Vampire Soup

I’m no vampire aficionado but I’ve seen my share of blood suckers, from the Fearless Vampire Slayers to True Blood. I knew when I set out to write my own vamps, I had to make up the rules of my world. Important question had to be answered, like is garlic a major deterrent or just a minor irritant? And do male vampires ejaculate?

Instead of turning to current genre conventions, I researched into East European vampire folklore, and came across a fascinating mélange of beliefs and practices. I learned that the preferred wood for stakes varied by region and ranged widely—ash, oak, aspen, juniper, cherry and apple. Vampires weren’t always staked through the heart either—the mouth and stomach were alternate spots. Originally the stakes were used to secure dead bodies to the ground, so they couldn’t get out of their graves.

While the use of silver knives sound awful romantic, silver is too soft a metal to hold an edge. Romanies (Gypsies) preferred iron and steel. They especially had many fascinating views on vamps. For example, they believed that while vampires were invisible, they could be seen by a twin brother and sister born on a Saturday who both wore their drawers and shirts inside out. Good luck finding people like that in a pinch…

How vampires were made varied a great deal as well. They could rise from the bodies of murderers or suicide victims, or could be the victims of violent and untimely death. Not all were immortal, and some male vampires could even continue marital relations with their widows and have children. Gypsies called the male offspring of such union Dhampir. Dhampirs were destined to become vampire hunters, and so were their male offspring.

Gabe, the narrator of Spirit Sanguine comes from such lineage—born to be a slayer, although he didn’t learn the fact till after his parents’ death, from an uncle he didn’t know existed. He spent the next five years in an educational slaying-spree across Eastern Europe. At the beginning of the book he’s back in Chicago, adrift and aimless until he bumps into a young vampire. Harvey is nothing like the single-minded monsters Gabe is familiar with, and he leaves Gabe bewildered—as the following excerpt demonstrates:

Gabe awoke with a start. The first thing he saw was a pair of brown-green eyes. Harvey sat on the sofa, observing him intently. They glared at each other for a few tense seconds before the vampire lowered his gaze—all the way to Gabe’s crotch. Gabe followed it to see a large wet spot there. Sometime during the night, his grip had loosened on the plastic bag, and the melted ice had soaked into his pants, creating the most embarrassing wet patch ever.

“I have a dryer you can use,” Harvey said, snickering.

“It was ice. You have sharp knees.”

“And you have sharp sticks.”

Gabe didn’t know what he was supposed to say, so he shrugged.

Harvey made a dismissive gesture. “Good thing you’re a lousy shot.”

“You moved.”

“Ah! My bad. Is that how hunters do it? Ask the deer to hold still?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure—” Gabe caught himself. “Are you always this mouthy?”

“Why? Anything wrong with my mouth?”

“Aside from always flapping?”

“Yes, aside.”

Gabe’s gaze was drawn to Harvey’s pursed lips. No, there was nothing wrong with them. They were exceptionally fine. And it wasn’t just those lips. For someone covered in dried blood, Harvey looked…nice. Gabe remembered the stake he’d been holding when he’d fallen asleep—it was gone. He patted his cargo pockets, but they were empty as well.

“I put them away,” Harvey explained. “In case you woke up in a homicidal mood. You seem very impulsive.”

“Where—”

“They’re safe, don’t worry. May I suggest an official ceasefire? No slaying each other for a while. What do you say?”

Gabe screwed up his brows. “It’s highly unorthodox. Why would I trust you?”

“Why would I trust you? I’ve abstained from killing you or even feeding on you twice so far. You, on the other hand, have shown far less self-control. You really don’t have the moral high ground here.”

“But you are—”

“Don’t start with that whole bloodsucker bit. It’s getting old. You could try to be a little less dogmatic.”

“Okay, fine,” Gabe replied gruffly.

He didn’t like being told off on an empty stomach. Having a regular conversation with a vampire—one that didn’t even involve threats of vivisection—was weird enough. Uncle Miklos was probably spinning in his grave.

Lou Harper’s author page: LouHarper.com

Blog: http://louharper.blogspot.com

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