Bloodsucking Fiendsby Christopher Moore
Christopher Moore spins a hip tale of vampires on the loose and in love in San Francisco. When Jody wakes up in an alley, under a dumpster, with a badly burned arm and a pain in her neck, she knows it isn't going to be one of her better days. She feels awful, looks worse; her clothes are torn, her sense of smell is suddenly as sharp as an animal's, she can see heat,… See more details below
Christopher Moore spins a hip tale of vampires on the loose and in love in San Francisco. When Jody wakes up in an alley, under a dumpster, with a badly burned arm and a pain in her neck, she knows it isn't going to be one of her better days. She feels awful, looks worse; her clothes are torn, her sense of smell is suddenly as sharp as an animal's, she can see heat, and she has super-human strength. And one more thing - she has an insatiable thirst for blood. What she doesn't realize is that this is only the beginning.... C. Thomas Flood (Tommy to his friends) has just arrived in San Francisco, full of dreams of becoming the next literary wunderkind. Instead he ends up working at the local Safeway and playing frozen turkey bowling with the motley night crew. He's also sharing a crowded apartment with five Chinese men who want to marry him in order to keep from getting deported. Could things get any worse? One night Tommy meets the strikingly beautiful Jody on one of her nocturnal visits to the supermarket and gets the surprise of his life when the casual date they make to meet the next night (after sunset, of course) triggers the start of a relationship destined to span eternity. Life (and the afterlife) will never be the same....
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Sundown painted purple across the great Pyramid while the Emperor enjoyed a steaming whiz against a dumpster in the alley be low. A low fog worked its way up from the bay, snaked around columns and over concrete lions to wash against the towers where the West's money was moved. The financial district: an hour ago it ran with rivers of men in gray wool and women in heels; now the streets, built on sunken ships and gold-rush garbage, were deserted quiet except for a foghorn that lowed across the bay like a lonesome cow.
The Emperor shook his scepter to clear the last few drops, shivered, then zipped up and turned to the royal hounds who waited at his heels. The foghorn sounds especially sad this evening, don't you think?"
The smaller of the dogs, a Boston terrier, dipped his head and licked his chops.
Bummer, you are so simple. My city is decaying before your eyes. The air is thick with poison, the children are shooting each other in the street, and now this plague, this horrible plague is killing my people by the thousands, and all you think about is food."
The Emperor nodded to the larger dog, a golden retriever.
"Lazarus knows the weight of our responsibility. Does one have to die to find dignity? I wonder."
Lazarus lowered his ears and growled.
Have I offended you, my friend?"
Bummer began growling and backing away from the dumpster. The Emperor turned to see the lid of the dumpster being slowly lifted by a pale hand. Bummer barked a warning. A figure stood up in the dumpster, his hair dark and wild and speckled with trash, skin white as bone. He vaulted out of the dumpster and hissed at the little dog, showing long white fangs. Bummer yelpedand cowered behind the Emperor's leg.
"That will be quite enough of that," the Emperor commanded, puffing himself up and tucking his thumbs under the lapels of his worn overcoat.
The vampire brushed a bit of rotted lettuce from his black shirt and grinned. I'II let you live," he said, his voice like a file on ancient rusted metal. That's your punishment."
The Emperor's eyes went wide with terror, but he held his ground. The vampire laughed, then turned and walked away.
The Emperor felt a chill run up his neck as the vampire disappeared into the fog. He hung his head and thought, Not this. My city is dying of poison and plague and now this--this creature-- stalks the streets. The responsibility is suffocating. Emperor or not, I am only a man. I am weak as water: an entire empire to save and right now I would sell my soul for a bucket of the Colonel's crispy-fried chicken. Ah, but I must be strong for the troops. It could be worse, I suppose. I could be the Emperor of Oakland.
Chins up, boys," the Emperor said to his hounds. "If we are to battle this monster, we will need our strength. There is a bakery in North Beach that will presently be dumping the day-old. Let's be off." He shuffled away thinking, Nero fiddled while his empire went to ashes; I shall eat leathery pastries.
Copyright ) 1995 by Christopher Moore
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