Vertigo (Channeling Morpheus 2)
4/5
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About this ebook
Long, dark hair. Dewy, khol-rimmed eyes. Ripe young lips just made for kissing.
Guys like that are dime a dozen.
Wild Bill likes a little edge on his playmates, and Michael's got the whole package going on—plus a loaded gun in his leather jacket, and an unquenchable obsession with vampires.
Michael has managed to follow a breadcrumb trail Bill didn't even know he was leaving, and the kid's got a few new tricks up his sleeve. Hopefully the latest addition to his arsenal doesn't include a wooden stake with Wild Bill's name on it. But anything can happen in the dark.
Second electronic edition. First edition was published as Channeling Morpheus: Vertigo in 2008. Appears in the print collection Channeling Morpheus for Scary Mary. (Explicit gay content)
Jordan Castillo Price
Author and artist Jordan Castillo Price writes paranormal sci-fi thrillers colored by her time in the Midwest, from inner city Chicago, to various cities across southern Wisconsin. She’s settled in a 1910 Cape Cod near Lake Michigan with tons of character and a plethora of bizarre spiders. Any disembodied noises, she’s decided, will be blamed on the ice maker.Jordan is best known as the author of the PsyCop series, an unfolding tale of paranormal mystery and suspense starring Victor Bayne, a gay medium who's plagued by ghostly visitations.
Read more from Jordan Castillo Price
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Reviews for Vertigo (Channeling Morpheus 2)
28 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It was interesting to be in Wild Bill's head. At first I didn't like it because I thought he would be like he appeared to be: the typical angsty vampire. But he was so much more and different and, dare I say it, vulnerable. I fell in love with him, too.
The only part I had a problem with was when Michael continued to have sex with Wild Bill after the rufies kicked in. That was kind of like rape. And yet, they were already having sex and Wild Bill was definitely enjoying it. It would have been cruel to leave, too. Oddly, Michael's reason for rufie-ing Wild Bill was not what I expected. (I thought he had done it so Wild Bill wouldn't kill him when they were finished. It's interesting that such a thing wasn't a concern to Michael.) What a conundrum. I decided that with these two guys and this exact situation it was fine. Call it rationalization if you will. - Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5In thinking about this story, I realized that ratings-wise it would normally have two strikes against it. Short stories are hard to give 5 stars unless they are extraordinarily good, and secondly, this particular short was mostly one long sex scene, which usually would not be a plus in my mind.However, this WAS an extraordinary story. The writing was gritty and often humorous in it's metaphors and choice of wording. The sex was also far from ordinary and the twists in the story a huge surprise, with Michael taking charge in a way I'd not thought his character capable of. I underestimated him as did Wild Bill.Over all an amazing read!
Book preview
Vertigo (Channeling Morpheus 2) - Jordan Castillo Price
Vertigo
Channeling Morpheus 2
Jordan Castillo Price
Smashwords Edition 2.0
www.JCPbooks.com
JCP Books LLC • PO Box 153 • Barneveld, WI 53507
ISBN 978-1-935540-25-0
SMASHWORDS EDITION 2012
Cover art by Jordan Castillo Price
Vertigo: Channeling Morpheus 2. Copyright © 2008 by Jordan Castillo Price. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Originally published electronically as Channeling Morpheus: Vertigo by Changeling Press in 2008 and by JCP Books in 2009 in the paperback Channeling Morpheus for Scary Mary
Chapter One
I flicked the tip of the match with my thumbnail, watched a couple of sparks drop toward the ground and fizzle out before they hit, and took a breath tinged with sulfur. There was a pause where maybe the flame would catch, maybe not, as if Fate needed a second to think about whether she’d give permission for a single lick of flame to come to life. And then the match head flared, bluish white, then bright yellow, and then flame.
Lighting a smoke’s not usually a Walt Whitman moment for me. But I’d been on edge all night, searching for meaning in every little thing. Kinda made me wonder if the whole world might only be as significant as some hormone in the bloodstream of the last kid I tapped, or a stupid song I half-heard on someone else’s Walkman three blocks away…some small trigger that brought back a memory or two.
I finished the smoke and lit another one off the dying carcass of the first. Five, six bucks a pack nowadays—not that it matters to me. I see something I want, I tell the store clerk to hand it over, and it’s mine. Cigarettes, clothes, booze, or whatever else my heart desires. Wild Bill’s baby blues are an infinite line of credit. I got a kick out of that for a dozen years or so. But then the fun wore thin.
Or maybe I was developing a conscience.
Nah.
I blew out a stream of smoke, indigo in the moonlight, and stared down at the clearing. I was in a park that was a vamp’s wet dream, all cliffs and caves and gnarled black trees. I don’t usually go for group things, at least as far as my social life is concerned, but this handful of vamps didn’t seem too bad for a bunch of bloodsuckers. One of ’em was freshly turned, and she had mad Internet skilz.
Since I had no idea what that’s supposed to mean, I needed to take her word for it. She’d picked up such a big following that she had enough entrées to share, and that’s all that mattered to me. I don’t feel like an A-hole when the hamburger’s willing.
They’d built a bonfire, and I picked out the individual smells of at least four different types of flaming wood, and burning sugar, too. I got a kick out of the thought that someone had made a pilgrimage to have their vamp-cherry popped, and remembered to bring along a bag of marshmallows.
They milled around in the clearing, fifteen kids so far, most of them in black with hits of red, silver and purple. I smelled hair dye from where I sat—a hundred yards away—and perfume, and clove cigarettes, and Ivory soap, and nail polish remover, and angst. I wondered who was angsting. Pretty much all of ’em, you’d think. But some are bleaker than others.
One of the other vamps would probably grab up the most tragic ones first. Fine by me. The thought of latching on to a human and finding out I can’t let go scares the crap out of me.
A vamp darted out from the treeline and snagged a couple of chicks. It looked like Wild Kingdom from my vantage point, except the vamps were even smoother than a