Vampire Blues

Lydie Blaizot

Description

Ladainian Abernaker is a very old vampire, bitter and maladjusted to modern life. His only passion: the blues. His only friend: Ezequiel, a raven. Naturally, he lives in Chicago, a city he has seen born, grow and prosper. A refugee in his music bar, Willie's, he lives through the years with this one obsession: to perpetuate the blues of Chicago, a tone so particular that it is the only thing that soothes his tortured mind. The outside world is only there to allow him to satisfy this fixed idea; it has no other interest in his eyes. Thus, he works as an expert hit-man to earn money for his craze.

A saga dedicated to an atypical vampire, an ambiance inspired by film noir, independent episodes ... Don't hesitate to discover the world of Ladainian!

Episode 1 – Vampire blues: Ladainian lives a nightmare: his saxophone player suddenly died. To complete his now fatherless orchestra, he auditions a young boy named Paul. The kid, very talented, arouses immediately his interest. But his father, the boss of a gambling den, doesn't intend to let his son become a professional musician. For the music lover vampire, he becomes an enemy to brought down.

Sujets

• Novela corta
• Supernatural
• Occult
• Fiction
• États-Unis
• Blue
• Nouvelles
• Chicago
• Amérique du Nord
• Vampire
• Amérique
• Littérature
• Short Stories
• Short story

Informations

• Publié par: Editions du Petit Caveau
• Date de parution: 01 février 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 12
• EAN13: 9782919550999
• Langue: English

Extrait

Ladainian Abernaker - Vampire Blues

Lydie Blaizot

Éditions du Petit Caveau - Collection Sang%Numérique

Foreword

Greetings to all! I'm Van Crypting, mascot of Editions du Petit Caveau. The version of this epub was tested on most devices and popular software on the French market. However, our vampiric team found that the Firefox's Epub reader doesn't display custom fonts. With Kindle, you must activate fonts in the fonts panel.

Although we are against this practice, some dealers add DRM to our files. We regret this, but you can find our ebooks without DRM elsewhere.

If you encounter a problem, and you can not solve it, contact us by email (with the model of your device). We'll take care of finding the solution for you.

Many thanks to Brian Stableford for his rereading and corrections.

Come on

Oh baby don't you wanna go

Come on

Oh baby don't you wanna go

Back to that same old place

Sweet home Chicago

Robert Johson

Sweet home Chicago

Vampire Blues

Chicago, April 22, 2008

Sitting on his sofa in front of the coffee table, Danny gathered the last crumbs of his daily cocaine with a jack of spades. He had just knocked back three satisfying lines and already, the outside world was embellished by wonderful colors, a shimmer of enticing little stars. He leaned forward, one finger on his left nostril, and with a strong inspiration, he ingested the fourth line before letting himself fall backwards. Slouched on the settee, legs apart, he stared at the ceiling, sniggering stupidly. Up there, funny monsters frolicked unfettered in the middle of the lights. He guffawed, one hand on his stomach, when pink elephant with a human head - the head of his boss? - burst into twinkling showers just above him.

“Unlucky, the jack of spades,” a deep voice said.

Danny jumped. Stunned, he contemplated the man who was standing in his living room. Rather tall, and very lean, he looked like an antique that a dishonest seller might take out of mothballs. The features, craggy with age, were accentuated by a big flat nose and tall ears. He was wearing an old black suit worthy of the Blues Brothers with the essential Borsalino tight on his head. Black and white polished shoes completed the naff effect. Hands in his pockets of his trousers, shoulders hunched, he appeared as harmless as the old neighborhood grocer. Behind him, the flat door was still closed, bolt and safety chain in position. Recovering from his surprise, Danny dragged himself out of the sofa and zigzagged towards his visitor. He brandished a fist that was meant to be threatening.

“Hey, old fogey! I don't know how you got in and I don't give a toss! Beat it!”

Danny realized his mistake when his gaze met two pits of icy darkness that shut his mind in a vice of pure terror. The sensation, of unbelievable violence, put an end immediately to the mental effects of cocaine. He felt, with terrible lucidity, the intrusion, and then the methodical search of his innermost thoughts, without him being able to oppose the slightest resistance. His attacker rummaged through him like a bulldozer stripping every fragment of his soul. Paradoxically, it wasn't painful. The young man was almost a mere spectator, a silent witness to an unconventional robbery. If it hadn't been for the intense cold, and the irrepressible fear, he might have thought it was a new trip.

Unfortunately, it was all real. Suddenly, he gasped, dazedly, before making a stiff half-turn. He didn't control his own body! Panicked, Danny tried to hold on to a pedestal table, and then the sofa, but his hands barely moved, paralyzed. His mechanical steps, devoid of their natural ease, approached the balcony. Without being able to oppose it, he opened the sliding door, stepped outside and astride the guardrail. He just had an opportunity to admire the illuminated city one last time before jumping into the void, unable to utter the slightest cry. Fourteen floors further down, his bones were dislocated by the pavement.

Ladainian Abernaker followed his victim with his eyes until he disappeared into the dark. The sound of his encounter with the bitumen reached his sensitive ears a few instants later, and he grunted grouchily. He hated junkies. All those who were contaminating their precious blood with rubbish, in fact. Satisfied with his work, he concentrated for a moment. Behind him, the door disappeared under an opaque veil, as if absorbed by a mysterious force. He stepped back and went right through it, as easily as he had arrived. Having reached the other side, he shook himself, replaced his hat and left the building, with a shuffling gait. A different kind of work, a lot more pleasant, waited him a few miles away.

Half an hour later, Ladainian was walking in an unpleasant drizzle along Howe Street, a friendly street of Old Town, where the tallest building was no more than two floors. His own, white stone built, had window with a frame of dark wood on the ground floor. A very subdued blue neon light announced, in beautiful fine letters, Willie's, a music bar almost as...