Ed Calkins: Love and the Lynch Mob

Ed Calkins, Steward of Tara, wrote a literary nonsense trilogy for the BryonySeries (and he's currently working on his fifth book) called Ruthless.

Ed, as an Irish vampire, is also a primary - and very unreliable - character in the Ruthless trilogy and also in the BryonySeries original "drop of blood" young adult vampire trilogy.

I recently shared a "taste" of Ed's writings, here is chapter one of his third Ruthless book, "Recovering Ruthless," where Ed Calkins is talking to a "mind worm."

All chapters do not read like this, of course. The character development is stunning and the plot is intricate with delightful threads running through the story, such as the excerpt I'm sharing today from "Recovering Ruthless," Ed's third book in the Ruthless trilogy, which we released on Calkins Day.

I love this chapter because it packs in so much and quite a few characters: Ed, Tommy the Tooth from a vampire mob, werewolves, alcoholism and how that affects relationships - and a wide range of emotions.

Trudy, Tommy the Tooth, and Sherrif Matt are Ed's characters. The rest are Ed's characters on some of mine.

You may also enjoy chapter 3 from "Recovering Ruthless" and chapter 14 from "Recovering Ruthless" to give you a better idea of the reading adventure that awaits you.

Finally, here is a poem from "Recovering Ruthless" that Ed attributes to one of his characters.

Happy Saturday!

CHAPTER 13: LOVE AND THE LYNCH MOB

 

 

“I don’t belong here!”

 

              Trudy was doing the worst thing you could do about all that alcohol. She’d been drinking, dreaming, and drinking again for…what was it? Three days? Six days? A week? Would she ever know?

 

              “Let me out! I want a lawyer!”

 

              Trudy was waking up.

 

              She knew from her vast experiences that the longer she stayed unconscious, the shorter the stay in living hell. But while the throbbing, aching, and regret sucked on her body like a stubborn leach, unconsciousness always abandoned her. This time the aching might last for six to ten hours or the next time she found unconsciousness, but the regret might never stop hurting. All of that could be suspended if only there was another drink. Not this time. She was sure she was not where she had passed out – although she didn't dare open her eyes lest it gave way to an instant more of wakefulness.

 

              The cot she was lying on seemed familiar to her. She could try to believe it was a stone cellar floor but that was too much mercy. Still these things had steps. First, she would endure the loss of intoxication. Then she would face the effects of it. It was a process that would play out whether she consented or not. Her only option was solving the mystery of blackout. How did she get from the stone floor of the cellar and the barrels upon barrels of Scotch and other spirits to the steel bars of the lockup? For the moment she was in too much pain to care.

 

              “Let me OUT of here!”

 

              Damn, that hurt…almost as much as what she did in the last moment she remembered. Please don't remember that not yet. She tried to redirect her thoughts to the dream before that – about the hospital that stole suicide and homicide victims out of their time as blood flow for vampires. It hadn't worked. The disruption of the unwilling homicide victims proved too much for the Templar Knights to manage. That failure wasn't her fault.

 

              “I’m WARNING you!”

 

              The last thing she remembered was the other dream and that was all on her. She tried to kill the only man she ever loved…or at least the only lover she’d ever loved. It was becoming a thing for her, trying to kill someone that cared for her, blacking out, and then trying to understand why she did the thing she never wanted to do. The memory assaulted her again. Before he was a vampire, Ed Calkins was her closest friend, but she aimed her pistol at him, squeezed the trigger, and heard the shot fire. The resulting hangover took three days of her life, trying to find out why and then delaying her life in prison so she could duel with the resulting vampire. She would never find out the reason lost in that blackout. But the duel proved to be a poetic one and neither the vampire nor herself found any ill end, only the lasting lesson of “never bring a gun to a limerick fight.” Ironic that Trudy, by far the better poet, lost the fight. The time she expected to serve in prison never materialized as unlikely events cleared her of murder. But the hole in the logic that kept her out of jail didn’t abandon her conscience.

 

              “I know powerful people! My father was the best occultist that ever lived!”

 

              Now she was waking from her last atrocity and the entire village of Munsonville saw her do it. In her enchanted dream she marched her husband to the gallows and put the noose around his neck. She had even publicly discussed how she intended to get away with it and how she would continue to hang any man that cheated with the younger woman. But when she released the trap, a small bell had rung ridiculously loudly, and she stood alone. Everyone must have woken up at the same time to the same bell – including her victim. The Goddess had warned her what the villagers would do if Trudy proved to be such a monster. Trudy had no doubt they would do it now, especially when they found out that she had libeled him. He and his leprechaun friends had abandoned their plans to build a settlement, and she knew it. Worse than that, she’d told the whole village he was impotent. Trudy had a long history with men and their erectile dysfunctions as their darkest secrets. Men tend not to take that well when you leak it to the whole village. She was still angry with Eircheard for the affair, but they could have worked it out. She might have spent the rest of her life with him putting aside this offense. But now..

 

If she survived the lynching, she could count on the divorce.

 

              “LET ME OUT!”

 

              The prisoner in the next cell was hell on hangovers. Trudy moaned on her cot in the cell that had been her office. That was the cell on the far left. The noisy prisoner was locked in the middle cell when she could have occupied the right. Christ, the lockup only had three cells and two prisoners, don't you think they could at least be on opposite ends?

 

              “Let me out!” she screamed again.

 

Was there anyone to hear her? Was there anyone in the entire Beulah County Sheriff's Office? Likely there was only the dispatcher in the very front. The prisoner started screaming again, this time she shook the bars as if she could pull the prison door from its hinges. This was not the kind of neighbor you wanted nursing a hangover.

 

              “Be quiet, please,” Trudy muttered. “Somebody's trying to die here.”

 

              In a second later, Trudy wished she had pretended to be dead because now the woman's focus turned from the invisible, if not absent, people beyond the lockup to her.

 

              “It’s not fair! Where’s my lawyer? When’s my bond hearing? I want answers!”

 

              “Please keep your voice down and I’ll give you the score,” Trudy rolled to face the next cell. She opened her mouth to talk, but recognition tugged at her boom box of a brain. Did the face in a dream impose itself and the reality of too much light? Karla Dyer. She was now not the teenager but a young woman in a whole lot of trouble.

 

“You were in my dream,” Trudy told her at great expense to the peace of the head pounding. “You were going to kill yourself and your sugar daddy. They set you up. They need your skills as an occultist. You're not going to see a judge until they're finished with you and that might not be till you’ve served enough time that you’re back in your own. Bad luck. I’d trade places with you in a second.”     

 

“I don't think you would!” Karla shot back. “They've got me for theft, attempted murder, and counterfeiting of all things! I've got nothing to do but rot! And even if I got out of here, I've got nowhere to go and nothing to go home to! I should have gone through with the murder suicide plan!”

 

              “Good deal,” Trudy mumbled. “I've got a place to go. I've got a big house and a rich husband. The only problem is I tried to kill that husband because he was cheating on me. I thought the village would be on my side or at least the women. It turns out they took issue with me sleeping with their husbands. The only place I'm going is in front of a lynch mob. Neither one of us is going to see a lawyer for a trial. The difference is you'll be here for a long time. Not me. They don't need me like they need you. The whole village wants me dead, now that they know what I can do.”

 

              “Let me out!” Karla started again while Trudy cringed holding her head.

 

              “See if that helps. Did it help the time before or the time before that? Even if anyone heard you, do you believe they’ll walk in here and unlock the door? I thought you were an occultist. Can't you make yourself disappear?”

 

              “Listen, lady, it's not my fault you got drunk! Your hangover might teach you a lesson!”

 

              Trudy rolled her back to the other to put her feet to the floor and contemplate standing. She whispered through the palms of her hands: “I can take dying. The sooner the better. What I can’t take is explaining myself to a degenerate gambler.”

 

              “Degenerate gambler? Is that what you're calling me? At least I'm not a drunken whore!”

 

              Trudy saw the peril right away. A loud, name-calling fight with a desperate prisoner in the last moments of her life might be just the way she wanted it to end. Still, Trudy stayed silent, holding her ears while Karla loudly litigated offences and insults that both women had endured for large parts of their lives. It was not like Trudy to back away from an argument but when light and sound become unbearable torture, principles tend to toss themselves like vomit that threatened to spew from the body of pain.

 

              “You should escape,” Trudy interrupted meekly. “Think about it. Here, you don't have anything, but you don't own anything. Also, you've yet to commit any crimes, so you're not wanted for anything. All you have to do is get past those bars and leave Munsonville. Best of all I'm sure an occultist like you could do that without making any noise.”

 

              “What would I do about money?”

 

              “You could steal from my husband. It's not like you’ve never broken into his place.

“What the hell are you…?”

 

“My husband is Eircheard, as in Eircheard’s Emporium. You broke into a shop as a teenager. I'm sure you could do it again. This time look for gold.”

 

              “I had help last time. If I help you escape, will you help me rob your husband's place?”

 

              “Only if you're quiet,” Trudy whined. “And if we knock off a liquor store first so I can get a shot or two of something to stop the head pounding.”

 

              “How can I trust you?” Karla strangely felt as if she could trust her. “Nobody else does.”          

 

              “Trust me…don’t trust me. You still have to escape. Can you teleport objects?” Trudy pointed, still holding her head. “The keys to the lockup cells are in the top desk drawer in the next room. Can you move them to where you can reach them?”

 

              Karla closed her eyes in concentration. She concentrated on the object Trudy described, but she couldn’t move the keys past the desk drawer. In frustration, Karla threw herself on the cot and cried.

 

              “Crying won’t help,” Trudy said irritably. “Maybe you could use telepathy instead. We could be running out of time. Do you have any friends in this time that would help you?”

 

              “Nope. I had a friend, John-Peter, but he was just a teenager when he died more than ten years ago. And even if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t recognize me or even trust me. The ‘Karla’ he knew was his age. The other problem is that the other ‘John-Peter’ is a creepy cowboy. He won’t help me escape. He helped put me here.”

 

              “Yes, but the creepy cowboy knows Ed Calkins. That’s a friend of mine. Just tell John-Peter that Trudy wants to talk to Eddie. He’s always come in the past for me.”

 

              “Uncle Ed Calkins? The vampire?” Karla narrowed her eyes. “Maybe he’ll help you, but he’s part of the group that set me up. He’s in that group with Sheriff Matt, Officer Marsha, Eircheard, and some other creature that claims he knows me. They won’t help me; why should I help you?”

 

              “Because all those people no longer trust me,” Trudy insisted. “Look, they’ve locked me up and they’re going to kill me. But Eddie will do what I ask…he always has. And if I ask him to let you out too, he will. What choice do you have? We may never be alone in the office again.”

 

              So Karla tried sending a message to the creepy cowboy John-Peter, who had questions about her request and then questions about her not answering questions. Karla gave up.

 

              “Is there somebody else that would help you, Trudy? I could try another telepathic call. Surely someone still cares about you besides a vampire?”

 

              “Nobody,” Trudy sighed. “I’ve run out of friends to disappoint. Nobody trusts me anymore. What time is it? If we don’t get out before morning, it will be too late to rob a liquor store.”

 

              Trudy looked around her cell. Was that… in the corner was her folded uniform and her revolver belt. A vain hope filled her. Was Matt so careless as to leave a prisoner’s holster in the cell with the revolver still in it? Wait. There was a note. Trudy forced herself up to inspect the change in her situation. Karla’s eyes followed her as she did.

 

The note was in Matt’s handwriting.

 

              Trudy, we need to talk about your drinking. I don't expect you at work in the morning and I'm pretty sure you have personal problems you need to iron out with your husband. So I expect you at work tomorrow morning sober and ready to work. No more disappearing when we need you the most.

 

              Not only was Trudy not being lynched, but she also wasn’t even fired!

 

              She walked to the edge of her cell. The door was unlocked.

 

              “I guess I haven't run out of trust yet,” Trudy muttered as she looped her gun belt and walked through the lockup door.

 

              Karla was stunned when she saw the uniform.

 

              “What about me?” she shouted at Trudy’s back. “We had a deal!”

 

              “I guess you were right not to trust me.”

 

              Trudy did not look back at Karla as she promised to tell Sheriff Matt all about Karla’s plans to escape and rob stores. Instead, she just stopped fumbling for her revolver. Karla stopped, too. Finally, the woman saw something that made her shut up.

 

              It was a vampire, but not the right vampire. It was one that Trudy was too hungover to get the drop on.

 

 

 

              Sheriff Matt took no more time than he needed to ensure that Trudy was safely slumbering in her “office” with a clean uniform and marching orders to be back on the job. He got back in his cruiser on his way to the mansion that he’d found deep in Simons Woods. On his way, he pulled over Eircheard’s hatchback only to find he and another leprechaun were on a dangerous, unlikely mission. He let them on their way reluctantly. Although he preferred to run his department by the book, he couldn’t deny that all of Beulah County was under siege by the supernatural.

 

              Matt tried then to retrace his steps to that strange bar where they had found Trudy’s motorcycle. It was no use. He had driven down the streets of Shelby nearly all his life but never laid eyes on that haunted bar before yesterday. Then he remembered that one had to be lost, hard for him to do in Shelby, but not impossible. As soon as he was sure that he had no idea where he was, he found the rundown building crowning a mysterious hill.

 

              The bar had just closed but the ghostly bartender seemed to be waiting for him.

 

              “Got your mustang right here sheriff. Riding by yourself this time it seems… just like a true cowboy in the Old West. Remember to remind Deputy Trudy about that date with the hot vampire she promised me for helping her out.”

 

              The ride was a dark one, but the mustang knew the way. The place was called Arcadia, and it was one of the great secrets concealed very deeply in Simons Woods. The clear, starlit sky gave no more hint of sunrise than the darkened chateau windows of any residents, but fear of both was concerning. The mustang didn't nay where Matt tied him. He thanked the animal with a pat and crept for an open door.

 

              The way was absolutely black. Cursing himself for his rashness, the sheriff quickly became lost wandering from room to room and hallway after hallway and up and down enormous winding staircases without any sense of direction. The whole mission was eating away hours of darkness.

 

              All at once he was there. Where he got the light to see the open notebook Matt would never learn. Somewhere on the surface of a desk or table Matt made out the edges of a fountain pen that must have written the last letters on the page.

 

My dearest Albert,

 

 My life is at hand, and I am weary of disappointment. The wealth of the ages is mine to command and yet I have no protege to continue our long legacy. I bid you come here to this time and spend the last of life on one last hunt. The moon should be full this October and the taste a fresh meat will stir our loins and make us young again. Let us taste our enemies’ fear and drink from their life juices.

 

Your lover always, Lawrence.

 

              Interesting…but not as interesting as Matt had hoped. Why hadn’t he fired Trudy? The question got put to him directly or indirectly with various degrees of politeness almost every day of his recent life. Why? Because even drunk, she outperformed every soul in the department. The message here contained no more information than Trudy had already provided. Matt came here vainly hoping to recover some of Professor Cornell Dyer’s books and with it a greater understanding of the powers that stole them in the first place.

 

              Frowning, he turned to continue his search but saw something moving from the corner of his eye. Wrong. Nothing moved, but a different handwriting appeared on the page as if an invisible hand wrote with an invisible pen.

 

My lovely Lawrence,

 

            I know that on the day of our hunt you shall not look one day older then when I first laid eyes upon you, but I’ll have the look of an old man. Worry not that beautiful head for I shall kiss your lips, and your troubles will be gone.

 

Much I have learned in the last few days about the service of Dr. Parks and how he might not have failed us after all. Samples of Harold Matthews’ body, Henry Matthews, his older siblings, and even Louise's body were all taken to the future for study. The results were disturbing. The doctors we’ve had working for us beyond the centuries end were completely at a loss. The sisters of Henry had no relation to Harold Matthews but shared lineage with Louise. All had different fathers. Henry Matthews shared no lineage with Louise or any other save this father, Harold Matthews. It was as if the repugnant fertilized himself and planted the results within your sister's beloved womb.

 

The results may confuse modern science, but I think we both know what's to blame. Four escaped slaves may seem too few to insurrect the future, but the rogue Nephilim slaves endanger our privileged heritage. Samples were also extracted from the illegitimate son of Henry and the love child of the adulterous priest. Once again only the genealogy of the Matthews line exists in Jean-Pierre Matthews. Not a drop of Marseilles’ blood survives. The modern researchers are baffled as to why the offspring are not identical to the patriarch. It is well that they do not understand the ancient roots of the Matthews line and how the wolf must rip the throat of the lion.

 

I have closely monitored our preparations for the future and the prospects of Munsonville as the throne room for the “King of the Damned.” Our choice for this king is still resisting while Kellen Wechsler naively attempts to run from our grasp. We needn't worry. One is in our control; the other is a fool. Fools always fail to resist the offer of a puppet throne, and Kellen fears us too much to do other than what he's told.

 

I have instructed our broker agents to divest land property and diversify the purchasing of metals, declining in the acquisition of gold, platinum, and silver in favor of more exotic metals, such as titanium and lithium. We shall sell all our media assets and transportation assets, investing the proceeds into biomedical companies. Nonetheless, our attempts to buy into a Nephilim slave will substantially drain much of what we've earned. If times fall hard on us, we can always seize Kellen’s assets as he's made an impressive effort to transfer his wealth a century or more into the future.

 

My dearest one, fear not for the future. Your lordship and my love will prevail throughout the ages. As sad as it is to know that we will never meet our prodigy, be assured one shall emerge. The imagination of the vampire fool has served us well. Young girls and women one hundred-strong will dwell beneath the county. Clandestinely fertilized, their offspring shall fight to their death to advance your lineage and your lordship. If even this fails, we have the option to buy a Nephilim slave at a price we could suffer should the slave prove unwilling. Once that slave has been fertilized, we shall put all the wisdom acquired through our projects to reverse the Nephilim curse.

 

            I look forward to the full moon of October. Of the life that remains, no pleasure shall surpass the hunt that is our birthright. We shall gaze at the moon holding hands as the change grips our bodies from frail into muscled until we are wolves again. From the hills we shall run, feasting on any we find. Terror shall fill the night as we gorge on the lesser one last time.

 

Your loving servant,

 

Albert

 

 

Werewolves? Please, not again. Matt did not like his options here. Killing someone for what they will do wasn’t the law of the land. Then again, was there any law in any land that applied to werewolves? The full moon in October of 2008 would find him waiting and, hopefully, not wanting.

 

              There was more to be done. The vampire, Kellen Wechsler, kept his prisoners, taken for all different times. Normally, taking women this way was against a new contract between mortals and vampires but each of Kellen’s victims signed contracts…a sort of plot armor that worked this way. The signatures, all young redhead women, would buy a burial plot from Kellen’s funeral parlor. By terms of the contract, they were to pay monthly for the next seven hundred years. In turn, Kellen would provide them with pills that would prolong their lives, keep them from aging, and prevent any physical harm. However, after seven hundred years, when the burial plots were paid up, Kellen had the contractual right to torment the signatures for no more than twenty-four before draining their blood. To do so, he teleported all his victims to this time and place.

 

              These immortality pills produced a crime so horrendous that it would never be repeated as it involved human sacrifice on a catastrophic scale. But the crime was in the past, the pills were a finite quantity, and Kellen came upon them in a way vampires considered legal. Undead eyebrows were raised, but no action was taken. Reasons might have included that Kellen was the most powerful vampire that ever existed. Even the Council of the Damned that crafted the laws were reluctant to police Kellen’s enterprise.

 

              So they unsourced that to the Beulah County Sheriff’s Office.

 

Matt found the room quickly as he’d previously been there. But last time he was acting on a tip and not alone. Deputy Marsha was the vampiric legal expert and vampire Ed Calkins was the willing hostage.

 

Kellen Wechsler was no easy vampire to subdue and wouldn’t take kindly to a Council of the Damned restriction. Ed had a whacky idea that worked. Even with Ed’s help, the party couldn’t hope to defeat an uncooperative Kellen. But Kellen had plans for Ed Calkins. If they threatened to stake Ed, those plans would be ruined.

 

Last time, Kellen had imprisoned forty-eight women in total and only eight could be saved. Nine more were past their “expired” deadline, but contractually, that didn’t save their lives. Matt enforced the expired deadlines by writing speeding tickets for each infraction.

 

This time, Matt counted eight, hanging from their ankles at bite neck level, pipe-tied and gagged, but not enough to stop them from begging for rescue. Near each woman, taped to the wall, was their contract with Kellen as if to taunt law enforcement. None were allowed release, but two of them were near their twenty-four hour time limit of waiting to be drained of blood.

 

Matt checked his watch.

 

“Quite brash don't you think sheriff,” Kellen announced as he materialized in the center of the room. “To invade a vampire’s dining room without a hostage to ensure his survival. Brash indeed to say nothing of rude.”

 

“Two minutes left on this one, eight on the other.” Matt tried to look unmoved, but the gagged pleading was eating into his conscience. “If you don’t finish them on time, I'm required to write a citation. As far as being rude, the law states very clearly that vampires have no right to privacy.”

 

“Yes I know. The last round of speeding tickets sent me to driver school. You’re quite annoying, Sheriff. I'm surprised to see you here without your hostage. As for those two, I have plenty of time to finish them. I see no reason why not to have you for dessert.”

 

“If I disappear my deputies won't think twice about staking Ed Calkins. If we do that you'll become the undisputed “King of the Damned,’ which means every young vampire would be gunning for you. If you love your life as a vampire, I think I'm safe.”

 

Kellen smiled wickedly, showing his fangs. “Well if you're so comfortable, stay for dinner. Watching a vampire tear into the neck young woman can be quite entertaining at the Roman Coliseum level… an experience of a lifetime.”

 

“I'll have to decline,” Matt was already moving towards the door to wretch his gut. A second later he was glad for his revulsion because it saved the vampire from reading his mind about the plans to undo Kellen and his wicked allies.

 

 

 

              Back in the Beulah County lockup, Trudy could not get her revolver out of her holster.

 

              “Whoa, deputy. Take it easy with the firearm. I’m just a law-abiding vampire here to collect on a gambling debt.”

 

              The image before her looked anything but law-abiding. More likely, he looked like an El Capone style mobster, complete in a dark suit, coat, tie, brim hat, and smirk.

 

              “I might be a member of the IVA,” Trudy told him.

 

Behind her, Karla repeated the same thing.

 

              “Yes, you might be,” the vampire agreed. “I don’t want any trouble with you, so I won’t get in your way.”

 

              The vampire disappeared, causing Trudy a regretted sigh of relief, revealing, if only to herself, how scared she was. The fear immediately returned when she looked behind her and found the vampire smiling menacingly at her prisoner.

 

              “Don’t worry, deputy. This one is not a member of the IVA. If she ever was, that got canceled when she tried to beat a mobster casino back in Wisconsin.”

 

              “That was a tribal casino,” Karla protested.

 

              “And that tribe sold us a piece of their action. Very smart. It helps to have a vampire in collections, especially a well-connected vampire of certain family. I mean no offense. I know you're just trying to keep the peace here, but you don't have to worry about this one. Let's just say that she's not a citizen of this time. Going back to the past to escape paying is very… unpolite. That doesn’t mention the loss of face I’ve endured about being fooled by a dame, see? It’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”

 

              Trudy had a thought. Keep him talking. Most men loved to sound impressive. She could make that happen.

 

              “You don’t seem like the type that ‘fooled’ very often. What happened? Can’t vampires like you read people’s minds?”

 

              “Yeah, but I can’t always understand what I’m reading, and they’re not always thinking the right thing. So, this Karla Dyer comes to my casino, thinking she’s going to win. I got no problem with that. And she thinks she's gonna win because she's an occultist. Hey. We’ve had Mormons before. Religious people that think God's going to show them love by letting them win a bundle they're always welcome at my casino. I find out too late that an occultist uses magic, and she’s the daughter of the best one. We can’t have those kinds of people, I’m thinking. But just before I put the hit on her, I find out she’s losing big. Well, hey…if occultist loses, then I’m all about recruiting occultists. She starts thinking she wants credit. I give her the biggest line of credit. Does she even think about the fact she’s broke? I find out later, she’s got no money anymore…lost it all in the last casino. No farm, no house, no car…you’d expect a few thoughts like that when a punter signs for credit. That dame has guts. That’s why I’ve got to whack her. See? Nothing personal.”

 

              Karla had moved to the furthest conner in his cell, desperate to use the time bought to find anything that could be used for a weapon. Prison cells are not the best place for finding such inventory. Trudy felt her panic.

 

              “What about the IVA?” Trudy blurted out. “I might be an Irish vampire… well not a vampire but Irish. What if I did belong to the Irish Vampire’s Association? Wouldn't it be rude to whack her in front of me? I could get very upset.”

 

              The mobster vampire took his eyes off his meal for a second to look at Trudy with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, kid. Forgot my manners. Let me fix it.”

 

              Did he snap his fingers? Whatever he did, Trudy was now outside the Beulah County Sheriff’s building. Fortunately, so was Ed Calkins.

 

              “Quick, inside!” Trudy ordered, rushing behind him as he ran with vampire speed. Funny, he didn’t think to teleport. Eddie was already standing, looking at the scene when Trudy breached the lockup door. For a terrible second, Trudy thought she was too late. Karla lay slumped in the vampire's arms her long curly hair trailing down like a black waterfall. But the fangs were not yet bloody, and the vampire’s free forefinger traced the juggler. Karla’s eyes were tightly closed, bracing for the end of her life.

 

              “Tommy the Tooth,” Eddie rang out as if greeting an old friend. “I’d have been here earlier, but I had some ruthless business to attend.”

 

              The “Tooth” vampire mobster gently put his meal on the cot to look at his old friend.

 

              “Well, cement my shoes! If it isn’t the Steward of Tara here to do his ruthless thing. How you been, buddy? Keeping the fairies in line, I hope?”

 

              Tooth put out a sideways smile when he spoke the word “fairies.” He teleported past the bars to shake the old vampire’s hand.

 

              “You two know each other?” Trudy exclaimed, stunned. “How?”

 

              Without changing the fond look at Eddie, the Tooth said, “Sure we know each other. The last time I saw him…in fact, the first time I saw him, he lent me his pliers. He didn’t have to do that. I owe this guy big time.”

 

              “Tommy the Tooth, I’d like you to meet my very best friend and poet extraordinaire, Trudy. Maybe you’ve read her work.”

 

              Again, that sideways smile.

 

              “Yeah I don't read much poetry, see? Any member of the IVA and friend of Ed Calkins is a friend of mine. Very pleased to meet you ma’am. I’m sure your writing is very good, and I’d be please, to whack anyone that says different.” The vampire took his hat off and kissed her hand instead of shaking it.”

 

              “Wow!” Trudy deadpanned. “So much loyalty and all he did was lend you pliers?”

 

              “Yeah.” Tooth shrugged. “There’s more to the story. See, I was there with my two brothers to whack him after we tortured him into telling us the names of the IVA friends. I needed those piers to pull his teeth.”

 

              “That’s quite a story. Do tell! You might find yourself the hero of an epic poem.”

 

              “Hey, yeah! I like that. Wait, don't make me no nerdy type like Ulysses in the Odyssey.”

 

              “No, I was thinking more Lucifer in “Paradise Lost,’”

 

              Trudy was joking, of course, but Tooth didn't take it that way and he seemed genuinely pleased.

 

              “Yeah, Lucifer, see? I love it. Anyway, I was there to whack the Steward because me and my brothers owed a bundle to Big Daddy Don, which meant we did what he says. Whacking people is always fun and nobody that’s anybody takes it personally. But torture is different. Everybody gets an attitude when the screaming starts, and it can be so demoralizing. You think dentists get depressed, try pulling teeth for information. But the Steward here was downright polite. He lent me his pliers, shared his favorite bottle of wine, and didn't whack me when he had the chance. Those things would have made him my favorite target of all time. What changed everything is when he convinced us that we could be members of the IVA. Instead of whacking Ed Calkins and still being in debt, we could whack Big Daddy Don and owe nobody nothing. Good thinking. That’s what we did. Now everyone thinks that we might be IVA. They might be right, is all I can say, see? But hey, look, I’ve taken enough of your time. Let me finish my whacking and get out of your way. Don’t worry. I’ll take the body with me, and I won’t leave any blood on your clean prison floor.”

 

              “Not a good idea, Tommy,” Eddie told him. “I need her for official IVA work…if I happened to be part of the IVA.”

 

              “Not a chance. She’s not IVA. If she was, she’s not. Remember? IVA members don’t do other IVA members dirty. She beat our casino out of money she owes and I gotta take the fall for it.” Tooth tried to sound reasonable. Instead, he sounded like he was begging. “Don’t you see? Any infighting and this whole IVA thing falls apart. Stand together and nobody crosses us. We do what we want. But any disagreement…any at all…and they pick us of one by one. And who’s the first one they go for? The guys that whack Big Daddy Don. Yeah, I know, we have the ‘Council of the Damned’ that says nobody gets whacked if they follow the rules. The only reason that's working is because the Council could be part of the IVA. You gotta let me whack this one or you wind up with three less members and three less friends…I mean of course if those friends happen to be members.”

 

              “Don’t worry about it,” Eddie told him. “I’ve got the whole thing working in your favor.”

 

              Tooth didn’t look so sure.

 

              “Really, because this cult or what ever she is…she’s really good. Look how she escaped me by going into the past. No offense, Ed, but I’m not crazy like you and I want to keep it that way. Going back to the past as it was/was can make you nuts. But that’s what she did, and I had to follow her if I don’t want to wear cement shoes again. Here’s another thing to think about. When my brothers and I owed Big Daddy Don, well he owed us. Then we whacked him and owe nobody nothing. What if this one gets the same idea? Huh? Remember, her father was the best vampire slayer the living have ever known.”

 

              “Nothing to worry about. First of all, the whole county is in a time flux…kind of like a time bubble. Nobody goes crazy when that happens no matter when you’re from. Secondly, I’ve been watching the future really close for an unrelated matter and Karla does none of those things. When you go back to your own timeline, you’ll find Karla owes nothing. She gambles, loses, and sends the money to pay the markers the next day. Hurray for Tommy the Tooth for having the foresight to give her credit.”

 

              “But she doesn’t have a bean. Where does she get the money? Because if it’s taking a piece of our action, we can’t have that. And we’ve got action everywhere. What does she do? Does she play the market? That’s us! Maybe she bets on sports. Us again. Maybe she sells her body. Again, that’s our action…”

 

              “Relax, Tommy. She works for the money. She considers it part of her therapy.”

 

              “So, what? She plans scores? Opens safes? Runs Ponzi schemes? Maybe she does psychic hotlines. That’s all our action.”

 

              “No Tommy, she farms… as in growing vegetables, raising chickens, milking cows. That sort of thing. Is any of that part of your action?”

 

              “Hell no. That sounds like a lot of work,” Tooth looked relieved for a second. Then he pointed at Karla, huddled in the corner of her cell. “She’s not thinking that now. I’m sure she’ll agree to anything at the moment that doesn’t get her whacked. She's scared out of her senses. But as soon as I’m gone, she’s going to want some action and now she’s got new ideas on how to cheat. By the way, cheating is part of our action too. Just check the websites.”

 

              “Look, Tommy. Have I ever let you down? If she doesn’t agree to farm, she’s going to stay right in that cell until she does. When you go back to the future, they’ll all be congratulating you for her markers, which will all be paid. And if you don't like the way I did it, come back. She's not going anywhere, and neither am I. Well, except for our little ride in a nuclear submarine.”

 

              “Submarine? Now that’s really crazy!” It was hard to tell whether he was appalled or impressed.

 

              “Yeah, I need her help finding a vampire at the bottom of an ocean. Susan Betts. I wonder if you’ve heard of her?”

 

              “Can’t say I have, and I know all the vampires and where they hang out.”

 

              “Well, no one knows about this one except Kellen Wechsler. He’s the one that turned her. She’s been wet now for at least a hundred years and if I can dry her out…well I get the feeling that she’ll definitely ‘might be a member of the IVA’ – if you caught my drift.”

 

              “Smart! Another vampire that no one has heard of except you. That will get the Damned talking. But are you still at war with this Kellen guy? Is that why you’re watching the future so much. That’s only gonna make you crazier, you know. All you have to do is tell us to whack this guy. We own you that much.”

 

              “Kellen is very hard to whack, and it might not even help. No. I’ve been watching the future for a different reason…personal, not business.”

 

              The sideways smile came out again as he spoke.

 

              “Yeah. If it’s personal, I don’t want to know about it. Steward, if it happens the way you say, you’ve done me another favor. Be careful though. Look what happened to the last guy I owed.”

 

              “No charge, Tommy. Glad I could help a guy that might been a member of the IVA.”

 

              “Latter. And Trudy, don’t forget to write that epic poem about me. I can’t wait to read it. My first stop is going to be the library. What’s the poem called again?”

 

             “‘The Devil in Tommy’s Teeth,’” Trudy fudged.

 

              “Right. Bye for now.”

 

And with that he vanished. All three sighed in relief.

 

              “I don’t really have to write a poem about him, right?” Just the thought of writing an epic poem about a mobster gave Trudy a headache. Wait. No. Was that the hangover? Wondering just made it worse.

 

              Ed laughed. “I doubt Tommy the Tooth has any poetic tastes. He just wants you to think he does. Just in case, I’ll write a limerick and sign your name to it. How about this.”

 

 

 

It’s collections that Tommy’s re-inventing,

 

When punters necks, his fangs are indenting

 

It’s the devils own voice

 

claims the prey had a choice

 

Despite clearly that none were consenting.

 

 

 

              It was too much for Trudy. She made a run for her office/cell and vomited into the toilet. By the time she finished retching, Eddie had given up on Karla’s pleads/demands/bargains for release and teleported to another place. Ignoring Karla, Trudy headed to the parking lot and her motorcycle.

 

            

 

              She tried her house key, half expecting the locks to be changed. Instead, Trudy found an unlocked door

 

              “Please, God, let him be at work,” Trudy prayed aloud for the first time in far too many years. Had God given up on her, too? Because Eircheard was not at work. He was sitting on the stairs as if he’d never slept last night. He was waiting for her and that meant talking. Even worse, he’d heard that prayer. It made her sound like someone else…a thief in the night, perhaps…unwilling to confront, but there to take all worth taking and leave to some new hideout. That kind of person had never been Trudy, and yet here she was. The very worst was he’d laid it all out on the living room table. Gold coins and paper cash were stacked for counting, next to soft cloth bags for easy carry. She never knew Eircheard had that much.

 

              He looked terrible, sitting on the staircase looking down at her. She could see that he’d been crying, although he wasn’t crying now. His face and voice adopted a reasonability where she had expected, even hoped for, his temper.

 

              “That’s your half,” he said in a steady voice. “No ex-wife of mine it's going to leave me with the clothes on her back. I have my pride.”

 

              “I…I never knew you were so rich. You never acted like it. Are you the same man that refused to throw his aluminum cans in recycling because you sold them to the junk yard?”

 

              Eircheard shrugged. “Metals are valuable. But are we really going to talk about that? Shouldn't we at least name the elephant in the room?”

 

              “You mean how you cheated on me?” Trudy sniffed.

 

              “Or how you tried to kill me.” he retorted just as quickly. “We could pretend that that’s the problem between us. Or instead, we could deal with the real issue and how we're going to proceed. Frankly if you want to talk about love and lynch mobs, I'd rather you just take the money and leave. I won't say a word, and it's all there.”

 

              There was a part of Trudy that felt excited. Really excited. It was a small part. Breakups that broke hearts, crushed dreams, and ripped apart egos were never easy to endure. She was used to that. It started in her life sometime around age fourteen and never stopped. The difference with this one was that it would make her rich. She’d always had access to money, but it was never her money. It was always this guy or that guy that let her use it.

 

              But another part of her was dying. This time Trudy was sure what she felt for Eircheard was love. And she was sure he loved her. When she put the rope around his neck, she was really killing herself… stirred up her own private lynch mob to help her. No. She didn't deserve to be happy.

 

              “So you're divorcing me,” she accused him with stony eyes.

 

              “No. You're divorcing me.”

 

              “You cheated on me. Do you promise to stop? My friends saw you with that girl.”

 

              Eircheard smiled sadly. “You're sober now. Do you really think that's what happened?”

 

              The truth grabbed Trudy’s lips.

 

              “No.” After a second she added, “But I think I'm entitled to an explanation. If you're not divorcing me, then I won't divorce you, But I need to know what you were doing with the naked young woman. I need an explanation.”

 

              “You’ll get an explanation, but I don't think it'll help our marriage,” Eircheard sighed and then called over his shoulder, “Maplewood, come down here please!”

 

              Trudy looked up in disbelief as a young woman in a French gown gracefully glided to the top of the staircase.

 

              “This is the girl that testified in your dream, is it not, Trudy?”

 

              Before Trudy could answer, the tripped on the stairs and tumbled, past Eircheard to the bottom. Had she been human she would have broken her neck. Now she lay in a lifeless heap at Trudy’s feet.

 

              “She hasn’t mastered ‘stairs’ yet. I’m trying to teach her. That’s why I brought her home.”

 

              “She…she’s a piece of…”

 

              “Wood. Yes. That’s what Glorna was trying to tell you when you shot at him. Don't ever expect to get his help again. But to make her look like a girl again just press that little button… that red spot by the back of the neck.

 

              Trudy just stared at him, dumbfounded.

 

              “Why are you so surprised? You know we leprechauns can make stock changelings that mother's mistake for their own children. Is it such a surprise that the same methods could make a leprechaun 's version of a sex doll? There are no women leprechauns, Trudy. Is it so shocking that we learned to do something about it? But I haven't used a Maplewood unit since the day I met you. Other leprechauns aren't as lucky as me. This one I was making for Ed Calkins and the modifications I have to make are quite difficult. Instead of being sexy and telling a male what he wants to hear, this one has to look confused and act like she fears for her life. That's a hard to do for a non-living thing.”

 

              “She’s so lifelike!”

 

              “Has to be. She must fool a vampire and arresting officers.”

 

              “And beautiful!”

 

              “Yes. Well I don't need her to be, but maple trees don't know that. That’s where the magic comes in. Trees aren't very smart, but they do love their pets. Think of this as a chew toy that a maple tree gave me. They’d do the same for you if you knew how to ask them. I've tried to teach you, but you have no patience. You keep insisting that you're not a leprechaun. Anyway, maple trees have made sex toys for years and they know how to make them well. What they don't know is how to do it differently.”

 

              “Leprechauns are the pets of trees?”

 

              “All critters are. Leprechauns do it better…but this isn’t addressing our prob…”

 

              “Don’t say it!” Trudy waved her hands. “Please don’t say it. Not now.”

 

              “If not now, then when?”

 

              But Trudy changed the subject by telling Eircheard how sorry she was for trying to kill him. It sounded disingenuous to her, but she kept with it. She pleaded with him to forget what she told the whole village about his sexual shortcomings and promised never to have another enchanted dream unless he approved of it. While she said all this, she refused to let him interrupt, explaining how she might have to leave town if the locals got to talking. Likely, they would lynch her.

 

              Eircheard waited patiently for her to finish. Then he explained the bell. It was enchanted too, designed to wake everyone up from an enchanted dream. Anyone without the proper enchantments would have no memory of being in that dream. That was everyone except Trudy and Eircheard. Trudy didn’t have to leave town. Eircheard could still hold his head high because he had the foresight to always wear the magic bell.

 

              “Do you think I trust you?” Eircheard asked her without softening his tone. “I love you. I know you love me. But I can’t trust you anymore than you can trust yourself. That’s why I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since the day you fell on the Scotch bottle. Someone has to take care of the other.”

 

              “You quit drinking.” It was a statement, not a question.

 

              “Now you know. I also quit smoking.”

 

              “And now you’re going to divorce me if I don't quit drinking. Eircheard, please don’t ask me to do that. You know how that’s going to go.”

 

              He sat on the stairs saying nothing. For two full minutes, the pair watched each other waiting for the first one to speak. When the silence was broken, it was broken without words.

 

Trudy collapsed weeping.

 

Eircheard lost his resolve.

 

“I don't know how much more I can stand watching you killing yourself and worrying. I can see now that won't change just because you're no longer in my life,” he said flatly. “I'm not going to ask you to leave, but the money stays out on the table should you change your mind, and I am going to ask if you would please at least don't drink for the next twenty-four hours. Will you do that much for me?”

 

Trudy wiped her eyes and vigorously nodded her head.

 

Having said all he had to say, Eircheard marched upstairs to where they shared a room and moped on their bed. Horrible thoughts invaded his mind. Somehow, he thought of Rudy and debated picking up the phone and reaching out for help.

 

Trudy had mounted the stairs. He heard the shower running and the other routines that started a typical morning. It wasn’t like Trudy to get ready when she didn't have to, so it puzzled him as it seemed clear that neither one was going to work. When she came to the bedroom, it was very clear what she had in mind.

 

“You don't have to do that. Sex is not going to fix our marriage.”

 

“Can we let that go just for now? I really need to be needed.”

 

“But we both know you're dead down there, and I threw away my erection pills at the start of your bender. Now that the pretense is gone, why even try? Do you remember what you told me the night we decided we were a couple? I told you about my problem, and you told me that cuddling would be enough. I'm now holding you to that promise.”

 

Trudy’s big grey eyes got their erotic sparkle. She sat beside him and lifted his chin with her finger to meet his gaze for effect. Eircheard tried to ignore her without breaking her touch. His eyes looked away with a roll.

 

“No sex toy since you met me?” Trudy whispered hypnotically. “What did you do when I wasn’t putting out?”

 

Eircheard shrugged. “Nothing. I couldn’t get it up. How many times do…”

 

Trudy took both palms of his hands into hers. “Did you use these to try?”

 

“Just the one.”

 

“Do you really think that ‘just the one’ can compete with both of mine and some lotion?”

 

Of course, it couldn’t. While he never got a full erection, Trudy’s hands found everywhere that felt good. It took a good while, but lotion and motion got the good of him. Half masted, he spilled his load into Trudy’s approving hands. After that, the cuddling mandate kicked in, causing Eircheard to drift into a tantalizing nap.

 

Trudy made sure he was happily asleep before she separated from his body heat.

 

Once downstairs, still in her lingerie, Trudy found a glass and broke her promise. Twenty-four hours didn't last two.