Sweet Tooth, Sweet Fangs©

Vampire Stories

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

Quinn studied the box of chocolates, finding them irresistible.  

"Just one.  One measly chocolate," he decided.  "Perhaps one with a jelly center; a raspberry center."

 One pudgy finger supporting a nail that would have been considered far too long for a woman, and totally unacceptable for a man, plunged into one rich chocolate after another, searching for that raspberry center.

"There she blows!"

Quinn’s glory was very short-lived, Emma swatting him hard on the hand.  He delivered a distinct pout, his annoyance obvious.  Swiftly, he deposited the raspberry-centered chocolate, nail to mouth before she could do anything to stop him.

Emma; the bossiest old bat in the pack.  Beltzen should be hung to dry with a garland of garlic for forcing him to obey this hussy of a vamp!  How dare he appoint Emma as his weight coach!

In the first place, Quinn didn’t understand why Beltzen had ordered him to lose weight.  He stood six foot even, without the elevator shoes, and weighed in at 402 pounds.  And what was wrong with that?  

Beltzen, their undisputed leader, claimed that Quinn looked hideous these days, unattractive if you will.  If only he could ask a mirror’s opinion, but of course that option was out.  

Then there was Gayle, the seamstress for the pack and aspiring poet.  She inhabited pretty fair sewing skills, but sucked at poetry.  And she had been stirring up a tirade like some third-world country, blowing everything out of proportion.

She was a bit like the chocolates, irresistible.  Irresistible and whiny.  It was her way with cloth that kept her on everyone’s good side; the appealing peasant skirts, the blouses with the high-cut bodices, and the little Dutch shoes that she wore – it all worked to her advantage.

Only yesterday, Quinn had overheard her complaining to Beltzen in her foreign rhyming tongue,

"Quinn’s wardrobe is as big, as a Russian Mig.  

I sew all night, I can’t take flight.  

Either he goes on a diet, or I’ll go on a riot!"

"Spit it out!" Emma told him, interrupting his wild thoughts.

Quinn glared at her, his eyes like two chunks of hot coal.  In defiance, he swallowed the chocolate, then delivered a satisfied look.

"What a bad boy you are!" Emma scolded, her ruby lips jutted in front of her ashen face like a precipice on a tall mountain.  "Beltzen will not be happy about this."

"Then he’ll have to get over it," Quinn drawled, digging into the box again.

Emma went to slap his hand but he gave her a warning look, and using her better judgment, she backed away.  Feeling a bit mischievous, he patted the empty space beside him and coaxed her to join him on the black velvet sofa.

Her response was a stiff negative shake of her head, then she announced, "Time for exercise!"

Quinn noticed her white running shoes for the first time.

"Right after Dark Shadows," he told her, his voice stern.  "And I may catch that rerun of Buffy on cable."  Hum, some hot buttered popcorn and soda would go perfectly with the evening’s entertainment.

"Quinn, either get up and move or I’ll inform Beltzar of your total lack of cooperation!" Emma threatened, her tone laced with a cutting edge.  "Now, get up!  Move!" she soldiered him.  "How did you allow yourself to get into this state?  And look at those hands!  Orange as a witch’s beak!"

Quinn glanced down at his large hands.  Yes, orange from the cheese-flavored snacks.  He liked the puffed cheese variety because he could stick them on the end of his long nails and enjoy them, ten at a time.  He’d considered growing out his toenails to a twenty-digit enhancement.

"Humph!" he bit out, his patience totally expended.  "And orange is a very nice color, Emma.  It looks smashing against my black cape.  I’m sure that even the cranky Gayle would agree." 

"Speaking of which – she is going on strike, you know?  And it’s all your fault!"

"Who died and made you Agnes of God?" Quinn asked, studying his nails rather than her harsh-looking face.

"Gayle was working on a special black sequined gown for me, if you must know!  Now, it will never be ready in time for the holiday."

"Well, it would take more than a special gown to liven up your looks, deary.  You’re one ugly old bat these days."

Emma shook her head in total disagreement.  "How dare you!"

Quinn shrugged nonchalantly.  "True, honest and true.  If you don’t believe me, go take a look in a mirror."

"You’re totally impossible!"

"Jealous?  In fact, I believe that’s what this entire situation is about," Quinn decided, brows lifted in revelation.  "I’m happy."

"You’re a freak, if anything," Emma spat out bitterly.  "Not quite human, not quite vampire.  We feed on humans, you feed on rare steak.  I voted to have you ousted, but no, Beltzar wanted to give you one last chance.  Lucky for you he likes your singing voice."

"Rare steak.  Speaking of which, I favor the shank cut," he smiled.  "It’s tough, a bit of a challenge."

"Therein lies your trouble," Emma persisted.  "Steak, pastries, gravies, candy – specifically chocolate, and you’re not brand-conscious."  She paused to glare at him, then continued, "You should open up a donut shop – bake all night and hire some scrap of a kid to sell your wares when dawn breaks."

"Emma, that’s not a bad idea," he told her, his eyes lighting at the thought.

"I beg to differ," she hissed.  "You’d eat your fill before morning and they would be nothing left for your customers."

From there, Emma went into the exercise routine again, but Quinn won out.  In fact, he loafed around in front of the television set watching Dark Shadows and Buffy while enjoying two batches of extra butter movie popcorn and a liter of cola.

Afterwards, he took a bumpy flight into the neighboring village, secured a young man to help him sell his pastries, and rented a quaint little shop with one heck of a nice basement.

One month later, Quinn’s Qrazy Donut Shoppe was the hit of the village.  He never heard from Emma, Gayle, or the weight-prejudiced Beltzar again, although he did manage to make a visit to his old stomping grounds one night when he’d finished making his pastries and donuts ahead of schedule.

The only trace of a past he found was a note in Gayle’s sewing room that said,

"They came in the day,
Our gate gave way.
Emma went first,
Into the hearse,
Beltzar was next,
He was certainly hexed,
They are coming for me,
Wish I could flee,
But they won’t get Quinn,
Because his gut wasn’t thin."

To this day, Quinn still lives happily ever after. 

 

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