How long have you been a vampire?
At this point, I have been a member of the St. George Protector Society for about six months, madam. At least it’s been six months since my death at the hands of a member of the Society and…but I doubt you’re that interested in the sordid details of my demise.
What’s the worst thing about being a vampire?
It has to be having to avail myself of the tea-whores that the Society provides for their blood. I feel guilty about drinking from them, but the arrangement is of one of free will, and they are compensated and protected as much as possible from those who would do them harm. The streets are dangerous, but at least as contractors for the Society, they receive an income.
Are you a magical creature or are you a different species?
An interesting question, that. I, along with many members of the Society, am a vampire created from Science. I am a firm believer in the scientific method, and the founders of the Society, Dr. Coburg and Prince Albert, are to be commended for the lengths they have gone to in order to eradicate disease and prolong life. That the result was a synthetic vampire in the form of Queen Victoria’s consort—well, that was a great surprise when I discovered this to be the case.
Where are you from?
Now there’s a story. I am a Briton, born in County Antrim, Northern Ireland. In life I was the Baron of Antrim, but now, as Lucas Dudley, no longer Lucas Fitzrobbins, I am an English gentleman of means, as far as anyone around me knows. I was an Irishman for the earlier portion of my life and to a large extent thought of myself as one, despite being surrounded by Englishmen during my schooling. Now that I have in effect changed identities, I am an Englishman. I have yet to come to grips to that.
Who is your greatest enemy and why?
Another interesting story. The Society tells me my greatest enemy is the Irish organization An Tighearn, led by the scientist Dr. Cian O’Connor. But I do not believe the An Tighearn is my greatest enemy, and certainly not its operative, Miss Nellie Clifton, even though she has spent some time trying to kill me. No, I believe my greatest enemy is a fellow member of the St. George Protector Society, a personage of importance. Greed and ambition, madam, can be terrible things.
Do you have a love interest?
Miss Clifton, for all she has tried to kill me as an operative for An Tighearn, is the lady who has my attention and my affection. Despite my emotional turmoil in my conversion to a member of the undead, and her earliest attempts in her assignment to assassinate me and convert me to her cause, she is both beautiful and unforgettable. And if I may say so, her swordplay is superb.
Do you have a code of honor?
I do. I was a soldier during my life for the British army, and protecting Queen and country was paramount. Now, I am no longer a soldier, but the rules I followed as a soldier still regulate my existence.
What do you think is your greatest strength?
My greatest strength is my fortitude in doing what I believe to be right.
What do you think is your greatest weakness?
My greatest weakness is the same, even it means going against everything I believe.
Name one person you trust.
Nellie. Only Nellie.
Heather Hiestand is the author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved bestseller status at both Amazon and Barnes & Noble. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room. For more information, see her website at http://www.heatherhiestand.com. Heather loves to hear from readers! Her email is heather@heatherhiestand.com.
Eilis Flynn has written fiction in the form of comic book stories, romantic fantasies, urban fantasies, historical fantasies and short stories, a young adult novel, and a graphic novella. She’s also a professional editor and has been for almost 40 years, working with academia, technology, and finance nonfiction, and romance fiction. If you’re looking for an editor, she can be found editing at emsflynn.com and reached at emsflynn@aol.com. If you’re curious about her books, check out eilisflynn.com.
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DEATH DID NOT END HIS SERVICE TO THE BRITISH EMPIRE: Beneath Windsor Castle, a shadow network of immortals keeps the British Empire safe. Army captain Lucas Fitzrobbins becomes one of them when the cure for his mortal wound turns out to be a vampirism potion. He is abruptly inducted into the secret St. George Protector Society…and it’s not long before the Society’s newest recruit discovers it has mysteries as well…
Here’s an excerpt:
A form like that of a large bat came into view above the tall stone building in front of them. The noise from the wings of the bat thrummed into Lucas’s newly fed veins. It looked like a bat. But it was no bat.
A woman in a dark red leather coat floated down. Her hands were gripping some kind of device that seemed to help her navigate.
“No, I have a weapon,” Lucas said, exposing his brass and leather Society sleeve. He worked at the controls, quickly trying to figure out how the gun worked, or even the net. Why hadn’t that blasted lawyer informed him? Why hadn’t he asked?
“Go now,” the doctor urged, cringing.
But the woman landed in front of them, blocking Lucas and the deformed doctor from any escape. She was petite, and her black button boots had thick soles, thick enough to hold the silver knives that popped out from them with a metallic snick as she tapped her heels together and moved forward. Her brown skirt was form-fitting, revealing a slim, athletic body.
The knives made Lucas step back. Silver. Silver was a poisonous weapon against vampires.
A leather helmet hid her hair and goggles hid her eyes. Was she one of the altered? Did it matter, when she carried weapons and her intent was clearly malevolent? What was she hiding?
She pushed up the goggles, drew a sword from the scabbard on her back, and then charged. Lucas leapt forward, hoping to knock her off balance, but she spun in a circle and then went past him. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile.
Damn it! Lucas feinted, planning to tackle her before she could move toward him with the sword. But she danced away despite the odd, smoking pack on her back, as if his movements were slower than a tortoise’s.
Who was she? Someone sent from the Society to clean up medical mistakes? An enemy?
She pointed at him with the bloody sword. “Yer next, my lord. I only thought I’d get one today, but two’s not bad.”
Irish. She sounded Irish, blast it. Her eyes were human, bright blue. And whoever she was, she was a killer.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
She grinned again. “Guess.”