My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 2

  Chapter 2

  I sat on the bed, staring at the papers I could not decipher, wondering how this had happened, and pondering, frankly, what in the hell I should do. In the hundred odd years since I had last seen Bloodsucker Number One, my assassin business had taken off. After I left Spain, the royals of England had taken to me, and I to them. I had eliminated enough of their little problems that theater tickets, expensive wine, a veritable cornucopia of immortal and mortal wenches in my bed, and a manor house in Barcelona were all a part of my lifestyle.

  I had the world at my fingertips, and I refused to let the visit from Buttercup threaten that world. If only my father, his sometime liege the Grim Reaper, or another Specter of Death would have a not-so-pleasant run-in with Bloodsucker Number One. Getting served to go to Immortal Divorce Court by Buttercup the faerie was forcing me to remember the time, more than a century before, when I had first met that manipulative, cold-hearted vampire bitch. A time from which I thought I had buried all memories.

  When I left Sa Dragonera in 1460, I was not some vampire rube brand-new to the nuances of the world. Sa Dragonera is only about one and a half miles square, and our family domicile is built rather invisibly and ingeniously into the very bedrock of the island. Because of its small size, Sa Dragonera is ignored by mortals, and immortals know it is the province of the Sinestra clan. We did not stay on Sa Dragonera, isolated from the world’s populace of immortals and mortals. As part of my training, I had traveled with my parents all over the world. Immortals did not then, and do not now, travel by mortal means.

  We are able to traverse great distances, using bits of crystals that are part of one massive crystal. I asked my father just where this massive crystal is, and who guards it, or controls it. But he just said that would all be part of my schooling. When we traveled by crystal, he was the one in possession of it, so I had no earthly idea how it really worked. I hated the sickening lurch as my body was pulled through some sort of cosmic wormhole. At the time, I promised myself I would one day actually open my eyes when I jumped through the nothingness. It was just so much magic to me, as was much of the world.

  My parents were old-fashioned, in that fighting was our life and our culture. They knew nothing of wine, only blood. They cared nothing for music, only the clang of steel on steel. Clothes to them were functional, as was procreation, and I was their only issue. To them an education was having me learn elite fighting techniques from the very best mortal and immortal combatants. And, with no offense to Garlic, they kept a rather tight leash on me. Thus, I was rather ill-equipped to deal with one of most beguiling and enticing creatures a young male traveler could encounter—the friendly, flirting farm girl.

  I arrived on the outskirts of Barcelona, having had to use a transportation crystal on my own for the first time. Before I left Sa Dragonera, my father had looked rather stressed as he told me the key to using a crystal was focus. The only focus I had was when I was fighting, eating, sleeping, shitting, or masturbating. He had me focus on a place that I had been to numerous times before.

  “Focus on the Angry Cock,” he said, all irritated with me, which, to my knuckle-dragging self, made it even funnier. Father frowned, clearly not sharing my amusement.

  The Angry Cock was an inn we had frequented numerous times, but that did not make it any less humorous. I found myself doing my best to stifle a grin and avoid a slap across the back of the head from my father. I stared deeply at the ruby-red crystal he had given me, trying to clear my mind of all things cock, and thinking of only the Angry Cock. I guess that explained why I ended up with my crotch on the back of the neck of the Angry Cock’s burly chef, my arms clutching his meaty head to avoid falling off my epicurean equine. I slipped soundlessly out the back door of the Cock without being seen by anyone else, and it was clear that the chef, after blessing himself a few thousand times, would say nothing.

  My parents had instructed me to head into Barcelona and seek out the services of Hedley Edrick, an English demon living in Barcelona who ran the College of Immortals, a sort of finishing school for young, impressionable immortals. Hedley would teach me how to read and write a host of world languages, and I would learn about advanced mathematics, science, engineering, economics, and world cultures and traditions, giving me the tools to succeed in the medieval world. But I had the typical mind and maturity of most young men. I thought I knew everything. Book learning just sounded way too boring for me. I did not need school because, of course, I had the world in the palm of my strong vampire hand. School would merely delay my imminent and utter greatness.

  So, I originally set out in the opposite direction, but had made it only a mere one hundred paces before parental guilt grabbed me by the neck and sent me back in the direction of Barcelona. “Drat,” I muttered to myself. I vowed to just go to the school and pay my respects to Hedley Edrick, look him in the eyes, and tell him man-to-man that I did not need his services.

  I soon encountered the aforementioned farm girl struggling with a stubborn donkey that refused to pull his cartload of vegetables any farther down the road. I could not take my eyes off her bountiful breasts straining at the confines of her bodice. The snug farm dress she wore emphasized curves that I yearned to touch. She turned toward me and smiled, tossing her long dark hair off her lovely round face. “Kind sir,” she called, with a hand on one shapely hip. “Can you help me with my ass?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, I can,” I said. I came up to the stubborn donkey, and he moved toward me, let me take his reins to lead him, and immediately started walking for home. Now that impressed the farm girl.

  Her name was Carolina, and she fell in by my side, looping her arm through my free arm as we walked. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating, and I felt lightheaded and giddy, reveling in every accidental bump of skin on skin or hip on hip as we walked. Once, my hand slipped off the reins as we talked and laughed, and as I went to quickly grab them to prevent the ass from stopping, I realized that he was walking just fine of his own volition, and in actuality I was the one being led.

  Carolina had just been sold by her parents to an old woman who owned the farm we were apparently heading to. Carolina’s job was to take care of the farm while the old crone was in Barcelona. I just wanted to take care of Carolina, and by the look in her eyes, I thought she felt the same way. So of course I volunteered to help her with her chores. I was not used to wielding a hoe instead of a spear, or a scythe instead of a sword, and soon I was sweating heavily and removed my shirt. I caught Carolina stealing a glance at abs she could bounce a gold coin off, and focused on my tasks with renewed vigor. By the time we were done, the sun was nearly setting, and I could feel hunger growing within me. I needed some real meat, and soon. Luckily, Carolina excused herself and went into the farmhouse to begin her kitchen duties, leaving me to lug some heavy sacks of grain into the barn. “That will take you a while,” she said. I merely smiled and had the sacks stacked and loaded before her pretty feet had taken two steps into the farmhouse.

  I slipped out of the barn into the forest, and found a tasty doe to replenish my strength. Now that was some delightful venison. I quickly backtracked in the direction of the farm, coming upon a bubbling stream, which led me to a placid pond. The moon was starting to rise, and through a stand of trees, I could see the candlelight in the farmhouse windows and the warm glow of the hearth. Feeling much in need of a bath, I stripped naked and splashed into the cool, refreshing water. I swam for a few moments, pausing now and again to listen to the approaching sounds of night. I dunked my head under the surface, ridding myself of any trace of my meal. When I broke the surface, my keen senses told me I was no longer alone. I could smell the sweat on the back of Carolina’s neck, and could imagine what it tasted like between her breasts.

  “Catch me,” she called out. Carolina rushed out of the bushes, grabbed my clothes, and ran in the direction of the farm. I watched her pert behind disappear into the darkness and pondered my c
hoices. I was rather inexperienced with the female gender. My first instinct, despite my utter nakedness, was to leap out of the water, catch her in about two seconds, take her in my arms, and, and . . . and well, that’s why I found myself still alone and naked in the cold pond water.

  “What are you, an imbecile?” I announced to the night. An owl hooted back to me in a derisive tone. Hoo, hoo—yes, it said. I tracked Carolina to the barn. “Carolina,” I whispered loudly from outside the barn door. “Where are you?” I could hear her bare feet treading up the ladder to the loft.

  “Find me,” she said.

  The scent of her excitement was almost overpowering as I entered the barn and was greeted with the sight of her tunic fluttering to the ground from the loft. I climbed the ladder, and there, stretched out on a blanket amidst the hay, was my Carolina. The moonlight shone through the gable onto her naked body, her curves glowing, and her womanhood shrouded in mystery. “I thought you would never find me,” she said.

  “No danger of that, sweet Carolina,” I said. I lay down next to her, feeling a different kind of hunger, one that I had never acted on before—desire. Our lips met, and our bodies intertwined, and soon we were covered in a fine golden dust from the hay. She took me into her, yet all my vampire strengths and abilities, training, exercise, and discipline had woefully not prepared me for pleasuring a woman. But Carolina was a willing and able teacher, although I must admit, for my first time I was a quick study. As the moon climbed high into the night sky, my lessons progressed, and Carolina’s every deep breath and small moan was an ample reward for her eager student. Her fingernails raked my back as she fairly threshed the hay with her ecstasy, clutching me close as our rhythmic movements reached one final mind-blowing crescendo.

  There was a certain comfort in having Carolina curled up on my chest, and in hearing the soft lullaby of her sweet breath. I do not remember falling asleep, only that it was a deep sleep unlike any I had ever experienced. The last passing dream-inducing thought in my pleasure-addled brain was pondering why I had not done that amazing act before, and when, hopefully, I could do it again. I could not wait for what the morning would bring.

  Dawn arrived, and Carolina got out of the hayloft, leaving me with my morning wood and nothing but her promises of returning to the farm in a few days to take care of it. “Wait for me,” she said. “I have to do an errand in Segovia for my witch of an owner. I will make it worth it for you . . .”

  I didn’t doubt it, and passed the next few days sharpening my blades and hunting. I cursed myself for not going with her, but I had agreed to take care of her ass, and not the fun ass or in the fun way either. I came back from hunting on the third day, and barely dodged a pitchfork thrown by a rather nasty, old crone.

  “What are you doing on my property?” she screamed.

  “Oh, you must be the witch of an owner,” I said, noticing how she had another pitchfork ready in her hand. “And, by witch of an owner, I thought Carolina was saying that because you are cranky, ill-tempered, hideous, and just plain not nice. But, no, you are an actual witch.”

  She hurled the pitchfork, which split into three different pitchforks as she did, and she gasped in surprise when I dodged them all. “I hate vampires,” she said. “I mean, if you can actually catch them, their hearts are so tasty, but you all move so fast you are not worth the effort. Did you kill my Carolina?”

  “Who?”

  “You are going to have to learn to lie better than that,” the witch said. “I can smell her stench on you.”

  “That’s surprising,” I said. “You stink so bad yourself that I find it hard to believe you can smell anything at all. Bathe this century?”

  This time the witch’s pitchfork split into five pitchforks, which I dodged. She shrieked in anger, and all the contents of the barn, including the bewildered ass, were flying through the air at me. It was a good thing I was still on the high of getting laid, because the cantankerous crone did not even come close to harming me.

  “I can do this all day,” I said.

  “So can I,” the witch replied. “But the difference is that I am experienced enough to know not to waste my time and energy on someone as insignificant as you. Even immortals don’t have infinite power.”

  I made a show of kissing my biceps. “I am sorry, witch—I couldn’t hear you as I was kissing my infinitely powerful muscles,” I said. “Next time, maybe I will stick a pitchfork in your big ass, or maybe set your rotting corpse on fire. What do you think of that?” I taunted her.

  The witch almost looked reflective. “Good or evil, boy, we must all learn the harsh lessons of this unforgiving world,” she said. “Mark my words, the world is going to hand you your comeuppance for being so pompous. Good riddance to you, because I have a lonely faerie to fool and seduce. And, as for you, vampire, well, you are just a fool.”

  “Seduce? Maybe if the faerie is blind as a bat,” I retorted as the old woman just disappeared. It did not occur to me that she could perhaps alter her appearance at will. I shrugged. Ugly inside, ugly outside—at least that I knew. Or so I thought, because as I was about to find out some women were exceedingly good at faking . . . well, everything.

  I headed to Segovia, intent on having Carolina keep her promise of more sex. But two days into my journey, I heard the rush of a river and jogged out of the forest onto a small plain. Blood was spattered all over the water’s grassy banks. I dropped to my knees, my nose telling me it was Carolina’s blood. I didn’t have to be a trained assassin to know that there was too much blood for her to have survived the attack.

  I searched for her body, but I did not find it. All that was left of her was her blood. I didn’t work for the Grim Reaper, so I took a Lazarus stone from my assassin’s kit and filled it with her blood that had pooled, still wet and glistening, on a frond. Nobody forgets their first time, and I would not forget Carolina, but I had much to learn in the ways of man and woman. I looped the Lazarus stone through a leather cord and placed it around my neck. Wearing it also made me feel connected to my parents, my heritage, and my future as a master assassin.

  I set out again for Segovia to toast Carolina with some wine before I returned to Barcelona to learn from Hedley Edrick. I was a mile outside the city when I rounded a corner of the road and saw a young female vampire facing off against a band of wet-behind-the-ears ruffians. She was thin and pale with long, straight black hair, with just a hint of crazy in her gray eyes. Though she did not have the frame of a trained killer, she certainly did not need my help in this fight against these posers. But when the young thugs saw me with blood on my hands and a sharp sword on my hip, they did the smart thing and ran. I nodded at the girl, patting my sword to tell her that I would have run from me, too, if I were those boys. I shrugged and went to walk right by her, but then saw she had been protecting a small cart loaded with wine barrels.

  “Well, lady, since I saved your wine,” I said, “you can save me a trip into Segovia by giving me some of it in reward.”

  “I could have handled that myself, and you know it,” the woman that would forever be known to me as Bloodsucker Number One replied. “Oh, wait—you are an assassin, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed,” I said, mock bowing. “Trained by Master Assassin Ernesto Sinestra himself. So, does that get me some wine?”

  “Why, yes, it does,” Bloodsucker Number One said. “He is a legend.”

  I took a big gulp from the goblet she handed to me and silently toasted Carolina. I wrinkled my nose as the wine had a strange, almost flowery scent to it. “What kind of wine is this?” I asked.

  “Lotus wine,” she replied. “Good, right? If you are not sure you like it, just take another drink—it might need to open up.”

  I gulped some more, and this time I did not notice the flowery taste. “Yeah, that was better. Well, it was nice to make your acquaintance, but I am heading back to Barcelona.”

  “You can fi
nish your goblet, and then go,” she said. “I can’t let you take it with you—it’s a family heirloom.”

  We made small talk as she refilled my goblet, and I downed it happily. “Thanks again. I am taking my leave now,” I said.

  “I think you should come with me to Segovia,” Bloodsucker Number One suggested.

  “I think I should go with you to Segovia,” I agreed.

  I found myself staying in Segovia, my days spent doing errands for Bloodsucker Number One. Every time I went to leave Segovia for Barcelona, she wished me good luck and handed me a canteen of lotus wine, but at the end of the day, I always ended back up in Segovia! Eventually, I stopped trying to leave Bloodsucker Number One, and Segovia. She was well connected to the court of Isabella, the sister of King Henry IV of Castile, and had quarters at Isabella’s castle in Segovia. At that time in the 1460s, there was lots of turmoil in Spain as the royal mortals were fighting for control of the country. Bloodsucker Number One found out that Henry had betrothed her favorite Isabella to a Spanish nobleman, and flew into a rage. Shoes flew, doors were slammed, and a multitude of unladylike curse words were uttered. Henry needed the money and peace the union would bring. Isabella, the good Catholic, was properly aghast and needed prayer. Bloodsucker Number One needed Isabella. So, I killed the nobleman.

  When I returned to Segovia to Isabella’s castle with my mission complete, Bloodsucker Number One was waiting for me in her chambers. There was a single candle burning. She asked if I had completed my assignment, and I nodded. She screeched in excitement and danced around the room. I just wanted gold for my kill.

  She had the castle servants prepare a meal in celebration, and I was now ready to discuss my fee for the assassination. I asked her to pay me in gold coins as was customary. Instead, she poured more wine. She made toast after toast—one to my skill as an assassin, another to the nobleman’s dead body, and the third to immortal life. I staggered to my feet, and then fell headlong onto the floor. I could not move and, through the haze, felt Bloodsucker Number One pull down my breeches. She climbed on top of me and gave me my payment.