Sagas—Oral history of the Norse people, passed on from ancient times.
Sallat—Medieval salad.
Samite—Luxurious and heavy silk fabric, often including gold or silk thread.
Sennight—One week.
Serf—An agricultural laborer under the feudal system, working under a lord’s estate.
Sharia—Interpretation of Islamic law requiring strict adherence to traditional precepts, very strict particularly involving women.
Skål!—Cheers!
Skald—Poet.
Skyr—An ancient Norse cheese product, still made today, thicker than yogurt but not as grainy as cottage cheese.
Stasis—State of inactivity or numbness, condition in which the person cannot move.
Tangos—Terrorists, bad guys.
Teletransport—Transfer of matter from one point to another without traversing physical space.
Thor—God of war.
Thralls—Slaves.
Tramp stamp—A tattoo on a woman’s lower back.
Tripe—Rubbery stomach lining of an animal that is cleaned and cooked for human consumption.
Tun—Measure of liquid capacity equivalent to 252 gallons.
Turducken—A dish consisting of a deboned chicken stuffed into a deboned duck, which is in turn stuffed into a deboned turkey; also called the Three Bird Roast.
Valhalla—Hall of the slain, Odin’s magnificent hall in Asgard (like Viking heaven).
Valkyries—Odin’s handmaidens who conduct slain warriors from the battlefield to Valhalla.
Vangels—Viking vampire angels.
Vieux Carre—French Quarter of New Orleans.
VIK—The seven Sigurdsson brothers who head the vangels.
Don’t miss the next
DEADLY ANGELS
novel!
Good Vampires Go to Heaven
by New York Times bestselling author
SANDRA HILL
Coming December 2016
Prologue
What is your secret fear?
Satan came to visit me today.
Me! Zebulan, a mere Hebrew of no great fame, in the presence of the Boogie Man of Sin! And not a welcome mat in sight. Hah! If I had one, I’d try to hide under it. And I am not easily frightened.
You probably think that I mean Satan’s visit as a metaphor for some bad deed I’ve committed. God knows . . . rather, Satan knows . . . I’ve committed plenty. No, I mean the real deal, scary-as-hell (pun intended . . . can you tell I’m losing it here?), evil personified, primo devil.
Really.
Can’t you see him? He is standing right there before me.
In person.
Well, not “in person” precisely because, as everyone knows, the biggest, baddest of all demons isn’t a person. Never was. Lucifer, as Satan was known in the beginning, existed as an archangel for eons, if not forever, before his fall from grace, never having started as a human, or so it is said. People do not realize that angels were created by God, and that humans do not become angels after death, no matter how good they might have been. Blame the misconception on movies like A Wonderful Life with the line about angels getting wings every time a bell rings. Hah!
I am rambling, mentally, as you can tell. A defense mechanism, I suppose. It’s either that, or scream with fright. You’d think there was nothing worse than the torture I have undergone this past year. I’ve grown at least two inches, thanks to the rack. (And I was already more than six feet tall.) Flaps of skin hang here and there from the floggings. (Needles and thread would come in handy, not to mention a nurse. I would do it myself if I could. But I am tied up at the moment. Ha, ha, ha!) No toenails or fingernails. (Ah, well. Saves money on manicures and pedicures, not that I’ve ever had either.) Barbed wire around my cock and round the clock porn shown on a ceiling screen. (Ouch! Gives new meaning to Ring Around the Rosie.)
The only reason I still have eyes or a tongue is because Jasper, another fallen angel, wants me alive for centuries to prolong my agony. He thinks I betrayed him.
I did.
But back to Satan. Believe me, a visit from the Essence of Evil does not bode well for me, especially when he deigns to visit me in The Pit, this hidden cave deep in the bowels of Horror, Jasper’s castle headquarters.
Jasper is king of all the Lucipires, or demon vampires (in case you didn’t know), of which I have been one for the past two thousand or so years. Leastways, I had been until the Big Transgression. That’s what Jasper calls my attempt to join the other team, as in vangels (Viking vampire angels). And, no, I am not a Viking. But I would try my damnedest to become one if it meant release from this demonic obligation. I’d even wear a ridiculous horned helmet, and learn to ride a longship, and eat that stinky gammelost, and . . .
“You find humor in my presence, Zebulan?” Satan’s voice is so soft and beguiling one might be fooled into thinking his feelings are hurt. Does the Chief Devil even have feelings?