Chapter One
“May you be cursed for a thousand years! May werewolves tear out your heart! May zombies devour your brains! May no banshee ever wail at your death! May the witches cast their most evil spells against you! May you wander through the depths of Hell for all eternity!”
Howling wolves echoed the vampire’s oaths, while lightning flashed and thunder roared above his house, despite the usually calm Northern Virginia weather. And what had driven Dracula to shriek those chilling curses, thus summoning up the storm? Easy…he was trying to sign in to his computer, only to receive that dreaded message in return… Your password is incorrect. Please try again.
He had tried every variation on vampire , including tepes (his real last name), vyrdelek (the original Slavic word for vampire ) and undead …followed by numbers up to 6,666,666. But all were answered by the same hideous warning, locking him effectively out. It was enough to make him denounce the entire program that was called (crash of thunder, please)…Draculacare!
And damnit, he was Dracula. So who had an even better right than he did to take part in the President’s Draculacare campaign? Of course, it was officially known as the Eternal Care Act, but Draculacare had definitely caught on.
* * * *
It had all started a month ago, when President Felix O’Neill had decreed that everyone in the country should qualify for eternal life…and at no cost to the taxpayers. What’s more, the campaign would be led by the president’s own undead son-in-law, Congressman George Zagorsky (D-Calif, naturally). But it soon became obvious that Zagorsky had (pardon the expression) bit off more than he could chew. In fact, he was driving his fellow Undead Americans absolutely batty.
For one thing, under the new plan no one could bite anyone without reporting it, via that horror of horrors…filling out forms on line, as the real-life (or, rather, real-death) Dracula was desperately trying to do right then. And he knew all too well that that effort could last an eternity.
Of course, the Congressman had assured all the citizens that they could choose their own Sires or Brides…but that made things even harder for people like Ellen Reinecke, who already had chosen Dracula to serve as her Sire, transforming her into his vampire Bride with his dark kiss. Dracula was doing his best to register himself on line as her Sire, but his cursed computer had other ideas.
It meant that his mate could not be an official Bride of Dracula, until the government’s requirements had been met. Which included filling out forms to prove consent by the vampire and victim alike. And she had sacrificed enough for him already…most notably, by sending her little boy to live with his father, since Luther had been teased so badly by being called the Son of Dracula (or the stepson, anyway).
It was all enough to make Dracula want to flee with her back to Transylvania, where vampirism was highly regarded as a vital part of the tourist trade. But too many dreadful traps awaited him there…most notably his mother, who had gone home to his great relief, after her nonstop nagging of him to comb his long dark moustache and sit up straight.
“I have the worst of all possible worlds!” she sniffled, when he explained his problem to her, as they sat across the table drinking their Type O during midnight breakfast. “I can be called your girlfriend, or your mistress, but not your Bride. I only wish I had never heard of Draculacare!”
Unfortunately for the president, many people…living or dead or both…had started feeling the same way.
* * * *
They most definitely included the celebrated TV commentator who had never liked Obamacare either.
“It’s so nice to be here again talking with you, Mr. Bill,” gushed the Countess Vyrdelek, whose maiden name had been Tiffany Golden, but who still insisted that she was a true-blue Undead American anyway.
With her warmest smile,
“May you be cursed for a thousand years! May werewolves tear out your heart! May zombies devour your brains! May no banshee ever wail at your death! May the witches cast their most evil spells against you! May you wander through the depths of Hell for all eternity!”
Howling wolves echoed the vampire’s oaths, while lightning flashed and thunder roared above his house, despite the usually calm Northern Virginia weather. And what had driven Dracula to shriek those chilling curses, thus summoning up the storm? Easy…he was trying to sign in to his computer, only to receive that dreaded message in return… Your password is incorrect. Please try again.
He had tried every variation on vampire , including tepes (his real last name), vyrdelek (the original Slavic word for vampire ) and undead …followed by numbers up to 6,666,666. But all were answered by the same hideous warning, locking him effectively out. It was enough to make him denounce the entire program that was called (crash of thunder, please)…Draculacare!
And damnit, he was Dracula. So who had an even better right than he did to take part in the President’s Draculacare campaign? Of course, it was officially known as the Eternal Care Act, but Draculacare had definitely caught on.
* * * *
It had all started a month ago, when President Felix O’Neill had decreed that everyone in the country should qualify for eternal life…and at no cost to the taxpayers. What’s more, the campaign would be led by the president’s own undead son-in-law, Congressman George Zagorsky (D-Calif, naturally). But it soon became obvious that Zagorsky had (pardon the expression) bit off more than he could chew. In fact, he was driving his fellow Undead Americans absolutely batty.
For one thing, under the new plan no one could bite anyone without reporting it, via that horror of horrors…filling out forms on line, as the real-life (or, rather, real-death) Dracula was desperately trying to do right then. And he knew all too well that that effort could last an eternity.
Of course, the Congressman had assured all the citizens that they could choose their own Sires or Brides…but that made things even harder for people like Ellen Reinecke, who already had chosen Dracula to serve as her Sire, transforming her into his vampire Bride with his dark kiss. Dracula was doing his best to register himself on line as her Sire, but his cursed computer had other ideas.
It meant that his mate could not be an official Bride of Dracula, until the government’s requirements had been met. Which included filling out forms to prove consent by the vampire and victim alike. And she had sacrificed enough for him already…most notably, by sending her little boy to live with his father, since Luther had been teased so badly by being called the Son of Dracula (or the stepson, anyway).
It was all enough to make Dracula want to flee with her back to Transylvania, where vampirism was highly regarded as a vital part of the tourist trade. But too many dreadful traps awaited him there…most notably his mother, who had gone home to his great relief, after her nonstop nagging of him to comb his long dark moustache and sit up straight.
“I have the worst of all possible worlds!” she sniffled, when he explained his problem to her, as they sat across the table drinking their Type O during midnight breakfast. “I can be called your girlfriend, or your mistress, but not your Bride. I only wish I had never heard of Draculacare!”
Unfortunately for the president, many people…living or dead or both…had started feeling the same way.
* * * *
They most definitely included the celebrated TV commentator who had never liked Obamacare either.
“It’s so nice to be here again talking with you, Mr. Bill,” gushed the Countess Vyrdelek, whose maiden name had been Tiffany Golden, but who still insisted that she was a true-blue Undead American anyway.
With her warmest smile,
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