Dracula Hearts of Fire Book two of Dracula Hearts
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Under the summer sun

Beneath a puffy white cloud

Stood the cabin by the lake

The sound of silence deafening

Inside its wooden walls

On an expensive Persian rug

Her naked body lay in a pool of blood

beneath its hardwood floors

an ant carried his piece of cake

happily enjoying the summer day by the lake

THE RED SHERIFF FINISHED READING the poem, slowly shaking his head. Vincent could smell the blood from within, but detecting no heartbeat, he guessed someone was dead. Vampires had a subtle but distinctive smell to other vampires, and there was something in the air, but it was faint. It seemed that whoever did the deed had left the area. He had received the call from an adventurer with a satellite phone. The fellow had gone into the cabin looking for a drink; discovering the body and believing he could also be in danger, he fled.

The pain on his face slightly diminished Vincent’s rugged good looks. He wore a classic trench coat with a black Stetson hat. In his sheath was a Katana sword and an 1878 Colt revolver in his holster. He had killed seventeen vampires with that gun over the years; he sometimes could know where they would be when the bullet arrived, a distinct advantage. However, it only worked less than half the time, and he had no idea why. Some thought that all vampires had at least a little magic in them, but he didn’t know if that was factual. Perhaps his magic ebbed and flowed. Dracula had told him that the magic within certain vampires was much more active with a new moon.

“Chica dee dee dee dee dee!”

He had dusted the note for prints but found none. The note was written on typewriter paper in red ink. Vincent listened intently to the sounds of the forest. Chickadees were nearby, a rabbit, some mice, and several other animals, but that was it. It was strange to have a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, but he supposed that was the point. The perpetrator had fled the area leaving behind a little of his scent. If he ever came across him again, he would recognize his smell. The smell somehow seemed a little familiar.

Vincent went up the steps and entered the cabin, and there she was, blond and beautiful only hours earlier, now lying in her own blood. Her throat had been torn out. The ID in her purse showed that she was Mary Mai Brown from Connecticut, a lawyer of means, but her luck had run out. Interestingly, only a tiny amount of blood appeared to have been taken. Sometimes that was a sign of a vampire serial killer; even when they were full, they continued to hunger for the kill. Being alone by the lake must have been an opportunity too good to pass up. She had managed to get her gun out and got off a single shot, but it had been futile. Vincent could see where the bullet went into the wall. He dug it out and put it into a small plastic bag; there was no smell of blood on it, so she had missed him.

After the sheriff had completed his investigation, he sat on the steps outside and listened to the forest sounds. Sometimes killers liked to watch from a distance as their gruesome scenes were being discovered, but the only things that he could hear were the sounds of nature. Those sounds would have been enjoyable had it not been for the crime scene. The noise of a branch cracking had him going for his gun, but then he saw the deer that had broken the old branch.

As Vincent sat and waited for the authorities to retrieve the body, he wondered how much longer he could continue to deal with such acts of cruelty. He had gotten used to the carnage long ago, but lately, for some reason, all the killings had commenced to bother him once again. All those wasted lives were starting to pile up and poke at his soul.