Friday, June 2, 2017

Chapter 7 of Book 1 of 3 as a sample read




Away, away in another time in another place, Demetrio was awakened by a woman shouting, “Wake up, wake up! You are lying on my flowers.”
Demetrio felt a nudge against his shoulder and was nudged again. He opened his bewildered eyes and looked up at a gray-faced woman looking down at him. Her flowery, decorative face and dark circles that surrounded her eyes highlighted her yellow pupils. He was reminded of the girls he had seen at Dia de Los Muertos celebrations. She wore a wide, black sombrero with tasseled sugar skulls around the brim.
He sat up and wiped his eyes clear. He was sitting in a field of marigolds. He continued to sit while he cleared his mind.
“Hurry up, you lazy bum. I have a busy day ahead,” she told him.
He looked at her again; she was tall and skinny and wore a long black Spanish dress that revealed her gray shoulders. A side slit in the dress exposed her legs. It was eternal night, and the moon rays shined on her, transforming her body into a skeleton. The sombrero’s shadow protected her face from those rays. She smiled, “Welcome to Mictlan, land of the Dead. I am…”
“I know who you are, my lady. You are Mictlancihuatl, Aztec Goddess. I suppose that means I am dead.” He stood up and saw he was still dressed in the same clothes he wore when he died – a simple, white shirt and black trousers.
“Si, I am called Señora de Las Sombras, La Santa Muerte, but you can call me ‘La Flaca.’ Yes, you are dead, and I see you have forgotten the pain. That is good. That means you are ready to cross over.”
“Was it painful?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes, please tell me. I really want to know.”
“Oh, it was painful. The knife cut through your breast bone and muscle. Your screams were heard even here.”
“Oh, I remember it was my love, or rather my ex-love, who did this to me. Rose, the Vampire-Bruja. I have to return; she has devious plans for Bekka.”
“Bekka? You mean Rebecca, do you not?”
“Yes, she prefers to be called Bekka with two k’s.”
“Very cute. Is she a gringa?”
“Yes.”
“I should have known. Me encantan las gringas. Me las encantan with their little curiosities, always changing their name. I am surprised she did not call herself Rebe.”
“Well, she has a friend Rebecca who…”
“Oh, never mind, what does this Bekka with the two k’s mean to you?”
“She is my love.”
“I thought you said Rose was your love.”
Demetrio thought for a moment and sighed, “I did, but as you can see, she betrayed me. I was having doubts by then anyway. I was confused. Bekka, whom I had known only a short while, enchanted me. She reminded me of the Rose I had fallen in love with.”
“Ah, men.” She waved her hand. “I am not a counselor. I think men love a woman depending on how far she spreads her legs. It is not love. Let us go.”
“No, my lady, if death has done anything it has brought me clarity. I love Bekka, and I must go back, at least to protect her. Please.”
“I am sorry. I cannot do that – no one goes back. Why would you even think that was possible?”
“What about Sister Helga and Father Hidalgo? The Eagle King brought him back.”
She gave him a piteous look. “Pobrecito, if only you knew what has been smiling, cooking, and cleaning for you all this time, lurking in your home.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. The Eagle King brought Father Hildago’s soul to Sister Helga’s body. That is possession. What you are asking for is a resurrection.   Not doing it. You are dead y vamos.”
“No. You must oblige me. I have a worthy cause. I know my rights; if one dies an unnatural death, you must at least consider my request.”
“Ah, mijo, what death is unnatural? Death is inconvenient and is not planned or scheduled. Everyone wants to go to heaven, but no one wants to die. It is that moment when you close your eyes for the last time; you do not know what is there. Even the most faithful have their doubts at the last moment; their only peace is that they cannot do anything about it. As I said, I have a big day ahead. Let us go.”
“What if I do not move?”
“Then I will leave you here in limbo, forever.”
Demetrio begged once again, “Please, señora have mercy, I will do anything for you. Let me go back.” The statement interested her, and she narrowed her eyebrows as she asked, “So, will you be willing to do anything?”
“Yes, of course.” She rubbed her chin, “Hmm, anything? For love?”
“Si.”
“All right, a duel – a game or a challenge of your choice, but I warn you if it is chess, you will have to choose something else. Everybody wants to play chess. So choose your contest carefully.”
He thought about it… what could Death be beaten at? What game or challenge, what battle of wills would he stand a chance at? He studied her; one long leg, exposed by a slit in her dress, was a skeleton while the other, covered by shadow, was flesh. Her lips were painted red.  “A kiss,” he smiled.
“A kiss? How is that a duel?”
“I can assure you, in the land of the living, nothing is more deadly. If you enjoy my kiss, then you shall grant my request. If you do not, then I will follow you.” He had surprised her by his strange request. He hoped that she would accept it as no one had ever asked her for one.
“All right, Demetrio you shall have your kiss, but no tricks. It must be a real kiss.”
“My lady, what other thing can a kiss be?” He took her forcefully into his arms and, to her surprise, he bent her backwards into the safety of his arms and kissed her passionately. He used his free hand to hold her tilted head still as her sombrero fell to the ground. He controlled his fear as the moonlight transformed her face into a skull, and he lost himself into the moment. She embraced him tightly while savoring his passionate kiss.
She had kissed before, whenever she came upon those ready for the next world. After all, her kiss was the kiss of death. Never before had she been kissed.  “That was marvelous,” she thought as she reached down for her fallen sombrero and placed it back on her head. 
Her face returned to flesh the moment she put her sombrero in its place. He held out his hand to help her stand. She smiled at him. “It is nice to feel like a woman again. It has been thousands of years.”
“Then I win?”
“Well, it is a little more complicated than that. You win in that you do not have to follow me this very second. You cannot return until you prove yourself by the crossing the three rivers of Mictlan.”
“Three rivers? How far is that?”
“Each journey is as far as the traveler needs to go. Each river more treacherous than the previous. Do you dare to go?”
“Yes.”
She warned him, “I cannot take you. It is a path you need to take without my help. Do you accept this?”
“Si.”
“For love?”
“Si, para Bekka.”
“Para Bekka, with the two k’s. Very well, I have always heard of dying for one’s love, thus, here is living for your love. Give me another kiss, and I will devise some warning for her on your behalf. I can see, even now, that her moment of death is emerging from the shadows but is still an uncertain thing. I can see part of her face, and she has red hair, yes?” 
“Yes.”  Demetrio gave ‘La Flaca’ another kiss, a passionate plea for Bekka’s life. This time around, she was prepared to enjoy it and held her sombero in place. 
Then she spoke in a chorus of a thousand voices, “Go, Demetrio, to the first river – the River of Regret.” With that, she descended into her own shadow until the moonlight hid her completely.
He stood alone in a vast field of marigolds; the moonbeams turned the yellow and burgundy flowers into the same shade of gray. He gazed at the moon; it was not the usual face he saw, but the other side. This was Mexico, he reasoned, as he recognized the natural landmarks of his country. A different Mexico, one that was covered with shadows and moonlight.
He felt no pain from the rays of the moon even though he realized his family pendant was gone. So Rose had taken that. Good, very good – the conniving bitch was wearing the essence of every single ancestor who had ever touched the pendant. If she had asked he would have told her, but she did not, and she would live to regret it. He silently lamented that he had not left behind a child to wear it, but of course children of the light were very rare. 
He had met more than one “natural born” White Vampire in mating ceremonies; they were all beautiful, but nothing stirred in him. If the blood of each did not long for the other, there would be no baby. Rose had never wanted a child, but she was not a vampire anyway when he met her. I should have taken her after I bit her, he thought to himself, rather savagely, but realized that she would have killed the child when she found out she was carrying it.
If he had impregnated her before he turned her, then their child would be mixed. She or he would be stronger than normal humans in the sun, but weak under the moon, and they would age just like a human.
In every direction he looked, he saw a vast expanse that did not end. He did not know where to start. He did the only thing he could do – he took a step, then another, until he had taken several steps in one direction, decided. He remembered a character in a novel he had read, written by Joseph Conrad. 
The main character was doomed to drown, that much was certain, but he chose a direction and swam toward it, became focused upon going in that direction.  Demetrio did not remember if that character had lived or died, but the determination struck him as admirable, so he picked a direction and walked and walked, purposefully.
As he walked alone in the endless night, he noticed that the wound in his chest, an ugly jagged, gaping hole, had healed. It was enclosed, yet he did not hear a heartbeat. He could breathe the air, which was no different than before. This could be a dream, he thought, or maybe this is Hell.
I have fooled myself into thinking I was taking on an honorable quest, but maybe I am actually in this vastness of loneliness. I am in limbo forever, thinking I can get back. What a perfect way for the Devil to torture me, he thought, torture me with hope. But children of the light were not supposed to cross over into the land of perpetual darkness. Who really knew, though? Who had come back to report such a thing?  No body. It is all just a crazy, empty guessing game, but I will keep walking just the same.
He seemed to walk for a while, as if there were such a thing as time to measure the passing moments of nothingness. There were no creatures stirring, no wind to feel, only a starless night with a full moon to keep him company.
He thought about the moon; it was not killing him without his pendant. “I am dead already,” he said to himself, but he remembered that it was now the other side of the moon that bore down upon him.
He did not know how things worked in this land, but he still felt vulnerable and alone without the weight of the pendant upon his chest. He knew that the pendant would reject Rose, and he wondered how it would react to the wickedness she was planning. He had to find a way to warn the three young ones, had to find a way to help them. But how could he? He was caught on this never ending path. Then he came upon the marigold field once again.
“Damn it, no!” he shouted when he saw the impression on the ground where he had laid when ‘La Flaca’ had awakened him. “I have walked in a circle, but how could I? I walked straight ahead this whole time.” He fell to his knees, “Damn it! Bekka, I am sorry.” He covered his face in sorrow and tried to keep his sanity. “I have to go on, I must go on.”
“Who is Bekka?” came a tiny voice. A girl’s voice, “You cry a lot for a man. Men are not supposed to cry.”
He looked up and a saw a red-headed girl about ten years old. She was dressed in a simple, floral dress and sandals. “A man cries for love, mijita, only for love. Where did you come from and who are you?”
“I have been here for so long, I have forgotten my name, and I have forgotten where I have come from.”
“How long have you been here, little one?”
“I have forgotten that as well.”
“You are not frightened of the night?”
“I have become accustomed to it. As long as I do not go to the three rivers, I am fine.”
“You know the way to the three rivers?”
“No, only one, the first. I have never gone past that river.”
“Oh please, can you help me? I am lost, and I need to go there.”
“Oh, no, I cannot. It is too scary.”
“Please help. I need to tell a woman that I love her and tell her that she is in danger.”
“Is that Bekka, the one you were crying about?”
“Si.”
“Do you really love her?”
“Would I be crying if I did not?”
“Why do you love her?”
“That is an odd question.”
“No, it is not. If you want me to take you to the first river, I want to know why you love her.”
“It is difficult to explain to a child, but the only thing I can say is that things are different when I am with her. I feel like a better man. My body wants to be near her. My eyes want always to look at her. She makes me a better person.”
The little girl pondered his answer, then giggled and asked him, “Will you kiss her?”
“Of course. Please, mija, help me, and maybe I can help you. You cannot stay here forever.”
“I will help you if you promise to stay with me until we get there.”
“Yes, I will not leave your side.”
“All right, but you have to hold hands with me.”
Demetrio promised, “I will hold hands with you.”
The two joined hands, and she led the way. To Demetrio it seemed to be the same way he had travelled before, except this time they came across a growing mist. He asked, “What is this fog?”
“We are here. Now remember, you promised not to let go of my hand. The air will get very thick, and if we separate, we will get lost.”
They arrived at a land full of dense fog. Demetrio felt an ominous aura about him. The little girl held his hand tightly as they treaded their way through. Then they heard whispers too low to distinguish until they finally became wails of despair. Voices were heard from bodiless people: “I did not mean to do it – I promise I will come back – I am sorry.”
The small girl was frightened by them and held her arms up, pleading in a small voice, “Carry me.”
Demetrio bent down and picked her up and held her in his arms. He did not know where the voices were coming from and did not want to show the girl that he too was afraid.
The voices continued crying their laments, “I did it, I did it with my own two hands – I never told him  –   I loved her  –  I could have, I could have – It should have been me.”
Demetrio realized the last voice was his. He stopped and listened to hear it again. “It should have been me, Enrique.”
“It was not your fault, Demetrio.” It was the voice of Enrique, his first caretaker in the new land. Demetrio remembered that moment; it was after his parents were burned at the stake. They were falsely accused of being witches, and there was nothing he could do, so he had stood by, helpless.
The mist cleared before him, revealing that moment and what had happened almost 400 years ago. He was hiding in his caretaker’s home sitting by the fireplace crying, “If I were there earlier, I could have helped him. Together, we could have easily overpowered the soldiers.”
Enrique comforted him by saying, “Then all three of you would have been taken. He did not use his strength to overpower them. He could have, but he did not. I do not know why. Maybe they were tired of running, mi hijo, or maybe they were protecting you. The inquisitions were becoming intolerable. Remember how committed your father was to the church. To him, the inquisition was a betrayal.”
“No, Enrique, it happened because I was away. I was selfish. I wanted to go to Guanajuato to be with friends and visit Julia. It is my fault. If I were there…”
“Do not condemn yourself, Demetrio.”
“How did they find out about us?”
Enrique answered, “Well, remember, there was a plague. So many people were sick and were dying, and the illness left a black mark around the victims’ mouths. People saw the mark as a sign of witchcraft, and then, just as in the past, people started blaming and hunting. The Church and the townspeople concluded that this was the work of brujas. But, Demetrio, you know that many were not brujas; it was merely revenge or thievery.”
“But my parents were not brujas, and they were never suspected of being such.”
“We know, everybody knows, but when you mix ignorance, fear, and superstition, the times become dangerous, especially when you add politics and finances to the mixture. When your neighbors were all sick but not your parents, people saw the pendant that your father wore. They told the Church. And the Church came. The head priest absolved your father of any wrongdoing and said he was a holy man. Then the politicians, the ones who sought to control the church, roused the people against your parents and the priest. They ran the priest through with their sabers and pronounced him to be the spawn of Satan. So the same pendant that was your salvation crossing the ocean became your doom”
“I am glad to be rid of it.”
Enrique then pulled out a small cloth sack, opened it, and gave the pendant to Demetrio. “I disguised myself as a friar, and when I visited the jail, I confiscated it. Go and be your own man; it is what your father would have wanted. But we have to leave; your father’s political enemies know about you but think you are in Guanajuato. I know a safe place in a small village called San Miquel de Grande.”
Demetrio took the pendant, clenched it in his fist, and rubbed it against his forehead in anguish as his tears ran down its chain.
“I should have been there,” Demetrio said to the girl. The mist faded and reformed itself into the thick gray fog.
The girl saw that Demetrio was in a depressed stupor and slapped him. “It is the past. We need to move. We cannot get stuck here.” She slapped him again, and he put her down gently.
“It was my fault. I had an argument with him before I left. My last words to him were words of hate.”
“No, you are wrong, because arguments between loved ones use words of concern, and concern is filled with love. He loved you, and you loved him. Demetrio, we must go on.  Remember Bekka.”
“Bekka. Bekka, mi querida.” He took the girl by her hand, and they began to walk through the floating clouds. Then more voices came from them; this time one, in particular, was uniquely familiar.
“Bekka, it is short for Rebecca. My name is Bekka.”
It was the voice of Bekka, his soul mate. At least, that is who he reasoned her to be. He had only known her a short while, one date, if one called a tryst on the beach a date and then the few days they had together at his home. He had unknowingly turned her into a White Vampire and, therefore, put her life in jeopardy.
The mist opened again to a more modern time, only a few months ago in Puerto Vallarta – that night at a nightclub near the beach where they had met. He remembered drinking her blood as he ravished her against the sea wall. Maybe that is what it was, he thought. I drank too much of her blood and forgot myself after I had bitten her.
The two walked to the beach, and a quiet walk on the sand became a passionate embrace, and he could not help but bite her neck and drink and drink, until the passion led to love making.
“I should not have,” he said to the girl, “I should not have. I could not stop. I could not help myself… I turned her. All this could… all the problems and danger could have been avoided if I had controlled myself, as usual. There was something unusual about her, something so exquisite.”
“Do not dwell on it. You have to forgive yourself,” the child advised. “If you do not forgive yourself, we cannot leave here.”
“You are right; what is past is past. Let us go on.” He held her hand as they walked further into the endless gray. She covered her ears as they heard more voices howling away in despair until they arrived at a bridge made of skeletons. There, standing and waiting in the middle of the bridge, was ‘La Flaca.’
Demetrio felt that the worst was over, so he set the girl down at the foot of the bridge. She shrieked and buried her face in his pant leg. He asked, “What is wrong?”
She pointed at the river underneath the bridge. He looked down and could barely see the water because of the many bodies floating on the river. “Stay close, mija.”
They walked forward, and when they reached ‘La Flaca,’ he asked about the river. “What is all this?”
“Those are the souls that could never live past their regrets and drowned in their sorrows. Their world was a never-ending dilemma of would have-could have-should-have or a guilt never forgiven. The river is the most troubling, the hardest to find. The mist is full of their shame, remorse, and bitterness,” said ‘La Flaca.’
He saw the stream of bodies floating toward an endless horizon and asked, “Where do they go?”
She stared at him and responded, “Do you really want to know?”
Her stare frightened him, so he did not press her further, and he asked, “So, it is over?”
She grinned and replied, “You have only just begun, guapo. Continue on this path where you will find the second river.”



http://www.mayaland.com/hotelmayaland/index.php

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Book 1 & 2 of the 3 book series.




Our cover painting for book 1 of 3 was made by E.c. Bell. You can see his work on his facebook page with same name. Judith Jenya will do a photograph of it for the book cover designer and then we will auction the painting off for a woman's charity in San Miguel de Allende at our book signing. You can see Judith's work also on her faceook page of the same name.

There is another chapter in this blog with a sample read of Chapter 7 - Book 1.
 Our book summary of book 1:



On a visit to Mexico a mature American woman, Bekka, meets a mysterious silver-haired Mexican man at a nightclub in Puerto Vallarta. After an intense one-night liaison he vanishes and Bekka vows to find him again. In her search she discovers that he met two other women that night, Rebe and Susana. The three women become very quick friends and decide to track down this mysterious man. Bekka felt an emotional and spiritual connection to him, he belonged to her, and she wanted to be with him. She couldn't explain why she felt that way, and Rebe and Susana couldn't figure out why they felt so close to Bekka. The three ladies begin to experience strange dreams and feelings toward each other, a drawing of souls toward one another. They hatch a plot to meet him again, unknowingly throwing themselves into a new beautiful but dark world, a world that few know exists. - the complex and inflexible world of the vampire, or vampiro. Demetrio, as they discovered, was different than other vampires. He could walk in the day, and he could age. He was “A Child of the Light” - a White Vampire whose only weakness was the full moon and only protection was the beautiful pendant he wore. Bekka had hoped to be with him, but as much as he wanted to explore that possibility, he told her the truth - his heart belonged to another and that other had returned to Mexico. He was anxious to reunite with her and had to leave the three women in San Miguel de Allende under the protection of his faithful friend Sister Helga. The Sister would help the three discover their emerging powers and advise them about many future dangers that converged around one name, the one name that would toss their lives into a deeper dark hole - Rose

You can now buy our book as a paper back via this link on Amazon.

http://www.amazon.com/Tres-Vampiras-1-Bekka-Fass/dp/152277341X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1455729365&sr=1-1&keywords=Tres+Vampiras


A video interview about our book.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDl33Rh_5dc

A video of a book signing in 2015

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-syttXrJy5c

Videos made at our book signing March 20, 2016

Interview of Rebecca Fass https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D7Lkdmu5vDs

Videos of the first book signing in San Miguel de Allende for book1:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V4zWWySknOk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Rz1tj5jDQ4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uMNAxoX_ddY


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HIK3euR5w1A


Book 2 of 3 is done now & you can buy it as a kindle or hard copy at this link -----

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XWVWCJH/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1490712161&sr=8-3&keywords=tres+vampiras



Book signing of Book 2 of 3 in Ajijic October 2017

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxF_Cdu4cno

Tres Vampiras is a series of 3 books. A historical fiction, travelogue and gourmet expedition set in the Corazon de Mexico (the heart of Mexico), San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato. In book 1 we met Bekka, Susanna and Rebe, three women who are bitten by a White Vampiro named Demetrio.
A White Vampiro has the ability to roam during the day, and only needs a cupful of blood each month. His only weakness was the full moon. He was able to withstand death during the full moon because of the necklace he wore. As the story unfolds, the necklace was taken from him by Rose when she took his heart out in a ritual sacrifice.
In book 1 the three women were left alone to deal with Rose and her evil lover, the night vampire Queen Itza. With the help of Demetrio’s servants, Sister Helga, Eduardo, and friend Julia, the three learned what it meant to be White Vampiras and to use their powers.
Their adventures continue in Book 2. Bekka, Susana and Rebe visit San Diego, La Jolla, Fresno, Rosarito, and Juarez. They use their powers to gain revenge on old adversaries. While in their quest for vengeance they encounter many mysterious figures that are in a war between good and evil and the church’s involvement.
On their journey they meet Johnny, a brujo who kills cats and young women, Anna, another White Vampire Demetrio had bitten, Mr. Dark, the Vampire King of North America, and finally Rose.
The women also come to grips with feelings and urges toward each other; while Susanna and Eduardo deal with their feelings toward each other.

Read Tres Vampiras book 2 and find out what they learn about Bekka’s shocking condition, and the book’s surprising ending. Book 2 contains everything you want in a book; sex, violence and great cooking recipes!


Tres Vampiras
 Book II of III
Rebecca Fass
 Demetrio Aldana

We would like to thank our families and friends who have encouraged us to write this trilogy. We would also like to thank our friends who asked us to use their names, personalities or businesses in our narrative. Sharon Griffin, who did the final  proof reading and co-authored chapter 13, Susana Cox a character in our book who has gone out of her way with helping our book signings.

(Book 1 Kathleen Carroll was our proof reader.)