A Vampire Quintet

By Eugie Foster

In these five sinister and seductive vampire stories from Nebula Award-winning author Eugie Foster:

There is an enchanted castle where a golden princess languishes in her rose-strewn bower, waiting for her prince charming. But the princess sleeps with a black wood stake through her heart, and her petal-soft lips conceal a pair of razor fangs.

A violated woman's vengeance spawns a blighted curse upon the world.

A near-future urban cityscape is the base for shock troops that only come out at night to vie in a cyberpunk turf war of technology and power.

William’s heart thrums in his chest, a rhythm his mistress abhors. Not dead enough, not cold enough to walk the night at her side, but too bloodthirsty to dwell with men.

Waiting in the wings backstage, Cybele is inspiration incarnate, a lissome goddess who metes out passion, releasing the words and melodies that seethe, locked in Rail’s mind. She is everything he desires, and gives him everything he’s ever dreamed of having. But she requires payment, her fair due.

Table of Contents:

1. The Son that Pain Made
2. Still My Beating Heart
3. The Few, the Proud, the Leech Corps
4. Inspirations End
5. Ascendancy of Blood

Praise For “THE SON THAT PAIN MADE”:

"Eugie Foster’s darkly fantastic take on the origins of the vampire...This is a wonderful story, the other standout of the issue...Foster is meant for great things."
—James Palmer, Tangent

Praise For “STILL MY BEATING HEART/INSPIRATIONS END”:

"Eugie Foster’s vampire stories have everything a good vampire story needs to have...The author is a great story-teller, who pays attention to details, creates great characters, and uses a highly enjoyable style. Her choice of words and her use of language gives a very special flavour to these writings, which makes it hard to put this book down. For those who enjoy vampire fiction, this book is highly recommended."
—Ilona Hegedus, Novelspot

"these two vampire short stories are beautifully written and darkly unsettling, each with a twist on accepted conventions that makes them at once familiar and new...Beautiful, and recommended."
—Amanda A. Gannon, Shadow Muse: Naamah’s Journal

Praise For “THE FEW, THE PROUD, THE LEECH CORPS”:

"'The Few, the Proud, the Leech Corps’ mixes elements from different genres, and while technology and urban guerrilla tactics certainly play a role in the action parts of this graphic story, it is the immortal fascination with vampires and the attractive, sensual imagery associated with them that captivates... reminiscent of one of David Cronenberg’s nightmarish scenes."
—Yael Artom, Tangent

Praise For “ASCENDANCY OF BLOOD”:

"Combining elements of Sleeping Beauty and vampire tales, Ascendancy of Blood is a quick, sharply-told, gorgeously-described chapbook by up-and-coming author, Eugie Foster. Her strength here lies in the lush prose and seductive imagery that permeates the pages."
—Michael M. Jones, SF Site

"Ascendancy of Blood is Eugie Foster’s retelling of the fairy tale, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ But this retelling is sinister, a children’s tale no more, fraught with peril and filled with blood."
—Michael Gabriel Bailey, Tangent

"A refreshing look at a traditional tale. Eugie Foster has written an enchanting little tale that keeps the reader interested until the very last word."
—Lesley, The Eternal Night

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eugie Foster
• Release date: Oct 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301027231

Eugie Foster

Eugie Foster calls home a mildly haunted, fey-infested house in metro Atlanta that she shares with her husband, Matthew. After receiving her master's degree in psychology, she retired from academia to pen flights of fancy. She also edits legislation for the Georgia General Assembly, which from time to time she suspects is another venture into flights of fancy.Eugie received the 2009 Nebula Award for Best Novelette and was named the Author of the Year by Bards and Sages. THE DRAGON AND THE STARS anthology, edited by Derwin Mak and Eric Choi, with her story, "Mortal Clay, Stone Heart," won the 2011 Prix Aurora Award for Best English Related Work. Her fiction has also received the 2002 Phobos Award; been a finalist for the Hugo and British Science Fiction Association awards; and been translated into eight languages. Her publication credits number over 100 and include stories in REALMS OF FANTASY, INTERZONE, CRICKET, CICADA, FANTASY MAGAZINE, and anthologies NEBULA SHOWCASE 2011, BEST NEW FANTASY, and BEST NEW ROMANTIC FANTASY 2. Her short story collection, RETURNING MY SISTER'S FACE AND OTHER FAR EASTERN TALES OF WHIMSY AND MALICE, was published in 2009 and has been used as a textbook at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee and the University of California-Davis.

Book preview

Praise For…

THE SON THAT PAIN MADE:

Eugie Foster’s darkly fantastic take on the origins of the vampire...This is a wonderful story, the other standout of the issue…Foster is meant for great things.

—James Palmer, Tangent

STILL MY BEATING HEART/INSPIRATIONS END:

Eugie Foster’s vampire stories have everything a good vampire story needs to have...The author is a great story-teller, who pays attention to details, creates great characters, and uses a highly enjoyable style. Her choice of words and her use of language gives a very special flavour to these writings, which makes it hard to put this book down. For those who enjoy vampire fiction, this book is highly recommended.

—Ilona Hegedus, Novelspot

these two vampire short stories are beautifully written and darkly unsettling, each with a twist on accepted conventions that makes them at once familiar and new...Beautiful, and recommended.

—Amanda A. Gannon, Shadow Muse: Naamah’s Journal

THE FEW, THE PROUD, THE LEECH CORPS:

‘The Few, the Proud, the Leech Corps’ mixes elements from different genres, and while technology and urban guerrilla tactics certainly play a role in the action parts of this graphic story, it is the immortal fascination with vampires and the attractive, sensual imagery associated with them that captivates... reminiscent of one of David Cronenberg’s nightmarish scenes.

—Yael Artom, Tangent

ASCENDANCY OF BLOOD:

"Combining elements of Sleeping Beauty and vampire tales, Ascendancy of Blood is a quick, sharply-told, gorgeously-described chapbook by up-and-coming author, Eugie Foster. Her strength here lies in the lush prose and seductive imagery that permeates the pages."

—Michael M. Jones, SF Site

"Ascendancy of Blood is Eugie Foster’s retelling of the fairy tale, ‘Sleeping Beauty.’ But this retelling is sinister, a children’s tale no more, fraught with peril and filled with blood."

—Michael Gabriel Bailey, Tangent"

A refreshing look at a traditional tale. Eugie Foster has written an enchanting little tale that keeps the reader interested until the very last word.

—Lesley, The Eternal Night

A Vampire Quintet

Five Sinister and Seductive Vampire Stories

Eugie Foster

Copyright 2013 by Eugie Foster

Cover Art:

The Kiss of the Sphinx by Franz von Stuck

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 978-1-30102-723-1

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictional or used in an imaginary manner to entertain, and any resemblance to any real people, situations, or incidents is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

The Son that Pain Made

Still My Beating Heart

The Few, the Proud, the Leech Corps

Inspirations End

Ascendancy of Blood

The Son that Pain Made

MY FAVORITE PIECE of furniture in Horace’s house was a cherry-wood chest. It was carved by an exiled Oriental artisan who dreamed of ocean birds and salt water, while working in a poorly lit room. Every time I touched the weeping trees and soaring herons carved into the satiny wood, I could see its creator’s sorrow and longing for his beloved homeland.

I was sitting on that chest one day, before my son had been conceived. Horace talked at me. His voice droned on, a familiar buzz in my ears, while I let my fingers commune with the singing wood beneath me. It always smelled of sage and lavender in Horace’s house—soothing and perhaps a bit mystical. The smell reminded me of churches and crinkly parchment pages, sacraments and magic.

When Horace began pleading brokenly, I turned my attention back to him. I remembered the moonlit night in my sacred grove when he courted me with pretty words and an offering of honeyed milk. He had implored me then as well.

I gave you what I had to give, I reminded him. It’s not my fault you’ve used it all up. I gestured to his workroom where a marble woman reclined on a stone couch. The curve of her hip, the line of her neck, all perfection, carved by Horace’s hands in seamless alabaster. I had been the model and inspiration, though he had named her Olivia.

I was unprepared for the harshness in his tone. Slut! I was equally unprepared for the edge of his hand as it flew across my face.

I stared at him, bewildered but not yet afraid, as I was swept off the lovely chest and onto the faded Persian rug by his violence. A phoenix with a comet’s tail regarded me with muted eyes from the ancient weave.

You whore! Think I don’t see you peddling yourself to other men?

I lifted a hand to my smarting cheek. You struck me! It registered that Horace had called me a whore—and a slut. How dare you speak to me like that? Bewilderment faded to indignation. I was still not afraid.

Horace had the arms of a workman, although the hands of an artist. It was the strength of his arms I felt as he hauled me to my feet, wrenching me up by my wrist, my hair.

I shrieked in pain, felt locks torn from their roots. Then there was fear but too late. He thrust me up the stairs, and I scented the sage again—freshly burning sage to mask the other incenses. Rare ones, spices and heady aromas that were once worth more than men’s lives. My fear matured to terror.

Horace towed me into a tiny cell. The window was boarded so I could not see the moon, and the floor was slate-grey stone, with nothing of earth to soften it. The door, I sensed with a shudder as I passed the lintel, was cold iron, through and through. At every corner burned the holy incense to bind me, to weaken me, to keep me mortal. The sweet aroma permeated the room, sinking into every crack of plaster and pleat of cloth.

He flung me to the rough cot, which was no more than a thin sheet strewn across wooden planks, and ripped at my dress. His sculptor’s hands I had once so admired pinioned me.

Horace was a big man, and my body was that of a slight woman’s. I kicked him and dug my nails into his flesh. For my efforts, he hit me again, bringing sparks of pain flashing through my head. It stunned me, and in that moment, he ripped away the last silk and lace covering me.

Don’t do this, I begged. If you defile me, you condemn your soul.

You have already doomed me.

I screamed and wept while around us the incense burned.

HORACE TOOK THE sun away from me; he stole the air upon my face, the moonlight streaming through my hair, the chill waters of mountain springs over my limbs. And most profane and vile, he stole my gift, my inspiration, which was by covenant of the gods the most precious virtue I could bequeath to man.

He visited me every day. To replace what he robbed from me, he brought me mortal food: a bit of bread, some fruit, a sip of wine or pitcher of water. And he brought