The Vampire from Hell (Parts 1-3): The Volume Series #1 by Ally Thomas

Author:Ally Thomas [Thomas, Ally]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Smashwords
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Bye, Bye Vampire

Sometimes even vampires have to pay for their sins. My case is no different than anyone else’s. Wait! What am I talking about? My case is like no other case. My name is Rayea and I’m probably the only vampire created in Hell. As far as I know, I’m the only vampire in existence anywhere. I mean do witches or werewolves or zombies for that matter have to face Judgment Day? Seriously? I’d like to find one and ask him. Yeah, my case is different, and then some.

Being summoned to the Golden Skull Bar in San Francisco by J only adds to my worries. I’m currently drowning my sorrows with a bottle of tequila.

Why is J sending Death? Am I really about to die? Death shows up when people die, or are about to die. Is it my turn? Can a vampire forged out of Hell be killed? Is this part of the ‘greater plan’ as J calls it? What am I missing?

Immediately the painful memory of the mind meld J gave me during our conversation at Blick’s home surfaces at the back of my skull. Will dying feel like that? I visualize my brain turning to a globby mess of orange jello and oozing out of my ears. “It probably will be a lot like that,” I mutter to myself.

I click my tongue against my fangs, letting the tip outline the length of the left, then the right. They are waiting patiently for some action as they hide in their holding cavities in the roof of my mouth. How many months has it been without having blood, more precisely, without having Michael’s blood? What did they expect me to do? Just not feed?!

“You’ve been a bad girl, Rayea. There’s no doubt about that,” the voice inside my head admits.

“Shut up,” I say aloud again. “How was I supposed to know?! What do you want from me?!” A few other customers at the main bar glance over at where I sit near the exit door in the bar. The wooden table nested in the very back has become my writing desk, my gathering spot with friends, and now my trial bench. “Or is that bench trial,” I question the thin air.

Realizing I’m talking aloud again, I lower my head slightly, gritting my teeth. I want to have a full-on conversation with the voice inside my head, debating every side of the story including my own while I sit waiting in the bar for Death to arrive. However, I know from seeing the looks the homeless folks get as they aimlessly wander by the bar on their way to Golden Gate Park that talking to myself in public is strictly frowned upon on Earth. It’ll have to wait.

Wouldn’t Stephanie laugh at me now if she could see me? I pray she is still lost in Purgatory. If she finds a way out, and discovers that I killed her father, our father, I’ll be in serious trouble. She’ll seek revenge.

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