I Eat Butterflies: Tales of Vampires, Mages & Mutants

By Raven c.s. McCracken

I EAT BUTTERFLIES - Tales of Vampires, Mages & Mutants is a trio of sinister & sexy erotic horror / urban fantasy / dark & dangerous sci-fi stories from the creator of THE WORLD OF SYNNIBARR and CRYPT: THE PHARAOH’S CURSE. THE BRIDES: The Brides of Dracula have always been secretly calling the shots by making Draculii as fall guys. What happens when you create the wrong dark prince? MERLIN’S KNOT: Upon discovering the secret code interlaced within the Celtic knots, a group of college students learn how to use real magic, and the knowledge propels them into a world of intrigue and adventure. VELOCITY SYNDROME: An Orwellian take on the near future, where there are groups of low-powered mutants, humans have chips in their brains, and the world is drowning. And the answer to one murder may save the world or lead to total destruction...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raven c.s. McCracken
• Release date: Mar 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452475967

Raven c.s. McCracken

Raven c.s. McCracken currently lives in Seattle, Washington, with his Welsh corgi Bannor. In his spare time, Raven enjoys wombat training, untying and retying his shoes, and terraforming the sun with dehydrated water.Raven c.s. McCracken is perhaps best known for his creation: The World of Synnibarr. For which he has sincerely apologized, except for the Flying Grizzlies.He offers these explanations: Choose one.A: “There was no INTERNET!”B: “I had a spare decade lying around.”C: “It takes a lot of paperwork to play god.”D: “I was thrown in a small cage, sent forward in time via the astral plane, and forced to create Synnibarr for a bunch of inbred hillbilly ...uh...Viking chess masters, yes!... No wait!... Myopic alien Viking vampire speed readers on steam-powered robot ninja dinosaur ghosts secretly protecting Area 51 and the Holy Grail, from the wicked hovercraft riding pan-dimensional hypoglycemic mutant werewolf conservative shaman strippers in mystic leather tube-tops! They made me do it! If I failed, they said that the fate of every extension cord in Indonesia was at stake!”E: “All of the above.”

Book preview

I EAT BUTTERFLIES

Tales of Vampires,

Mages & Mutants

Raven c.s. McCracken

Copyright © 2011 by Raven c.s. McCracken &

Swooping Grizzly Publications – All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living, dead or undead is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Published in the United States by Swooping Grizzly Publications

For contact information go to ravencsmccracken.com

Cover art by Kar-Dix Graphix

Author Photo by RJB Photo

Edited by Kelly DeWitt

Also By Raven c.s. McCracken

The World of Synnibarr

The Ultimate Adventurer’s Guide

Crypt: The Pharaoh’s Curse

Table of Contents

THE BRIDES

(Vampires)

MERLIN’S KNOT

(Mages)

VELOCITY SYNDROME

(Mutants)

Author Bio

Copyright Info

Special Thanks

This book is dedicated to new beginnings.

The Brides

A heavy sensual music throbbed amidst the colors of the club, the deep blues complemented by sumptuous magentas, the mélange seemingly orchestrated by a leering demon mummy, tiny pinpoints of light flashing in her eyes. Brandishing outstretched wings, the figurehead oversaw the bar and threatened any and all who entered The Feast.

Like weary predators, the scantily clad girls stalked halfheartedly among the patrons, soliciting drinks and lap dances, while in the rear of the club, a young dancer took to the pole.

As she moved, her jewelry caught the lasers, and the reflections exploded like tiny novas, demanding attention, the multitude of distractions transforming her into something more than human.

The manager’s face was briefly lit by the shifting lights, his features betraying a dislike for the pole dancer. At his side, several of the club’s girls sat poised for his every request, all of them with obvious vampire bites.

The stripper’s movement was hypnotic. With the shifting lights caressing her skin, the dancer began to remove her two-piece costume in time to the music. With practiced ease, she dramatically pulled the strings on her top and carelessly allowed the tiny bit of cloth to fall from her fingertips. She then floated up and down the pole, appearing weightless, her feet never touching the stage.

As end of the song approached, the dancer climbed to the ceiling and started the pole spinning with a flick of her wrist. Gripping with her free hand, she smoothly removed the last of her costume with her other hand and posed while she twirled. Once the song was done, she drifted gently back to the stage.

And that was Miss Alexis, called the announcer from the shadows. "Be sure and ask her for a lap-dance guys, before it’s too late, and she gets hungry! Next up, the ravenous Rayanna …"

Alexis collected her costume to scattered applause and moved from the stage to the manager’s table. Between gulps of air, she absently began to fidget with her fake bite mark as she dressed. When she actually moved the prosthetic, the manager caught her hand.

Do that in the dressing room, he hissed. Helps maintain the illusion. The manager squeezed the dancer’s fingers until the girl cried out, before releasing them violently. If I have to tell you again, you’re done. I don’t care if you are one of the best dancers in the club. Stupid bitch— and through a drink he added under his breath, Should give you a real set …

One of the dancers leaned into Alexis who was sullenly rubbing her hand. You alright, honey? The other dancer’s concern was almost genuine.

Alexis sniffed and dredged up a weak smile. Sure … just bored.

You and me both, baby. Club’s full of cheapskates tonight.

The pole dancer scoffed, Yeah, if every guy would come in with the intention of spending at least a hundred bucks, things would be ok.

The manager sat down his drink and interrupted, If you would get off your lazy ass, you might be able to make rent this time. You’re already into me for almost three hundred as it is.

The only way I’m going to make it up is to—

The manager cut her off. I don’t care what you have to do. You better catch up, or you’re out of a job. Then he added, Just don’t get caught. You bring down the heat and I swear they’ll never find the body!

An expression of surprise appeared on her face as the pole dancer nodded her acceptance and then pointed. Looks like I won’t have to worry about that, Sal. The cops are already here.

Shit!

The manager climbed from behind the table. Impossibly fast, he reached the first of the S.W.A.T. team just as the man cleared a mirrored column. With one hand, Sal bent the barrel of the machine gun and threw the cop into the rest of the group. Those still on their feet dove at him. Instantly the crowd began to stampede in terror.

Ducking behind the column, the manager drew his handgun and opened fire. Heedless of the customers, he emptied the weapon; while firing, he noticed three dancers moving out of harm’s way. Just that glimpse brought an overwhelming desire to join them, to serve them … worship them.

The first, with her hair of golden saffron, was as delicate as a morning mist, dressed in a gauzy blue sarong; she drifted out of view, as if banished by the harsh light of day. She was followed by the smallest of the three, a petite brunette, dressed in a black velvet and diamond bikini, with delicate cat ears perched on her head. They were trailed by a nearly six foot Amazon, decked out as a leather dominatrix, with coal black hair and a bullwhip trailing like a tail as she moved. While the others had expressions of worry, her face had the feral look of a hunter. Together they vanished into the dressing room.

The manager bolted for the rear of the club the instant the trio was out of sight. Amidst the hail of gunfire, he made his way toward a rear exit while round after round slammed into him with no apparent effect. Just as he neared the exit door, another team emerged, cutting him off. Surprised, the manager hissed, his teeth growing into fangs that sparked with electricity like a taser.

The police opened fire without hesitation. Taking the full brunt of the assault, the manager was knocked backwards. When he began to struggle to his feet yet again, the officers fell on him in a flurry of punches. Cuffed at the ankles and wrists, it took four cops to haul the manager out of The Feast, still kicking and screaming.

Within the dressing room, the delicate fingers of the first of the dancers depressed a secret latch; together they entered a small elevator and within a few moments were outside The Feast, with a ringside seat from a limo.

The manager, still resisting, appeared from the club. Just as the cops attempted to transfer him to the holding van, he snapped free of the restraints. Shaking the police officers off him as if they were weightless, he roared at the sight of the limousine at the end of the alley.

Goodbye husband. The dancer in the domme outfit held a vial in her hand. It was filled with a reddish liquid, the color of thin blood. With a gentle sadness, she dropped the tiny glass container out the window, where it shattered on the pavement.

The manager’s scream held the passion of immortality lost. Noooo …

His cry was answered by the sound of exploding thunder, a gigantic bolt of scarlet-colored lightning crawling into the sky from the manager’s heart. Instantly, the concussion blasted everyone surrounding him off their feet.

Spent of any animation, the manager’s body toppled to the ground with a wet thud, a wisp of smoke rising from its chest. In moments, the damage done by the bullets began to appear, and the corpse became an ancient, mangled wreck.

Stumbling to their feet, with weapons drawn, the police closed in, just as a rain began to fall.

--

The Las Vegas news announcer’s voice was in that perfect Northwest accent, taught to every broadcaster throughout America. Police report that the suspect killed in yesterday’s shootout, whose name is still unknown, is believed to have been an illegal immigrant from Europe, wanted in connection with everything from trafficking weapons, to multiple murders, and that his death closes several ongoing investigations. In related events, the poli—

The flatscreen in the dressing room fell dark.

Well, that wraps up that, purred Katrina, stretching her feet into her sister’s lap.

Anna gently, almost subserviently, caressed Kat’s feet and ventured in an airy voice, We would have been discovered long ago, if not for our beloved Draculii.

Silvia laughed; it had a barking quality to it. Especially by a Stoker in Scotland.

Kat took her feet from Anna’s grasp and stood. Still, that was too close. We should totally bail.

Silvia sat back and twirled her ebony hair. Sister, I do not think I like the sound of your voice when you use absurd slang. And then she shrugged. And yet what you say is the truth.

Anna waved them both down. The new assistant manager of The Feast received his letter of promotion and bonus. And Salazar did not have time to corrupt him. We should just find ourselves a replacement as quick as possible and lay low for a while. It would be a shame to have to work up everything in a new location.

Not to mention a bit harder, what with all the intensified scrutiny from various governments, admitted Kat, obviously relaxing. Alright, let’s lay low for a while and see what happens.

Silvia jumped to her feet. Well then, with that settled, what’s on the menu for tonight?

Three, I do believe—one for each of us. Silvia picked up the applications. Sam has them waiting.

The empty club echoed when the trio emerged from the dressing room. Katrina noted that the girls sat in a huddle with the new assistant manager, not an experienced stripper in the bunch—perfect. Each was recruited on Amateur Night and was from out of town, looking to make it in Las Vegas. And most importantly of all, each admitted that no one was to know that they were here—if word ever got back to their families …

This careful screening process was the key to the trio’s success.

Katrina strolled up to the table and addressed the new manager. Sam, thank you for letting us in so early, what with all the unpleasantness of the past few days.

Sam smiled, white teeth appearing in his coal black features like a lighthouse. As he crawled from between the new girls he said, Don’t worry about it. Salazar was a sleazebag. Motherfucker finally got what he deserved. You girls lock up tight when you leave now, you hear? I just got promoted, and I don’t want management on my case the first week.

Yes, Sam, said Katrina politely as she saw him to the door. Sharp daylight flooded in as it opened and closed. The instant darkness was restored, the music and lights began. Anna flowed from the booth and joined her sisters.

We want you all to dance, together, announced Silvia, tossing the applications to the table.

At the hesitation in the girls’ faces, Silvia gestured to her sisters. Like this. Each of the women took a girl by the hand and led her to the seats around the main stage.

Without losing eye contact, the graceful trio stepped backwards up onto the stage and, with fluid precision, began to undress to the music. Working together, intertwining and caressing, they moved almost as one. With obvious desire, each assisted the other in removing almost every article of clothing within two short songs. During the dance, they took time to step to the girls and open their g-strings to ask for tips and briefly dance for them at close range, touch them, and rub in their laps.

Mesmerized and excited, the applicants all but squirmed with desire and delight. At the end of the second song, the women stepped off the stage together and paraded toward the girls.

One of the applicants was still a teenager; she was bursting with excitement and enthusiasm. That was awesome, can you teach me to dance like that?

Electricity arced between Katrina’s fangs as they extended.

Oh, sweet things … probably not.

And in poetic unison, the trio took the applicants, the young fresh blood filling a deep growling hunger, fueled by the cost of immortality.

Sated for the most part, Anna’s fingers toyed with her chosen girl’s skin. With each touch, tiny arcs of electricity mingled with the blood flowing gently down her meal’s chest. The young girl had a dreamy expression in her eyes, the little shocks drawing shudders and gasps of pleasure from her graying lips. She was on the edge of the abyss; Anna could feel the deep black tempting the young life into sweet oblivion. Delicately the vampire withheld, letting her lips trace down the young girl’s belly and back yet again.

Wh … what are you doing to me? Her breath came in languid gasps. I’ve never … The girl let her words trail off as another shudder took her.

Anna paused at the girl’s midsection. I am teasing your nerves with my light, little one. It can be used for pleasure, to shock into submission, or disrupt anything electrical.

Anna continued teasing her way down the girl’s body, only this time she allowed the tension to build, before she gently touched her lips to the girl’s flesh. Again, the tiny static crackling flowed across the wetness, the electric caress, coupled with the inevitable pull of death, sending the young girl into the most explosive release possible.

As her meal’s heart began its final pounding strokes, Anna drove her teeth into the femoral artery and pulled. When the girl was gripped by the ultimate seizure of pleasure and death, the vampire rewarded her meal with physical and spiritual nirvana, driving what was already too much for mortal flesh to bear one giant leap beyond.

When the end came for the vampire’s victim, all the young girl managed to whisper was, This is so awesome …

--

The bullet-ridden body on the table appeared to be mummified, its leather-like skin stretched over an ancient skeleton. The sterile light of the autopsy room left little to the imagination and even less for rational explanation.

The subject, a male Caucasian, reputed to be in his mid-to-late forties, appears to have been deceased for nearly a century; the desiccated condition of the body is the result of rapid dehydration in a very arid environment. None of these factors would indicate that the subject was alive less than 48 hours ago.

The coroner took a breath and continued. The identification found on the body has turned out to belong to a lifelong mental patient, one Salazar Demetri. The subject’s fingerprints and DNA are not on file in any other identity other than Mr. Demetri’s.

The door swung open just as the doctor was finishing his explanation to the investigators.

And there won’t be, me laddies. Her accent was Scottish, her hair a deep auburn; dressed in a professional skirt suit and short black raincoat, she was distinctly out of place in the Las Vegas desert.

The woman walked in, took off a pair of expensive sunglasses and quickly exchanged them with a small vial from her pocket. Before anyone could stop her, she stepped up to the corpse and poured a few drops of the vial’s contents into the body’s mouth. Reflexively, the corpse’s teeth extended, and its mouth gnashed. The actions startled everyone in the room but the woman.

That’s not poss— stammered the coroner.

Obviously, it is, interrupted the mysterious woman, replacing the vial in her pocket, and ye’ve just met your first real deal vampire.

One of the investigators scoffed, And who might you be, miss?

The woman reached into her coat and withdrew a badge and passport. M’ name is Clair Stoker; I’m from Scotland Yard.

This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder, sighed the coroner.

It says here that she has Diplomatic Immunity, Lieutenant, announced another of the investigators.

The lieutenant took a deep, exasperated breath and steadied himself before extending a formal hand. I’m Lieutenant Roberts, Ken Roberts. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stoker.

The coroner tossed a cloth on the table. You want to fill us in on what were dealing with here?

Aye, she began with a smile. It’s a vampire. Just like in the books my great, great granddaddy wrote.

So, this is Dracula? asked Ken.

Stoker laughed. Nae, not by a long shot—just a Dracula.

But vampires aren’t real, began the coroner. History attributes them to porphyria, or just the appearance during the natural process of death. The bloating, distention of the abdomen, and receding of the gum line, the seemingly bloody-looking liquid that sometimes flows from the mouth: all of these are natural processes. This unmistakably is not!

Right you are, laddie—most of the wives’ tales ye’ve heard are from m’ family’s writing, which were embellished. Vampires, while dangerous, are not quite the beasties portrayed by m’ ancestor.

Ken accepted this with a nod and asked, So, what are the real things like? What can they do, and how can we put a stop to this?

Stoker gently pulled back the lips of the vampire. "As ye have just witnessed, the stories about them requiring