"I'm on me way to find the last pieces to this li'l puzzle. I have an invitation to the party, care of Merlin's Page of Prophesies. And now there's the holy weapon, thanks to the smithin' of Ratoncito Perez. But I won't be attendin' the ceremony. Nor will I be firin' the shot. I'm no marksman, and the li'l wonder in me pocket has to pierce Vlad right in the old horse n' cart. I'll need an expert triggerman.
"The bugger of it all is it won't kill him. He's too strong, what with bein' the original. For lesser bloodsuckers, a wooden stake or point of silver to the heart means death. But for a monster like Dracula, it only puts him into a state of torpor. It's like bein' inna coma. And if the piercin' bit comes out, he'll heal right up. Now that won't do me any good if we put him down inside the estate. He needs to be exposed to sunlight, so we'll need a mark to place him outside before sunrise.
"That means havin' bait. And there's no better bait than a gorgeous woman who knows how to work her wiles o' femininity. Especially if the bloke what catches her fancy is in love. Lucky for me, I know a pair that'll do just the trick. And they're both right here in Greece."
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The woman was dancing with a young fisherman when Harold walked up to the bar. They moved slowly and sensually, quickening as the musics tempo built. The man in the corner strumming a guitar noticed Harold, and gave him a sly nod. Harold tipped his bottle in acknowledgement. The baby-faced musician smiled and picked up the pace even more. The woman twirled across the floor, changing partners without missing a beat. The new youth placed his hands cheekily low on her hip, and she nipped at him playfully. She was an absolute vision, emanating lust and perfection.
As the song sped up, she changed back to the original partner, then again to the hands-y boy. Somewhere in the gambol, she backed away from the two young men, who ended up dancing in each other's arms. She covered her mouth and let out an intoxicating titter, then began gyrating in a standalone sway. Her thick blonde curls seemed to bounce in slow motion, and the thin white dress she wore clung to her graceful motions. The youngsters stood still for a second, in confusion, then grabbed each other with a renewed fervor, playing it up for the crowd and grinning from ear to ear.
The song ended abruptly and the crowd erupted with cheers, laughter, and wolf-whistles. The boys took a bow, hand-in-hand. Cries of "Encore, encore" came from the bartenders. When the commotion had died down, Harold made his way to the guitarist and the lovely woman, who now stood beside him.
"Aphrodite. Eros." Harold held out his hand in greeting.
Eros addressed him first. "Tooth-fairy! What brings you to our beautiful Polis? Wine? Women? Or did you simply want to see the sun for once in your Londoner's life?"
Aphrodite ran a hand through the fairy's hair suggestively, "Harold, you will have to excuse my son. He believes Mykonos is the second coming of Olympos. Although I do have to question the coincidence of you bumbling into this place."
"It's a long story, luv. But I'm here to tell you all about it. I guess the short of it is I need you, both of you, to help me kill Vlad the Impaler."
"Impossible!" Eros blustered.
"Well, that's why you's all are the gods of love n' beauty, and not the gods of brilliant-fuckin'-plans. See, I've already got all sorts of greasy li'l wheels in all sorts of shrewd li'l motions. But I require a sport who's never missed a heart he's aimed at, so Eros, I've need of your bow. And as for you luv..." Harold looked Aphrodite up and down. "I need... well, all of you."
"Such a silken tongue for a fairy!" The goddess cooed appreciatively. "Oh, I like him, my son. And I very much like the little games he wants to play. Come, Cupid, let's play along."
"Mother, why would we want to leave? It's wonderful here. The breeze from the sea invigorates me, the wine is plentiful, and the men and women here..."
"Are boring!" She interrupted. "Where's your sense of adventure? Tell me true, when is the last time we did something noteworthy. When's the last time you felt... like a god?"
Eros acquiesced, "Very well, Aphrodite. I suppose we could use a little distraction."
They stayed at a corner table, going over strategy and drinking for the rest of the afternoon. When he had finally caught up, Harold said, "Now I know you gods are a, how should I put this, whimsical lot. So before we start, I want you to sign a blood pact."
"You've got to be kidding me!" Eros exclaimed.
"No. You will be in the belly of the beast, with all sorts of interesting and persuasive creatures. I don't need any negotiations or dodgy goings-on behind me back."
"Ugh!" Aphrodite spat, "I blame Zeus for this preconception of fickleness everyone has about us. If it will make you feel better, fine."
"But he knows The Morrigan, mother! What kind of havoc could she wreak with a god's blood?"
"Now, now. I have no intention to use your promises against you. If you wish, I'll sign a blood pact too." He grabbed a cocktail and wrote on it. "I, Harold Haverstock the tooth-fairy, hereby solemnly swear that I will not use the blood pacts of Eros, god of love, or Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, in any untoward fashion involving The Morrigan." He pricked a finger and pressed it to the paper. "See there? Easy-peasy, Bob's-your-dog's-bollocks and all that."
The deities looked at each other, then nodded in satisfaction. They took turns writing out their blood pacts and pricking their fingers. When Harold had the contracts, he shoved them into his pocket and stood up.
"Well then. Away to Scotland, shall we?"
YOU ARE READING
Cutting 32
HorrorLife's hard being a male tooth fairy. And for Harold, it gets a lot harder when Death herself comes to tell him time's up. The silver-tongued sylph manages to cut a deal for more years, at the cost of playing a dangerous game. But with the help of a...
