Dracula's Desires by Linda Mercury Read Free Book Online

made sense to Lance Soleil’s partially expanded angelic consciousness, but left him with very few ways to describe his homecoming party. He was in a garden, by the ocean, on top of mountains, in fields, and at the bottom of valleys all at the same time. Add the improbable beverages he and the rest of the hosts had been consuming, and he was one disoriented angel. This longed-for reception should have been worth every grinding minute on the Wheel, learning to serve.
    But Valerie wasn’t here. Neither was John. Casually, Lance set his drink glass on something that might have been a tree trunk, a rock, or even a garden gnome. He ran, trying yet again to slip away from the wild bash. His attempts to reach Earth numbered in the thousands by now, but he was not allowed to leave. Frustration tightened his jaw.
    â€œHey, buddy, try this one!” The Angel of Fermentation shoved yet another tall chalice of something cool and fruity-sweet into Lance’s empty hand. Lance’s wings dipped in distracted thanks. Why were the angels persistently preventing him from seeking his lover?
    â€œGuys, really. I want to go.”
    Fermentation’s headlike appendage swiveled back and forth. “Not yet, not yet. The timing must be perfect.”
    â€œThe timing of what?” Frustrated and irritated, he took his first sip of the new drink. As with all of Fermentation’s work, it was ridiculously intoxicating. The first flush of exhilaration brought a wave of heat into Lance’s angelic form and then settled into a warm presence in his love center, what mortals would call his heart. Joyously, he swallowed the rest of the potion.
    â€œDo you like it?” Fermentation asked. The bubbly, yeasty mass gestured to Lance’s now-empty cup. “I call it God’s Breath.”
    â€œGod breathes?” Lance had forgotten so much of what Eternity was like; he had to rely on human theories to fill the blanks.
    Fermentation laughed. For some reason, everyone found Lance’s confusion uproariously funny.
    Death strolled over, twirling its scythe like a majorette’s baton. “What hilarious thing is it this time?” it asked.
    â€œYou didn’t hear that?” Beerlike suds splattered everywhere as Fermentation slapped Death on its shoulder. “He asked if God breathes. Next, he’ll ask if God can build a rock ‘He’ can’t lift!”
    â€œMortal philosophy slays me!” Death bent double as it wheezed laughter through its bony jaw. At Lance’s blank look, Death uncurled and gasped for air. Calming down, he patted Lance’s forearm.
    â€œBe nice, Ferm. The poor boy has been gone a long time. He’s still all literal and shit. Besides, he’s champing to get going. Can’t have that yet.”
    Death and Fermentation laughed as though they’d heard the secret to creation. The buzz from God’s Breath wore off, leaving him pissed off and belligerent. Lance elbowed his way past them, determined to find the entrance to Earth. The two angels grabbed his elbows and dragged him back.
    â€œTrust us.” Death’s teeth clattered in Lance’s ear. “This is important. You must wait.” Distressed, Death rolled its scythe from one hand, across its body, and to the other. Lance and Fermentation ducked as the shining blade sliced toward their heads.
    Fermentation nodded, froth splattering Lance’s sweater. “You need to get acclimated again. It’s all symbolic here, remember? The wings, the swords, the tools? All ways of expressing our essence.”
    Death continued. “Sure, we can transport as fast as thought, blah, blah, but we aren’t infinite. Remember?”
    â€œNot really. I’m all literal and shit, remember?” Lance gritted his teeth.
    â€œGood one!” Fermentation flapped its armlike pseudopods. “Welcome home, brother.” It turned to the assembled masses and crowed, “Cheers to the