodded happily.

“Okay, okay.” The man flipped the big book in
his lap open to another page. He had already bookmarked which story
he was going to read. “Sleeping Beauty?”

“I don’t want a story from
that
book.”

“Oh?” the man asked, surprised. This book was
her favorite, and he couldn’t remember the last time she had asked
him to read anything else. “Okay,” he said, unsure, and reached
towards her small book shelf.

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-uh, what?”

“I want the story you know by heart.”

The man leaned forward and smoothed back the
girl’s hair. “The one I used to tell your brother when he was
little?”

“Yes, that one.”

“I don’t know ... it’s been a long time since
I’ve told that one. I may not remember it.”

“You remember.”

She was right, of course. How could he
forget? Things were much better then. “It might be a little scary
for you,” he said, trying one last time to distract her.

“Please, Daddy!”

The man watched her lips turn down at the
corners, and he knew he had already lost. He just couldn’t stand to
see her cry. He kissed the girl on the forehead and took her hand.
“You know he’s going to be fine, right? Your brother’s pretty
tough.”

“I know.”

The man studied the little girl. Even in the
dark, her face looked serene, untroubled.

“Okay,” he said. “Move over. Let me sit next
to you.”

“How come?” she asked, scooting over
quickly.

“So
I
don’t get scared.” He crammed as
much of himself as he could onto her small bed. “Let’s see...” he
said to himself.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Is there a princess?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t know she’s a
princess.”

“Just like Cinderella?”

“A lot like Cinderella, yes.”

The man waited. His daughter’s questions
always came in twos.

After a short pause, she added, “And,
Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetie?” He folded his hands in his
lap.

“Are there monsters?” She pulled the covers
up past her mouth.

“Yes.” He tugged the blanket away from her
face. “All fairytales have monsters. But these are a little
different. These monsters look just like you and me.”

“Then how do you know they’re monsters?”

“You don’t. Not always,” the man said
sadly.

The little girl chewed at the inside of her
lip, mulling this over.

He looked at his daughter. She had the same
worried expression her mother had. It made the man smile at the
memory. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

The little girl nodded up at her father.

“Okay, I think I remember it now. This story
begins like any other fairytale. Do you want to start it for
me?”

The little girl closed her eyes and snuggled
next to her dad. “Once upon a time...”

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Chapter 1

Ellicott City is a former mill town cut into
the rocky Maryland hillside. The Patapsco River runs alongside the
train tracks at the bottom of Main Street, part of the old B&O
railroad connection. Every spring, the river banks flood and pour
over the cobbled streets. And every fall, part of the shopping
district, once home to migrant rail workers, catches fire and
destroys another small piece of the town’s history. The steeples
from a dozen Victorian churches rise above the trees, their bells
the only note heard clearly above the Sunday morning tourist
exodus. There is much history here, but for the most part the dead
are silent, despite the many signs advertising ghost walks and
haunted tour groups.

In June, when the rains finally relent, the
air is sticky and thick and gets into everyone’s eyes and hair. The
stores close early but remain lit, warding off the night like
garlic. An old wooden train bridge marks one end of Main Street; a
rickety, soot-covered mess that sprawls across the road like a
gateway into something terrible. It signals a stopping point for
tourists.

Just on the other side of that bridge sits
the Old Monk, a brick and mortar restaurant thrown together
somewhat haphazardly off the main road.

* * * * *

It was only 8:00 pm. The last of the locals
finished their meals as Melanie listened to the soft clinking of
glasses and plates, and the dull thrum of conversation drifting
from an open window. An empty coffee cup sat untouched on her
table. It had been at least an hour since a waiter had bothered to
check on her, and that was part of the appeal of this place.

She sat in the courtyard in the back of the
restaurant, or rather, what passed for a courtyard – discarded
patio furniture and an umbrella or two that had no doubt been
washed to the back of the building by the nearby Patapsco River in
the latest storm. She sat in the dark, watching the even darker
water crest and bubble, half expecting a body to be suddenly cast
from its murky depths. She was in that kind of mood. Expecting the
worst, and confident that she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Soon they would arrive, in long dark coats
and velvety sashes, reeking of Marlboros and skunky beer and opium
incense, and maybe that would lighten her thoughts, or at least
take her mind off the anniversary of yet another missed year of
college, yet another year stuck in this town.

She returned her attention to the black cat
that sat cleaning itself on the flat-topped roof. She didn’t mind
sketching the little fur-balls, but if it got within kicking
distance, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. It
wasn’t just that she was allergic; there was something in her that
seemed to bring out the worst in cats. Like she was wearing
mouse-scented perfume.

Melanie tucked a newly dark strand of hair
behind heavily pierced ears. She had a heart-shaped face and large,
bright eyes that made her seem keenly aware and always interested.
Melanie was thin and almost always wore black clothes, which gave
her a hungry, desperate look that men seemed to love. She felt old,
jaded, and over the hill – she was twenty-three.

Tonight she wore cut-off jeans and a sheer
tank top; a hold-over from the sweltering afternoon. Though the
night had cooled considerably, her body still felt warm, and she
figured she’d most likely be drunk or high soon enough that the
evening cold wouldn’t matter anyway.

She thumbed through her sketchpad, looking
for a clean page. She’d need another one soon. With stark and sharp
charcoal lines, she began to sketch the cat, who preened and purred
at the attention. Just before she could add the eyes, always her
biggest challenge, the world went completely dark.

Two clammy hands held fast over her eyes.

“Guess who?” a voice said. It was high and
shaky. The hairs on the back of Melanie’s neck stood up. “You smell
nice,” the speaker said, lingering at her throat and nibbling
playfully at her ear.

“Hi Bryan.”

“Lucian,” he corrected. “I told you to call
me Lucian.” He slumped in the chair next to Melanie.

Bryan was tall and skinny and seemed skinnier
still in his long black overcoat at least two sizes too large. He
wore a crumpled black top hat that covered stringy black hair dried
out from too many dye jobs. He was pale and powdered his skin
wherever his Mediterranean coloring threatened to poke through.

“What happened to your teeth?” Melanie asked,
hurriedly tucking away her sketchbook in her worn backpack serving
as both a purse and art portfolio. She didn’t mind sharing her
photographs, but her drawings felt more personal. They weren’t
simply something she saw, but something she felt, and she fully
believed in keeping those types of things hidden.

Bryan stuck a long finger in his mouth. “I
took them out. They were tearing up my gums. I may get mine
sharpened. I haven’t decided.”

Melanie shook her head. She knew Bryan
wouldn’t go through with it. He even opted for magnetic earrings
instead of full piercings. She herself had five tiny silver studs
that ran up and down both ears like Braille, and she had been
thinking of adding more.

Whatever the reason, she should be grateful
Bryan had ditched his fake teeth. Not only did the plastic vampire
teeth he liked to wear make him lisp and drool, but they were the
cause of at least two bar fights. It made him look
ridiculouth
.

“Did you bring anything to drink?”

Bryan produced a small bottle from a tattered
backpack, “Wine. Blood red.” He winked.

Melanie smiled despite herself. Bryan could
be corny, but it was hard to deny his enthusiasm.

“I like your hair.” He rested a hand on her
thigh.

“I figured you would.” She leaned in to kiss
him. She liked the way he tasted, like smoke and Chardonnay. He was
dry but sweet.

They met in a summer art class. Night school,
of course, because traipsing about in daylight would ruin his
finely cultivated pale complexion. Bryan was deeply appreciative of
Melanie’s series of photographs of garbage cans. Of everything
about Melanie for that matter.

On their first date, he stood nervously at
the door and waited for her to invite him in. Later he would ask
permission to kiss her. She chose what movies they saw and where
they went to dinner. She decided when they were finished making
love, even if he hadn’t. He made her feel strong, and if that meant
pretending tomato juice was blood and swearing off garlic, then so
be it. Besides, this strange relationship gave her the days totally
free to herself.

While Bryan playfully nipped at her lips like
a puppy, she studied the turrets from an old castle-like house or
church that rose dizzyingly above the legacy oaks on the hillside.
Though the way the building sat precariously on the edge of the
cliff sickened her, Melanie felt obsessed with locating the
property. She imagined climbing into the house on a rope of spun
gold, a wealth of untold treasures awaiting her discovery, but
subsequent attempts to find it despite detours deep into the woods
had proved fruitless.

Tonight, she noticed smoke pouring from a
chimney, the first sign she’d ever seen of anyone living there. She
had assumed it was long abandoned.

A not so distant howl interrupted them.

“Listen to them, the children of the night.
What music they make,” Bryan said, doing his best Bela Lugosi.

Melanie snapped back to attention. “It’s just
Carl.”

“You have no imagination.” Bryan slumped in
his chair and searched his pockets for a cigarette.

Melanie did not understand why so many of her
dates had to include Bryan’s minion – or posse, or whatever he was
calling him these days.

Suddenly, a large black shape landed on the
patio, taking out a rusted metal chair. Melanie’s cat, sleeping
peacefully now in the shadows, screeched and ran up the nearest
drainpipe. Melanie didn’t even flinch – God help her, this was
becoming an all too familiar routine.

“What’s up, suckas?” Carl picked up the
broken chair and hurled it as far as he could. It landed on the
soft ground by the river’s edge. He watched it, disappointed, and
brushed rust from his hands.

Tonight he was wearing a frilly white shirt
and purple velvet pants. His naturally dark curly hair was bleached
nearly white. Yin to Bryan’s Yang. Melanie often tried to imagine
Carl as he was in the Marines; scrubbed, shaved, and pressed into a
uniform. The mental image always went up in a cloud of dust when
presented alongside the real thing.

When Melanie met Bryan, he and Carl were
already inseparable. Carl waited for Bryan after class, and the
three of them would drink coffee at the student union or catch the
last showing at the Golding Theater. She began to wonder if she
were dating both of them and how sex would work.

Back then, Bryan seemed pretty unremarkable.
He and Carl shared an apartment near the community college,
volunteered nights at the local homeless shelter, and even wrote an
article or two for the local paper. His hair was blonde and close
cut, and without the goofy plastic Halloween teeth sticking out of
his mouth like ill-fitting braces, he might be considered pretty
attractive, or at least normal enough to sit next to on a bus.