Werewolf Kibble: The Horrible Blog of M.T. Murphy

Novel 3: Ninja Style

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Thu, 10 Nov 2016 05:45:00 +0000

My third novel is long overdue. Therefore, I am publishing it tomorrow night on Amazon Kindle, ninja style.

Tell no one!

The Thirteenth Lord - Chapter 4

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 31 May 2016 04:56:00 +0000

The Thirteenth Lord

M.T. Murphy
Copyright 2015

Chapter 4 - The Untouchable

Powerful, well-trained vampires patrolled the grounds. In the darkness, they were invisible to human eyes.

Lucifera stood motionless at the foot of the hill. A cool breeze shifted her hair and tattered dress. She made no physical effort to mask her location, but the vampires continued upon their set paths, oblivious to her presence.

“You do not see me.” The vampires could not hear her command, but they followed it the same. They may have been seasoned fighters, but Lucifera marveled at how unprepared they had been for one with her mental abilities.

She had been one of the strongest vampires in existence. Master Aldo Novafeltria stole her power with the help of a brainwashed priest and a cursed artifact, leaving her as weak as a newly turned vampire. Lucifera overcame Novafeltria, but most of her power died with him.

One gift he could not take from her was her mental ability. In life, she could read the thoughts of others and use that knowledge to influence them. As a vampire, she could plant thoughts and suggestions in the minds of humans and other vampires.

A black-clad vampire stopped a few paces from her and strained his eyes in her direction. This one seemed to have more mental toughness than the others.

Lucifera stepped closer to him. In a single motion, she drew her Japanese short sword and struck for his neck. He saw her when the blade passed through his flesh. His hand was still reaching for his machete when his head hit the ground.

The sound of the head bouncing on the grass was enough to shatter her spell. The remaining eleven vampires rushed toward her with blades drawn. She did something they did not expect: she smiled and rushed to the center of their group.

She stopped with her feet planted and sword held high above her head with both hands. The first vampire reached her and struck a powerful blow at her neck with his machete. She dodged his blow, using his own momentum to drive him off balance and then decapitated him.

The next vampire followed with a thrust toward her chest. She sidestepped his strike and drove her blade into his throat, twisting it, then ripping it through the top of his head. She continued the blow, swinging it over her head and decapitating the next vampire that attacked, cutting his silver machete in half.

The next two attackers rushed her from opposite directions. She leapt and drove the heel of her shoe into the eye socket of the one in front of her, then drove her sword into the heart of the one behind her. Ripping her shoe free, she landed on her feet between the two. The impaled vampire struggled but could not free himself from her blade. The half blinded vampire clumsily waved his machete.

She snatched the weapon from his hand and hit him with the blunt side of the machete’s blade on the throat, dragging him toward her as he covered his bloody eye. She bit into the side of his throat and devoured his blood.

The other advancing vampires stopped in their tracks.

“Is she feeding from him?” one asked.

“I thought only the masters did that when they took over another’s territory,” said another.

Lucifera ignored them and sucked down the last of the blood from her victim. She then released him and severed his head with his own machete. The other vampire struggled to remove her sword from his heart, but was too weak.

She turned to him and ripped into his throat. In seconds, she sucked him dry and twisted the blade of her sword, coring the heart from his chest and sending it raining to the ground in pieces.

The power Lucifera had taken from her victims’ blood coursed through her veins. The remaining five vampires regrouped several yards away.

Lucifera held her two blood-covered blades by her sides and stood straight and proper.

“I am one and you are five. It would seem the odds favor you,” she said.

The vampires exchanged glances and devised an unspoken strategy. Three of them rushed forward and attacked her from three different directions. The final two leapt through the air and struck at her from opposite sides.

Had the vampires been paying attention, they would have seen a smile cross her face. Instead, they saw her disappear. Twisting their perception was simple once she made eye contact with them and wormed her way inside their minds.

It was too late for them to stop their attacks. The three on the ground hit each other at the same time. An arm was severed. A vampire took a machete through the face. The third ground attacker was on the business end of a machete right in between his eyes.

The two vampires that attacked from above slammed into each other in midair. Lucifera stepped in and decapitated both of them with two quick blows. She grabbed the vampire with the severed arm and latched on to his bleeding appendage. He tried to fight her off, but his strength faded with each gulp as she devoured his blood.

The other two vampires removed their machetes from each other’s faces and tried in vain to follow her movements. Lucifera moved behind them and drained their blood. With all three writhing on the ground in blood-deprived weakness, she removed their heads with three quick blows of her sword and machete.

As much as she enjoyed the battle, Lucifera knew that she would have been able to kill them all before they discovered her if she still had her former power. A bleeding gash on her right shoulder and a fresh collection of bruises were painful reminders that she was far from invincible.

She strolled around the outside of the lavish mansion. Her wolf awaited her by the front door. He looked up and smiled as she rounded the corner.

She allowed herself a brief glimmer of hope. Perhaps his mind was healing. A glance up at the night sky killed that thought. The moon was hidden behind a thick layer of clouds. Otherwise, he might have been trying to tear out her heart.

“Took your sweet time, I see,” he said.

“When one feeds, it is impolite to do so hastily,” she replied.

He shrugged and stood, ignoring the muted gurgles coming from the injured vampire at his feet. “Did these guys seem kind of weak to you for a vampire lord’s servants?”

“They were here for appearance alone. Agnes the Untouchable has little need for servants to fight her battles.” She motioned toward the front door. “We should greet her properly.”

He nodded, then kicked the door. It crashed inward, falling off the hinges.

“Why do they call her the Untouchable?”

“Because she has mastered each of the three states achievable by only the most powerful of vampires: shadow, mist, and smoke. She cannot be touched, but she can and will attack.”

Mickey stepped inside the house. The front door opened to a huge foyer in the middle of which stood a long, mahogany stairway that extended to the third floor and a single door.

“Smoke, huh?” he said. “I only saw you turn into shadow back when…” He did not finish the thought, but he didn’t have to.

Lucifera knew.

Back when she was powerful. Back when she wasn’t weak. Back when she was his better.

“Smoke and mist are rather vulgar,” she replied as though the sentiment hadn’t stung. “I prefer the shadow form. It is graceful and elegant.”

“Okay. She turns into wispy elegant shadows and stinky, vulgar smoke and mist and attacks us but we can’t hit her back.”

“That is accurate.”

“Figures.” Mickey closed his eyes and sniffed the air. “There’s only one other vampire in this place, and she’s up those stairs.” He took a step toward the staircase, but Lucifera placed a hand on his arm.

His gaze fixed on her hand. She wanted him to look her in the eye, but she knew he couldn’t. Not after what had happened.

“Mickey, you need to shift for this fight. It will take your full power to defeat Agnes.”

“You must be confused. I’m the crazy one, not you. Don’t you remember what happened the last time I shifted around you? I almost—”

“But you did not. I live.”

“Barely,” he growled.

“Clouds obscure the moon tonight. You will have more control. Direct your rage at our enemy.”

“You got a plan on how to fight a vampire lord we can’t even touch?”

“I do.”

“Care to share it?”

She smiled. “No.”

For an instant, his eyes met hers and a smile flashed across his face. He grabbed her hand and hastily kissed it. He released her hand and leapt up the first ten steps of the long staircase.

“Stay behind me until I see her.” His words were already deep and guttural and mixed with the snarl of the beast.

Black fur shot down his bare arms. His shoulders swelled and contorted as bones broke and remade themselves longer and thicker. He kicked the stairs as his feet morphed into massive clawed paws. With a roar, he ripped away the remnants of his tattered pants, revealing a bushy black tail. The werewolf stood to its full seven and a half foot height and howled.

Lucifera waited at the bottom of the stairs with sword in hand.

The monster slowly turned its head back to look at her. There was no recognition in the two glowing crimson eyes.

She gripped the sword a little tighter.

The beast sniffed and cocked its head to the side. Then it turned back and climbed the stairs. Lucifera knew it lusted for battle, and the more powerful opponent was waiting for them behind the door.

Lucifera rushed after him. Though she had lost much of her strength, she still had her supernatural speed. When the beast crashed through the door, she was right behind him.

The door exploded into the night air. A lush green garden with white marble columns and exotic plants covered the top of the house. It had been invisible from the grounds below.

A tall, thin woman stood at the edge gazing at the clouded skies. Her black trench coat and black leather attire had no place in the Chihuahua Dessert.

“I knew you’d come for me first, Lucifera.” She kept looking out over the balcony as she spoke.

“Did you?”

She turned to Lucifera, revealing the face of a woman barely out of her teens. “Yes. You are so very predictable.”

“Perhaps you are right, Agnes. Let us ask him.” Lucifera turned to the snarling werewolf. “Do you find me predictable?”

The monster ignored the question, instead stepping forward to roar a challenge at the youthful-looking master vampire, Agnes.

She turned away and frowned. “Oh God. They said you had a werewolf, but hearsay and seeing it with one’s own eyes are two different things. That is so very revolting.”

Mickey leapt toward her, his massive claws reaching for her thin neck. Instead of dodging the oncoming attack, Agnes stepped toward the werewolf.

The werewolf let out a satisfied growl as his momentum carried him into her. Claws pushed into her throat. Then they pushed through the other side. The werewolf’s face passed directly through Agnes’s face. Every part of her he touched became a dark mist.

The werewolf passed through her and landed on the ground in a crouch. Behind him, the dark mist gathered and reformed into Agnes.

“That was so very pathetic,” she chided. “Allow me to show you how a true vampire lord fights.” Throughout the entire exchange, Agnes kept her hands hidden at her sides. Now, she held them up for all to see. An unnatural, four-inch-long black talon protruded from the top of each finger.

Her form shook, then exploded into a dark gray mass of smoke. The mass enveloped the werewolf, who slashed repeatedly at the substance to no effect.

Agnes cackled with delight in between the werewolf’s savage strikes. Her own claws took form and slashed at the monster’s throat and chest. The slashes continued as the werewolf’s berserk attacks grew even more unfocused and wild. Blood from the various wounds dripped down his body. She kept up the vicious attack for a full minute.

Her smoky form swirled around the werewolf and her disappearing and reappearing hands struck him from every angle. As she prepared to land another blow on the werewolf, a bloody hand caught her intangible wrist and held her in place.

Agnes’s body reformed into its original shape and she glared at her arm. A smiling Lucifera gripped her wrist.

“Do you still find me predictable?” Lucifera asked.

Agnes screamed in fury.

The werewolf raked claws covered with his own blood down Agnes’s back, tearing four thick gashes through her coat and the flesh beneath.

She screamed again, this time in pain, and ripped her arm free from Lucifera’s grasp. “I am untouchable!”

“Are you?” Lucifera asked.

The werewolf lunged at her again. This time, Agnes was prepared. She grasped one of his outstretched hands and used her supernatural strength and his own momentum to throw him over the edge of the balcony and into the rocks three stories below.

“They say fighting the mighty Lucifera and her werewolf together is a sure death sentence. I won’t make that mistake twice.”

Lucifera smiled and offered no reply.

Agnes became a swirling cloud of black smoke and moved toward Lucifera. “I don’t know how you were able to touch me, but it won’t happen again. I will kill you now.”

Lucifera delivered a lightning fast punch to the center of the swirling cloud. Agnes reformed and landed on her back clutching her bloodied face.

She scrambled backward on the floor as Lucifera stalked toward her. “How?”

Lucifera held up her left hand. It was covered in Mickey’s blood.

Fear crept into Agnes’s face as Lucifera approached.

“When was the last time you were struck, Agnes?”

“You know damned well, you bitch. Before I took the first seat.”

“And who was it that delivered the blow?”

“You,” she whispered. Then she dissipated into smoke and drifted to the edge of the roof.

Lucifera wiped her bloody hand on the blade of her sword and thrust it into the smoke.

Agnes reformed and looked down at her chest to find Lucifera’s blade protruding from her heart.

“I take back what I said,” she gasped, “about you being predictable.”

Lucifera twisted the sword and jerked it to the right, cutting Agnes’s heart into three pieces.

She fell to her knees, paralyzed but still conscious. Lucifera left the sword embedded in her back and knelt behind her, brushing the blonde hair off the side of her neck.

“I am far more valuable to you alive,” Agnes groaned. “I know what awaits you. Ruprecht is coming. He knows what lies in your vault.”

“I am aware that your maker follows the breadcrumb trail I have left behind. You have, however, piqued my interest. How would Ruprecht know of the contents of my vault?”

Lucifera bit into her throat with white, razor sharp fangs. Agnes may have been the weakest of the vampire lords, but Lucifera grew drunk from the power in her blood. She put her arms around Agnes, embracing her as she drank.

The vampire’s memories poured into her. She observed with mild interest the training she had received from Ruprecht the Horror in the art of becoming shadow, smoke, and mist. The faces of countless victims passed by. Her quick ascension to lord status followed suit. Just before Lucifera finished draining her blood, a familiar face appeared.

Lucifera released Agnes from the embrace and removed her sword, shoving her to the floor. “Stanislaus?”

Agnes struggled to push herself up, but she lacked the strength and collapsed onto her back. “You can’t be angry about that. It has been centuries.”

Green fire burned in her eyes as Lucifera swung her sword and lopped Agnes’s head off.

The door to the roof crashed open again. A bloody, furious werewolf burst forth.

“Wolf,” she said, “it is over.”

The werewolf stalked over and sniffed the decapitated body. The beast stood and held its nose high, sniffing the night air. Its eyes turned to Lucifera’s sword. It sniffed again. Then it growled.

“Yes, your blood is on the blade, but it was Agnes’s talons that wounded you. Shift back, my wolf. We have a long journey ahead of us and we need to speak before we go.”

It took a step toward her and crouched down with claws and fangs bared.

Lucifera looked up. The moon was visible through a break in the clouds. “Most inconvenient,” she said.

The werewolf leapt toward her with claws outstretched.

She grasped one of its claws and pressed the blade of the sword under its jaw line as it slammed her against the wall.

“Wolf,” she said, “it is finished. Come back to me.”

The werewolf snarled and snapped its jaws an inch from her face. Its strength was too much for her.

“Mickey … please.”

At that instant, the moon returned behind the cover of clouds and some of the red fire in the werewolf’s eyes faded. It looked down and saw its left claws buried in the flesh of her arm. The monster whined and stepped back, releasing the vampire.

He let out a howl as his form shrank. Fur receded. Bones cracked and muscle ripped as he returned to his human shape.

He stood naked before her with his eyes wide and hand outstretched toward her injured arm. “Lucifera,” he said.

“I am fine, wolf.”

“I would have killed you.”

“Do you really believe I am so easy to kill?”

He reached up and stroked the side of her cheek. Lucifera closed her eyes for a moment. It was the first time he had touched her like that in weeks.

He withdrew his hand and headed down the stairs. “I gotta find some clothes.”

Lucifera looked down and picked up Agnes’s head. She considered coring out her eyes with the sword for good measure but decided against it. There was no need to be petty. She tossed the head over the side of the roof and followed Mickey down the stairs.

Mickey found a pair of jeans his size and a new pair of boots. He tossed on a tank top and retrieved his ancient leather jacket from the coffin he had left outside the front gate.

“Do you still have your cell phone?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I want you to call your old friend, Richaud. Tell him we need a favor.”

Mickey grimaced. “Richaud? I already owe him too much. Do you know what he does when someone owes him and doesn’t pay their debt right away? He has me repay a little bit of my debt by ripping them to tiny pieces.” The werewolf stroked a sideburn, deep in thought. “I wonder who he calls when I’m not around?”

“There will be no issues with Richaud,” Lucifera said. “Tell him we require transportation to Los Angeles. Also, he will go to the Romana Tower and assist Nash. The other lords will make a move against it soon. Then, he is to consider all your debts forgiven. If he will do these things, tell him his debt to me is repaid and he can have what he desires from my vault.”

“He owes you?”

“Yes.”

Mickey shrugged and dialed the number for Richaud.

He stepped away from Lucifera and pressed the phone against his ear. “Hey, Richaud. What’s shaking?”

The voice on the other end was barely audible, but Lucifera heard him laugh before reminding Mickey of his obligations.

“Yeah, about that. I got a counter offer for you. Send somebody to pick me and Lucy up in Espada, Mexico and give us a ride to LA. You take your happy French ass to the Romana Tower and help a vampire named Nash defend the place until we get there. Wipe my slate clean. In return,” Mickey took a deep breath, “Lucy says your debt to her is repaid and you can have, uh, that thing you want from her vault.”

The voice spoke two more sentences and hung up. Mickey turned back to Lucifera looking more confused than usual. “He said it’s a deal. Someone will find us tomorrow afternoon in Espada.”

“Good,” Lucifera said. “Nash will still need assistance. Perhaps you should also call your cousin Lily. I like her.”

“The feeling ain’t mutual. Why would Lily help you?”

“For the same reason the vampire lords will move against my tower. Lily wishes to prevent anyone from finding and using the tomb of Dracula. In my vault on the thirteenth floor, I possess the journal of Dracula. She is welcome to it.”

“Wait, does that mean you lied all that time when everybody thought they found the tomb a while back?”

“There was no need to lie. No one asked me if I knew where Dracula was.” Her smile grew. “I do.”

* * * * *

Two hours later, Ruprecht the horror strode into Agnes’s estate like Odysseus returning from his journey. The house had been his gift to her.

Two dozen dead vampires littered the grounds. Ruprecht had never seen the use in having guards. They caused more bother when they died, leaving a mess to be cleaned up.

Agnes’s head had been sitting in the grass when he arrived. He had hoped his creation would survive, but these things happened. What he found troubling was that there was no sign how Lucifera had done it.

A few paces away on the front porch, a lone survivor twitched and bled with a broken neck. Ruprecht knelt down by the vampire.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

Carlos stared wide-eyed at him, unable to speak or move from his injuries.

“I am Ruprecht, soon to be the thirteenth vampire lord. I am Agnes’s maker. Her minions did you the disservice of incomplete vampirization.” He shook his head. “Dreadful. It’s like they wanted you to die at the first hint of trouble. That or they were too weak to turn you properly.”

Ruprecht snapped his fingers. A trickle of blood trailed down his hand. He held his dripping index finger over Carlos’s mouth. A few drops of blood landed on his lips.

Carlos licked away the blood and Ruprecht replaced it with three more drops.

The young vampire’s broken jaw reset with a wet pop and his neck returned to a natural angle with an even louder pop.

“Jesus H., man,” he gasped. “You’ve got to give me more.”

“In good time, my son. For now, keep your lips closed tight and let me pontificate.” Ruprecht stood and glanced around the front of the house. “From the stench coming from inside the house, I wager that the werewolf shifted in there.”

“I—” Before Carlos could complete the thought, a glare from Ruprecht silenced him.

“Lucifera’s handiwork is all over the area out back. If one is of a weak mind or has had the misfortune to lose some of his blood to her, she will play with their thoughts, then destroy their body.”

He picked up Agnes’s head and caressed her cheek. “I knew she might defeat my Agnes, but I did not think she would kill her. It’s possible that I am wrong about her intentions.” He kissed the head on the lips, then tossed it aside. “You know what distresses me, Carlos?”

Carlos shook his head.

“What distresses me is that I cannot tell how she did it. I figured Lucifera would use holy water to fight Agnes, but she didn’t. She didn’t use fire to force her to become corporeal either.” He turned back to Carlos. “I don’t suppose you saw anything did you?”

The vampire shook his head again. “No, man. I heard that werewolf roar from the roof. There was a struggle, then it landed on the ground over there. While it was heading back up to the roof, I felt Agnes die.”

“Curiouser and curiouser. So the beast did not do it either. Lucifera found a way. She’s always been annoying like that.”

Carlos stood and flexed his arms and legs with a smile. “Shit. I feel like a million bucks.”

“I know. Play your cards right and I might make you a vampire lord yourself when this is over, my son.”

“Whoa. You can do that?”

“If things go the way I expect, then I can and will do just that, as it will be within my power and authority.”

Ruprecht closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, searching for Lucifera. He felt her power a few miles to the east. He reeled in his own power so she did not sense him.

“They are close, but there is no need to rush this. Lucifera must be allowed to play her part. I don’t want to move prematurely.” He patted Carlos on the shoulder. “Come on, then. Let me show you to the master crypt. We’ll need a good day’s sleep before we set out.”

Carlos followed him through the broken front door. “Hey, Ruprecht, I gotta ask, why do they call you the horror?”

Ruprecht spun around with a smile and outstretched his arms. “Good show, my son. I thought you’d never ask.” He rose from the floor and a thick black seam appeared in the air behind him. “Tell me, Carlos: What do you fear the most?”

The Thirteenth Lord - Chapter 3

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 31 May 2016 04:41:00 +0000

The Thirteenth Lord

M.T. Murphy
Copyright 2015

Chapter 3 - Precautions

“Is all this really necessary?” Carlos had been a vampire for less than a week and as far as he knew, his kind was immortal. The precautions being taken seemed ridiculous.

“We’re doing what we have to do, given the circumstances.” Oswald was one of the oldest vampires in the coven. His demeanor was even more sour than usual.

“What do you mean? I thought we were untouchable or whatever.”

Oswald let out an exasperated sigh. “No, fool. Our mistress is the vampire lord, Agnes, the Untouchable—so called because of her power.”

“Don’t get all pissy. And why is she called ‘lord’ and not ‘lady’?”

“You try my patience, fool,” Oswald replied.

“Okay, okay.” He scanned the vast, rocky area in the front of the house. Twelve powerful vampires lurked somewhere out there, undetected even by Carlos’s supernatural eyes.

“Just stay alert,” Oswald said. “You have the gun. Be ready to use it.”

“Yeah. About that…” He lifted shotgun from its resting place against the front door.

“What now?”

“I thought guns were useless against vampires?”

Oswald’s eyes darted toward a sound. A dry leaf tumbled across the ground, propelled by a dusty wind. Oswald turned back to Carlos. “There is only one vampire we are guarding against, and the gun is not for her. It is for her monster.”

Carlos hissed, still getting used to the elongated fangs. “Just for fun, pretend like I became a vampire last week and tell me what the hell is going on already, asshole.”

The older vampire locked his hand around Carlos’s neck and slammed him against the wall. “Do not think that your presence here is wanted or required, whelp. We turned you so you might be of use to us. The sole reason you still exist is to serve Agnes.”

“If I understand what’s coming,” he gasped, “I can do a better job of that.”

Oswald turned his head to check another sound, releasing Carlos as he did so. “Lucifera Romana,” he said.

“One of the oldest and most powerful vampires. Master Felipe de Amor of Mexico City alerted us to her actions. She killed four master vampires and declared war on the elders and lords.”

Carlos coughed and rubbed his bruised neck. “She’s not a vampire lord, though, right?”

“They say the elders offered her the title of lord many times, but she declined. She has a problem with authority.”

Carlos laughed.

Oswald glared at him with glowing yellow eyes. The younger vampire stifled his laugh. “Sorry, man. I thought you were joking.”

“It is said she keeps a werewolf as a pet.” Oswald hissed and spit into the dirt in front of the deck.

“So? Werewolves are bad?”

“Yes.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No. That shotgun has six silver fragment filled cartridges. If there is a werewolf, wait until it gets as close as possible, then shoot it in between the eyes. When it falls, shoot it again. Keep shooting it until one of us cuts its head off.”

“How are you going to do that?”

Oswald answered by unsheathing a three-foot long, silver bladed machete.

“Aw man. That’s badass. When do I get one of those?”

Oswald replaced the weapon in its case. “You don’t.”

Before Carlos could reply, an earthy, canine scent assailed him. “What the hell is that smell?”

“Guard this door. If you move from this spot, I will kill you myself.” Oswald rushed into the darkness.

Carlos tried to follow his movements, but he disappeared behind the rocks and trees. Carlos comforted himself by gripping the shotgun and resting his finger on the trigger. Nothing could survive a shotgun blast to the face. Silver shards or regular old lead pellets wouldn’t matter.

There was a half-mile of rocky terrain down the side of the mountain between the house and the electrified wall, and a full mile in the back. Oswald was just paranoid. There were thirty vampires patrolling the grounds. If anybody tried to pay them a visit, they’d never make it ten feet past the wall.

A scream pierced the darkness. Carlos backed up against the door. He recognized the voice. It was George. He was even older than Oswald.

Another scream rang out, this one coming from down the mountain behind the house.

Carlos strained his eyes to see what was going on in the front. He saw the blur of movement that could be three or more of his coven mates converging on the first scream. They disappeared behind the massive boulder that sat about a hundred yards from the house.

Three successive shrieks sounded from behind the rock. This time, a low, guttural growl accompanied the screams. Silence followed.

Carlos realized he had been holding his breath for the past three minutes. He let the air out of his dead lungs and wished he hadn’t. The feral animal scent had grown even stronger.

A figure emerged from behind the boulder. Carlos expected to see Oswald brandishing the head of the intruder. Instead, a shirtless, shoeless, shaggy-haired man in a pair of torn old trousers clumsily trotted up the path. “Hello up there,” the man said.

There was something very wrong. Carlos’s vampire comrades gave off a bluish glow to his eyes because of their low body temperature, but the man down the hill seemed to glow red. He had to be running a temperature far higher than a normal person.

Carlos let the man take three steps, then he raised the shotgun and fired two quick shots.

The silver shards struck the ground harmlessly, well short of the man.

“Say, friend,” the man shouted, “if I might make a suggestion, you should save those until I get closer. My burning nose holes tell me you’re packing silver pellets. You’d be lucky to hit the side of a barn from this far away.”

Carlos cursed under his breath. The man was right. Judging from where they landed, he would have been better off throwing the cartridges down the hill.

The man sauntered up the rocky path. “Since we are talking, how many of them silver shells you got anyway? You probably don’t have very many. In fact, I bet you’re already out.”

“I got enough to solve all your problems, man.” Carlos knew he had replied a little too quickly. Where the hell were all the other vampires?

“Relax, friend. I’m just playing with you. I heard that silver bullets are hard to come by. My cousin, Lily, casts her own. Most of them that used to work with silver are dead.”

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

“How do you know that?”

“I suppose it’s because I killed them.” The stranger looked down and then lifted up a dark object. “I think this belonged to one of your mates.” He lobbed the thing toward Carlos. It soared high through the air and landed at Carlos’s feet.

The vampire knelt down to examine the object. It was Oswald’s bloody, severed head. “Shit!” He jumped back and slammed his back against the front door. He raised the shotgun and fired off three quick shots at the slowly advancing man.

The man sidestepped, easily avoiding the spray of silver pellets.

“Careful. If you manage to wing me with one of those pellets, all it will do is piss me off. I ain’t planning to kill you. You’re too weak. Don’t make me change my mind.”

Carlos lowered the gun but kept a tight grip on it. He wanted to shoot at the man, but from thirty yards he might be able to dodge it again. He’d have to wait for a point blank shot.

“I guess I killed about a dozen of your buddies.” He held up his bloody, clawed hands. “I figured they’d be tougher, what since they serve Abigail the Unmentionable or whatever.”

“It’s Agnes the Untouchable: vampire lord of the first seat.” Announcing his master’s name and station returned a little courage to Carlos.

The sadistic smile on the stranger’s face drove it right back out again.

“Sounds fancy. I’m sure you are a fine vampire lackey. My name’s Mickey by the way.” The so-called werewolf stopped ten paces away.

Carlos raised the shotgun and planted it firmly against his shoulder, sighting in on the stranger’s blood-stained, jagged canine teeth. “How the hell did you get past a dozen vampires and live?”

“I’m a werewolf. That means that any vampire who ain’t at least a thousand year old master is going to die if they run into me.”

“You’re a cocky cock, aren’t you?”

“Maybe, but that don’t make it untrue.”

Carlos’s instincts told him to run, but he kept his faith in the shotgun. He began to slowly tighten his finger against the trigger. “If you’re a werewolf, why aren’t you all furry and howling?”

“Your friends were so weak that it was a waste to go full furry for them.” He pointed up at the dark clouds covering the moon. “This is a light version of my wolfman shape. My full-on werewolf shape would probably make you shit yourself.” The man looked confused. “Do vampires shit? Never mind. Don’t answer that. As I was saying, these days the moon just about sends me over the edge. When she comes out, I wolf out and kill everything in sight.”

Carlos wanted to pull the trigger, but the werewolf had made it too easy. He had to have something up his sleeve.

“Oi, vampire guy. I can’t tell if you’re constipated or if you’re trying to decide whether or not to shoot me, so I’ll ask you a question. If your vampire master is a female, why is she called ‘lord’ and not ‘lady’?”

“I don’t know, man. I think they are all called lords. Even the females.”

The werewolf stroked a sideburn and gazed up at the sky. “Weird. I wonder if it’s because—”

Carlos blew the air out of his lungs and pulled the trigger. The werewolf’s smile grew a little bigger the instant before the shot rang out.

He had heard his breath.

The stranger rolled to the side and the last silver shards flew harmlessly past him into the night. He advanced toward Carlos, sniffing the air as he went. “So, that was your last one eh?”

“You think so?” Carlos kept the empty gun sighted on his head.

Mickey tapped the side of his nose. “The nose knows. Get it? It’s a pun. Puns are fun.” He laughed maniacally as the clouds that had covered the moon slowly began to dissipate. “I know the stench of silver and it’s all down the hill behind me. This is going to hurt you. A lot.”

Before Carlos could react, the stranger rushed toward him and punched him in the side of the head with a savage right. Carlos’s head twisted to the side to with a deep crunch. He slammed against the side of the house, then fell to the floor, paralyzed.

Mickey knelt down and turned Carlos’s head so he could look at his face. The vampire groaned in agony.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here. Yep. Looks like I broke your jaw and crushed your left sinus cavity. Pay attention to where those teeth landed. If you can gather them up later, you might be able to put them back in. Oh yeah, most importantly, I just broke your neck. Don’t worry, I left your head attached, so you aren’t completely dead yet. You might heal up enough to move in a few hours. I may need you alive, but I ain’t sure yet. I’ll get back to you later.”

Carlos tried to speak, but blood filled his open mouth and his dislocated jaw creaked. The werewolf’s smiling face faded into the darkness as he lost consciousness.

tried to speak, but blood filled his open mouth and his dislocated jaw creaked. The werewolf’s smiling face faded into the darkness as he lost conscious

The Thirteenth Lord - Chapter 2

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Fri, 08 Apr 2016 03:56:00 +0000

The Thirteenth Lord

M.T. Murphy
Copyright 2015

Chapter 2 - Ruprecht

“Crazy looking sideburns?” Joseph knew he was hesitating way more than he should. “No. Doesn’t ring a bell, mister. Sorry.”

The customer, who said his name was Ruprecht, smiled and shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

Joseph held his breath. The man Ruprecht was looking for was unforgettable. The red-eyed freak left a hundred dollar bill as a tip with the explicit instruction not to mention him to anyone. Ever.

Ruprecht seemed like an honest guy. A nice guy. He was fortyish, with sandy brown hair that was stylishly arranged, but almost due for a trim. Not dashingly handsome, but not homely either. His distinguishing feature was a British accent, which instantly made him stand out like James Bond in the downtown El Paso restaurant.

“Help me out, here, Joseph. I rarely smoke cigars, but I’m in a victorious mood this eve. What’s good?”

Joseph pointed to the Davidoff Aniversario specials on the cigar menu. “If you only smoke one cigar, I’d go with this one. It’s our most expensive cigar, but it’s worth it.”

Ruprecht leaned forward, handing the menu over. “Would you steer me wrong, my son?”

Joseph laughed. “I guarantee it will be the best cigar you smoke all year.”

Ruprecht nodded. “All right then. I trust you. Bring me one.”

He retrieved the cigar from the humidor in the back and helped Ruprecht trim the end and light it.

The man let out a coughing laugh. “That is good. How much do I owe you?”

“Twenty seven after tax.”

Ruprecht placed the twenty seven dollars on the table.

Joseph gathered up the cash. “Thank you, sir.”

“Wait a moment.” Ruprecht placed a hundred dollar bill on the table and took a slow drag off the cigar. “I have a question for you, my son.”

Joseph’s eyes locked onto the bill. “I’m listening.”

“Do you remember,” Ruprecht placed another hundred on the table, “the man with ridiculous sideburns,” and another, “red eyes that almost seem to glow,” and another, “and jagged, pointy teeth?” A fifth hundred joined the stack. “Please, take your time if you need to.” The man rested his hand on top of the money.

Joseph let out the breath he’d been holding. He placed his fingertips on the edge of the stack of bills. “Maybe I was mistaken when I said I hadn’t seen him.”

Ruprecht smiled and removed his hand.

Joseph snatched up the cash and stuffed it into his pocket. “Look, I didn’t want to say anything, but that guy was crazy. He smoked half a box of Rembrandts Irish cigarillos and drank us out of Irish whiskey and Scotch. When I told him we were out, I swear it looked like his eyes were glowing red and his teeth got a little longer. I think he would have killed me if we’d been out back in the alley or something.”

Ruprecht nodded. “Was there a woman with him? Concentrate. She will have made it difficult for you remember her.”

“I don’t think so.” Joseph gasped as the memory popped back into his head. “Wait a minute. Yeah. There was a woman. Gorgeous one. Pale, with black hair. Jesus. How did I forget her?”

“It’s all right. She has that effect on people.”

“But how did she do that?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“Joseph!” Ruprecht snapped. His own eyes flashed with golden light, but returned to normal an instant later. He calmed himself and spoke again. “Joseph, I need you to concentrate.”

“Who the hell are they?” Joseph asked, his voice growing weak.

Ruprecht leaned forward and Joseph also moved in closer. “The less you know, the better, but unless I catch up to them soon, people will die.”

“Shit.”

“Where are they going?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t say.”

“She bit you, I see.”

“What?”

Ruprecht grasped his forearm, stroking two barely visible marks with his thumb. “I doubt you remember yet, but I see the mark. It heals remarkably fast when they let you live. She left an image in your mind for me.”

Joseph closed his eyes and his world shook like he was on a ship in the middle of a storm. A memory of a house in the desert came to him. It was a house he had never been to or seen. He opened his eyes and found Ruprecht with his eyes closed, resting his face on the two marks on his arm. He snatched his arm away. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you need to leave.”

Ruprecht smiled. “My apologies, Joseph. You have done a good thing, my son. Your sacrifice will be well worth it.”

Joseph stood up straight. “Sacrifice?”

Ruprecht waved his hand as if to brush away the word. “Forget I said that.”

Joseph’s eyes glazed over for a moment, then he replied. “Okay.”

“Good. Joseph, I feel like you and I have become old chums in the time we have spent together, tonight. Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I guess.”

“What do you fear the most?”

Joseph opened his mouth, but no words came forth. His eyes met Ruprecht’s and his will to speak disappeared. The two fiery discs stole his will. A presence violated his mind, turning over memories and pilfering every thought he held sacred. He wanted to scream, but his body was paralyzed. Instead, his mind screamed for him: “I don’t want to be alone.”

Then it was over. He blinked and looked around. The restaurant crowd laughed and ate. If anything out of the ordinary had happened, they hadn’t seen it. Ruprecht finished his cigar and placed the cash for his untouched drinks on the table.

Joseph felt like he had been talking to Ruprecht for quite some time, but he couldn’t recall a single word.

“Um…how was everything?”

“Excellent,” Ruprecht replied with a smile. “Take care of yourself, Joseph.”

“You too. See you next time.” Deep inside, a voice was screaming in Joseph’s head. He was not sorry to see the man go.

Ruprecht crushed out the cigar and left.

Joseph refilled the drinks for one table full of guests, then recited the evening’s specials for a newly seated group.

Ruprecht stood in the darkness next to a dumpster behind the restaurant. He reached his arms out to the side, forming a lazy “T” shape. “You deserve better than this, Joseph. I’d have rather you lived, but I can’t have any loose ends.” His form became transparent as he rose a few inches off the ground.

A black seam split down the air behind him. The seam widened, becoming a circular door. Dark, scaly tendrils reached through, dancing like smoke in the darkness.

Ruprecht pointed into the air around the restaurant. Floating holes opened at the entrance and at each window. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a faint sound started. It was like the trickle of a small stream. The sound grew louder. Tentacles burst out of each opening, crashing through doors and windows.

Ruprecht ignored the screaming and confusion. His prize would come soon enough. In seconds, his patience was rewarded as the fear and horror of the dead and dying washed over him. He feasted on it as the nightmarish tentacles ripped and broke the flesh of those trapped inside.

In less than a minute, no living soul was left in the restaurant. A fire broke out in the kitchen. Soon it would spread and destroy most of the evidence before anyone realized something was wrong.

“That is enough,” Ruprecht said.

The dark gates narrowed. Tentacles quickly slithered back into their dark hell, dragging pieces of their grisly meal with them. Once the portals had closed, Ruprecht drifted back to the ground and became solid again.

He frowned at the blackish-red stains on the street outside the burning building. His pets had been sloppy.

Ruprecht was quite pleased to have received two very valuable things: one delicious meal of terror and a destination.

“Lucifera, I cannot wait to see you again,” he said to the empty alley. “And I must leave this dreadful town. It simply reeks of werewolf.”

The vampire lord known as Ruprecht the Horror strolled away to the west on the newfound trail of his targets.

The Thirteenth Lord - Chapter 1

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Thu, 10 Mar 2016 23:15:00 +0000

In the past month, I have received many emails, comments, and messages asking about book 3 of my Villainous series. I am both surprised and touched that so many of you actually care about what happens next for my anti-heroic vampire/werewolf duo and their dysfunctional family. I am still eyeballs deep in editing, but you all deserve better. Therefore, I present to you the entire first chapter of The Thirteenth Lord. Thank you all for your continued interest and patience.

The Thirteenth Lord

M.T. Murphy

CHAPTER ONE – What’s in the box?

Manny and Carl stood at the dead man’s feet.

“He looks like hobo Elvis,” Manny said.

The sun was directly overhead, keeping their shadows from touching the corpse. Hobo Elvis’s hair stopped just short of his shoulders, but his sideburns threatened to take over his jaw. He wore only jeans and boots, with a dress shirt tucked into the side pocket of his jeans.

“Don’t you think he looks like Elvis? Maybe if the King fell on hard times right after the ’68 comeback special. You remember that?” Manny lit a cigarette, not really interested in Carl’s reply.

“I wasn’t even born in that decade, gramps.”

“Of course you weren’t. Rub it in.” Manny knelt down to get a better look at Hobo Elvis. “That was a damn fine shot. Right in the heart.”

“I’ve been practicing.” Carl stroked his chest-length beard while twirling his 9mm pistol old west shooting show style. Then he dropped the gun into the dry Mexico sand.

“Keep practicing,” Manny said. He kicked the body just to be sure. “What the hell was he pulling?”

Carl shrugged. “Looks like one of those old timey wooden coffins you see in the movies.”

Manny walked around the corpse and tapped on the top of the coffin. “It’s wood but it feels like there’s iron underneath.” He picked up the thick chain Hobo Elvis had been pulling and gave it a tug. “Jesus. That thing weighs a ton. Give me a hand.”

Carl took hold of the chain. They both planted their feet in the sand and pulled. After much straining and profanity, the coffin had moved less than a foot.

Manny slammed the chain onto the coffin. “You saw what I saw, right? Elvis was dragging this thing like it was nothing.”

“Yeah,” Carl replied. “He just kept walking like he was in a trance or something. I told him to stop unless he wanted a bullet in the chest. Bastard winked at me. So, I shot him.” He tried to pull open the lid, but it would not budge. “It’s locked up tight. Seems like it’s sealed from the inside. How did they manage that?”

“Look,” Manny pointed into the distance. A four foot wide trench stretched across the desert and into the horizon behind the corpse.

“Elvis must have been on a whole cocktail of drugs or serious steroids.”

“Don’t matter now. ‘Roids didn’t stop the bullet. That box must have valuable cargo to be wrapped up so tight. Let’s pull the truck around and hook it up. We’ll drag it to town and open it there.”

They headed toward their truck.

“What do you think is in there?” Carl asked.

“Lucy,” a raspy voice replied.

Manny grabbed Carl’s arm. “What did you say?”

Carl held his pistol up. “I didn’t say that.”

They looked down at the corpse. The eyes were still closed, but his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

“Lucy’s in the box,” he whispered.

Manny slapped Carl on the back of the head. Then he let out a relieved sigh. “That scared the crap out of me. Shoot him again.”

Carl nodded and took careful aim, firing off two more shots into the stranger’s chest.

The man groaned and clutched his chest. “Cut that out, you arse,” he growled.

“Keep shooting till he’s dead,” Manny said.

Carl held up his empty gun. “I’m out. Practice takes bullets, man. We never see nobody out here. How was I to know I’d need more than three?”

“Fine,” Manny said, taking out the foot-long bowie knife that had earned him the nickname of “Manny the Blade.” “If I get blood on my boots, you’re buying me a new pair.”

Manny knelt down by the writhing stranger. Either the damage to his organs would kill him or he would bleed out in less than a minute. Manny waited, but the man kept breathing. With a resigned sigh, he stepped around and knelt down behind the man’s head, thrusting the knife toward his throat.

A hand shot up and engulfed the blade, stopping it an inch from its target.

Manny was no novice to fighting and killing, but the speed of the man’s movement startled him. He tried to pull the knife away, but the stranger tightened his grip, digging the blade deep into his own palm until it scraped bone.

The shaggy-haired man stopped groaning and clutching his gunshot wounds. He sat up and turned to face Manny. “I tried to be nice,” the man snarled with more than a hint of an Irish brogue.

Manny punched him in the face as hard as he could.

The man recoiled with the blow, then spoke as though he hadn’t even felt it. “I let ZZ Top over there shoot me once. That was a freebee. Then, he shot me two more Goddamn times. I still might have let you live. I would have let you drag the coffin for a bit if you were going the right direction and then taken it from you later. But you,” he pointed a sharp nailed finger at Manny, “were going to slit my throat.” He shook his head in disgust. “That’s sloppy and unprofessional.”

Manny let go of the knife and sprinted for the old pickup truck. Carl joined in, racing for the passenger side.

Manny grabbed the door handle. At that instant, the knife flew, end-over-end, impaling Manny’s hand into the rusty metal body of the truck. He screamed and pulled on the handle but the blade wouldn’t move.

Carl tried to run but the shaggy-haired man moved faster than a human being should have been able to move and blocked his path.

“That’s a lovely beard you’ve got there,” the stranger said, “but it ain’t going to save you.”

Carl pulled his own knife and held it up in front of the stranger’s face. “Back off” he said.

“No,” the stranger replied.

Carl stabbed the man, pushing the knife’s blade into the side of his chest just below his heart.

The stranger did not flinch. Ignoring the knife, he reached out and grabbed Carl’s head with both hands and twisted it, breaking his neck with a sickening pop.

Manny fought back nausea and pulled on the knife with all his might. He heard Carl’s body hit the sand. Then he heard the stranger’s footsteps drawing closer.

The blade broke free from the truck. Manny groaned as it cut his flesh upon removal. He spun to face the stranger.

The man calmly pulled Carl’s knife out of the side of his chest and dropped it.

Manny brandished his knife again, pointing it at the stranger’s eye. “What the hell are you?” he asked.

The stranger raised a hand and pointed his index finger to the sky. An already jagged fingernail grew into an inch-long talon.

The stranger’s lips pulled back into a smile, displaying massive canine fangs. He peered at Manny with eyes of glowing crimson. “What am I? Nothing special,” he replied. “Just a werewolf.”

“Well, you are crazy, I’ll give you that,” Manny said.

The stranger chuckled.

Manny slashed at the stranger’s throat.

The shaggy-haired man waved his finger toward Manny at the same time. The talon on his finger ripped through Manny’s throat, cutting short his swing.

Manny fell to his knees as his life drained down his chest. As darkness overtook his vision, he watched the shaggy-haired man lick the blood from his nail, pick up the heavy chain, and resume his trek to the east.

Manny died, silently cursing himself for not tripping Carl and escaping in the truck when he had the chance.

* * * * *

Moments before sundown, the shaggy-haired man arrived at his destination with the coffin in tow. A palatial mansion sat atop a plateau in the middle of Mexico’s Chihuahua Desert. A fifteen foot tall electrified fence separated the mansion grounds from the rest of the desert.

He sat down next to the coffin and gently patted the lid.

“Here we are, Lucy. One compound in the middle of fucking nowhere, just as you requested. It would be nice to know why the hell we’re doing this.”

The coffin was as silent as it had been during the rest of the fifty mile journey from El Infierno. She would awaken soon. He longed for the moment almost as much as he dreaded it.

The waxing gibbous moon taunted him, making its presence known in the eastern sky long before true sunset.

His attackers had helped stave off the craving. The urge to hunt and kill was less intense, but that wouldn’t last. When the moon was high that night, he knew the beast would want worthy prey. It had little interest in weaklings.

That was the problem. The vampire in the box was one of the most feared on the planet. The beast wanted very much to fight and kill her. What a glorious battle it would be. The beast did not care that this vampire had kept it from going insane over the centuries like most other packless werewolves.

“No,” he said aloud. “There is no ‘me and the beast.’ I am the beast. And I am in control.” He said it in a forceful tone as if to convince someone, but the only ears around were his own.

The sun fell lower against the horizon. Night was about to arrive.

“Lucy,” he said. “It’s getting worse. I can’t control meself during a half moon. What will happen when she’s full?”

Only a sliver of the fiery sun remained visible. The man ran his fingers through dark, shaggy hair and kept his eyes closed. He did not want to see the end of the light that kept his shining tormentor in check.

The sun disappeared and his brief respite of lucidity slipped away.

The coffin opened with a soft click. An alabaster hand grasped the edge from the inside. A pale form poured out of the box and rose next to the trembling werewolf. She wore her black hair pulled up so it cascaded around her face much as it had in her human life in ancient Rome. The dress was pure modern day Hollywood: a tight, black, sleeveless affair with a slit that began at the middle of her left thigh. Her form was too athletic to be mistaken for Hollywood starlet, but she was far too beautiful to care.

Lucifera Romana, the nineteen century old master vampire of Los Angeles, arrived in the waning twilight the same way she arrived anywhere else: like she was the queen of all she surveyed.

Her beauty stirred up memories in the werewolf. For two and a half centuries they existed as the most feared pair of monsters on the planet, due as much to their own power as their forbidden pairing of werewolf and vampire. Two months earlier, a rival stole most of her power. She prevailed, but her newfound weakness revealed the flaw in their pairing. Their happiness had been based on her lust for his blood and vampire ability to suppress the natural deterioration of his mind from man to beast. She could no longer heal his mind.

From over her shoulder, her companion glimpsed the shining moon. Memories washed away, leaving him consumed by the desire to hunt and kill. The prey no longer mattered. The vampiress before him was as good a choice as any.

“Did you say something, wolf?” she asked.

Her melodious voice strengthened his resolve just enough to keep the beast caged.

“No,” he growled. Then, he pointed toward the mansion. “Let’s go. We’re here to kill vampires, ain’t we?”

She smiled and reached out for his face. He turned away. In the corner of his eye, he saw her smile fade.

“If any oppose us, we kill them, but we are not here for ordinary vampires,” she said. “We are here for a vampire lord.”

Spiders Are Jerks

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Sat, 20 Jun 2015 04:43:00 +0000

There are two things you need to know. First, I built a pirate ship in the backyard. The why is not important. Consider it a promise kept.

The second: I am deathly afraid of spiders. As in, screaming like Bruce Campbell in the windmill in Army of Darkness level phobia.

The sky is clear and it’s a breezy eighty degrees, so tonight seemed like a good night to sit out on the old pirate ship, drink cheap rum, and look at the stars. I started on the rum ahead of time and headed out to the ship when it was nice and dark.

The stars were nice and bright. Crickets chirped. A bat buzzed by overhead, which was pretty cool.

I strolled up the gangplank of the ship and paused. Something wasn’t right. Flicking on the flashlight, I saw the first one and my blood ran cold.

A little gray bastard lounged in a beautiful spiral web of death, right across the entrance to the ship. I tried to swipe away the edge of the web so it would blow away, but he had secured it well and it didn’t budge.

The tiny beast smelled my fear and laughed at me.

“Fine,” I said, moving around to the other side of the ship. “I’ll hop up over here and head up to the poop deck.”

“Heh, heh. Poop deck,” the spider said.

“It’s the second level where the steering wheel is you jerk,” I said.

He kept laughing and pointed to the spot where I was about to climb up on the ship.

I shined the light up to see the spider’s partner six inches from my face in an even bigger web.

“Bastards,” I cried, stepping back.

The spiders nodded knowingly at each other and began ignoring me.

My hand found the hardened wooden fighting escrima I’d tucked into my belt. Not sure why I brought it. I took lessons in stick fighting years ago and it just seems right to carry a weapon when you enter a pirate ship. The rum may have played a role.

No. That’s not it. Somehow I knew the spiders would be waiting.

Two swings of the stick is all it would take. Then I could enjoy my cheap rum and cranberry concoction in peace.

I shined the light to aim my strike. That’s when I saw them: A menagerie of mosquitoes and gnats trapped in the web and waiting to be devoured.

Something else occurred to me. I had not been bitten by a mosquito during my rum-laden spider confrontation. Not once. The little monsters were actually doing something productive.

I shined the light back to spider #2. He covered his eight condescending eyes and gave me the finger. The effort this required was not lost on me as spiders do not actually have fingers.

“Fine,” I said, then downed my drink. I stood outside the ship in the sea of green and watched the stars for a while.

I raised my empty glass to the spiders. “Tonight I let you live, but tomorrow you die.”

The spider spit a fly leg at me. “You’re lucky you’re too big to digest.”

“Your mother was a hamster,” spider #1 said.

“Don’t you quote Monty Python at me,” I replied.

They were still reciting the French castle scene from Holy Grail as I made it into the house.

I sat down on the couch and switched from cheap rum to expensive Scotch.

Spiders aren’t jerks. They are assholes. But, sometimes they serve a purpose.

Ramblings on the Batman

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Thu, 18 Jun 2015 04:51:00 +0000

Just finished watching The Dark Knight again. Still haven't watched Dark Knight Rises because I don't need to. This movie is perfect. The Joker is perfect.

But ... our kids can't watch this movie until they are a lot older and that makes me sad. It is just too dark. Too scary. Too ... adult.

As a kid, I grew up watching Batman and Robin on the Superfriends and reruns of Adam West's Batman. They, too, were perfect at the time.

1989 brought Beetlejuice as the Batman everyone deserved. And it was perfect. Our kiddos have seen that one and the sequels -- even the god awful ones -- and loved them all.

I haven't watched Man of Steel. I am one of the three people on the planet who isn't frothing at the mouth for Batman v Superman.

You know what movie I'm looking forward to? Ant-Man. You want to know why? Because the kids saw the trailer before Avengers 2 and decided they want to see it.

It's a comic book movie that doesn't alienate the kids comic books used to be made for. Thanks, Marvel.

Maybe one day there will be a new Superman or Batman movie our kids can enjoy. By then, they will probably be taking their kids to it.

Book 3 is on its way!

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Thu, 08 Jan 2015 05:28:00 +0000

*****EDIT -- No longer looking for beta readers. Thanks to all who provided feedback! I will let you know when the book is ready. *****

For those of you who remember my dastardly duo of Lucifera and Mickey, I have some news. The third book in my Villainous series, The Thirteenth Lord, is nearing completion! The first draft is done and getting eyeballed by a select group of masochists kind enough to volunteer their services as beta readers.

For that matter, if you ... yes, YOU ... would like to beta read book 3 and help me iron out the story line kinks, comment on this post or send me an email at authormikemurphy (at) gmail (dot) com.

If you haven't read the first two books but still want to beta read for book 3, I will provide digital copies of all three because I am such a nice guy.

That's not true. It's really because being an unpaid beta reader is not as glamorous as it sounds and I greatly appreciate anyone who is willing to do that.

Book 3 will mark the end of this trilogy, but not the end for the Villainous universe or the characters who inhabit it. Well ... those who survive Book 3 at least.

Thank you to everyone who has read my books, long-neglected blog, twitter, and facebook ramblings!

More to come.

Mike

Prelude

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Sat, 27 Jul 2013 07:48:00 +0000

It was the night of the first full moon since their bond had been severed and something was wrong.
No. Not wrong.
Different.

They fought, but that wasn't unusual. Their bond was based upon their mutual inability to properly kill each other, which is actually far healthier than most relationships.

Before most of her power was stolen, she was stronger and faster than he was. One ancient relic, a brainwashed priest, and a devious rival later and she was left no more powerful than a newly turned vampire.

But, she was far from helpless. The werewolf was stronger and faster, so she had to use weapons and cunning, but the result was the same--their fights still ended in a stalemate. Often a bloody, painful stalemate.

As was often the case with them, the fighting was quickly replaced with carnal pursuits. On this particular evening, it was Lucifera's resolve that broke first, and she sank her fangs into Mickey's neck to greedily sap up his powerful werewolf blood.

She immediately convulsed and spat it out on the ground.

He looked down where she sat. He wanted to ask her what happened, but a growl came out instead. He tried to reach out to help her, but his fingers lengthened into claws. He wanted to feel horrified at what was happening, but he didn't.

Somehow it felt right.

"Wolf?"

Her word still had some meaning to him. The beast cocked its head to the side. The vampiress seemed familiar to him, but even that was fading.

She picked up her sword and stood slowly.

The monster eyed her curved blade with amusement. It laughed, but an even deeper growl sounded.

"Mickey?" Her voice held little hope that it would even know the word.

She was right.

Guest Post at The Vampire Review: Scoundrels Are Cool

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 14:22:00 +0000

Han shot first.

With that statement, I reveal myself as the nerd that I am. So be it. I am a geek who prefers to see a character with a dark side.

Scoundrels are cool.

Real people aren’t all sunshine and roses, even though they may pretend to be. Everyone has both good and bad in them. Make-believe people should be the same way.

Take vampires for example.

(Read the rest at The Vampire Review!)

Big thanks to Tami Jackson of The Vampire Review for having me over to her blog! Check out Tami's debut title "Ravena & The Resurrected."

New novel: Lesser - Now available!

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Sat, 17 Sep 2011 04:13:00 +0000

Now available on Kindle, Nook, and Smashwords in all eReader formats for $2.99!

Reviewers: Email me for an ARC if you are interested: authormikemurphy(at)gmail(dot)com

Robyn has found the tomb of the most powerful vampire in the world. Now, different forces in the underworld either want to steal her secret or make sure it dies with her.

Two things stand in their way:

The vampiress Lucifera and her werewolf companion.

Whoever survives will find that the lesser of two evils is not always the right choice.

Coming in September 2011

And, what is on the tip of Lucifera's sword you ask?

Book Release: Here Be Monsters - An anthology of Monster Tales

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Fri, 09 Sep 2011 18:22:00 +0000

For the past three months, I have been quietly working with several other authors and two artists to bring you all something special. Here it is.

Here Be Monsters
Eight tales of vampires, werewolves, demons, zombies, and other horrors:

M.T. Murphy - Blackmail & Spider Bag
S.M. Reine - Something Wrong
India Drummond - The Reaver
Anabel Portillo - Lux
Jeremy C. Shipp - Figs
Samantha Anderson - Deals and Demons
Sara Reinke - Periphery People

The book also includes several paintings by Dark Fantasy Artist Alissa Rindels and an original sketch by Spanish Artist Jose Manuel Portillo Barientos.

You will find horror stories, sci fi, urban fantasy, straight-up fantasy, and even a taste of bizarro fiction. They all have one thing in common: monsters.

What would you expect to pay for this monumental tome filled with literary masterpiece short stories?

$19.95?

$9.95?

$2.99?

How about $0? That’s right. This anthology is free on Smashwords. You can download the electronic file of your choice to read on your computer, iPad, Kindle, Nook, or Sony eReader. If Smashwords doesn't work for you, contact me at my email address below and I will be happy to email you a copy in the format of your choice.

Those of you who have read my debut novel, Lucifera’s Pet, will see some familiar faces in my stories Blackmail and Spider Bag. You will also be introduced to a new character who will play a bigger role in my new novel, Lesser, which is launching next week! If you would like an advance review copy for your blog or in return for an honest review on Smashwords/Amazon/Barnes&Noble, email me at authormikemurphy (at)gmail.com. I will begin sending those this weekend.

I’m not the only author launching a book this month.

S.M. Reine launched the sequel to her debut teen werewolf novel today: All Hallows Moon.

Also Bizarro fiction pioneer and Bram Stoker Award nominee Jeremy C. Shipp has published a monstrous anthology of his own: Aberrations.

Go forth, read, and review!
~M

Final cover art: Lesser

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Mon, 20 Jun 2011 05:39:00 +0000

Take a look at the final cover art for my second Bad Moon novel, Lesser.

Alissa Rindels is the amazing artist who produced this painting of the vampire Lucifera. Alissa also painted the cover and interior art for Lucifera's Pet. Check out more of her fantastic artwork at her website.

Lesser is scheduled for release in September 2011. Stay tuned!

Title and Cover Art - Bad Moon Book 2

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Sat, 28 May 2011 06:03:00 +0000

After what has felt like a smurfing eternity, I am finishing up the draft for my follow up novel to Lucifera's Pet. Without further ado, here is the title:

LESSER - Bad Moon Book 2

The title, Lesser, has many meanings in the story. The most obvious is the old saying, "the lesser of two evils." While this comes into play, it has far greater significance. That's all I'm saying. Anything more would be spoiler territory.

I have also decided upon a title for the series: Bad Moon. Within the story, "bad moon" is a vampire slang term for a werewolf hunt--usually one in which the werewolf has virtually no hope of of surviving.

Now for the good part: the initial cover sketch.

I have once again had the great pleasure of working with Alissa Rindels on the cover art. She provided me with her initial sketch for the front cover this afternoon:

As you can see, at some point in the story, Lucifera has a pretty rough day. The back cover will continue the scene. If you want to see who or what is at the tip of her sword, keep on watching this blog.

Alissa will have an art booth at the 20th Annual Iowa Renaissance Festival and Gathering o' Celts this month, May 28-29-30, at Middle Amana Park (Medici Grove) - Amana Colonies, IA . If you are able to stop by, you might be able to see her working on this painting. Be sure to visit her website and check out her prints for sale. You can even purchase a hand embellished print, which is the next best thing to owning an original work.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the cover draft. Let me know in the comments below.

New Lucifera's Pet Cover Design

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Fri, 27 May 2011 03:59:00 +0000

I am really digging the new eBook cover design for Lucifera's Pet by Robin Ludwig Design.

Big thanks to Alissa Rindels for the beautiful original painting Bellona Sleeps and to Robin Ludwig Design for turning it into a kickass cover!

I decided a revamp was in order to make it a little easier to see in the online bookstores. Let me know what you think.

Book Giveaway! - Win a Kindle copy of Blood Faerie by India Drummond and a signed print copy of Lucifera's Pet by M.T. Murphy

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Fri, 13 May 2011 17:20:00 +0000

Read on for a chance to win a Kindle copy of India Drummond's new release, Blood Faerie and a signed print copy of Lucifera's Pet by M.T. Murphy.

Yes. I just referred to myself in third person. I love doing that.

I mean M.T. Murphy loves referring to himself in third person because he is a great big weirdo. That's better.

To celebrate the launch of her latest urban fantasy novel, Blood Faerie, author India Drummond will give away five Kindle copies of her book on its release day, June 1, 2011.

Blood Faerie is the first in India Drummond’s new series, Caledonia Fae.

The blurb:

Unjustly sentenced to death, Eilidh ran—away from faerie lands, to the streets of Perth, Scotland. Just when she has grown accustomed to exile, local police discover a mutilated body outside the abandoned church where she lives. Recognising the murder as the work of one of her own kind, Eilidh must choose: flee, or learn to tap into the forbidden magic that cost her everything.

To enter to win a Kindle copy of the new book, all you have to do is sign up for her email newsletter. The email list is only used to announce book releases and important events, and emails are sent out infrequently. (It’s free, and it’s easy to unsubscribe after the contest date if you find it’s not for you.) Sign up here: http://eepurl.com/bTDfP

Five winners’ names will be announced on the India Drummond newsletter on June 1st, along with instructions for how winners can claim their free Kindle books. Only subscribers are eligible to win.

No Kindle? No problem! Anyone with a PC, Mac, or smart-device (iPhone, Blackberry, Android phone, etc) can read a Kindle book. Download free reading software here:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=sa_menu_karl3?ie=UTF8&docId=1000493771

Want to quadruple your chances of winning? Simply tweet about the contest with a link to any participating blog post and include @IndiaDrummond in your tweet. Or, share the link on Facebook. (But be sure to add @India Drummond to tag her on the link so she will see it! – You can add her to your friend list here: http://www.facebook.com/india.drummond) And finally, add another entry to the list by posting about the contest on your blog.-- Tweet and share the link as much as you like, but only one additional entry per method, per person.

Win a signed copy of Lucifera's Pet!

For Werewolf Kibble blog readers, I am also holding a contest for a free signed copy of my novel Lucifera's Pet. To enter, post a comment below and sign up for India's email newsletter. For every ten people who enter my contest, I'll add another signed copy of Lucifera's Pet to the prize pool.

Good luck!

Zoe Winters: "...my demons are anatomically correct."

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 03 May 2011 13:57:00 +0000

If I learned one thing from Rocky and Bullwinkle, it's that knowledge is power. Today, I am asking Paranormal Romance author Zoe Winters several seemingly random questions so that I may steal some of her power.

You're scoffing.

Don't scoff.

I can crack roasted pistachio nuts with my mind. Imagine what I'll be able to do after this interview.

MTM: What the hell is the difference between urban fantasy and paranormal romance anyway? Sometimes I wonder if a cover with cleavage + leather pants + tattoos (urban fantasy) is the only thing that separates the two genres. Then I slap myself and go watch Faith-heavy episodes of Buffy. There's a question in there somewhere.

Zoe: LOL. Faith was pretty hot. I always really liked Faith. I thought she was misunderstood. I bet... like a typical guy, you like those scenes where Faith and Buffy fight. Right? Because when they're rolling around in the mud like that... there is always that slim chance...

But... on topic... Urban Fantasy might have a romantic subplot, but it's not a primary focus on the story like it is in paranormal romance. The romance thread also doesn't have to have a happily ever after. And the heroine can be a real slut. Not always, but dude, these women seem to have a revolving door. Urban fantasy also tends to be told in first person more than paranormal romance is. (Or that's my observation, it could also just be the luck of the draw in the books I read.)

MTM: I have two rules in how I spend my time reading and/or watching movies/television: Absolutely no Lifetime movies and no rosy sappy romance stories. I like that in your books the storyline does not play second fiddle to the romance. Just how important is the plot in paranormal romance?

Zoe: You mean you don't curl up with popcorn with a woman-in-peril or a Hallmark Presents movie? My entire image of you has now changed. :P I think plot is really important in PNR because the fascination isn't just boy meets girl, but the backdrop against which it all plays out and all the drama.

MTM: A werewolf, a succubus, and a vampire walk into a bar. Whose ego is the biggest? Who has the best hair? Who is most likely to eat the bartender?

Zoe: Unless this is a trick question, that's super easy. Vamp has all the ego, succubus has the best hair, and werewolf eats the bartender. I know I could have been creative and gone a different way, but it is what it is.

MTM: In your newest book, Save My Soul, demons take center stage. I remember in Kevin Smith's Dogma, angels and demons are revealed to be hung like Ken dolls in a shocking and heartwarming scene. Are your demons anatomically correct?

Zoe: LOL! Well, they don't stare dreamily into each other's eyes all day, so yes... my demons are anatomically correct, as are my angels (yet to be introduced but coming soon.)

MTM: My pet Schnauzer complains about sex scenes in novels, yet he reads all the juicy parts in books when I'm not looking. I think he forgets that Kindle defaults to the last page read. Plus, my phone ends up with dog hair all over it each morning. Should I confront him on this?

Zoe: The risk with confronting him is that you'll embarrass and stress him out, and he'll start peeing in your shoes. Probably you should ignore it and hope for the best.

MTM: What current projects are you working on?

Zoe: About to start writing rough draft for book three in the Pretverse. I'll be introducing a panther therian, an agoraphobic witch, angels, and the heaven dimension. I also might explain some stuff about guardians and what they are.

MTM: Word association time! Please respond with the first thing that comes to mind.

MTM: Vampire
Zoe: Yes, please

MTM: Shiny
Zoe: bright

MTM: Romance
Zoe: chocolate

MTM: Mustache
Zoe: ewww

MTM: Captain Mal Reynolds:
Zoe: I am a leaf in the wind (I know, that's not who says that line, but you said first thing that came to mind.)

MTM: Thanks for another great interview, Zoe! My Schnauzer grudgingly thanks you, too.

Zoe Winters writes quirky and sometimes dark paranormal romance. She lives with her husband and two cats, and her favorite colors are rainbow and clear. For more information visit http://www.zoewinters.org or her blog at: http://zoewinters.wordpress.com

Save My Soul is available in Print, Ebook, and Audio, go here for more info:
http://zoewinters.wordpress.com/2011/01/25/save-my-soul-now-available-in-ebook/

Save My Soul by Zoe Winters

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 08:13:00 +0000

From the Amazon.com product description:

"All he’s asking for is her soul.

After buying the antebellum home she’s fantasized about since childhood, Anna Worthington discovers Luc, a dangerously seductive incubus who has been trapped in the house by a fifty-year-old curse. To rid herself of her problem house guest she’ll call on a priest, gypsies, ghost hunters, and the coven of witches from lust bunny hell. All she has to do is resist him long enough to break the spell so they can go their separate ways. If she doesn’t, she could die. And that would be the best case scenario."

I had planned to read the first chapter and then finish another book in my to-read pile, but Save My Soul would not go down without a fight. It started as a haunted house mystery, morphed into a steamy paranormal romance, and finished strong with an ending that wrapped up all the plot threads in a nice, neat, sexy bow of snarky and surprising fun.

The plot is engaging. The sex scenes are hot and full of tension. The prose is tight and laugh-out-loud funny in places.

My only regret is that I tore through this book in barely two days and now have to wait for the next book in the Preternaturals series.

Physics. What a pain.

Forget the stars on this one. Remember that scene in Buffy the Vampire Slayer in which Buffy and Spike have crazy sex so hard that they destroy a fucking building? Yeah you do. That was a great scene. I give Save My Soul five of those.

Public Display - Flash Fiction Dare

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 19:33:00 +0000

Through an odd twist of events on Twitter, I found myself on the receiving end of a dare to write a scene containing an inappropriate bit of intamacy in a public place. This is my somewhat tardy entry for said dare.

Read this and let me know what you think. Then, be sure to visit the other guilty parties and their naughty short stories:

Anabel
http://nemone7.livejournal.com/

Monica
http://tinyurl.com/3cosltt

Public Display

Bruscetta’s was not an exclusive restaurant; it was an impossible restaurant. There was no sign outside, no number in a phone book, and a minimum one-year waiting list. Only twelve tables filled the dining area.

Lucky patrons met with the chef, Alberto, when they entered. He would speak with them for a moment and then bring them the best meal they had ever eaten with no guidance or menu whatsoever.

It was like magic.

On this particular evening twelve enchanted couples feasted on dishes of exotic duck, eggplant, steak, pasta, and seafood that had been swimming only hours earlier. They drank white and Merlot wines that were older than they were. They savored the food and tried to forget about the sobering bill to come.

It was a typical evening at an atypical restaurant.

That changed during the main course with the opening of the front door.

A woman stepped into the dim candlelight of the room. She was pale with long, black hair that flowed down her shoulders. Her simple yet elegant black dress draped just above her knees. She was beautiful with an air of fierceness that showed through her emerald eyes even in the darkness.

Her escort closed the door behind her and glanced around the room with the kind of steely indifference with which a wolf surveys a flock of sheep. Where she was beautiful and elusive, he was wild and aggressive. From his shaggy sideburns to his old leather jacket, he did not seem like the type to accompany the woman, especially to a place like Bruscetta’s.

Alberto greeted the pair with his melodic accent that had somehow remained unaffected by many years away from his homeland. He immediately placed a thirteenth table against the wall.

The two sat and stared at each other, oblivious to the rest of the room.

Given the usual difficulty in obtaining a table, there were a few murmurs of discontent among the other patrons at their arrival, but they kept their dissatisfaction as quiet as possible.

After a few moments, Alberto returned and placed a rack of lamb in front of the man and a single glass of blood-red wine in front of the woman.

The conversation among the other couples changed from delight over the food to open speculation about the newcomers. They weren’t famous. They didn’t seem to be foreign dignitaries or local politicians. It was finally decided that they must simply have been friends of the chef.

While reaching this consensus, the others continued to observe the couple. The pair spoke low and stared directly into each other’s eyes, smiling and laughing occasionally. The man ate the rack of lamb, quite savagely, never offering any to the woman.

She didn’t seem to mind his poor manners. In fact, at one point, she reached across the table and touched his hand while he ate. With her eyes closed, she giggled and licked her lips slowly. He chewed purposefully, savoring every taste of the succulent meat and watching her reaction. She closed her mouth and pouted, then touched her chest when he swallowed, urging him to take another bite.

She gulped a bit of the wine, spilling a little on her cheek. The man wiped it away with his fingers and she grabbed his hand and licked the wine from his skin while staring into his eyes.

A few of the other couples looked away.

She pulled his finger into her mouth and a drop of crimson ran down the man’s hand. Blood?

The woman’s surly companion groaned as if in reply to the unspoken question on everyone’s mind.

Yes, blood.

The couples who looked away before, now looked on without hesitation.

The man reached under the table and grasped the woman’s chair. She released his hand with a purr and he effortlessly dragged her chair around until she sat right next to him.

He put his arm around her and leaned closer. She looked away and took a sip of wine. He smiled at her avoidance and touched her knee. Fingers slid up her alabaster skin and under her silk dress. A hint of smile crossed her lips as he leaned closer, brushing his oddly sharp teeth against the nape of her neck.

She turned back to him and shifted her body to face his. She crossed her legs and then brushed the calf of her dangling left leg gently over his groin.

The man growled audibly.

Then, they kissed. It was no quick peck of affection. It was the long, slow, lingering kiss of two lovers who knew what they wanted and were prepared to take it if necessary, regardless of the audience.

When they stopped, the man placed a wad of hundred dollar bills on the table and stood, still staring at the woman, feasting on her with his gaze. She smiled, relishing in the power she seemed to have over him.

She stood as well and rubbed her shapely backside against the prominent bulge on full display in the front of his trousers, drawing another growl from him.

They quietly left, leaving a room full of gaping jaws. A husband growled playfully at the wife. A girlfriend crossed her legs and brushed against the boyfriend.

Alberto returned and asked if anyone was ready for dessert.

Instead, twelve different couples all requested their checks as they suddenly had far better places to be.

India Drummond: Eight inappropriate questions with the Ordinary Angels scribe

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 17:29:00 +0000

Today, I have the pleasure of interviewing India Drummond. Her debut novel, Ordinary Angels, is now available in eBook form everywhere.

Poor India. She agreed to answer my questions. Little did she know how little I know. I took this opportunity to ask her highly inappropriate questions about the angels in her story. Let the awkwardness commence.

India: I said I’d answer anything, and I meant it! Bring it.

MT: Your book brings angels down to Earth and puts them in the dirt with the rest of us. Do angels get tired of being thought of as chubby little winged babies flying around in cloth diapers or do they, in a freaky way, get off on it?

India: Understanding what angels are is a big part of the story. Zoe, the main character, has all the preconceived ideas, and Alexander, the main angel dude, has to tell her to forget everything she’s been taught, myths and Bible stories. I intentionally made angels unlike any human mythology. They’re part angel, part demon, part dragon… they are their own creatures and what humans know about them are all wrong. I love this because it let me write my own rules.

MT: How do angels feel about vampires? Do they watch reruns of Buffy or do they agonize over whether they are "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob"?

India: Alexander would probably like television! He’s fascinated with all things human. In my books though, there are no undead. There are ghosts, but these are human souls who got lost when they should have transitioned back to where they came from. The Higher Angels frown on human souls not being where they’re meant to be, and sometimes round them up. Scary thought, especially considering some of those spirits are Zoe’s friends.

MT: Will you be revisiting the Ordinary Angels world, or is this a stand alone novel?

India: The next novel in the series (which I think will be a trilogy) is called Familiar Demons, and it’s on the books for a 2012 release. It’s outlined and has a few chapters written, so it’s well on its way. This won’t be my next release though! I plan to release fantasy books in a couple of other worlds before I get to this sequel. I’m mean that way.

MT: Do angels poop? Wait. Don't answer that. That's a terrible question. Do they have sex?

India: Oh, do they ever have sex. Smouldering, saucy, and delicious. And something quite… unusual happens when they, ahem, reach their peak. This is definitely not a book for kids. Strong language and supernatural sizzle. It’s not classed as erotica, because the language used isn’t graphic. But the scenes themselves are quite spicy!

MT: Do angels have sideburns or other facial hair? I picture the archangels as having Sam Elliott paintbrush mustaches, even the female angels. Is this accurate or wishful thinking on my part?

India: They can change their appearance, so yes, they could have sideburns if they wanted to. Their basic physical structure stays the same, but they can wear their hair long or short, and change superficial things quite easily. That said, it is most definitely wishful thinking on your part!

MT: What is your next project after Ordinary Angels?

India: On June 1st I’ll be releasing Blood Faerie, an urban fantasy set in Perth, Scotland. It’s already back from the editor, so it’s just waiting for the proofreading and formatting stages! Later this year I plan to release Haywire Witch, the first in a series I’m calling “The Charms of Gerda Graves.” 2011 is a very busy year for me!

MT: Fuck it. I have to know. Do angels poop?

India: I never address it directly in the book, but I suppose I can give you the scoop. Eww, I wish I hadn’t said scoop.

At one point Zoe asks Alexander if he eats. He replies that he can, but he doesn’t have to. His friend and lawyer, a fallen angel named Thomas, runs a bar in realm outside the human world. So, we know for sure they drink too. I would say it’s safe to assume that the answer to the poop question is the same as the food question: they could if they wanted to, but I doubt they’d have to. Eating, like sex, is purely recreation for them (since they reproduce with each other differently than humans do—you’ll have to read Familiar Demons to find out more about celestial procreation), so it’s safe to say pooping would be, erm, purely recreational?

You win. Weirdest interview question ever. But I said I’d answer, and I’m a chick of my word.

MT: That you are! Thanks for playing along and best of luck.

India: Thanks so much for having me here today. It was great fun!

Highly offensive image of India as a werewolf angel. Note halo.

Author Bio:

India Drummond knew from age nine that writing would be her passion. Since then she's discovered many more, but none quite so fulfilling as creating a world, a character, or a moment and watching them evolve into something complex and compelling. She has lived in three countries and four American states, is a dual British and American citizen, and currently lives at the base of the Scottish Highlands in a village so small its main attraction is a red phone box. In other words: paradise.

The supernatural and paranormal have always fascinated India. In addition to being an avid sci-fi and fantasy reader, she also enjoys mysteries, thrillers, and romance. This probably explains why her novels have elements of adventure, ghosts (or elves, fairies, angels, aliens, and whatever else she can dream up), and spicy love stories.

Author website and blog: http://www.indiadrummond.com/

Facebook Fan Page: http://www.facebook.com/india.drummond.author

Twitter: http://twitter.com/IndiaDrummond

To arrange an interview or contact the author, please email: author@indiadrummond.com

Kiss Me, Kill Me Paranormal Anthology out now

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 07:45:00 +0000

Much like Elvis, I have been taking care of business in a flash, as such:

Remember that time The King exploded out of a Fabergé egg? Yeah. Neither does he, but you can’t deny how fucking awesome it would be if he did.

I haven’t been mounting a comeback tour. I have been finalizing a short story for this anthology.

Head on over to Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Smashwords and check it out. It’s only $0.99 and the proceeds go to GreaterGood.org.

You’ll find shapeshifters, vampires, superheroes, demons, faeries, men and women of mystery, and leprechauns!

Okay, I’m lying about the leprechauns, but these stories contain all those other things and then some, all for less than the cost of a single can of Guinness.

Voyage into the realm of the paranormal with this nine author short story anthology. Sink your teeth into:

A Ghoulish Valentine by H.P. Mallory:

Dulcie O’Neil can’t help her attraction to Knight Vander, much though she tries to fight her feelings. When she begrudgingly accepts his invitation to dinner and a movie, the last thing she expects is that she’ll be defending herself against a cemetery full of hungry ghouls and one incredibly sexy man.

Cat Fight by Zoe Winters:

Cat Fight takes place in Zoe Winters’ “PretVerse”. Greta is a cat therian (shifter). She’s been involved with Dayne, a local sorcerer since she sought his protection from her murderous tribe. After a fight, Greta shifts into cat form and refuses to come back out.

Impulse Control by Susan Bischoff:

In the world of the Talent Chronicles, kids born with supernatural powers are taken from their families and forced into government research facilities called State Schools. At one such school, a group of Talents must work together to stop a dangerous experiment that’s already killed two of their peers and threatens others. If they’re caught they face Detention, and Detention at a State School has a whole different meaning.

Wild Passion by Lori Brighton:

James is a treasure hunter intent on collecting a deadly, priceless statue. Then he meets Adelaide, a stubbornly beautiful and mysterious woman who knows more about the statue than she admits. Suddenly, James is tempted to give up everything for the one treasure he can’t seem to own … Adelaide.

A Fairytale Ending by M.T. Murphy:

An unlucky actress discovers that there is no good and bad when it comes to vampires and werewolves, only bad and worse.

Blind Sight by Kait Nolan:

Isla’s ability as a Seer has made her a life-long captive of a paranormal crime lord. Fae assassin, Ransom, offers her a chance at escape, but when she touches his hand she sees only blood, horror, apocalypse. What reason can Ransom have for wanting to rescue her, and can she possibly trust a man who deals in death?

The Sacrifice by Toni LoTempio:

After a chance meeting with the mysterious Alfred Barstow, Jennifer is swept off her feet by his whirlwind courtship of her, so much so that she accepts his proposal of marriage. Leaving her boyfriend Peter behind, she heads off to start a new life in California, unaware there’s more to Alfred than meets the eye – and a sinister plot behind his proposal. The Sacrifice is a story about what happens when the man of your dreams turns out to be your worst nightmare…and then some!

Until the Breaking of the Day by Daniel Arenson:

The Underground. A realm of flame, blood, and knives in the dark.When its prince returns from exile, a young demon girl will learn his secrets.

If You Leave by Stacey Wallace Benefiel:

Despite their devotion to one another, Gabrielle and Jorge have been living separate lives. That is, until Gabrielle’s life ends. Reunited and it feels so…complicated?

"When in doubt, rip off Shakespeare" Interview at Para Your Normal

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 01 Feb 2011 05:27:00 +0000

Check out the audio archive of my Blog Talk Radio interview at Para Your Normal.

Why did I decide on the name Lucifera for my main character?

Is it it true that leprechauns have a restraining order against me?

Exactly how large is my head?

Hear me answer these questions and more with Para Your Normal hosts Andrew Mocete and Kelli McCracken.

The Exterminator - Flash, bizarro fiction

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Tue, 21 Dec 2010 20:25:00 +0000

I’m the best. That’s why they call me.

I knock. Ed opens the lid and ushers me inside. This is the second time I’ve paid him a visit.

“Thank you so much for coming out on a Sunday.” Ed says it like I’m doing him a favor.

“Thank me by paying me when the job is done.” It’s meaningless, but I say it anyway.

“You are one rude octopus,” he says.

“I’m not an octopus, you hippo,” I reply. “I’m a squid. Now show me what you’ve got.”

He takes me to the refrigerator.

“I keep hearing them in there. Every morning I find empty bottles and open snack wrappers strewn all around. Yesterday, I found a tiny dirty magazine out there, still open to the centerfold.”

The fridge is empty, but I hear it, too—tiny voices slurring and swearing. I was afraid of that.

I grab his droopy hippopotamus ear and drag his head down. The sound is louder there.

“What are you doing?” he screams.

“My job.”

It takes a minute, but I find the seam. Then I unzip his head. Five tiny little green-clad men are in there, laughing and kicking his tiny hippopotamus brain around like the terrible guests they are.

I slowly zip the head back up. Better safe than slimed.

“What was that, Joe?” Ed looks worried now. He damn well should be.

“Do you have whisky?”

“Yes.”

“Pour a shot.”

He does, spilling some on the counter with his clumsy hippopotamus hands.

I take the glass and smell it. It doesn’t burn any less now than it did when I used to swim in the stuff. I don’t miss the restaurant. Not even a little.

“You know, you are the spitting image of your—”

“Don’t mention my lazy brother, Ed. Do that and the deal is off.”

He wisely shuts up.

I place the dripping whiskey shot in the fridge and close the door.

“Now, do not open this door.”

“For how long?” he asks, already afraid of the answer.

“Forever.”

It is exactly what he doesn’t want to hear, but that is not my problem.

“I’ll take my payment now.”

He pulls out his oversized hippopotamus wallet and flips through, finding an arm. Then he digs in his pockets and locates a leg.

It takes a little shoving, but I fit them in my coin purse with the others.

“What happens now, Joe?”

“If you’re lucky, nothing. Bury the fridge in your cellar with the others, but keep it closed.”

“And if I don’t?” He wants to open it more than he wants to tap dance, and that’s a lot.

“Then one day somebody else will call me to exterminate a big, dumb hippopotamus wearing an ill-fitted green leotard. Is that what you want?”

His eyes cut away from mine.

“Maybe.”

“Do yourself a favor, Ed. Find yourself a nice girl or a tree and settle down. Have some babies or maybe some soup.”

Ed smiles. He closes his eyes and purrs like hippopotami often do.

I hit him across the head with a mackerel. He falls, dead.

I step back out of the shoebox. My client is there with all fourteen pairs of hands clasped in anticipation.

“Is it over?”

I nod, handing her the arm and leg.

“Here.”

She hands me a shrimp.

“This is too much,” I say.

“You are the best. I definitely received my invertebrate’s worth.”

I toss the monstrous thing on the back of my bicycle. It’s nice to be appreciated. I try to leave before she kills the mood.

“You know,” she says, “you look just like your brother.”

Great. I look just like my lazy, good-for-nothing, sleeps for eons in other people’s basements, cult of followers having brother. She not only killed the mood, she ran it over, helped it up, then dropped a grand piano on its cold, moldy corpse. If she weren’t a customer, I’d squirt ink in her eye.

“I leave you with a piece of friendly advice, Countess: Don’t open that fridge.”

Author Interview: Martin Millar - On lonely werewolf girls, vampire slayers, and the peril of wrestling Elizabethan playwrights

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Fri, 17 Dec 2010 18:33:00 +0000

Recently, I had the extreme good fortune to interview one of my favorite authors, Martin Millar. What follows is a rare treat. He was able answer my thirteen questions in a way that makes them seem as though they were actually intelligent, worthwhile queries. Though this is solely due to Martin's quick wit, I do not hesitate to take full credit for the quality of this interview.

Enjoy!

MT: First, an easy one. Which of these Internet created holidays do you prefer, "Talk Like A Pirate Day" or "Speak in Third Person Day"? And please demonstrate how one might ask for directions to the rest room on your chosen day.

Martin: Speaking in the third person would probably take less effort than talking like a pirate. All these 'Arrhh me hearties' would wear me out. Third person wouldn't wouldn't be that difficult to manage - 'Could you please show Martin to the rest room? He's in need of some freshening up.'

MT: The title of this blog is Werewolf Kibble, which is a reference to the things werewolves eat, such as tacos, ham sandwiches, small mammals, disagreeable vampires, and the occasional bowl of miso soup. I make no secret of the fact that Lonely Werewolf Girl is my favorite werewolf novel. While everyone else in the literary and film industries is neck deep in vampires, what is it about werewolves that captured your interest?

Martin: The first thing I thought of was the title, Lonely Werewolf Girl. The phrase was enough to get me interested. It started me wondering what a lonely werewolf girl might be like. It also struck me that, in obvious contrast to her loneliness, I could also write about a lot of other werewolves in a social setting, namely a clan, which was ideal for setting part of the book in Scotland, which I was also pleased to do. The book very quickly became a large saga, because of the amount of characters, and I liked that too.

I think werewolves have the capacity to be more human than vampires, which for me is more interesting. But really, the driving force was mainly that I thought I could write a good book about werewolves, whereas I'd have a difficult time coming up with anything original to say about vampires. I doubt I could come up with a better vampire than Spike.

I've never really seen why werewolves would necessarily be savage killers, unable to control their emotions when they change into werewolves. That doesn't really seem to follow along logically to me. I thought it quite likely that werewolves could manage to fit in with the rest of society, which most of my werewolves attempt to do.

MT: I have it on good authority that you are both a Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Spongebob Squarepants fan. Please rank these characters in order of who you would most want on your side in a barroom brawl:

Angelus, Patrick Starfish, Faith, Larry the Lobster, Squidward Tentacles, and Joyce Summers.

Martin: Faith - she's really tough and maybe we could go on a date afterwards. In fact, Faith was sexually aroused by fighting, and once practically dragged Xander into bed after she'd been involved in some violence, so she'd obviously be a good person to be in a fight with. Faith was so attractive. As, of course, is Eliza Dushku.

Angelus - Also tough, though I wouldn't want to be friends afterwards. I never really loved Angel as a TV show.

Patrick Starfish - he's practically invulnerable. I've seen terrible things happen to him in the cartoon and he just bounces back every time.

Larry the Lobster - He does weight training, but I don't think he's got the stomach for a fight.

Squidward - I sympathise with his intellectual leanings and artistic endeavours, though I can't see him being that much help in a fight.

Joyce Summers - Does have some hidden toughness - she did hit Spike with an axe on one occasion - but she was never that attractive a character.

(But really, we're missing the best option from SpongeBob - Sandy the underwater Squirrel. She's really tough)

MT: Through a twist of space and time, imagine you met William Shakespear in a pub one evening. After the inevitable wrestling match (It is a known fact that Shakespear had a brown belt in Jiu-Jitsu and liked to demonstrate his wrestling prowess in an attempt to impress the ladies whenever possible), which of your books would you suggest to the Bard for a rainy weekend read?

Martin: I'd be wary of wrestling an Elizabethan playwright, it could be dangerous. Christopher Marlowe ended up being stabbed through the eye. And in those days, in the shadowy theatrical and literary world, you never knew who might be a government spy.

I'd suggest to William Shakespeare that he never, ever looked at any of my books, so as he'd never know how inferior my writing was to his.

MT: What is the next book in your own "to read" pile?

Martin: Epictetus - Discourses and Selected Writings. Epictetus was a Greek stoic philosopher in the 1st century AD.

MT: The characters in Lonely Werewolf Girl and Curse of the Wolf Girl listen to an eclectic mix of music. If I were to sneak a peek at your current music playlist, what would I find?

Martin: T Rex, Slade, David Bowie - various English glam artists from the 70s. Also I listen to classical music on the radio.

MT: A friend told me that an open can of Guinness will draw leprechauns out if you have an infestation of the little buggers. Have you found this to be effective?

Martin: Well, this is more of an Irish question than a Scottish one, I have no real expertise in Leprechauns. Guinness may work in Ireland, but it would be an alien substance in Scotland, and might produce unforeseen consequences.

MT: If you could write a tale featuring any character at all, what character or characters would you write about? (Doctor Who episode, Batman comic, Sherlock Holmes story, Bleach story arc, Great Expectations sequel, etc.)

Martin: I'm having trouble answering this. Nothing comes very strongly to mind. I think I may have outgrown the enthusiasm I once had for many characters. Although I would still like to write a Buffy story.

To answer a slightly different question, if i was a writer at another time, I'd like to have been an Athenian playwright at the time of Aristophanes.

MT: In 200 years, a literature class is studying the collected works of Martin Millar / Martin Scott. What is the title of that course?

Martin: Minor Scottish Authors

MT: In Lonely Werewolf Girl, the title character is rude, brooding, self loathing, insecure, and neurotic, yet she still comes across as quite lovable. What was your inspiration for Kalix MacRinnalch, exiled daughter of the werewolf ruling family?

Martin: All of the rude, brooding, self loathing, insecure, and neurotic women I've had relationships with.

But seriously. She is just a figure from my own imagination. She has no real inspiration. However, most of her problems, neurosis and addictions are based on those of various people I've known.

MT: I love Anarchy in the U.K. by the Sex Pistols and I love the U.S. rock band Motley Crue. The Motley Crue cover of Anarchy in the U.K., however, makes me want to jam chopsticks in my ears. Why is that?

Martin: It just wasn't a suitable record for Motley Crue to cover. I think it was too far away in style and culture for them to understand it properly. Motley Crue singing about girls in LA is fine. There, they know what they're talking about. But Motley Crue trying to do justice to a record which really depended on it's 70s background of poor London council estates, strikes, inflation, and so on, filtered through the Sex Pistols' childhood in a country still affected by the post war poverty of the 50 and 60s, and then filtered again through the early 70s English music of The Faces, pub rock, and glam rock, was a big step too far for Motley Crue to manage.

Actually, Motley Crue make a spirited start in their version, but quickly run into trouble because they can't resist adding in flashy guitar solos. This is something you really can't have in 'Anarchy in the UK,' it destroys the whole concept of the record. After listening to Anarchy in the UK for the first time, you're meant to feel that you can immediately start your own band and make music, even if you don't know yet how to play an instrument. That feeling vanishes if the record is blighted with complicated guitar solos.

By extension of the above, listening to Anarchy in the UK can also make you feel that you can also go and write your own books, something it did for me.

MT: What is next for you on the writing front?

Martin: A Graphic novel set in ancient Greece, and probably a third werewolf book about Kalix.

MT: (In lieu of writing a response let the record show that I just did a backflip with a double twist at the mention of a third Kalix book. Hooray and ouch.) In closing, here is your chance to either reinforce or dispel a widespread stereotype about Scottish cuisine. Have you ever consumed a deep fried Mars candy bar and, if so, is it as wonderful as I imagine it would be?

Martin: No, I'd be scared to try it. I moved to London a long time ago, and while I remember Scotland as keen on it's deep fried fish and chips, I don't think the mania for frying such things as mars bars had arrived when I still lived there. I understand that anything can now be deep fried in Scotland, from chocolate to pizzas, but I've never tried any of this. It all sounds like a very bad idea to me, but I am ridiculously picky about the things I eat. My relationship with food is strained at the best of times, so I couldn't go around risking dangerous items like deep-fried mars bars.

MT: Thank you very much, Martin. On a scale from Angel Season 4 to Buffy Season 2, I rate this interview a Buffy Season 2 all the way.

Martin Millar is a critically acclaimed Scottish writer from Glasgow, now resident in London. He also writes the Thraxas series of fantasy novels under the pseudonym Martin Scott. He won the 2000 World Fantasy Award for the first book of the Thraxas series.

Connect with Martin on Twitter, his blog, and his website. Also, don't forget to pick up Lonely Werewolf Girl and Curse of the Wolf Girl.

If my endorsement isn't enough for you, see what a gentleman named Neil Gaiman has to say about Martin in the introduction he wrote for The Good Fairies of New York. Apparently, Mr. Gaiman dabbles in writing, too.

Afterlife: A bizarro tale of life, love and the hereafter or something.

noreply@blogger.com (M.T. Murphy) — Thu, 16 Dec 2010 17:17:00 +0000

I lived a good life. Never hurt anyone. Minded my business.

I ate. I swam. I spawned.

Then, I died.

I can’t remember the details. The old memory isn’t so good, even now. I know I have crossed over, but I’m not sure where I am.

The water is cool and clear. There are no men with poles and hooks lurking about, so that is a huge plus. The stream is flowing and I have plenty to eat.

There is only one explanation for this: I am in Heaven. Salmon Heaven!

I will swim and eat forever. I bet the spawning grounds are just over the hill, too. I am going to fertilize eggs until I go cross eyed. Then I’ll eat and do it some more. This is exactly how I want to spend eternity.

I don’t see the bear until he has me in his paws, snatching me from my paradise.

“Wait,” I scream.

The bear holds me inches from his drooling mouth, puzzled.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“There has been some mistake. You shouldn’t be here.”

The bear scratches his head.

“What do you mean?”

“This is the afterlife, yes?”

“Obviously,” they bear replies.

“I was swimming along, minding my business and heading to fertilize some eggs and you snatched me right out.”

“That I did. What’s the problem?”

The bear is obviously mentally deficient, so I spell it out for him.

“There are no bears in Salmon Heaven. I am not asking, I am demanding: Put me back in the water and leave at once.”

If I had a foot I would stamp it on the ground for emphasis. As it is, I slap his paw with my fin. The effect is the same.

“Mr. Salmon, there has obviously been some mistake.”

“Obviously,” I reply indignantly.

“I concur that, in Salmon Heaven, there should be no bears. You should be free to swim and fertilize eggs to your tiny salmon heart’s content.”

“I’m glad you see the issue. Now if you could just—”

“However,” the bear retorts, “you are not the injured party in this dispute.”

“Explain.”

“Though you are correct in your assumption that the likelihood of a bear being in Salmon Heaven is virtually nil, there is a fundamental flaw in your thinking.”

“And what might that be?” I ask. The bear fancies himself a thinker, this should be amusing.

“You, sir, are not in Salmon Heaven. I have been sitting in this spot for nearly twenty years eating your delicious brethren. In a few minutes I will make my way over the hill and spend the next twenty years mating and the following twenty years hibernating as I have done for as long as I can remember. Therefore, I can say with utmost confidence that this is, with no doubt whatsoever, Bear Heaven.”

“Oh my.”

“It’s pretty obvious.”

“Quite obvious, yes.”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can imagine my embarrassment.”

“I’m sure.”

“I am very sorry for my rudeness, Mr. Bear.”

“Think nothing of it,” he says. Bears are really quite civil once you get to know them.

“I suppose there is nothing left but to get on with it.”

“Quite right. I do apologize, but this might hurt quite a bit.”

“No apology needed. I am the injuring party here. Carry on.”

To his credit, the bear eats me as gently as such a thing can be done.

I can’t remember the details. The old memory isn’t so good, even now. I know I have crossed over, but I’m not sure where I am.

Now I am swimming once again.

Another stream, another chance. This surely the right place.

A human stands up ahead wearing those silly rubber pants they are so fond of, but he doesn’t worry me. I am far more interested in that delicious egg suspiciously drifting in the water in front of him. Any other time, I might be worried. Luckily, I am in Salmon Heaven.

I think I’ll take a bite.