I've always loved and fantasized about immortals. When I was a kid it was fairy tales. As a teen, Klaus Kinski scared the pants off me and my friends as the spooky vampire, Nosferatu. I devoured Hammer Horror films and still have my original hardback copy of Alan G. Frank's Horror Movie Treasury, with detailed notes and amazing photos about the prolific company's stable of films. I shelled out my hard-earned money for that book. Money I earned working two part-time jobs on Thursday afternoons and Saturday mornings.
My second horror book I bought was John Canning's Fifty Great Ghost Stories. I still have that book, too. I lived for tales of the unexpected and movies with unusual plots. I even punished my much younger brother with my obsessions. I made him watch Psycho, our first-ever horror movie together one weekend my parents were out of town. We clung to each other. I don't think he's ever gotten over it.
The music still gives me shivers and he prefers baths.
So yeah. We were both profoundly affected by it.
I then went through a nutty phase of absorbing even the worst horror movies ever made such as Psychomania. I still laugh at the memory of actor Nicky Henson's demon worshipping motor cyclist dying. To become immortal he has to you know, cark it, as they say in my part of the world, to reach the undead status. His dead body is perched upright on his beloved, yet possessed motorbike in a gigantic burial plot. Of course, being an immortal demon, the moment the sun sets, he revs up his chopper and rides right out of his grave again!
To me, Nicky Henson was hot. Hotter than hot.
I think I must also be the only person I know who could see beyond actor Oliver Reed's fangs and fur to see how handsome, sexy and absolutely brilliant he was in his screen debut, Curse of the Werewolf.
So, yeah. That affected me too. Sexy and undead. I loved that idea. Mind you, I always thought Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, the big Hammer Horror stars were sexy, too.
But I digress.
Or maybe I don't.
When Amber Allure's collective mind of authors started coming up with ideas for PAX anthology stories, the suggestion of "Immortals" came about and I jumped at the chance to write one. At the time I started formulating my tale, one of my dearest friends was archiving costumes for a well-known pop star and I loved her stories of the lengths she went to in salvaging some of the performer's most celebrated gowns.
I had no idea what costume archivists went through but I loved the idea of my lead character, Mr. Wolfe, being involved in this work. People think of werewolves as vicious, snarling, blood-lusting creatures.
Mr. Wolfe is only like that once a month.
The rest of the time he's a dedicated, precise sewing maestro. The fact that he's a were, who is married to a vampire and has a staff of temperamental pixies working for him is just by the by. To me, it seems fitting to have a costume archivist be immortal.
They do say the business sucks the life right out of you…
I do hope you get a chance to check out my homage of my beloved immortals…don't read it in the dark. Oh, heck…Why not?
Here is a little sip, or as Dracula would say, a sup, of Mr. Wolfe. I never had so much fun writing this story, but alas, if you're expecting a possessed motorcycle, there aren't any…
Mr. Wolfe is immortal. He is precise, and dedicated. He is also on a lunar cycle. Unless he finishes the task of archiving music diva Zara Finley's legendary costumes by the next full moon, the other side of him will emerge. And it won't be pretty.
Additionally, Mr. Wolfe lives with a deadly secret. As handsome, polite, and charming as he is in his work-life, this exacting man has a crew of everyday immortals who aren't always easy to control. He has a couple of vampire assistants and a team of pixie seamstresses inclined to get drunk on maple syrup. He also has a new employee who seems to be asking too many questions.
What keeps Mr. Wolfe sane is Ambrosio, his right-hand man and perfect lover, but none of their co-workers know Ambrosio is also Mr. Wolfe's spanky toy. From bottom jewelry to antique sex toys, Ambrosio knows how to keep his boss—and husband—happy.
But a bad storm is coming, and with it a new moon that promises to unleash all of Mr. Wolfe's homicidal tendencies...
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