Soul Food (Vampire Soul, Book Seven): Vampire Soul, #7

By Mac Flynn

The diner gets some unexpected customers when Ralph orders a shipment of fresh fish that turn out to be more lively than anyone expected. Misty turns to Roland for help, but the vampire has his own worsening problems. His soul has an out-of-hell expiration date, and he needs Misty's help to find the cure before he sleeps with the fishes. Permanently.

Now it's a race against time and the Devil as Misty and Roland swim their way up the stream of questions to the lake of answers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crescent Moon Studios, Inc.
• Release date: Oct 29, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519962287

Mac Flynn

A seductress of sensual words and a lover of paranormal plots, Flynn enjoys writing thrilling paranormal stories filled with naughty fun and hilarious hijinks. She is the author of numerous paranormal series that weave suspense, adventure and a good joke into a one-of-a-kind experience that readers are guaranteed to enjoy. From long adventure novels to tasty little short-story treats, there's a size and adventure for everyone.Want to know when her next series comes out? Join The Flynn newsletter and be the first to know! macflynn.com/newsletter/Also check out her website at macflynn.com for listings and excerpts of all of her books!

Book preview

1

The world of the paranormal was weird, but I didn’t think it got this weird until I had to fend off a floating dead fish.

It all started at the usual suspected place, Ralph’s diner. The hour was about eleven, and the day was Tuesday. I was minding my own business, and the errant hands of some new truckers, when it came.

Ralph stuck his head through the two swinging doors and caught sight of me behind the cash register.

Ah need ya back here, he told me.

I looked from the register and blinked at him. He never needed help in the back. That was his domain, his kingdom, his sweaty hole-in-the-wall. And he could keep it. There wouldn’t be any efforts to overthrow his rule by Candy or me. Or anyone else with a lick of sense.

Really? I asked him.

He frowned at me. Really, now finish what yer doing and get in here.

I shrugged. All right.

I closed the register and walked back into the kitchen. The back door was propped open with a broom and at the bottom of the steps on the cracked pavement was a stack of a dozen wooden crates. There was an emblem on the side that looked like a red hoof. Ralph stood by the open door and jerked his head at the crates.

Carry ‘em in here, he ordered me.

What are they? I asked him as I walked up to the door.

Fish, he told me.

I raised an eyebrow. Fish?

He narrowed his eyes. Yeah, fish. Sole fish. They’re gonna be the special for Thanksgiving.

What happened to turkey? I wondered.

Too expensive. Ah got this mess for a special price, he told me.

From a door-to-door fish salesman? I teased.

Nope, over the phone. Called me up and told me he had a deal on these things. Ah couldn’t say no to him. Didn’t think it would’ve been polite, he explained.

I crossed my arms and pursed my lips. Ralph, are you telling me you bought twelve crates of fish off a guy you never met who called you over the phone?

What’s wrong with that? he snapped.

I threw my arms up and sighed. Nothing. The guy must’ve given you a great deal.

Yep. Only ten cents a pound, and free shipping, Ralph told me. He paused and rubbed his chin as he looked over the load. ‘Course, that damn driver wouldn’t put the things in the kitchen. Said they gave him the spooks. Kept hearing noises in the back while he was hauling them.

Maybe it was the fish school marching band tuna-ing their instruments, I quipped as I walked down the stairs. I lifted one, grunted, and dropped it back where I found it. These things are a little heavy for me, I told him.

That’s cause yer not putting much muscle into it. Ya gotta lift with your knees, he instructed me.

And break my back. . . I muttered as I looked up and down his skinny frame. How about we both take an end?

Ralph winced and rubbed his lower back. Can’t. Sprained something the other day and can’t lift a thing.

I rummaged through my pockets and found a dime that I flipped at him. The coin bounced off the pavement. Ralph scurried down the stairs and scooped it up.

You look pretty spry to me, I commented.

He glared at me. What am Ah paying ya fer if Ah can’t get ya to lift a few measly boxes.

You’re paying me to waitress, not buttle, I quipped.

He stepped aside and pointed at the kitchen. Well, ya can buttle tonight, now get them inside before they start smelling. The guy said they were getting pretty ripe and were liable to float away if’n we didn’t get ‘em inside quick.

I sighed and tried Round Two with the crate. The crate lifted and I waddled my way up the stairs and into the kitchen. That was repeated eleven more times until the last crate was on the kitchen floor. Ralph closed the door behind me and surveyed the crates. I sat atop one of them and rubbed my sore arms.

See? Ah told ya ya could do it, he commented.

But was it worth it? I countered.

We’ll let’s just find out, Ralph replied. He took a crowbar from beside the door and slammed the head into the lid of the crate I sat on.

I jumped up and glared at him. There are eleven others, I reminded him.

Yeah, but ya know there’s no sitting down on the job, he argued.

Ralph pulled and grunted, and the lid of the box popped up. A few more tugs and jimmying got the lid and its nail completely off. Ralph set the crowbar down and pulled aside the lid. We peeked over the edge. The crate was piled high with tan-colored flatfish with beady eyes. They were eighteen inches long and had wimpy-looking fins on the sides. I took a whiff of the smell and pulled back.

Smells like rotten eggs, I commented.

It’s not that bad, Ralph argued. He picked one up by the tail and sniffed the fish. The color drained from his face and he dropped it back into the crate. Maybe Ah can put it in a Thanksgiving Surprise.

It’ll be a surprise if we don’t kill somebody, I quipped.

He turned his back on the crate and glared at me. Ah don’t recall ya being the cook around here.

No, but I’ve got- Something caught my attention behind my boss. Um, Ralph?

What? he growled.

Are these flying fish?

They’re bottom feeders. Why?

I