This story appears in my new collection The Poisoned Teat, which is still not up at Amazon, although it is available from Smashwords. It's an urban fantasy/noir about a working class vampire in love. It is sparkle-free.
DEATH OF A
DANCER
Most of what
people think they know about vampires is a lot like what people think they know
about American history—a skein of lies tangled up with half-truth and wishful
thinking and fanciful notions.
Not every vampire
is handsome.
Not every vampire
is rich.
Not every vampire
is ancient.
In 2008 I was 19
years old and stocking shelves in a 24-hour convenience store when a vampire
strolled in for a midnight snack and left me permanently working the night
shift.
And I did have to work. Even with groceries
taken out of my monthly budget, I still had to cover rent and cable and my WoW
subscription, and my cell phone bill.
All vampires are
rich? That’s a laugh.
I’ve maybe saved a
hundred a month since my blood-birthday and even after four years, that isn’t
exactly serious money.
There isn’t much
chance I’m going to be making bank any time soon, either. Having to work at
night severely limits my employment options. And then there’s the vampire
sensitivity to garlic—I can’t even work as a pizza delivery guy.
