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Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek
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blacking him out for an instant. When next he came aware and looked around, someone had an arm across his throat.
Shakespeare thrashed and bucked in midair, trying to dislodge his sneak attacker. Thanks to his captor's hold, Shakespeare had the use of only one hand, and it wasn't enough to pry loose the arm across his throat. He used his wings as well, flapping them back as hard and far as he could...but he couldn't quite reach whoever had latched onto him.
This isn't good.
When Shakespeare's struggles hit a peak, his captor suddenly swung him around. There before him was one of the Bluegiller brood, flapping just enough to stay aloft.
The new arrival leered and shook something he held in his clawed right hand.
A wooden stake.
Before Shakespeare knew what was happening, his captor held him out in front and charged, swooping straight toward the sharp-pointed stake.
Oh my God.
As Shakespeare lunged at the stake, the moment stretched out before him. Visions of life bolted past his mind's eye...but visions only of his life as a vampire, as if he had never been anything else.
He remembered giving himself over to the bite of his Dark Lady muse, who had promised him glory.
She kept her promise.
He remembered his wife begging him to transform their dying son, Hamnet, thereby sparing his life.
But I could not bring myself to do it.
He remembered the day, long after his "death," when he decided he'd been called a cheap imitator of William Shakespeare for the last time...and resolved to spend his undead existence on dark deeds instead of words.
All the while hating this heartless mockery of life.
If I cannot have the paradise I seek, perhaps the sharpened stake will do.
But Shakespeare did not die.
Just as he was about to be impaled, hands grabbed him from above, clamping onto his shoulders. They wrenched him up and away from his vampire captor, who continued on ahead and took the stake's sharp point in his chest.
As the mortally wounded vampire screamed, Shakespeare looked up to see who had saved his own life. He fought to hide his disappointment when he saw his savior's face.
Thomas.
"What?" said Thomas. "No 'thank you,' Suckspeare?"
Shakespeare lashed up a claw, but Thomas let go and leaped away without a scratch, laughing.
"You owe me now!" said Thomas. "I guess that makes you my bitch ."
Genghis has trained this one well, I'll give him that. As much as Thomas mirrors James in face and form, he echoes Genghis in the darkness of his words and deeds.
He might not be redeemable at all, though I'd hoped otherwise.
Just then, James soared down from the upper reaches, pumping both thumbs in the air. "They're out! They all got out and the door is closed!"
Shakespeare spun and jabbed a finger at Thomas. " You ! Go to Mother Nothing!" He pointed at her hole in the wall above. "Find out where she sent them!"
Thomas leered and licked his lips. "With pleasure!" Then, he rocketed upward, aiming straight for Mother Nothing's nest.
The little monster has his uses. Let him do the dirty work that must be done.
Suddenly, Genghis bolted past, thumping Shakespeare on the back with the edge of his wing. "Giving orders to my page now, are you?" His voice was a screeching mixture of human speech and the cry of a hawk. "Why not tell us all what to do, you bloodless hack?"
"Good idea," said Shakespeare, and then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. " Stop fighting !" He turned in a circle, projecting his words to as many in the central chasm as he could. "The intruders have escaped!"
Shakespeare repeated himself twice with equal authority. The battle died down almost instantly, as if commanded by a director in the wings of the stage.
I've not forgotten everything I learned in the theater.
The two sides drifted apartâBluegiller natives reassembling on one ledge, Shakespeare and Genghis' group on another. The sides glared at each other across the chasm, waiting only for another signal to rejoin the
Shakespeare thrashed and bucked in midair, trying to dislodge his sneak attacker. Thanks to his captor's hold, Shakespeare had the use of only one hand, and it wasn't enough to pry loose the arm across his throat. He used his wings as well, flapping them back as hard and far as he could...but he couldn't quite reach whoever had latched onto him.
This isn't good.
When Shakespeare's struggles hit a peak, his captor suddenly swung him around. There before him was one of the Bluegiller brood, flapping just enough to stay aloft.
The new arrival leered and shook something he held in his clawed right hand.
A wooden stake.
Before Shakespeare knew what was happening, his captor held him out in front and charged, swooping straight toward the sharp-pointed stake.
Oh my God.
As Shakespeare lunged at the stake, the moment stretched out before him. Visions of life bolted past his mind's eye...but visions only of his life as a vampire, as if he had never been anything else.
He remembered giving himself over to the bite of his Dark Lady muse, who had promised him glory.
She kept her promise.
He remembered his wife begging him to transform their dying son, Hamnet, thereby sparing his life.
But I could not bring myself to do it.
He remembered the day, long after his "death," when he decided he'd been called a cheap imitator of William Shakespeare for the last time...and resolved to spend his undead existence on dark deeds instead of words.
All the while hating this heartless mockery of life.
If I cannot have the paradise I seek, perhaps the sharpened stake will do.
But Shakespeare did not die.
Just as he was about to be impaled, hands grabbed him from above, clamping onto his shoulders. They wrenched him up and away from his vampire captor, who continued on ahead and took the stake's sharp point in his chest.
As the mortally wounded vampire screamed, Shakespeare looked up to see who had saved his own life. He fought to hide his disappointment when he saw his savior's face.
Thomas.
"What?" said Thomas. "No 'thank you,' Suckspeare?"
Shakespeare lashed up a claw, but Thomas let go and leaped away without a scratch, laughing.
"You owe me now!" said Thomas. "I guess that makes you my bitch ."
Genghis has trained this one well, I'll give him that. As much as Thomas mirrors James in face and form, he echoes Genghis in the darkness of his words and deeds.
He might not be redeemable at all, though I'd hoped otherwise.
Just then, James soared down from the upper reaches, pumping both thumbs in the air. "They're out! They all got out and the door is closed!"
Shakespeare spun and jabbed a finger at Thomas. " You ! Go to Mother Nothing!" He pointed at her hole in the wall above. "Find out where she sent them!"
Thomas leered and licked his lips. "With pleasure!" Then, he rocketed upward, aiming straight for Mother Nothing's nest.
The little monster has his uses. Let him do the dirty work that must be done.
Suddenly, Genghis bolted past, thumping Shakespeare on the back with the edge of his wing. "Giving orders to my page now, are you?" His voice was a screeching mixture of human speech and the cry of a hawk. "Why not tell us all what to do, you bloodless hack?"
"Good idea," said Shakespeare, and then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. " Stop fighting !" He turned in a circle, projecting his words to as many in the central chasm as he could. "The intruders have escaped!"
Shakespeare repeated himself twice with equal authority. The battle died down almost instantly, as if commanded by a director in the wings of the stage.
I've not forgotten everything I learned in the theater.
The two sides drifted apartâBluegiller natives reassembling on one ledge, Shakespeare and Genghis' group on another. The sides glared at each other across the chasm, waiting only for another signal to rejoin the
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