For an instant, it was like heaven. I soared like an eagle through the moonlit night, the world silvery beneath me. Like the dreams I’d had when I lived, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was light as a feather, leaving earthbound cares far below, the freest I’d ever felt.
But only for an instant. When the first moment of elation passed, I felt the tug of gravity. I fought it, and it got worse. And then the ground was rushing at me; hard, furrowed dirt littered with the broken remains of cornstalks and husks. At least this time I remembered to keep my mouth shut as I dove with bone-breaking force into the long-plowed field. Nothing says defeat like the grit of dirt between your teeth for hours on end.
Had I still been among the living, the painful snaps of facial and my left collarbone giving way would have stolen my breath. All it did was make me mad, however. No sooner had the body I inhabited slammed to the ground when I jumped up with a scream. My howl of frustration, streaming between broken teeth and sounding comically nasal – well, comical to anyone but me – startled the few birds who chose to call on this cold February night. No doubt it curled the hair of anyone who chanced to hear it echoing over the wide, fallow fields that served as my practice area.
Like magic, a huge brown hand, liberally sprinkled with black hair, appeared by my face. It held a gracefully shaped black bottle. The gold trimmed label on it was emblazoned with the burgundy letters proclaiming it to be Blood Potion No. 9. Had I been in the mood to continue reading, the fancy calligraphy would assure me that it was the finest, purest elixir next to the stuff one could drink straight from a vein.
My name is Brandilynn Payson. I was murdered less than a year ago, left to wander as a ghost. I am not a vampire. I just had the really bad fortune to get sucked into the body of one when its owner’s soul was eaten by a creature known as the lamia. But that’s another story.
No release date set.