Escolar Documentos
Profissional Documentos
Cultura Documentos
http://www.maelstromrock.com
All prints in this book are the property of, or licensed to the author.
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CONTENTS
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About the Stories
Kalila Yusra
Nevin Prantz
Species: Fairy
Instrument: Keyboards
Special Talents: Shape-shifting, potions, conjuring
Likes: Butteflies, birds, flowers, waterfalls, music.
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Dislikes: Fighting, anger, dark and gloomy places
Vic Drake
Species: Vampire
Instrument: Vocals and Rhythm Guitar
Special Talents: Seduction, blood-letting
Likes: Type O, human females, attention
Dislikes: Type AB-negative, daylight, being ignored
Bo Valentino
Species: Incubus
Instrument: Bass Guitar
Likes: Sex
Dislikes: Anything that prevents him from getting laid
Special Talents: Seduction, manifesting in bedrooms
Lazaro Thantos
Species: Zombie
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Instrument: Drums
Likes: Drums, brains, makeup artists
Dislikes: Brains of stupid people, anything that keeps him
away from his drums
Special Talents: Hiding the bodies
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The Stories
All Natural Ingredients
Vic shoved open the top of his travel coffin and sat up,
blinking and trying to remember where he was. Ugly carpet,
uglier bedspreads, and framed prints of ghastly Monet lilies
on the walls. A human hotel. That meant he was still on tour.
He got up and wandered into the front room of the
suite, where he found Nevin sitting on the sofa, eating
something white and gelatinous from a bowl. Vic did a
double-take. “Hey, fairy. You turning zombie on us or
something?”
Nevin examined his bowl. “This isn’t brains, it’s tofu.
And it’s organic.”
“So it has something to do with brains, right? Or by
‘organic’ do you mean some other organ? It’s the wrong color
for liver or kidneys.”
“Organic means it was made without pesticides,
antibiotics, or other contaminants. It means it’s a clean and
healthful product of nature.”
“Oh.” Vic went to the mini-fridge and opened the door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Vic took out a plastic bag of blood. “A guy’s got to
eat.”
“But you have no idea where that blood came from.”
“Sure I do. It came from the blood bank I broke into in
Lowry. Don’t you remember how Ricky threw a fit?”
With exaggerated patience Nevin said, “But the donor
could’ve been taking anti-psychotics or have been exposed
to lead or dioxin. There might be artificial preservatives in
there, and there are certainly anti-coagulants.”
“I like anti-coagulants. They help it go down smooth
and they have an interesting aftertaste.”
“And then there’s the plastic bag itself,” Nevin went
on. “It could be leaking phthalates into your food.” He shook
his head and bent back over his tofu. “You’re taking a terrible
risk with your health.”
Vic tossed the bag into the fridge. “Okay, Tinkerbell.
What’s your idea for where I should find a meal?”
“I have no idea,” Nevin said. “But it should be
someone who only eats clean organic foods. Like my tofu.”
“And where did you buy the tofu?”
“Compleatly Organic. It’s like a Whole Foods store.”
Vic pondered this, then grabbed his hat and leather
coat. He had to entice one of the roadies with an offer to buy
him a steak, but he found someone to drive him to
Compleatly Organic. After staring in dismay at the bright
lights and rows of fruits and vegetables, he grabbed a basket
and started walking the aisles.
It took him awhile to find what he was after. The long-
haired beauty browsing herbal tinctures reeked of patchouli,
and the blonde at the meat counter had the unmistakable
scent of AB negative. The women with children in tow were
out of the question because he didn’t want witnesses, and
the soulful-eyed young man foisting cheese samples on
passers-by seemed a little too eager to become friends.
Vic was about to give up and to hell with if his blood
bags contained trace amounts of mercury, when he saw her.
Dark and curvy, she was frowning at something on a high
shelf. She caught his eye and waved him over. “Can you
reach that for me?”
“What? The lemon soda?” Vic tried not to shudder.
“Yeah. I wish they wouldn’t put the glass bottles up
high like that. I can’t reach, and I won’t eat or drink anything
that’s been stored in plastic.”
Vic handed her the bottle and nodded wisely.
“Phthalates. They’ll mess you up.”
“Yes.” She set the bottle in her cart. “It’s hard to live
clean, isn’t it?”
Vic agreed and fell in beside her as she kept up an
amiable chatter about how she had cleansed her body of
plastics, preservatives, pesticides, and even prescription
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drugs. “If I get sick, I take organic herbal supplements. But
I’m almost never sick. In fact, I’ve never been healthier in my
life.”
“And it’s all because of organics?” he asked, moving a
little closer so he could take a sniff. “You’re type A.”
“What gave me away? My groceries? You must follow
the blood type diet, too.”
“Couldn’t live any other way.” He got into the
checkout line with her. “So do you mind if I walk you to your
car?”
She hesitated, but then shrugged. “I guess not. But
where’s your groceries?”
Vic smiled and a hint of fang showed between his lips.
“I found what I was looking for.”
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Across a Crowded Room
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at the sky, hoping to find a star to focus his thoughts upon,
but found only the glare of sodium lights.
“Hey.”
He drew in his breath and willed himself not to look
around.
Kalila walked up to him. “What did you run out like
that for? I thought we were going to talk about the show.”
“It’s going fine.” He struggled to keep his voice
neutral. “Good job scoring an interview.”
She edged closer, the spicy scent of her skin
overpowering the parking lot smells of old oil and stale beer.
“You’re jealous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She kissed him, and her mouth was warm, her body
electric. All was right with the world again, and although he
could never have her for his own, he had this moment, and it
was enough.
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Pilgrimage of the Living Dead
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“This is ridiculous,” Ricky said. “You guys are not
canceling your show just so the drummer can spend the
night wandering around an old cemetery.” He headed
toward the door. “Go to the venue and set up. I’m going to
get Lazaro.”
It wasn’t hard to find the cemetery. Ricky went north
on the highway, cut over to Evans City, then went south on
Franklin Road. As he turned into the cemetery, he felt a
shiver of déjà-vu. He parked near a boarded-up building he
remembered from the movie, then went to look around.
The place was rather ordinary, with neatly trimmed
grass and plenty of open space between the headstones.
Everything was so tidy and well cared-for that Ricky felt
himself relax. This wasn’t the place of movie-inspired
nightmares. It was just an ordinary graveyard where people
with bigger problems than his own had found peace.
He suppressed a sigh. It was easy to get caught up in
the worries of the day, but eventually this was his
destination, just like it was everyone else’s. To the person
who would one day stand over his grave, Ricky’s troubles
were no more important than those of the people underneath
his feet right now. In fact, maybe—
Something heavy and howling slammed into him,
knocking him off his feet. He found himself struggling with a
powerful creature, twisting and grabbing, trying to pull his
attacker down. He narrowly escaped hitting his head on a
marker, and screamed as a gaping maw of yellowish teeth
closed in.
Then just as suddenly as he had been attacked, he
was let go.
“Oh, it’s you,” Lazaro said, backing away. “I thought it
was someone with brains.” He helped Ricky to his feet.
“Sorry about that.”
Ricky wasn’t sure whether to feel insulted or relieved,
and decided to let the matter go. “Just a misunderstanding,”
he assured him as he tried to catch his breath and straighten
his clothes. “Uh…look. It’s kind of a problem that you
skipped out like this.”
Lazaro shrugged and started walking across the
manicured lawn with Ricky tagging after him. “Thought I
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should see this place. Thought I might…you know, make
some friends.”
Ricky looked around doubtfully. “Any luck with that?”
“No.” He stopped and frowned at the serene
landscape. “It’s not like the movie.”
“Most things aren’t.”
“Yeah.” Lazaro looked at his feet, almost as if he were
embarrassed. “Just an ordinary cemetery.”
“I’m sorry.” Ricky waited to see if Lazaro would say
anything else, and when he didn’t, he asked, “So you want a
ride back? You’ve got a gig tonight.”
“I know. Drums.”
“So come on, then. This place is just some Hollywood
director’s screwed up fantasy.” Ricky held out his hand.
“Let’s go make our own reality.”
Artistic Vision
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She coaxed him to his feet and led him out of the
room, with Bo and Lazaro trailing after. Vic remained behind,
considering the painting once more. He picked up a brush,
examined the tip, then selected a smaller one and dabbed it
in some of the paint on Nevin’s palette. Then, after a furtive
glance over his shoulder, he leaned in close and added a bat.
He stepped back and was admiring his work when Bo
poked his head in the room. “You coming, or what?”
“Huh? Oh, sure. I was just thinking maybe this wasn’t
such a bad painting after all.”
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Once Lost, Twice Found
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Sleepless Creature of the Night
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“What did you expect? Humans usually just deal with
it. If it gets too bad, they go the doctor and get some pills.”
This was more like it. “What kind of pills?”
“I doubt they’d work for you.”
“Tell me what they're called, anyway.”
Vic listened while Ricky rattled off the names of a few
common sleep aids, then thanked him for his time and left.
Later that night he broke into a pharmacy, bypassed
the computer password, and got a list of addresses. Just
before dawn he peeked in the window of a peaceful suburban
ranch house. The young woman lay asleep, the bottle of
Ambien on the nightstand beside her.
Vic smiled with anticipation and shoved open the
window. What did humans know? A big, sleep-inducing meal
was all he really needed. He jumped into the room and stood
looking down at his salvation, savoring the moment. “Warm
milk and Plato’s Republic, my ass.”
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Taken By Storm
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Damage Control
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By the Lake
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money came in handy. But I would’ve liked to have gotten
the place for myself.”
“Family.” Kalila nodded. “It means a lot to you
humans. I noticed the pictures on the walls.”
Ricky shoved his hands in his pockets and stared out
over the water for a few minutes. Finally he became restless
and said, “Want to take the boat out?”
“Not particularly.”
“But I…well, look.” he took a small box out of his
pocket and opened it. Inside was a small wooden fish, red
with a glitter tail and a hook sticking out of its belly. “One of
the lures my dad made,” he explained. “I’ve had it as a
keepsake all these years, but I think it belongs here.” He
pointed across the water. “Somewhere out in the middle of
the lake he loved to fish at.”
“So coming here is sort of meaningful.”
“Yeah. And it’s a chance to spend some time alone
with you, away from all the distractions that clutter up our
lives. That’s why people come to places like this, to focus on
the things that really matter.”
“I see.” Kalila looked out over the water again, her
eyes narrowed in thought. “So you wouldn’t have brought
just anyone.”
“No. This place is special.”
They stood together for several minutes, watching the
reflection of sun and cloud on the glassy surface of the lake.
A hawk flew overhead, the wind sighed in the pines, and
water lapped at the dock. Finally Kalila took the lure from
Ricky’s hands and examined it in the afternoon light.
“I think I understand now,” she said. “Let’s get that
boat.”
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Healing Magic
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She took his arm and they walked for several minutes
in silence. Finally she said, “It was more serious than it
looked.”
Ricky nodded but didn’t answer.
“She hit her head hard. Your human doctors probably
couldn’t have saved her.” When Ricky didn’t answer, she
stopped. “What? No ‘I told you so,’ no remarks about my
noble service to your wretched kind?”
“No.” Ricky dug something out of his pocket. “Want
these back?”
Kalila put the bracelets on and reluctantly took his arm
again. As they neared the park, the wind picked up and she
tipped her face toward the sky, sucking the air greedily,
feeding off the restorative breeze.
Ricky waited until the color returned to her cheeks and
her eyes had lost their listless cast. “Thank you.”
“I’m not Florence Nightingale.”
“I know.”
“I refuse to do that sort of thing every time you get a
sentimental human notion.”
“I know that, too. But don’t you feel just a little proud
that you did a good deed?”
Kalila looked away with a small jerk of her chin. “Don’t
be ridiculous. Djinns don’t do good deeds.”
“Of course they don’t.” Ricky waited, then asked, “So
I’m not to tell anyone?”
“Not even your own mother.” Then, with a faint smile,
she started to take his hand, but reconsidered and moved in
close so he could put his arm around her.
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Drive-In
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Sensible Shoes
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Kalila shoved the fancy boot at him. “This is what I
want. Three pair.” She fumbled in her purse for her credit
card.
“Don’t you want to try them on first?”
“Just ring them up, will you?”
While the clerk rummaged through the storeroom,
Kalila waited at the counter, nearly bursting with impatience.
In her mind she could already see the photo shoots and
videos with her feet in the wonderful, magical boots. She
barely gave the clerk a chance to put them into shopping
bags before she snatched them out of his hands and hurried
out the door.
In the parking lot, Ricky was sitting in his Lexus,
sending emails and text messages on his BlackBerry. Kalila
slid into the front seat and opened one of the boxes, ripping
the tissue paper in her excitement. She held up a boot for
his inspection. “What do you think?”
Ricky stared in unreadable silence. Finally he said, “I
thought you were going to get something practical.”
Men! Kalila slid back the seat and squirmed as she
took off her shoes and pulled on the glorious new boots.
When she was shod to her satisfaction, she set her feet
against the glove compartment, ignoring Ricky’s glare as her
heels nicked the leather.
“There’s something you need to understand, Ricky
Landon,” she said, as she rubbed an imaginary spot of dust
off one of the toes. “Sometimes the last thing a djinn should
have on her feet is a pair of sensible shoes.”
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Pants Problems
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Bo quit rifling through a satchel that usually held sheet
music and CDs, and couldn’t possibly contain his pants. “I’m
sorry, Ricky. What?”
“You know, don’t you ever wish you’d done things
different? You’ve gotten the band kicked out of several
venues, you’ve been beaten up by jealous boyfriends, shot at
by a pissed-off wife, kicked out of the band multiple times,
and banned from the zoo. Don’t you think that’s a little
excessive? And now you’ve lost an expensive pair of pants
because some girl wanted them as a memento.”
“Actually, I think it was the tranny,” Bo said
thoughtfully. “She was asking where I got them and what
they cost.”
“And doesn’t this tell you something about the need to
make a few changes?”
Bo considered. “We should make my pants an
ongoing line item in the budget, shouldn’t we? This seems to
be happening a lot lately.”
“Uh…right.” Ricky sighed and rubbed his forehead.
“How about you bring that up at the next band meeting?”
“Nah.” Bo waved a hand in disgust. “Everyone's okay
with it when it’s the djinn’s new boots on the bill, but no one
wants to pay for an incubus’ pants.” He went into the
bedroom, muttering that he would just have to wear his old
pants for the night’s show, and nobody better steal them, no
matter what their gender.
Ricky sat for a moment, pondering. Then he reached
for his BlackBerry and made a memo to himself to mention
both the boots and the pants at the next meeting. Either
everyone’s clothes went onto the budget or no one’s did, and
if Bo’s pants didn’t constitute a business expense, then
neither did Kalila’s shoes. It wasn’t going to be a fun
conversation, and if anyone had any regrets by the time it
was all over, Ricky had a feeling it was going to be him.
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Once to Buy a Mattress
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On the drive home, Ricky ran into traffic on the
freeway and was detoured twice when he tried to take the
side streets. Since he was hungry, he stopped for takeout at
his favorite sandwich shop, only to find it closed. He arrived
home grumpy, out of sorts, and more exhausted than ever.
He heated some leftover pizza, but the crust was chewy and
the cheese tasted funny, so he threw it away. He booted up
the computer, but was in no condition for reading contracts
and spent half an hour on the sofa instead, flipping through
the channels before deciding the day was a wash and he
should go to bed.
After checking the room for signs of an incubus, he got
undressed and lay down. Then he sat up. He bounced on
the bed. It was firmer, and very comfortable. He pulled up a
corner of the bottom sheet and smiled for the first time all
day.
He lay back down, more relaxed than he had ever
thought possible. Bo had been right. A new mattress was
exactly what he needed. He rolled over, pulled the blanket
toward him, and drifted into pleasant dreams.
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Cold Autumn Day
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About the Author
Ann Pino lives in Houston, Texas, with her husband Dan, her
cat Pixel, and her rabbit, Cadbury. She works for the
University of Houston.
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