The following is a brief excerpt from the untitled second book of my vampire and werewolf series. If you want to see what the fuss is about, check out my author page on Smashwords for free short stories and a sample of my novel, Lucifera's Pet.
© 2010 M.T. Murphy. All rights reserved.
The werewolf awoke to the sound of grinding gears and an eerie rendition of “The Entertainer” seemingly performed by an out of tune jack-in-the-box.
Mouth full of sand? Check. Nausea? Check. Searing pain in the head with each heartbeat? Check.
If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn he had a hangover, but that would have taken a barrel of whiskey. Did they still sell whiskey in barrels?
He considered standing up, but decided to lie where he was for another minute or two. The vehicle he was in hit a bump, bashing his head against the hard metal floor. He grumbled a curse and rolled over onto his stomach to get a better look at his surroundings.
What was left of the ceiling upholstery was held together by safety pins. The tattered material did little to hide the rusty roof. The metal wall of the truck was to his right. To his left, he noticed an old tarp that looked very familiar. He touched the moldy canvas and felt the cold body underneath.
He sat up and found Lily wrestling with the old vehicle’s shift stick as they loped down the freeway well below the speed limit under a hot Arizona sun.
“Lily, is this a fucking ice cream truck?”
His cousin glared at him through the rearview mirror.
“Oh, thank you fer saving me life, Lily. You were so right about that vampire, Lily. Why didn’t I listen to you before, Lily? I was too busy in me own little world combing me fecking ridiculous sideburns to notice anything!” The female werewolf let out a growl. “Arse.”
He laughed and sat down in the empty spot by the front door.
“As impressions of me go, that one was pretty good. You’re laying the accent on a little thick, though, aren’t ya?”
“Maybe a little.”
“So … ice cream truck?”
“What happened to that war wagon you were driving?”
“The MaxxPro? I traded it for this fine machine.”
“Too conspicuous—” The warbled ice cream truck jingle interrupted her. “It’s stuck on auto,” she muttered almost apologetically.
He looked down to find he was wearing his spare jeans, t-shirt and shoes from his formerly lost bag. The luggage itself sat under the truck’s front console.
“Hey, you kept our bags. Wait … I thought I was—”
“Yes, I dressed you and yes it was a traumatic experience, but far less disturbing than leaving you naked would have been.”
They rode in silence for a while after that. Relative silence at least. The ice cream truck broke out in its familiar tune just to remind them what they were riding in.
After the last note of the out of tune jingle ended, his stomach offered its two cents, grumbling louder than the squeaking shocks and roar of bald tires on asphalt.
“I’m hungry. Let’s stop and hunt.”
“No way, Mickey. You’re not killing anybody while I’m around. I got you a big chicken burrito. It’s on the freezer.”
“Chicken burrito? Why a chicken burrito?”
“Because chicken burritos are like the gods’ golden apples. They have everything a healthy werewolf needs: protein, carbohydrates, fat, veggies, and, best of all, nobody died to make it.”
“Nobody but the chickens.”
“Just eat the damn burrito. If you eat it all you can have a popsicle from the freezer when you’re done.”
He unwrapped the three-pound monstrosity of tortilla, cheese, guacamole, and chicken. Three bites later, it was gone.
Opening the freezer, he dug through the piles of frozen desserts. After tossing aside the yogurt cups and shifting a mountain of fruit juice pops, he found what he was looking for.
“Aha. Mint chocolate chip on a stick. Things are looking up.” He retrieved the snack from near the bottom of the truck’s freezer and paused. There in the space left vacant by the package, a pair of eyes stared at him.
“Hey, Lily. Who’s the dead guy in the freezer?”
“Very funny,” she said, not bothering to look back. “The vampire is rolled up in the tarp on the floor.”
He kicked the tarp and confirmed that Christopher was still inside. He then looked back into the freezer. Moving a few more ice cream sandwiches confirmed the stiff hidden under the desserts. He was a man in his mid-forties, wearing a brightly colored polo shirt. The bluish tint to his frozen skin made him look like a very surprised smurf.
“I am fucking hilarious, but this time, I ain’t joking. You are the owner of a frozen dude.” Closing the lid, he took his place on the floor by Lily and bit into the ice cream.
She looked over at him without batting an eye.
“So I trade a multi-million dollar assault vehicle for an ice cream truck with a dead man buried under a mountain of frozen treats in its freezer?”
He swallowed the ice cream and tossed the wooden stick out the window. “Yep.”
Lily nodded. “Figures.”
They rode in silence for another five full minutes. Finally, he spoke.
“Let’s call him George.”
“Shut up,” Lily replied. “And get me a push pop.”