Bite Me: A Love Story Read online

  Bite Me

  A Love Story

  Christopher Moore

  Contents

  1

  Hello Kitty

  2

  Test

  3

  The Samurai of Jackson Street

  4

  Good-Bye Love Lair

  5

  The Further Chronicles of Abby Normal, Miserable, Broken-Hearted Emo-Ho of the Night

  6

  The Vampire Parrots of Telegraph Hill

  7

  The Fog Comes on Little Cat Feet and Whatnot

  8

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, in the Double-Doomed Doghouse of Despair

  9

  Tenderloin

  10

  Unlikely Knights

  11

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, Pathetic Failure to All Creatures Great and Small

  12

  Alchemy

  13

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, Who, Befouled by the Wicked Taint of Rat Suck, Must Find Her Own Murderer

  14

  The Samurai of Jackson Street II

  15

  Head in the Clouds and Vice Versa

  16

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, Nosferatu

  17

  Wide Awake in Sucker-Free

  18

  Carpe Noctem

  19

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal: Oh Day Dwellers Doth Betray Me?

  20

  Hunters

  21

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal: The Mopey Monosexuality of an Outcast Cutie Corpse

  22

  Meeting at the Palace

  23

  Brat in the Paper Aisle

  24

  A Love Story?

  25

  Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal, Failed Nosferatu, Heartbroken Day Dweller, and Deposed Backup Mistress of the Greater Bay Area Darkness

  About the Author

  Other Books by Christopher Moore

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  1

  Hello Kitty

  BEING THE JOURNAL OF ABIGAIL VON NORMAL, Emergency Backup Mistress of the Greater Bay Area Night

  The City of San Francisco is being stalked by a huge, shaved vampyre cat named Chet, and only I, Abby Normal, emergency backup mistress of the Greater Bay Area night, and my manga-haired love monkey, Foo Dog, stand between the ravenous monster and a bloody massacre of the general public. Which isn’t, like, as bad as it sounds, because the general public kind of sucks ass.

  Still, I think that this battle of dark powers; the maintenance of my steamy, forbidden romance; the torturous break-in of a new pair of red vinyl, thigh-high Skankenstein® platform boots; as well as the daily application of complex eye makeup and whatnot, totally justify my flunking Biology 102. (Introduction to Mutilation of Preserved Marmot Cadavers, with Mr. Snavely, who totally has his way with the marmots when no one is around, I have it on good authority.) But try to tell that to the mother unit, who deserves this despair and disappointment for cursing me with her tainted and small-boobed DNA.

  Allow me to catch you up, s’il vous plaît. Pay attention, bitches, there will be a test.

  Three lifetimes ago, or maybe it was like last semester, because like the song says, “time is like a river of slippery excretions when you’re in love”—anyway—during winter break, Jared and I were in Walgreens looking for hypoallergenic eye makeup when we encountered the beautiful, redheaded Countess Jody and her consort of blood, my Dark Lord, the vampyre Flood, who was totally disguised in jeans and flannel as a loser.

  And I was all, “Nosferatu.” Whispered to Jared like a night wind through dead trees.

  And Jared was all, “No way, you sad, deluded little slut.”

  And I was all, “Shut your fetid penis port, you spunk-breathed poseur.” Which he took as a compliment, so that’s how I meant it, because while Jared is deeply gay, he’s never really gayed anyone up, except maybe his pet rat, Lucifer. Strictly speaking, I think Jared would be considered a rodentsexual, if not for the difficult geometry of the relationship. (See, size does matter!)

  Note to self: I should totally set Jared up with Mr. Snavely and they can talk about squirrel-shagging and whatnot and maybe I won’t have to repeat Bio 102.

  Anyway, Jared is a fitting support player in the tragedy that is my life, as he dresses dismal chic and excels at brooding, self-loathing, and allergies to beauty products. I’ve tried to talk him into going pro.

  ’Kayso, the vampyre Flood had me meet him at a club, where I offered up myself to his dark desires, which he totally rejected because of his eternal love of the Countess. So he bought me a cappuccino instead and appointed me to be their official minion. It is the duty of the minion to rent apartments, do laundry, and bring the masters a sack with a tasty kid in it, although I never did that last part because the masters don’t like kids.

  ’Kayso, the vampyre Flood gave me money and I rented a très cool loft in the SOMA (which is widely accepted to be the best ’hood for vampyres because there’s mostly new buildings and no one would suspect ancient creatures of purest evil to hang out there). But it turns out, it was like half a block from the très cool loft in the SOMA that they already lived in. ’Kayso, when I take the key to them, hoping they will bestow the dark gift of immortality upon me, this limo full of wasted college-age guys and a painted blue ho with ginormous fake boobs pulls up. And they’re all, “Where is Flood? We need to talk to Flood. And let us in,” and other demanding shit. And I’m all, “No way, step off Smurfett. There’s no one named Flood here.”

  I know! I was all, Oh-my-fucking-zombie-jebus-on-a-pogo-stick! She was blue!

  And I’m not racist, so shut up. She clearly had self-esteem issues that she compensated for with giant fake boobs, slutty blue body-paint, and doing a carload full of stoners for money. I’m not judging her by the color of her skin. Everyone copes. When I got braces I went through a Hello Kitty phase that lasted well into my fifteens, and Jared maintains that I am still perky at heart, which is not true. I am simply complex. But more about the blue hooker later, because right then the Asian guy looks at his watch and says, “Too late, it’s sunset.” And they drove off. Which is when I opened the door into the stairwell to the loft and was confronted by Chet, the huge shaved vampyre cat. (Except, at the time, I didn’t know his name, and he was wearing a red sweater, so I didn’t know he was shaved, and he wasn’t a vampyre yet. But huge.)

  So I’m all, “Hey, kitty, go away.” And he did, leaving only William, the huge shaved cat homeless guy, lying on the steps. I thought he was dead, because of the smell, but it turns out he was only passed out from alcohol and partially drained of blood and stuff. But I’m pretty sure he’s dead now because, later, Foo and I found his stank-ass clothes on the steps of the loft, full of the gray dust that people turn to when a vampyre drains them.

  So upstairs I’m all, “There’s a dead guy and a huge kitty in a sweater on your steps.” And the Countess and Flood are all, “Whatever.”

  And I’m all, “And there was a limo full of stoners here who were totally hunting you.”

  And they were all, “Whoa.” And they seemed more freaked out than you’d think, for ancient creatures of dark forbidden romance and whatnot. And it turns out they weren’t—I mean, aren’t. I mean, sure, their love is eternal, and they are creatures of unspeakable evil and stuff, but they are not ancient at all. It turns out that the vampyre Flood is only like nineteen, and he’s only known the Countess for like two months. And she’s only like twenty-six, which, while a little crusty, is not that ancient. And despite her advanced age, the
Countess is beautiful, with long, totally natch red hair and milky skin, green eyes like emerald fire, and a smoking body that could turn a girl totally lesbo if she wasn’t already a slave to the mad, man-ninja sex-fu of the delicious Foo Dog. (Foo keeps insisting that he can’t be a ninja because he’s Chinese and ninjas are Japanese, but he’s just being stubborn and goes all Angry, Angry Asian on me whenever I bring it up. )

  ’Kayso, in the master’s loft I see these two bronze statues, one of this crusty businessman-looking guy, and the other looks like the Countess, except it’s totally naked, or in a leotard, and bronze. And I’m all, “Exhibitionist, much, Countess? Did it come with a pole?”

  And she’s all, “Help Tommy move furniture, Wednesday.” Like that makes any sense at all. (Turns out that Wednesday is a Gothish character from some crusty movie.)

  ’Kayso, later, by virtue of my extensive research and sneaking around and whatnot, I find out that the statues aren’t statues at all. That the Countess used to be inside the statue of her, and that inside the crusty businessman statue is the real ancient creature of unspeakable evil, the nosferatu that turned the Countess. And the vampyre Flood, who wasn’t a vampyre at all at the time, had bronzed the two of them when they were sleeping the deep sleep of the daytime dead, which is like the deepest sleep you can get. (You should know right now, that there’s no yawning, gentle drift into sleepytime for vampyres. When the sun breaks the horizon, they drop rag-doll dead on the spot, and you can pose them, paint them, put their hands on their junk and post the pics on the Web, and they won’t know a thing until sundown when they come on like a light and they’re wondering why their naughty bits are green and their inbox is full of propositions from elfin_love.com.)

  I know. Whoa!

  It turns out that Flood, who was known as Tommy, was chosen by the Countess as her day-minion, blood lunch, and love monkey, because he worked nights at the Safeway. Then, the old vampyre, who had turned the Countess only like a week before, started fucking with them—saying he was going to kill Tommy and generally harsh Jody’s reality. ’Kayso, Flood and his stoner Safeway night crew (called the Animals) hunted down the alpha vampyre, who was sleeping in a big yacht in the Bay, and they stole like jillions in art from the yacht and blew it up with the vampyre in it, which seriously put habaneras in his ’tude lube, but when he came out of the water, they fucked him up a good long time with spear guns and whatnot.

  I know! Oh-my-fucking-god-ponies-in-the-barbecue! I know! It just goes to show you, like Lord Byron says in the poem: “Given enough weed and explosives, even a creature of most sophisticated and ancient dark power can be undone by a few stoners.”

  I’m paraphrasing. It may have been Shelley.

  ’Kayso, the Countess saves the old vampyre from being toasted, but she promises the cops (there were these two cops) to take him away and never come back to the City, but when they go to sleep, Flood, who couldn’t bear to lose Jody, took them downstairs to the biker-sculptors and had them bronzed. But when he was trying to explain to the Countess about why he did it, he drilled holes in the bronze by her ears, and she turned into mist, streamed into the room, and turned him into a vampyre. Which totally surprised him, because he didn’t even know she knew how to do either of those things. (Misting and turning, I mean.)

  So then they’re like, both vampyres, eternal in their love, but somewhat lame in their night skills. Because Jody had been feeding off of Tommy, she hadn’t thought through what they would eat after Tommy turned vampyre. So, first they went to this homeless guy we’ll call William the Huge Cat Guy (because that’s what people call him) because he used to sit on Market Street with Chet and a sign that said, I AM POOR AND MY CAT IS HUGE. And they ended up renting the huge cat, Chet, to be their shared blood lunch. But it turned out that a large part of Chet’s kitty hugeness was fur, so in order to facilitate the biting process, they shaved him. I’m just glad that I wasn’t their minion yet, because I think we all know who would have ended up shaving the kitty.

  But no! It didn’t work. I’m not sure why. But William got totally, date-rape-level hammered on the liquor he bought with the huge cat rent money, and they ended up feeding on him. Which is where I, the new princess-elect of darkness, was brought into the fold. (Into the “fold” means, like, the gang, as in gang of sheep, not fold like in what you do to T-shirts if you’re a casual cotton slave at Old Navy.)

  It was I, who turned Tommy onto the needle exchange program, where he was able to use his pale thinness to convince them he was a junkie and get syringes so they could take William’s blood and put it in the fridge for the Countess to have in her coffee. Turns out that the only way the vampyre can tolerate real food or drink is if it has a little human blood in it. (The Countess likes blood on her fries, which is at once très cool and deeply fucked-up.)

  So, as soon as the Countess and Flood figured out the deal with blood and food, William the Huge Cat Guy wandered off and the Countess had to go find him, since she has more experience at hunting the night, while Flood and I moved stuff from one loft to the other. But I had to get lice shampoo for my useless little sister, Ronnie, who was plagued by vermin, and Flood sent me home early to spare me the wrath of the mother unit because he didn’t want his minion on restriction. (So noble. I think that’s when I fell in love with him.) Then he took the bronzed old vampyre down to the water to dump him in the Bay before the Countess got back. It was clear to me that Tommy had jealousy issues with the old vampyre, and wanted to get rid of him. Except he ran out of dark before he got to the Bay and had to leave the old vampyre sitting by the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero and run from the sun for his life. At the last minute, the Animals drive by in their limo with their stupid blue ho and scoop the vampyre Flood off the street just before he was incinerated by the sun.

  I know. WTF?

  (FYI, when I type WTF, you are supposed to read it What the Fuck? Same with OMG, and OMFG, which are Oh My God and Oh My Fucking God. Only a completely lame Disney Channel nimnode pronounces the letters. Even BMLWA, or Bite My Lily White Ass should only be spoken as letters if you are hanging out with nuns or other people who are embarrassed about being told to bite asses.)

  ’Kayso, the Animals go back to work at the Safeway, but not before they tie Flood to a bed frame, where the blue hooker tortured him to get him to turn her into a vampyre, because now she had like all the money that the Animals had gotten for the old vampyre’s art, which was like six hundred thousand dollars, and she wanted to take her time spending it, so she wanted to be immortal. But Flood was like a complete vamp noob. He’d never even killed anyone and turned them to dust or anything, so he didn’t know how to change someone. The Countess didn’t tell him that the chosen had to drink the vampyre’s blood to receive the dark gift. So the blue ho tortures the shit out of him.

  I know, what a bitch.

  Meanwhile, the Countess found the huge cat guy, and I found the lice shampoo, but we don’t know where Tommy is. But the Countess was burned from going out on some hot water pipes, so she fed on me, right there in the loft, and I was all, “Oh shit, I’m going to get the dark gift and I’m, like, wearing my lime-green Chuck Taylors, which are totally not the kicks for becoming a creature of unspeakable power in.” But no, the Countess just partook of my sanguine nectar so she could heal. That’s probably where I fell in love with her. Anyway, she goes asking around about Tommy, and this completely crazy homeless guy who thinks he is the Emperor of San Francisco (you see him and his two dogs in the north end of the City all the time) says that one of the Animals was asking around about Flood.

  So I’m all, “Uh-oh.”

  And the Countess is all, “Yep.”

  Next thing you know, we are at the Marina Safeway and the Countess—wearing her black jeans and red leather jacket, but no lipstick—underhands a steel reinforced trash can like as big as a lesbian gym teacher through the big front window, and she just walks right through the falling glass, badass as shit, into the store and starts kicking stone
r ass. It was glorious. But she didn’t kill anyone, which turned out to be a mistake, as was, in my humble opinion, not wearing any lipstick. For while it was a heroic ass-kicking as has ever been delivered in real life, it would have been that much cooler if she had some black lipstick on, or maybe something in a dark maroon. But they told her that Tommy was tied up at Lash’s, the black guy’s, apartment.

  And their shit was all busted up, and I was like, “You bitches have been powned!”

  And the Countess was like, “That’s cute. Let’s go get Tommy.”

  She can be kind of a bitch sometimes. Anyway, we go to the apartment where Tommy is being held, but when we get there, he’s still tied to the bed frame, but stood up against a wall, all naked and covered in blood, even his junk. And the blue ho is dead on the floor.

  And I’m all, “Uh-oh.”

  And the Countess is all, “Yep.”

  And she says something about how the blue ho must have broken her neck or something, because if Tommy had drained her, she would have turned to dust and there would have been no body. Anyway, the cab ride back to the loft was très awkward, you know, with Flood naked and covered with blood and the two of them all, “Oh I love you” and, “Oh I love you, too.” And I was being kind of a mopey little emo queen because I was jealous of both of them because they had their dark and eternal love for each other and I had like my lime-green Chucks and Jared the gay-bait rat-shagger.

  So that was good. The rescue and whatnot. Because we found the old vampyre art money that the Animals had paid to the blue ho, which was like a half a million dollars. But then we found out that the blue ho was not dead, but somehow had accidentally drunk some of Tommy’s blood when she kissed him during his torture and now she was nosferatu. And she turned all the Animals. Which, you know, was bad. And not in the good way.

  And the old vampyre had somehow escaped his bronze shell, and he was coming after Tommy and Jody, and even me? He even shook the living shit out of William the Huge Cat Guy while Jared and I watched from an alley across the street.