0 comments/ 86841 views/ 7 favorites Sons of the Dragon By: sarahhh But first on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from the tomb be rent: Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet which perforce Must feed thy livid living corpse. Shall know the demon for their sire, At cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem. Wet thine own best blood shall drip Thy gashing tooth and haggard lip; Then stalking to thy sullen grace, Go -- and with Gouls and Afrits rave; Till these in horror shrink away From Spectre more accursed than they! Lord Byron, The Giaour, 1813 * * * "Halloween's coming up too damn quick," Detective Cy Schmitt said somberly to Sergeant Ray Norton. "The chief wants to meet with us tomorrow. We better have the plan ready." Last Halloween eight young women had been turned into zombies in a town just like theirs. On October 1, of last year, eight stakes arranged in a circle had been discovered outside the city where the atrocities occurred a month later. An unusual emblem lay in the middle of the stakes, which had been dipped in blood. A warning, but one that had been ignored. The farmer who found them called police, who at first considered it some sort of prank. But then eight nubile girls were found tied to the stakes, naked, the day after Halloween. "This all seems like nonsense to me, Cy," Ray muttered irritably. "Just because some kids decided to have a little fun." "The chief is taking it seriously, Ray. You saw the stakes and the emblem a week ago outside our city. Exactly the same. That emblem isn't something you can pick up at an antique shop. And it's over five hundred years old, according to Dr. Randolph. And those eight nude girls were found semi-comatose last Halloween. That's not nonsense, or having a little fun." "I saw the pictures. They all had bodacious blinkers. I'm surprised that old dude who found them didn't just up and croak right there on the spot. Eight babes in the buff and on their knees. I would have made them my orchestra, and played pass the skin flute. When is Buffy the Vampire Slayer getting here, anyway?" "Should be soon. Her flight should have landed half an hour ago." "Why didn't you pick her up?" "She told the chief she'd rent a car." "What's she look like? Some old biddy?" "I don't know what she looks like. And I've never seen or talked to her. The chief says she's a professor at some Ivy League school." "And she is some sort of vampire expert?" "Apparently she has spent a good deal of time in places like Hungary, Romania, Transylvania, and Albania, doing some sort of research on the subject." "Wonderful. And I suppose we have to take orders from the bitch." "Whatever the chief says. Speaking of which, here he comes." "Yeah, look at that chick with him. Hot damn! Hope she's the new temp. I'd like to pat her ass, cop a feel on those knockers, and lick her pussy." "You better put the booze away, Ray. The chief said next time he catches you, you're on suspension. Without pay. How are you going to settle up those gambling debts?" Ray slid the bottle of Jack Daniels back into his top drawer. The chief approached their desks with the young woman. The detective and the sergeant looked her over carefully. Tall, scarlet hair put up over her head, pale complexion. Very pretty and sexy despite her rather businesslike attire. Cropped black jacket, white silk blouse, check-print cotton pleated skirt. Mid-twenties, Cy estimated her age. Almost old enough to be his daughter, he mused, and young enough to be one of Ray's girlfriends. He stifled a chuckle at the thought. Not that Ray wouldn't try his luck. He often bragged to Cy that he was a babe magnet. "Cy, Ray," the chief said, "this is Dr. Margaret Randolph. Like I informed you, she'll be working the 'Dragon' case with you. Now the three of you put your heads together and we'll meet late tomorrow afternoon. Got it?" They nodded. The chief turned and walked away. "Cy, Ray," she greeted, and extended her hand. Ray remained seated, grasped it firmly and squeezed it hard. She didn't grimace. Cy stood and took her hand by the fingers, like a gentleman. "Pleased to meet you, Dr. Randolph," Cy offered. She laughed delightfully. "You guys can address me by my first name. I think we are going to be spending a lot of time together between now and Halloween." "Okay, Peggy, so what's your plan to catch the vampires?" Ray asked sarcastically. "It's Margaret," she snapped. Cy gave him a look that said, You better be careful with this one, boy. She's not one of your bimbos. "That's your desk, Margaret," Cy informed her, pointing. He had pushed it up against theirs, facing them. "Thank you." She placed her briefcase and notebook computer on the desk, and sat gracefully. "Let's get started, shall we?" The professor gave them a lecture. Cy acted like a student, taking notes furiously. Ray looked bored, drifting off into space, but his eyes riveted on her long, lovely legs. Margaret told them of the Sons of the Dragon, which the emblem represented. The Order of the Dragon originated as a secret fraternal organization founded in 1387 by the Holy Roman Emperor. The emblem of the order consisted of a dragon with its wings extended, hanging on a cross. Like the ones found in the middle of the circle of stakes, in that town, and now this town. The same emblem that hung over the door at Curtea Domneasca, Vlad Dracula's palace in Bucharest. She explained that "drac" means "dragon" in Romanian, with "ul" being the definitive article. Vlad Tepes, or Vlad III, inspired Bram Stoker's novel. His father, Vlad II, had been a member of the Order of the Dragon. The father became known as Vlad the Dragon, or Vlad Dracul. The ending "ula" in Romanian means "the son of." Thus Vlad III became Vlad Dracula, "the son of the dragon." Ray interrupted. "So you are going to tell us, uh…Margaret, that whoever tied those chicks to the stakes in their birthday suits are frigging vampires? Some sort of descendents of this 'Son of the Dragon.' I don't believe this bullshit!" He guffawed. "Watch your language, Ray," Cy chastised, looking angry. "Tell us more, Margaret. What about the incidents last year? We have the police reports, the medical reports, and all that. But what…how…?" "Yes, let me continue, Cy. The surname 'Tepes' means 'The Impaler' in the Romania language. Vlad Tepes enforced his self-righteous morality upon his country, expressing violently a particular concern with female chastity. His victims most often experienced torture or death as a result of their indiscretions. Some were impaled through the vagina. Vlad's own unfaithful mistress suffered such a fate." Suddenly she seemed a trifle distressed, and squirmed in her seat. "Uh…Cy, where is the bathroom?" He pointed her in the right direction. After she got up and left, Ray began to grumble. "Those honey pies got impaled through the vagina all right, Cy." Ray snickered. "With a big fat python of pleasure, just like mine. Who is that snotty smart-ass bitch trying to kid? Those fur burgers got fucked silly and loved every minute of the fuzz bumping. Then they probably begged to get it up the heiny hole. This Halloween I think I'll wear a Dracula costume, and let the bearded clams grovel before me on their knees." "Ray, I would appreciate it if you would watch your language around the lady. She's not one of those crack whores you just love to roust." "They're all whores, and they all got cracks," Ray retorted flippantly. "Here comes the nut cracker back from the toilet. I bet she was sitting on the seat and tickling her tuna." "Margaret, why do you think those eight women were chosen as victims?" Cy asked, as she sat back down. "None of them were prostitutes, or anything like that. Just girls out to have fun on Halloween. All dressed in costumes, out partying at clubs and bars. I even have a description of the costume each wore that evening. Let's see…three witches, a French maid, two angels, a Cinderella, and a Snow White." One of them was my sister. An angel, but dressed as a "mekasefa," the Hebrew word for female witch, so she said. Margaret recalled sorrowfully their telephone conversation an hour before Katherine--Katie--left for the Halloween party at her favorite club. "Hey, I saw those outfits those sluts wore," Ray noted, smirking. "Sexy stuff. Short skirts, a lot of skin. Cock teasers." "Ray!" Cy snarled. "All eight women had severe bite marks on their necks, and a substantial quantity of their blood had been drained." "The vampires sucked their blood out," Ray growled, as he bared his teeth and extended his tongue in a licking motion directed at Margaret. "Isn't that what vampires do? Suck? Are you a vampire?" he posed, glowering at her lecherously . "Each young woman," Margaret responded, nodding at Cy and ignoring Ray, "was seen by companions talking with a tall, handsome, mustachioed man dressed in a black cape and some sort of red suit underneath it. But the victims' companions that night couldn't give me much more to go on. All except one. I talked to every one I could locate." Katie told me nothing. But I see the desperate look in her hollow eyes. She wants to talk, but can't. "Tell us about the one exception, Margaret," Cy requested. "One of the eight victims, Maryellen Patton, left with a mustachioed man in black and red, according to the girlfriend she went to the club with. This girlfriend, Amanda Morrison, told me Maryellen called her on her cell phone about 11:45 P.M at the club. The man, who called himself Radu, had left the motel room to get a pack of smokes, so he said. After they had a very strange sexual liaison for an hour. Then Radu returned as the two young women continued to talk on the phone. Amanda heard a terrifying scream. Then nothing." "Tell us about the weird sex," Ray urged, becoming much more interested. "Do you think we could get something to eat, Cy?" Margaret inquired, her stomach growling. "I'm famished." He nodded. "Let me check into my hotel and change, and I'll meet you in an hour." He nodded again. Cy wrote down on a slip of paper the name, address, and directions to his favorite neighborhood tavern. "I take it jeans and a T-shirt are appropriate attire?" "Naked would be better," Ray rumbled under his breath, but the others heard. "That's fine, Margaret, whatever you want to wear is fine. Don't pay any attention to the sergeant. His mother never taught him how to behave in the presence of a lady." "Well, about an hour then, gentlemen." She coughed as she glanced at Ray, and got up and left. * * * The man in black and red followed Dr. Margaret Randolph from the police station to the Holiday Inn. He waited for forty-five minutes until she came back out and got in the rental car. The son of the dragon resumed surveillance. * * * Margaret walked into the tavern and spotted Cy and Ray at a table, already drinking beer and eating pizza. She approached them. "How did you know I like anchovies, Cy?" she asked, amused. "Not me. Ray ordered the pizza." "I like fish," Ray muttered impudently, staring right at the doctor's crotch, irritated about the rapport that Cy and she seemed to be slowly establishing. Cy gave Ray a threatening look and pulled out a chair for Margaret. She sat. He gave her a plate and she took a slice of pizza. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. "Sailor Jerry," she responded, "with a lot of ice and Coke on the side." She pulled a jar of garlic powder from her purse and liberally sprinkled it on her pizza. "How do you kill a vampire, Margaret?" Ray queried rather pugnaciously. "Screw him to death?" She froze him with a stare that Cy thought just might make the living dead quake in their coffins, if there were such a thing. "I meant," Ray continued tentatively, "I've heard all kinds of theories about how to kill vampires. The old stake screwed through the heart, a nail through the temple, remove their heart and cut it in two, cut off their toes, cut off the head and boil it in vinegar, bury them face downwards, expose them to direct sunlight. So what works?" "What about garlic?" Cy asked, watching her devour the garlic-saturated pizza. "You must do a little cooking, Cy," Margaret responded, smiling at him warmly. "Garlic, indeed. In some areas of Romania they still today smear garlic on the windows and doors of their homes, stuff it in the bodily orifices of corpses to prevent the evil ones from entering the dead body, and things like that." "Are you going to tell us about the weird sex, or not?" Ray asked impatiently. "Did you know, Cy," she continued ignoring Ray, "that the French occultist Robert Amelian claimed it was arsenic not garlic that foiled vampires? Somewhere along the line garlic, which smells somewhat similar--so they say--was substituted because it was cheaper." "How interesting. How about the kinky shagging?" Ray persisted, belligerently. "Cy, did you notice anything else about the eight victims from the medical reports that we haven't discussed?" "No, Margaret, not that I recall. Did you?" "All of the girls have O negative blood." "I missed that connection." "Only six percent of the population is O negative," she observed. "Don't you think it's highly unusual that these eight young women all are O negative?" "Not really," Rau grumbled. "Statistically, the odds of a random group of eight people all being O negative is one in six billion." "So what?" Ray blurted. "I see your point, Margaret," Cy conceded. "And O negative is the most in demand blood type for transfusions," she continued. "People who have any other blood type can be safely transfused with O negative blood. This becomes very important in critical medical emergencies." "So you are saying that vampires like to drink O negative blood, 'eh?" Ray bellowed. "Don't matter to me. I got my red wings. I like it bloody. I must be one of them vampires myself. By the way, one of my favorite groups is Type O Negative." She nodded. "I'm familiar with that group." "Tunes like 'Christian Woman' about a chick with a cross on her bedroom wall and the image of a prick burning in her mind and between her thighs. Yeah, and 'Little Miss Scare-All' is another one I like. The vamp with the Devil's mark on her neck practices boo bitch craft. Which one are you, Margaret, the X-tian nympho or the horny vamp? Probably both, but let's talk about what the perps did to the horny chicks when they wing-wonged them and turned their minds into Jello. Not that they probably had much to begin with." Turning a deaf ear to Ray, she smiled sweetly at Cy, and said, "What I think is a possibility is that perhaps certain other blood types might not be…uh…how should I put this…totally compatible with a vampire's palate. Just maybe the vampire's body rejects other blood types. What blood type are you, Cy?" "A positive." "That's the most common type. How about you, Jack?" She glared at Ray. "My name is Ray." "Oh. What blood type are you?" "I don't really give a damn," he replied, disinterested in the conversation. "Well, you could safely receive a blood transfusion from me, an O negative. Not that I would give my blood for you, unless it was contaminated." She gave him a confrontational, incredibly intense gaze. "You two believe all this vampire crap?" Ray roared at her and Cy. "If these perpetrators aren't vampires, then they think they are," she snapped at him viciously. Several tears fell from her misty, emerald green eyes. "Margaret, don't let Ray get to you." "Ray is not getting to me, Cy. No way is he getting to me. Quit staring at me like I'm a piece of meat, Sergeant Norton. And cease the profanity and sexual innuendos immediately. Or I'll be talking to your chief about harassment. That, or perhaps I'll kick you in the cojones. Do you understand?" Ray looked quite dumbfounded. He intimidated most women and they dared not speak to him like this one did. One way or another, he found a way to stick his dick in their mouth and shut them up. He looked forward to doing the same to this witch bitch. Cy changed the subject quickly to break the boiling tension between his two companions at the table. "Margaret, what significance do you think is attached to the number eight? Eight victims last Halloween. Eight stakes found outside our city limits a few weeks before this Halloween." "Eight, spiritually speaking, symbolizes resurrection or regeneration -- a new beginning." "Those young women had a new beginning all right," Cy agreed. "In another world." "Yes, another world," Margaret murmured softly. Like Katie. She visited her younger sister every Sunday at the nursing home. She read to her, and told her anecdotes about their childhood. But Katie remained expressionless. Margaret had raised Katie after their parents died. But was it really due to an automobile accident? Margaret now wondered more than ever. The man in black and red who had followed Margaret entered the tavern. He sat at a bar stool sideways, so he could watch them without being obvious. But she noticed his uncommon interest. And so did Ray, who chalked it up to the guy fantasizing about getting in this babe's pants, just like he did. "Vampires, the Nosferatu," Cy muttered, under his breath. "What? What did you say, Cy?" "Oh, just talking to myself, Margaret." "What about the Nosferatu?" she persisted. "I'm somewhat of a devotee of ancient horror films. Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horrors is one of my favorites. It first played more than eighty years ago in Germany. Kind of a take on Bram Stoker's novel. Too much of a take, apparently. Stoker's widow sued the maker of the film. She sought to destroy all copies but they continued to surface over the years. A remake entitled Nosferatu the Vampyre was released a little over twenty years ago. Then several years after that a restored copy of the original became available." "Yes, I'm aware of that, Cy," Margaret said. "But did you know that 'nosferatu' does not mean 'vampire' or 'undead' or such?" "What does it mean?" "It's a Slavonic word that was derived from the Greek nosophoros, which means 'plague carrier.' Plague carrier, indeed. Our eight victims of Halloween past seem to have been infected with some strange malady. Something that makes them living corpses." "Who gives a shit about some stupid old movie?" Ray objected vehemently. "We need to talk about what happened to those eight chicks." "Oh, you mean the ones who are now vegetables?" Margaret gnarled viciously. "Yeah. Are you going to tell us what the girlfriend of the victim said or not?" Ray pleaded, much more timidly. "Yes, I suppose I must. Perhaps it will give you a clue we must deal with these creatures. In order to defeat evil, you must understand the nature of evil." She glared at Ray and he scowled in return. Cy, furrowed brow and sullen frown, seemed to be deeply contemplating her last remark, and then he repeated it. "In order to defeat evil, you must understand the nature of evil." Margaret told the two police officers the story as the girlfriend, Amanda Morrison, had related it to her. She and the victim, Maryellen Patton, had gone to the Catbird Club for the Halloween party dressed in skimpy little French maid outfits. Maryellen wore the baby doll maid costume. Ribbon adjustable straps, stretch satin with lace ruffle cups and lined with netting. Matching apron, attached garters, sheer panty and stockings. Sons of the Dragon The one named Radu approached the two young women on the dance floor and asked if he might join them. Maryellen readily agreed and soon became totally infatuated with the man in the black cape and some sort of red suit underneath it. They went back to their table for a drink after about fifteen minutes of dancing, and Radu joined them. Maryellen hung all over him. His eyes and voice seemed to mesmerize her. He recited poetry in an English accent. Amanda herself said he had some sort of incredible animal magetism. Soon Maryellen whispered to Amanda that she would be leaving shortly with him. Amanda suggested a threesome, but her girlfriend said no. How fortunate Amanda felt afterwards, that she didn't go with them, after her best friend was turned into some sort of mindless zombie. "What about the bizarre bone dancing?" Ray interrupted. "Maryellen told Amanda that Radu ejaculated seven times in an hour. Four times in her vagina, twice in her mouth, and once in her anus. And he had a huge penis that never, not once, didn't stay totally erect during that hour and his seven orgasms. And she couldn't even count how many orgasms she had during that time." "That's physiologically impossible!" Cy asserted. "I can do that!" Ray boasted. "Hey, baby, how many times can you cum in an hour?" He leered at Margaret. "With you? None, I'm sure." Her deadly look froze him into silence. "And then, this Radu came back to the room and soon Amanda heard Maryellen scream, and then silence on the line?" "Yes, Cy." "Maybe he was doing her again and that's why she screamed," Ray offered tentatively. "I make them scream." Margaret looked troubled, but not about Ray. "Cy, do you see that man dressed in black and red sitting at the bar? With the bushy, drooping mustache?" "Yes, I see him." "He's been watching us." "So I noticed," Ray agreed. "Watching you, sweet meat," Ray suggested boldly. "You're one hot little number." "It's probably nothing, Margaret," Cy offered feebly, upset by his partner's crudity, but not knowing what to do about it. Although he had learned to ignore Ray's blatantly misogynistic behavior, he found himself unable to do so now that it was directed at Margaret. He wondered how long Margaret could tolerate it. I hope she smacks him upside his stupid head, and stomps on his balls. "Speaking of sweet meat, I see something at the bar I like," Ray said as he rose. "All this sex talk gave me a big boner. Would you like to see, Miss Margaret?" She pretended she didn't hear. "I need to get my hose drained." Ray approached the young lady at the bar. She was displaying her ample wares in a halter top cut so low that her breasts looked like they would pop out at any moment and a miniskirt barely long enough to hide her panties--if she were even wearing any, that is. "Hello, honey," he greeted. "I'm in town for a few days on business. He showed her one of the fake cards he had made for such occasions." "Hello Raymond, I see you are a vice president," she purred seductively. "My name is Candy. Auto parts?" "Yeah, do you need some body work?" he asked, with a chuckle. "Oh yeah, baby. I love body work." "What do you do?" "Oh, well, I just don't know. Depends," the hooker cooed, letting him see even more of her voluptuous silicone-enhanced melons. She didn't think he looked like a vice cop. He looked like a chump who had an expense account and could be persuaded to spend up a storm. And the business card did look legitimate. "How much for some Candy?" "Why don't you buy me a drink and I'll check the price list?" He ordered her another Long Island Iced Tea." She drained it quickly and her look told him another one would be appreciated. He motioned for the bartender to do her again. "So, Candy, what's some smoked pickle going to cost the bank?" "Fifty for oral. A hundred for anything else. Condoms required." "Even for oral?" "Damn right." He showed her his badge. "You just might be under arrest, Candy." Her shocked look quickly evaporated. "Might be? I have an alternative?" "Let's go in the bathroom and negotiate." "Okay." Once inside the men's room, which was rather large with two urinals and a commode, Ray quickly unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard and eager cock. Damn that Randolph bitch. What a cock tease. I'll just pretend she's the dumb cunt who's blowing me. I know she wants to. They all do. Margaret gave Cy a vampire lesson in Ray's absence. She explained that the Nosferatu of Transylvania, according to some legend and lore, caused their lovers to enter into a kind of euphoric state, which then evolved into another stage where the "victim" eventually became emaciated and even catatonic in some cases. Hence, some thought it to be the result of disease or plague. She reminded Cy that the eight young women tied naked to the stakes last Halloween had all now lost a substantial amount of weight. Certainly, they appeared catatonic. They didn't want to eat, or do anything else. But no medical cause of their malady had been determined. Yes, and I have had all the so-called medical experts examine my sister. Nothing. They can find nothing wrong with her that they can explain medically, scientifically, or any other way. I can, but no one will believe me. "Cy," she said softly, "One mind can interact with another, without words or any other apparent communication. I believe that it does happen. A person can generate a thought or feeling in his brain, and in the form of waves of mental energy, plant those thoughts or feelings in the mind of another. One who understands this phenomena can purposefully transfer thoughts to another. But only the alpha male has the 'dark gift' -- the ability to seduce women mentally, and then seduce them physically, over and over and over. Until the women turn into zombies, their bodies satiated with sex, and their brains satiated with remembrances of that sex. Euphoria that they try to relive in their minds again and again. It's all they obsess about." "You are saying that a Nosferatu…well, what exactly are you saying, Margaret?" "That this alpha male, a Nosferatu, is a "blood" relative of Vlad Tepes. A Nosferatu is not immortal, but is supernatural. The alpha female with whom they mate must be of a certain blood type in order to provide the…uh…necessary engorgement of the applicable member to maintain a continuous erection, despite multiple ejaculations. Thus the loss of a certain amount of blood on the part of our eight victims." "But, Margaret, you are trying to tell me that…" "I'm telling you, Cy, again, that in order to do battle with the forces of evil, you must understand the nature of evil." Just then the chief of police, Tom Akers, walked into the tavern and found Cy and Margaret immediately. "Where's Ray? I have to get him to sign this police report. The assistant D.A. needs it for an arraignment first thing in the morning." Margaret interrupted Cy, who started to speak. "The sergeant is in the men's room. He's been in there awhile." "Well, I can't wait forever," the chief complained. He stormed toward the bathroom. Candy had a lot of experience in getting them off quick. Ray proved no exception. On a good night she sucked around twenty cocks. Her current record was thirty-two at a stag party, and she did the groom twice, the last time for free. It all took only about an hour. "C'mon, baby, guzzle some cum, give me your best hum job," Ray ordered, as he had pushed the young, voluptuous hooker to her knees. Candy had been playing with his cock and now it stood straight up, begging for her soft wet lips to cover its head. She slid her mouth up and down over it, and swung her head around and around and around like a rag doll, as she twirled her lips gently around the ridge at the back of the head of his throbbing, eager-to-be-pleased meat. This dude is going to bust a nut in two minutes, for sure, she predicted to herself. She let his cock feel the back of her throat, and then took him back out again until her lips closed on the head. Back in all the way. In and out, in and out, in and out. Candy buried her face in his bush as he thrust viciously at her, trying to get deeper and deeper down the pipe. His body began to shudder and convulse, as he moaned and screamed every imaginable obscenity. She sucked it out of him, hard and fast, swallowing, and then took his cock back to the bottom of her throat as he took his last deep shot. Just as Candy began to clean him off expertly with her lips and tongue, Chief Akers opened the men's room door. "God damn it, Ray!" the chief blurted. "If you weren't off duty, I'd suspend you for sure this time. For Christ's sake, don't you ever keep your dick in your pants? Here, sign this." "Uh…Chief…I…uh…" Candy, amused immensely by the situation, held Ray's cock on the tip of her tongue, and let the last drops dribble down her throat. "Sign the God damn police report, Ray!" Akers roared. The sergeant did quickly, and the chief stormed out. "What a moron!" he snarled at Cy as he left the tavern. "Does the asshole ever quit thinking with his little head?" he added in disgust. Ray came back to the table, a big wet spot on the front of his pants, and a serious grimace on his face. "The chief is really pissed at me," he concluded miserably. "He damn well should be, Ray," Cy chastised. "That's only the third time he's caught you with your pants down." "That's such a shame," Margaret consoled melodramatically, with just the right touch of contempt. "Well, I'm calling it a night, gentlemen. You too, Ray. I'll see you early tomorrow, a couple hours before we meet with the chief." Margaret rose to leave. As she walked to the door, the man at the bar blocked her path. They spoke to each other as their eyes locked. He couldn't seem to look away from her and his facial expression changed from one of agitation to fear. The man fell to the floor and twisted about in convulsions. He made low gutteral sounds and chanted something frantically. Cy and Ray took immediate control of the situation and summoned emergency personnel. "What do you think is the matter with him?" Cy asked Margaret. "Some sort of seizure, I would suspect." "What did he say to you?" "Nothing, really. He said I looked familiar and wondered if he knew me. I said I didn't think so." "I think the witch cast a spell on the guy," Ray proposed, recovering somewhat from his ordeal with the chief. "How did you know?" she spat at Ray. "I read minds, foretell the future, and prepare a variety of magical herbal oils, creams, and powders. I am a witch, and consort with the devils and put them under my spell. No, I didn't graduate from Harry Potter's Hogwarts School of Witchcraft. I obtained my Venefica at Hexenshule in Klagenfurt, Austria." "Huh?" he muttered, perplexed. "Never mind. I seriously doubt you have ever read Malleus Maleficarium, the witch hunter's Bible. It also contains a section on how to hunt and kill vampires." "Wha…wha…what?" he stammered. "I said forget it. But then, that little head you do all your thinking with doesn't have the mental capacity to comprehend much of anything, does it? Not to worry, I'll let the chief know, when I talk to him tomorrow, what a pig you are. But he already knows, doesn't he?" Ray's face turned beet red. She turned to the older detective. "Cy, make sure they get some of this guy's blood at the hospital." "Why?" "I'm interested in blood, didn't you know?" "Yes, of course you are, Margaret. Whatever you wish. They probably would anyway. I'll tell them I want the blood taken to ascertain if the man was inebriated." "Thank you. Goodnight." She walked out. * * * Margaret called Cy on the cell phone number he had given her as soon as the sun rose and asked rather urgently, "Did you get the blood?" "Yes. I'll give it to you at the station in a couple hours." "No! I want it now!" "Give me half an hour, Margaret, I'll bring it over to your hotel." "Please do." He made it in twenty minutes. She grabbed the container from his hand and rushed out, with, "I'll see you at the station right after lunch." * * * Margaret made the two hundred mile drive in about four hours. On the way, she thought fondly of Nellie, her nickname for Dr. Nelson Rutherford. Dr. Rutherford, a forensic anthropologist, had given her numerous lessons regarding DNA when they talked. He told her that there are around a hundred trillion cells in a human body, and in the nucleus of cells are bundles of chromosomes. Genes consist of Deoxyribonucleic Acid -- DNA, the master molecule of life. The sequence of the base pairs with the DNA helix is unique for every person, except for identical twins, forming the individual's genetic blueprint or code. DNA typing, he explained patiently, had significantly expanded the sources of evidence that could be tested and the amount of evidence needed to conduct a conclusive analysis. The DNA typing for humans is very similar, the professor maintained. The small amount of differences, known as polymorphisms, are what is analyzed to distinguish one person from another. Two methods are most prevalent. The first is VNTR, which measures the length of the the DNA at specific locations. The second is PCR, which determines the difference in the nucleotide letters to be found in a specific pair of bases. Blood, semen, and saliva are the best sources for accurate DNA testing, Nellie had informed her. "Hello, Nellie." She embraced him warmly as he opened the door. "Hello, Margaret. I can't tell you how pleased I am to see you again, my dear." "I can't stay. Urgent business. Life and death. Do you remember my sister?" "Why yes, of course. Such a tragedy." "It's about her. And the others. Possibly more young women that may suffer the same fate this Halloween" "My God!" "Yes, my God, indeed. Here." She handed him the blood sample. "Margaret, I will conduct DNA typing and other analysis and report back to you as soon as possible." "Thank you, Nellie." She kissed him lovingly on the cheek, and ran back to her car, which she had left running. * * * Radu met with his chosen ones at the motherhouse they had established in an old abandoned church in the city. "The Randolph woman has compromised one of our own. The one who I assigned to follow her. He must be destroyed before they find out." He projected his voice to an earth-shattering level, and then spoke too low for humans to detect. But his minions heard. "She must be stopped. Before the night of All-Hallows Eve, the night the worlds of the living and the dead become blurred, and our brothers the ghosts of the dead return to the earth to wreak havoc on the inferior human beings who populate this ungodly place. The coffins of hell are waiting to be filled." Again his voice rose, causing the building to rattle and shake off its foundation. "I have taken her family and now I must take her. She is a "mekasefa," a witch--the curse on the Nosferatu." The wall cracked and dust fell from the high ceiling. "Bring her to me!" * * * Margaret arrived at the police station too late to meet with Cy and Ray. They were already in the chief's office. "Hello, Ms. Randolph," Chief Akers greet somberly, intentionally ignoring her pedigree. "Ray has been telling me you have a whole pile of wild and crazy theories about vampires." Cy just shrugged helplessly. "The vampires are coming! The vampires are coming!" Ray gibed. "Shut up, Ray," the chief ordered. "Please tell me about your theories, Margaret, I'm very interested," the chief said in a patronizing tone. "Chief Akers, why did you bring me here?" she asked, very seriously. "The truth, please." "CYA," Ray suggested, before the chief could respond. "To cover his butt." The chief silenced him with an ominous stare down. "Margaret, I don't know exactly what happened in that other town," the chief began, "but I certainly don't want to discover eight naked young women tied to stakes the day after Halloween in my town." "Nor do I, Chief Akers, nor do I," she agreed, as a single, large tear fell down her left cheek. "Let me ask you a few questions. Last Halloween's eight victims were all taken to the same hospital. That hospital used rape kits furnished by the Sexual Assault Evidence Collection Program. Each kit is a box that contains detailed procedures for evidence collection and all the medical equipment necessary to conduct a thorough medical examination on a sexual assault victim." "We don't know that those sluts were raped," Ray objected. "They didn't say so, now did they?" "No, the women didn't say so." Margaret glowered fiercely at Ray. "But a rape kit was completed on each victim. Semen was found in each instance. There is no question that the women did have sexual intercourse shortly before they had been tied to the stakes. The rape kits, in small white boxes, were sealed in plastic by hospital technicians, labeled with a case number by a detective, and stored in refrigerators in the medical examiner's office. But they were never tested for DNA." "Of course not," Chief Akers interjected. "No reason to spend $1,000 to test each one. First, you don't have confirmation of rape. Second, you have no suspect to compare the DNA with. Third, I'm not sure exactly what crime we do have here. Some might say tieing naked girls to stakes is just a…uh…" "I've tied up lots of girls," Ray offered. "They like it like that. You wouldn't believe how many chicks are into bondage." "Thank you, Ray," the chief acknowledged irritably. "Do you know what happened to those rape kits, Chief Akers?" Margaret asked. "Happened to them? No. Tell me." "They mysteriously disappeared from the medical examiner's office a few months later." "I'm not sure that surprises me all that much, Margaret. We occasionally have evidence that up and vanishes for one reason or another and nobody knows why." "Yeah, like the gun in that multiple homicide," Ray concurred. "Drug deal gone bad. The perp, Otis Simpson, got off, and then he did it again." "We sure looked like fools in that one," the chief uttered. "That's what I don't want to see happen on Halloween. I'll dress as a clown and pass out candy, but I don't want the media all over the country portraying my department as a bunch of clowns. Now, Margaret, give it to me in a nutshell. Not possible theories. What you think. And Ray, you keep your damn trap shut until she's finished. Cy, you are unusually quiet." He just nodded. "A Nosferatu, the name given to the vampire of Transylvania, possesses meta-normal perception, hyper-dimensional consciousness, and extraordinary telepathic powers. He also has super-human physical ability, which is increased even more dramatically by ingesting a certain type of human blood. The eyes of a Nosferatu are incandescent and hypnotic to humans. One of the victims of last Halloween, Maryellen Patton, described the eyes of the man she left with that night as flaming, beautiful, and alluring. She claimed to her friend he had sexual prowess beyond comprehension. A Nosteratu is infatuated with torturing humans. Vlad the Impaler, the first 'Son of the Dragon,' murdered 100,000 victims by impalement, one of the most gruesome ways of dying one can possibly imagine. He ordered his subordinates to oil the stakes and make sure they were not too sharp, or else the victim might die too quickly from shock. Usually the stake was jammed through the anus until it reached the throat. Except for unfaithful women. They got it in the vagina. And babies were frequently impaled on a stake forced through their mother's chest. But the 'Son of the Dragon' also liked to put nails in heads, burn them alive, scalp and skin, mutilate sexual …" Sons of the Dragon A persistent knock at the door interrupted Margaret. The chief waved his secretary to come in. "Chief, there are two people who keep calling and saying it is urgent. One is a Dr. Rutherford who wants to speak to Ms. Randolph. The other is someone from the hospital who wants to talk to Detective Schmitt. They are both on the line now, insisting that I get them." "Go take the calls," the chief growled at Margaret and Cy. Margaret returned first and sat silently, waiting for Cy. He soon came back in. "A forensic scientist friend of mine examined the blood sample from the man who collapsed in the bar last night as he spoke to me. Dr. Rutherford maintains that the individual is not human, not in the normal sense of the word." Then Cy spoke. "That man died two hours ago. His body is on the way to the morgue." "God damn it!" the chief roared. "What in the hell is going on? Ray, you go to the hospital and check it out. Margaret, please get a written report from this Dr. Rutherford. Cy, get a sample of that blood to the coroner. I want his people to examine it." As they exited the chief's office, Margaret asked Cy, "Do you have a family?" "A daughter in college. Her mother died in childbirth. My parents are deceased. A brother in California. Two nephews. You?" "My parents are also deceased. Just a younger sister. She is in a nursing home. One of the eight victims of last Halloween." Margaret rushed out of the police station as Cy stood speechless in shock. * * * Feeling totally exhausted, Margaret returned to her hotel room to rest. She lay on the bed and retrieved the books of poetry from her luggage. She opened Lord Byron's Fugitive Pieces, published in 1806 in a very limited edition, which contained To Mary--toMary Ann Chaworth, Lord Byron's cousin and one of the first of many lovers. She closed that book and picked up Don Juan, Byron'sbrilliant work that to her rivaled Milton's Paradise Lost, Wordsworth's The Prelude, and Spencer's The Faerie Queene. And then Margaret opened the folder, the folder that contained Lord Byron's shocking verse and notes pertaining to the Nosferatu he wrote in Arabic while in Albania in 1808. This material had never been published anywhere, although some of his later poems did touch upon vampires in a quite disturbing manner. She had obtained the contents of the folder during her travels to the nether regions of Albania. The despot of Albania, Ali Pasha, became infatuated with Lord Byron, and fascinated him with unimaginable tales of Nosferatu, endowed with "supernatural" sexual prowess, seducing women and turning them into zombies. Ali Pasha introduced Byron to the "dark gift" of the Nosferatu, the poet wrote. Margaret's thoughts drifted to Mary Shelley, who conceived Frankenstein while in the embrace of Lord Byron on June 16, 1816 at Villa Diodati in Geneva, Switzerland. She wrote that horror novel, but lived a more terrible nightmare. Lord Byron seduced her half sister, Fanny Inlay, and also Harriet Westbrook, Percy Shelley's wife. Both committed suicide. Harriet drowned herself and her premature baby fathered by Byron. Mary Shelley never told her real horror story until on her deathbed in 1851 in London. The nurse who cared for Shelley in those last days wrote an account of the author's seemingly incoherent ramblings of sexual liaisons with a vampire in her youth. The nurse had read Frankenstein, and chalked up the diatribe to an over-active imagination, fueled by morphine given to combat the pain. Margaret had obtained that account from the nurse's great-granddaughter. Of particular interest was the nurse's description of Shelley's recollection of an abnormal feeling of being unable to move or talk, as she believed her psyche was being manipulated by Lord Byron. She claimed he psychically penetrated her mind and whimsically induced in her a state of both incredibly intense fear, and extraordinary extreme pleasure. Even perhaps more enlightening was the short story, "The Vampyre," written by Mary Shelley's close friend, Dr. John Polidori. The doctor also happened to be Lord Byron's personal physician. Yes, Lord Ruthven, the vampire of the story, was Lord Byron, or so Polidori told Mary Shelley. He also told her that Byron had an obsession with blood, often drinking it from a wine glass, and would ignore questions about from whence it came. Margaret began to recite the verses from Lord Byron's The Giaour, which she knew by heart. "But first on earth as Vampire sent, Thy corpse shall from the tomb be rent: The ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the…" The ringing telephone interrupted Margaret's morbid contemplation. "It's me…Cy." His voice trembled. "What is it, Cy? Is something wrong?" "Ray…he's…Ray…is…he's dead." "Wha…what?" "They found him at the morgue. In the locker where our John Doe from the bar had been put in cold storage. His body is now missing. Ray's body…" Cy's voice cracked. "Tell me, Cy." But she already knew. "Impaled. Wooden stake inserted through his anus. It came out his throat." "Oh my God! Cy, I'm so sorry. I didn't like him, but this…" "I identified the body. The look frozen on his face. Pure terror. Do you want some company, Margaret?" "No, Cy. I'm tired. Need to rest." He sounded very disappointed. "The chief wants to see us first thing in the morning." "I'll be there." "They must be stopped, Margaret--the Nosferatu. Your sister…now murder…torture." "Yes, Cy, they must be stopped. My sister will be avenged. Soon, very soon. Tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She hung up abruptly. Margaret retrieved the vial of water mixed with arsenic she had hidden. Enough to kill a football team, but slowly, she reckoned, as she drank it. * * * At midnight Margaret changed into the figure-hugging black, latex catsuit, went out and got into the rental car, and drove off to let them take her. They followed her, as she knew they would. Margaret pulled over on a deserted stretch of road, popped the hood, and got out and looked at the engine, as if there was some sort of mechanical problem. The van pulled behind her. Three of them got out and approached her. Margaret didn't resist. They took her to the motherhouse. The ominous atmosphere and a demonic luminous radiation terrified her, but she gritted her teeth. I must do this. I understand the nature of evil, which I must use to defeat evil. For my sister. For my parents. For humanity. I must. They threw her at the feet of Radu. Margaret rose slowly and stared him down. He wore a chain with a medallion around his neck. She recognized the Order of the Dragon emblem. "Strip her," Radu ordered. But she pushed their hands away, lowered the back zip of the catsuit, and slithered out of it. The Nosferatu walked around Margaret, inspecting her nude body. He came back to the front and looked her up and down, licking his lips lewdly. "Spread your legs!" he demanded, and she complied. He began to explore. "Yes, as I thought. Her clitoris. A mekasefa, no question, as is her catatonic sister and was her deceased mother." Margaret glanced over his shoulder at the gigantic iron bed in the far side of the enormous room. She recalled the words of Deuteronomy 3:11, "For only Og king of Bashan remained of the remnant of the Rephaim. Indeed his bedstead was an iron bedstead. Nine cubits is its length and four cubits its width." The bed in this room was about the same size, thirteen feet long and six feet wide. Yes, the ancient myths of the Rephaim, the truth behind the vampire legends of the Nosferatu. Radu's brilliant eyes fixated on hers. He emanated thought waves, darting forth like an electric spark, directed by his powerful will. I am stronger than you--my will overcomes yours. You desire me. You will do as I say. You will yield to me fully and completely. Margaret could "feel" the force of the unspoken words. She put out of her mind all fear of the Nosferatu. You have no power over me. I defy you--my inner power casts off your influence. Radu laughed. In Margaret's head it sounded like gravel moving down a playground slide. Stop fighting me, Margaret. You can not resist. I will win. You will submit. You will. She fearlessly spoke the words the Nosferatu fear, "Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin." The psychic wire between them snapped. The Nosferatu laughed again, the sound of broken glass. He retaliated with, "Die Zauberinnem soltu nicht leben lassen," and jolted her with another charge of electrifying physic energy, which Margaret once again fended off. She recognized the words of Exodus 22:18 he spat in German. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Radu swept up Margaret suddenly and with ease carried her to the magnificent bed. He threw her down and lay atop her. He quickly released his huge, menacing penis from the constraints of the red pants. No foreplay. He entered her violently. Dry and tight, she screamed, and screamed, smelling the stench of death on him as he plunged ruthlessly into her innermost being. "She walks in beauty, like the night," he chanted. "Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light, Which heaven to gaudy day denies." She recognized Lord Byron's She Walks in Beauty as Radu ejaculated his semen passionlessly and silently inside her. "Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin," she whispered in his ear as he then turned his attention to her neck, and inserted his fangs and drew her blood rapidly. She could feel his engorged member ripping her wide open as it continued to grow as he fed upon her. Radu rose from her body, his still monstrous and erect penis oozing cum, and his mouth dripping her blood. Suddenly his face began to peel off, and his body disintegrated before her very eyes. The arsenic, which she knew a Nosteratu's system could not tolerate whatsoever, worked even faster than she had hoped. The others ran in terror as she rose from the bed and stood naked over the smoldering dust that had once been their leader, and screamed, "Mene, mene, tekel, upsharin! The Lord of this world has numbered your days. Your kingdom is finished." * * * Margaret had managed to call Cy on her cell phone just before she lost consciousness. He had sped to the address she gave him with the siren on and rushed her seemingly lifeless body to the hospital. Now, forty-eight hours later, she opened her eyes for the first time to find Cy sitting beside her, holding her hand. She tried to smile. "I'm going to die, Cy," she said weakly. "The doctors have administered British antilewisite, the common antidote for arsenic poisoning." "It's not working." She squeezed his hand tightly. "I am living, but I am dead. Soon. I want one last grasp at humanity before I pass. One last moment of human emotion. Help me, Cy. Please help me. Please?" "Of course, Margaret. What do you want me to do?" Yes, I know the antidote isn't working. The doctors told me. "Make love to me, Cy. I feel so violated, by evil. Violated by a darkness so black. Violated by the Devil himself, I would say. I can not stand the thought that the last one who knew me intimately was…was…" What can I possibly say to her? he pondered. "Margaret, your sister has…is…she's fine. She wants to talk to you." "Oh my God! Yes, I had hoped but couldn't be sure. Once the telepathic power controlling her was disrupted…the cataleptic phenomena…the…" "Margaret? Margaret?" Her voice tailed off and her eyes closed once more. * * * On Halloween Margaret miraculously recovered. The nurses called the doctor on duty who examined her thoroughly. He explained, "You were close to death. That police detective who is usually here with you obtained an experimental antidote, DMPS, dimercaptopropane sulfonate. It's not approved by the Food and Drug Administration. He obtained it from some medical center in Bangor. How, I have no idea. We injected a massive dosage into your system as a last resort. Apparently, it worked." "Apparently." "Well, you rest, young lady, and I'll check in on you later." "Yes, doctor." As soon as he left, Margaret showered, fetched the catsuit from the closet and dressed, covering the garment with a hospital frock. No one saw her sneak out. * * * Cy answered the persistent knock at his door, with candy in his hand. "Trick or treat?" the beautiful creature in the catsuit purred. "It's Halloween!" "My God, a walking, talking miracle." "Yes, Cy, thanks to you. You saved my life. I'll answer the question for you." She pushed him from the front door where he stood into his house. "I'm going to give you a treat, mister. Me." Margaret pressed up against him tightly as they kissed passionately. His lips found her neck. "She walks in beauty like the night, Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in her aspect and her eyes…" Oh my God, he reads Lord Byron? "No! Cy, no! Not…not you?" She squealed, struggling and thrashing frantically in his grasp. "Hush, Margaret, hush. I'm not a vampire. You talked while under the influence of drugs as I held your hand at the hospital." "Oh Cy, I hate you!" She cried, but tears of joy. "Why did you frighten me like that?" "Like you haven't scared me?" "I hate you, but make love to me. Lick the garlic off my body," she joked, "but why are you wearing those fake fangs? I knew you weren't really a vampire." "All the better to eat you, my dear." "Really?" she cooed seductively. "Can that be my treat. Eating you?" "Well…I suppose. Eat a beaver and save a tree. I'm into ecology, you know." She giggled like a school girl. "But do you think I could have a glass of blood first?" "Of course, my lovely vamp." He quickly found two glasses and a bottle. "Red zinfandel. 2000 Montevina Terra d'Orod Deaver Old Vines. Hefty and hedonistic." "To what should we toast?" she asked. "To the one who walks in beauty, like the night," He tipped his glass towards Margaret and clinked hers. They drank. "I am yours, my lord. Bite me, please. Take me to your ethereal world. Take me!" Cy kissed her tenderly, her face, her lips, her neck. Margaret found the back zipper of the catsuit and lowered the front tantalizingly, slowly exposing her breasts. No bra. "They are lovely, Margaret." His hands and mouth moved to embrace them. He slowly licked in a circled outside the areola of her left breast, and circled closer toward the nipple as he would an ice cream cone. Teasing her by zeroing in with his tongue, and retreating, he then quickly flicked her nipple, and very delicately bit it. She shivered. "Ouch!" she complained insincerely. "Oh Cy," she moaned, "the other one is lonely." He remedied that in a hurry, as her right breast now became his focal point, as he alternated between licking, touching, and sucking. "There is something to be said for a witch's teat," he quipped, as he tried to get as much of it in his mouth as he could, while tugging the tight catsuit to below her waist. He smothered the round curve of her belly with wet kisses. Lower and lower he pulled the garment down until it got it past her thong. He stroked her subtly through the silky fabric with his fingers, and then his nose. "Are you trying to drive me crazy, Cy? It's working, you know. Soon you'll find out just how well." Margaret backed away a little, removed the catsuit the rest of the way, and kicked it aside. "That is quite some Halloween outfit," he commented, glancing at the cast-off apparel. "It's actually what I wore in "Misalliance." "Of course. I knew that. I've seen the play. The gorgeous female Polish acrobat, mysterious passenger of the adventuresome young aviator. The setting of the play is the country estate of self-made underwear magnate John Tarleton. Speaking of underwear…" Cy began to lower her thong with his teeth. "What is that costume you are wearing, Cy?" "Undercover detective." "Oh, and just what might you be detecting tonight, under the covers?" "This." He blew delicately on her clit, which was already exposed. "You have a very large clitoris, Margaret. I think you are a witch. Did you know that the word 'clitoris' comes from the Greek kleitoris, which means a divine, or goddess-like little hill? And I'm going to worship yours. I love that little patch of red hair." He nuzzled it with his nose. "In my wildest dreams I never could have imagined myself being with a woman as beautiful as you. Why me?" "Because you are a cunning linguist, Cy." She laughed delightfully. "Not to mention the fact that you saved my life. Tonight, Halloween, I'm your witch, or anything else you want me to me." "Tonight, I would like you to be my lover, Margaret. I want to touch and taste everything about you, your innermost being. I want to worship your fantastic body, know the thoughts of your incredible mind, and…" "Cy, what you are touching is my heart. And I would love to be your lover tonight. You are a cunning linguist. Am I making myself perfectly clear? You got me wet, writhing, horny, and begging for you to do me. Now do me!" "Yes, Margaret, my dear witch, your witch…uh…wish is my command." He licked from the back of her knees to her faint bikini line, and then traced the crease of each inner thigh up and down with his tongue. He still hadn't touched her clitoris or vagina, but he had her melting. "You have great legs, Margaret, so long and lovely." "Oh yeah. Ohh yeah. Do you think you could get to where my legs meet pretty soon? I'll beg if I have to. Please, baby, please?" "You're such a slut," he kidded. Suddenly Cy inserted his finger inside her sex, but quickly pulled it out, smelled it, licked it, sucked the juice of it, and sighed. "A slut with a hot, wet slit." "Damn you, Cy, quit torturing me! I'm going to pull your ears right off when you really get going, if you ever do. But I think I better lie down. I don't think I can take any more of this standing up." Her knees buckled as he caressed her little patch of pubic hair, licked her inner lips, and then stuck his tongue inside her, moving it in an out. Cy pulled out the futon flat and helped her onto it. He put a large pillow under her hips to tilt her pelvis up, got between her legs, and raised them over his shoulders. He spread her outer lips with his fingers, and began to flick here and there with his pointed tongue. Then he lapped her up and down with his tongue soft and flat. Her clit trembled noticeably as she groaned loudly, and started to grind against his mouth. "Oh my God, Cy…ohh…my…ahh…" Cy took her throbbing, eager clit into his mouth and gently sucked on it, at the same time flicking his tongue all around it. She put her hands on his head, pushing him down on her sex as she tugged on his ears playfully. But then he moved his mouth away from her clit, looked up, and made eye contact. "No, Cy, don't stop!" She pulled on his ears, roughly this time. He laughed, and sucked her clit back into his mouth again. Flicking, sucking, flicking, sucking. Tongue, lips, tongue, lips. Margaret screamed and bucked, and pulled him down to her in a frenzy, practically suffocating him. Harder and harder she rocked her pussy back and forth on his mouth. Faster and faster. "Ohh…ahh…oh my fucking…I…oh fuck…" Cy reached up with his hands and toyed with her hard, erect nipples as he sucked her clit and felt her love juice as she wailed and screamed like a banshee. Sons of the Dragon But no, Cy didn't stop, even when she quieted down a bit. Time to ring her doorbell, as he found her G-spot, and began to press, release, press, release. "You make me so hot. That feels so good. I told you, I'm doing this because you saved my life." "I consider your debt paid in full. So I should stop? Yes…I better stop." "No, you must not stop, Cy!" she demanded. He felt the power of her keshaphim, her love majick. Margaret emanated a concentrated cosmic invisible energy. Cy felt a electrifying jolt in his body and brain and it appeared as though a radiance of incandescent light surrounded her body. "Margaret, you are such an insatiable harlot!" he chastised, saying the words he heard in his mind. "But not for much longer." They both laughed. "You made me say that, my darling, didn't you?" "Yes, my lord." She tittered. "I love the way you said that, the 'but not for much longer' part." "No matter, that you put words in my mouth, and a few other things. Press your knees up to your chest, my dear lovely horny one." He inserted his fingers a few inches into her pussy with a come-hither motion. "I'm going to flip your lust switch, you witch. I'm going to send you into orgasmic overdrive." He kneaded her G-spot with one hand as he teased her clit with the fingers of his other hand. Margaret began to feel as though she were leaving her body, a state of super-consciousness, suspended in animation, a oneness with totality, a concentrated exhilaration of sensual awareness. "Oh my God…I…I'm…oh dear God…no…yes…yes…yes…" Margaret moaned, thrashed, and screamed as she pulled Cy's head down on her sex and ejaculated love juice in his mouth. It seemed like forever. Her orgasm echoed, and echoed, and echoed. "I can't maintain an everlasting erection like the Nosferatu, but my tongue never stops wagging," Cy whispered in Margaret's ear, as they cuddled, and she continued to tremble slightly, winding down from the intense orgasms. "What rhymes with wag, Cy?" "Shag?" "Very good! Shag me. Not just yet. But real soon. And then, if you wish, I might let you wag me again. In fact, I know I will." "It would be my pleasure." "No, this will be your pleasure." She took the powdered garlic from her purse and sprinkled it on his penis. "Just in case." Margaret's smile made his heart flutter as her tongue licked the garlic. I am a mekasefa, Cy, a witch," she said matter-of-factly, but winking at him as she fondled and stroked his manhood. "Would you like me to demonstrate my keshaphim, my love majick?" He nodded enthusiastically, not wanting to break the spell of the moment by suggesting she already did. "Watch me make this object disappear." And then she did. "I hear whip cream works on werewolves," Cy moaned as Margaret took him to a world of ecstasy in her warm, wet mouth. The soundtrack from Nosteratu: A Symphony of Horrors played in the background. The track was on "Loading the Coffins." At the moment that Cy's cock erupted in her mouth, Margaret felt another explosion. She trembled at the intensity of the telepathic communication, the esoteric breath of an etheric world intelligence. The shock waves reverberated in her mind from the extraordinary power of the supernatural force attempting to violate her psyche. It is I--Mircea--the brother of Radu…and Vlad Dracula. I will eat your soul.