Sinful Sundaes

EXCERPTS

Sundae: Strawberry Veinilla & Vamperians
By Mae Powers

Chapter 1

Alexander Ruveaux didn’t mean to walk in to the Sinful Sundae’s Ice Cream Shoppe with the intent to show disdain, yet somehow he felt as if he did. Maybe he thought it beneath his culinary talent and experience. Or maybe he was still piqued that his brownie-vanilla cream sandwiches didn’t make first place in the Lone Star Connoisseur magazine, the most elite periodical in Texas for distinguished tastes.

Even vamps had particular tastes. Well, his sort of vampirish clan did. Vamperians needed more than blood to sustain them, something different for their discerning, varying appetites. His mother and her tea-traveling friends always came up with something different to tell him about those odd food tastes anyway, which often gave him the ideas for his famous concoctions. His mother had entered his brownie-vanilla cream sandwich recipe in the TCM on a whim. And he had come in second place.

A renowned chef of a five-star restaurant and a long time Chef Manager at one of Houston’s most elite hotels had come in second place! He shouldn’t have been aghast at the thought, but it bothered him--especially when his mother Elenor thought it was a toss-up. His own mother, the traitorous witch-vamp, thought the second-rate, first place winner was close to his talent in pastries. So he had night-flown to Spellfire, where the winner lived. Elenor had only visited the town briefly with her traveling cronies, but that they had had a marvelous time. Lex remembered some of the descriptions she had told him. He’d always loved his mother’s lively chats about her travels. His father was regal and dour. Lex often wondered how the two met, but his mother always said that was a story best left buried, like his father’s bi-annual hibernating period.

He felt he was often too fastidious like his father, but he had his mother’s curiosity and stubbornness. He had to know just what made Strawberry Veinilla frozen cream puffs better than his brownie concoctions. He stood just inside the door, scanning the place over. It was a fairly large shop for an ice cream parlor. Yet, on second glance he saw that more than ice cream was served. The place was bustling on this Sunday afternoon. He’d thought small towners would be shopping at Sears or some other old department store.

He looked to his left and noticed a large, refrigerated display unit that contained frozen cakes, pastries and other delights glaring up at him, tempting him to partake of their ethereal, mouthwatering sweetness. His nose twitched, and his uncanny sense of smell detected the delectable, teasing scent of vanilla, not just any ordinary vanilla, but a soothing, lip-lingering flavor that sent spells of shiver up his long spine. There was something else in the air. He hadn't quite figured out what it entailed, when the parlor door swished open and hit him smack dab in the ass.

He jerked back, and his jaw dropped. A ghost wearing a pinstriped suit and derby hat floated in front of him. He stared at the transparent dead man astralizing in the corporeal world. The ghost man gave him a cursory glance, snarled his nose and harrumphed at him before floating off into the crowd of customers. Lex shook his head and did a double take around the large dining area. A rude ghost in a public place? Yes, he knew ghosts existed and often made themselves known, but to enter a place as if it were a regular customer to the eatery was another thing. Lex widened his eyes as it finally hit him that trays of empty plates floated towards the back of the main counter into another room, probably the cleaning area of the establishment.

Mondae:Mummies & Marshmallows
by Jennifer Metz

Brock Edwards glanced down at the buttons on the cream whirl machine, one of the largest in the Spellfire Sweets Factory. They were some of the oddest he’d ever seen on any cream maker vat. The star-shaped buttons didn’t cause a roar when pushed like normal square ones. These hummed and chimed, Freddie had said. Right now, however, they weren’t making a sound of any kind.

The owner, Freddie Faeren, also told him that the machine had never been down. Yet Freddie was an odd sort who said even witchcraft and sorcery hadn’t been able to fix it. Brock touched the machine, looking for the way to remove the button housing. It was a small, almost elongated piece of metal. Shiny and just plain different. In fact, all the machines had similar control panels. Definitely not standard issue for any machine.

It was unusual for him to travel so far from Galveston. However, when Freddie called and quoted the astronomical amount he’d pay if Brock could get there as soon as possible, he couldn’t turn it down. His company, Repairs R Us, needed the cash. He’d never heard of the town of Spellfire and couldn’t even find it on a map. He’d had to call Freddie back and ask for directions.

He stopped trying to open the button housing and instead tried to figure out what exactly he could do. Freddie had said that it was a special, sensitive machine and not that old, but Brock figured that was an oddball statement. Machines were not sensitive, not like Freddie meant it, anyway. This particular one, Freddie stated, made the yearly Mummy Cream Marshmallow figures that had become very popular in the southern states the past few years. Even though Brock had seen them, he had never eaten one. He didn’t like marshmallow.

Maybe because it was a mummified machine it was sensitive. He laughed inwardly at his own joke. Then the machine hummed. He took a step back and looked around it. What was that noise? Probably an echo from another machine. He poked at it with his screwdriver. This time a button flashed on the top panel. That was indeed odd. He tapped another button with the handle of his screwdriver. That one flashed too and the whirring hum sounded again.

Then he heard voices coming down the factory corridor. He was in an enclosed room, with tall ceilings and lots of light and just a few conveyer belts connected to the huge, wide vat. He turned around as the voices grew louder, and behind him the machine started humming louder.

“I’m telling you, Ms. Jameson, you don’t wanna inspect the mummy cream vat right now. It’s not working.” That squeaky voice he recognized as Freddie’s.

Tuesdae:Toppings & Temptations
by Ann Regentin

 Chapter 1

She had the qualifications to do better, but getting good jobs required sharing things like Social Security numbers, mailing addresses and telephone numbers, and Gina was too paranoid to even have a cell. Bobby had proven far too adept at tracking her down. He may have been a bit of a good old boy, but he wasn’t stupid and he had connections in all kinds of places, including banks, police departments and the DMV. He’d already chased her all over Houston, managing to find her even after she moved in with her aunt. She had no intention of letting him find her again.

It didn’t help to know that every woman had a Bobby of some kind in her life. Usually they were shiftless, irresponsible or reckless, but every once in a while, they were dangerous and it had been just Gina’s luck to draw a psycho-stalker. Dating Bobby hadn’t been bad, and he’d been in imaginative, enthusiastic lover, but the trouble started as soon as she tried to break it off. No way, he’d said. She belonged to him.

“You think I’m a pervert,” she insisted, incredulous.

“Don’t worry,” he leered, “Enough hot-blooded male should fix that.”

“I doubt it, and you’re not going to get a chance to find out,” she’d said.

Then he hit her.

After that, the real fun began. She had him arrested for assault and he pled out. She got a restraining order, and he broke it. When his policeman buddies warned him that a second offense would land him in more trouble than they could get him out of, he managed to find every loophole and bit of fine print the legal language would allow. He had his friends call her, he followed her everywhere he could while staying outside of the technical red-zone, he sent anonymous letters. She moved house more than once, but that didn’t seem to stop him. One way or another, he found her, usually with disconcerting speed.

It didn’t take Gina long to figure out that her only recourse was flight. Cursing both Bobby and her stupid libido, she emptied her bank accounts, transferred certain assets to her aunt, bought her third car in six months, and hit the road. With luck, she could hide herself in Galveston until Bobby lost interest.

She didn’t get very far before the oil light went on. Gina knew this meant she had to pull over quick before the entire engine died, so she did, cursing and swearing. Stupid car! She got out and gave the tire a good kick before she popped the hood. Where was that dipstick? There. She pulled it out and discovered that she was down to about half a cup.

Wednesdae:Witches & Walnuts
by Anne Leland 

Chapter 1

The crimson red F scribed on the parchment burned her retinas and shot a spike of pain through her forehead.

How could she have failed? Outrageous! Had any third-year witch at Alchemy Academy ever failed Relationship Spells 101? Surely, she must be the first.

She’d studied, she’d practiced, and she even paid homage to the muse, Iris. Okay, so she’d used dried apricots instead of figs, and pancake syrup instead of honey, but heck, Iris must understand the limitations of a modern witch’s pantry.

Marissa glanced back down at the red F. Obviously Iris’s tastes were discriminate.

A shadow fell across the desk, dampening the glare of her failure. She looked up into the silver-gray eyes of her tormenter, Professor Raven. She quickly brushed her skirt down as far as it would reach to cover her quivering knees. If only she didn’t dream about running her hands through his long brown hair, well, she might show him a thing or two about relationship spells.

If only she knew anything about relationships. Her line of botched dating games rivaled the length of the line of customers at Sinful Sundaes on a hot July day.

Professor Raven placed his hand on her desk, casually splaying his long fingers as if to caress the wood. “Something wrong Ms. Gael?”

Marissa swore the makings of a smile tugged at his lips, as if to mock her dismay. Yes, something’s wrong, for starters, this grade! She wish those were the words that popped out of her mouth, instead, as usual, she was rendered mute in his presence and merely shook her head in reply.

Professor Raven leaned closer to her, and his hair spilled forward. Gingerroot and the elusive scent of some exotic spice tickled her nose. Her fingers itched to reach up and touch the wavy temptation, stroke it along her skin and fully inhale the delicious cologne.. She latched her hands tighter to the edge of her skirt and willed them to behave.

“It’s not your technique, nor your talent that is hindering your performance in this class. It’s your spirit.”

Hello? “Wha…what?” Curses! Why did she sound like a bumbling idiot around him? He was her professor. Not a prospective boyfriend.

“Your spirit, Marissa. The soul, the desire, the passion you put into the spell to claim it as your own.”

He straightened up and turned as if to move on.

“Professor Raven?”

With the blink of her lashes, he returned to her side. Marissa’s heart skipped a beat. “I truly don’t understand. There’s nothing in the guidebooks about spirit.” Maybe he had her confused with some cheerleader Harpy? “I’m putting everything I can into these charms.”

Thursdae:Twilight Shadows & Just Desserts
by Katrina Marlowe 

Paralyzed at the sight of the black revolver pointed directly at her chest, Ella swallowed hard and looked into the cold gray eyes of the man behind the weapon. This was the beginning of a new life and now she was going to die, gunned down in the middle of Sinful Sundae’s Ice Cream Shoppe. The double scoop cone she had been making fell from her hand with a wet plop as she struggled to find her breath.

“Let’s make this quick and painless. Put the money in a bag, now.” His voice cold and exact, his whole demeanor spoke of one who knew he had total control. The dangerous glint in his eyes told her that he was dead serious.

Her feet felt leaden as she walked the four short steps to the register. Once there, her mind went blank. She had no idea how to open the drawer. Nervously chewing her lip, she tried to concentrate on her task and not the gunman watching impatiently.

“It would really fuck up my night to have to kill anyone, but I will. Now open the goddamn register!”

Heart pounding in fear, she began pushing buttons. Piercing high-pitched beeps reverberated throughout the shop every time she pressed a key, but it refused to open. Her blood ran cold at the sharp click of him cocking the gun. His voice, though quiet, sent chills down her spine.

“I am not going to warn you again.”

She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to panic…yet.

“I can’t get it open.”

“Can’t get it open? If this is some sort of game…” His fingers tightened on the trigger. Time to panic.

“NO…No, it’s not a game, I swear. I’ve only worked here four hours. I should have paid more attention, I know. But with everything…”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I’ll do it myself.” He interrupted.

His face dark, he stalked around the counter towards the register. Every angry stride brought him, and his gun, closer to her. She backed towards the wall behind her, hoping he would get what he was after and leave quickly. Mid-step, his boot landed on the forgotten cone sending it hurdling across the tile floor, and him toppling back towards the back counter.

Fridae:Fairies & Cherries

by Leigh Ellwood 

 SEQ CHAPTER \h \r 1Sorry, babe, looks like you drew the short Popsicle stick again.

Jewlie shook the echo of phlegm-choked laughter from her mind. Always, she was stuck with this route. Always, the other drivers managed to arrange it so that only she made deliveries along what had been coined the Highway to Hell. Spellfire, while hardly reeking of the stench of brimstone, gave Jewlie the creeps. There was something peculiar, something so Munsters about the town that she could not quite discern, though the place looked like any other hamlet on her rout. Her stomach roiled at the mere thought of going there again and again. She couldn’t believe one tiny shop sold so much ice cream that she had to come so often.

Thankfully, this week’s load was lighter than usual, and if Sinful Sundaes had sufficient help in collecting their order, she could be out of town and on her way to the next stop within the hour.

She sighed with defeat as the truck rumbled past the patchwork sign welcoming her to Spellfire. Most hamlets on her delivery route had similar signs, bearing badges for the Knights of Columbus, the local Moose Lodge, and the Masons. Spellfire didn’t seem fit to advertise any such civic organizations, taking care instead to inform newcomers that the town headquartered the International Elizabeth Montgomery Fan Club, the Sisters of Salem Local #420, and another club whose coat of arms depicted a sabre-toothed wolf devouring a bug-eyed weasel, or something. Jewlie never bothered to slow down to confirm; this time, as she always did, she focused on the road, and her job.

The sooner she got to Sinful Sundaes, the sooner she could have their standing order of fifty vats of ice cream unloaded. The sooner this light on the intersection of Bates and Transylvania changed—Jewlie snorted at the eerie appropriateness of the town’s street names—the closer she would get to the store, to unload the ice cream, to hand the creepy lady owner her invoice, and get out of town.

Rather, though, than see any of that happening in the next thirty seconds, Jewlie was forced to idle the truck on the white line as a menagerie of Spellfire folk paraded across the street. They looked harmless and inconspicuous enough in jeans and T-shirts, blouses and long skirts, but something about the townsfolk bothered Jewlie. It wasn’t something she could see or name outright; it seemed to her every native she encountered, every smile aimed in her direction, gave off an underlining, mischievous aura. It seemed as if the entire town was in on one grand in-joke, and she was the butt. A great big, J-Lo butt.

Jewlie felt silly enough in the uniform she had to wear—the pink blouse with Peter Pan collar, the pointed cap with the jingle bell on the end which flopped about her head like a deflated, tinkling breast. She didn’t need the added anxiety this town contributed to her growing paranoia.

And she definitely didn’t need this bozo in the puffy Jerry Seinfeld shirt and tight black pants planted in the middle of the road, facing the idled truck with a scowl and an exaggerated pirate’s stance.

Saturdae: Shifters & Hot Fudge
by Leanne Strange

 Chapter 1

“Oh, Bobby...yes! That feels so good. Mmmm, you do that so well.” A lilting female voice carried through the woods from the direction of Babbling Brook.

Adam Spellfire stopped to listen. It couldn’t be, could it? Then he caught a whiff of wild cherry scent and knew for certain that he wasn’t imagining her.

Tristine Havoc! He’d heard she was back in town, but he hadn’t even seen her in passing. When they were teens, the bratty girl had teased and taunted him to no end because he was a Spellfire...and just because he had once nearly bitten off her head.

He had come upon Tris alone in these very woods. She had been separated from the high school hayride gathering in celebration of the third full moon in a month—the Changeling Moon. At the time, his hormones had thundered out of control as he went through his first mating frenzy.

During the Changeling Moon, he had to mate or suffer sexual and transformation withdrawal. In his frenzy, he’d tried to ravish her, unable to stop himself because of the beast within raging to emerge.

Fortunately, his cousin Electra had found them while searching for Tris. Electra had used her powerful sorcery to help him keep his animalistic demvir needs in check.

Tris had sworn he’d nearly bitten off her head, but Adam didn’t recall wanting to do any such thing. Much of his memory of that night was still lost to the throes of Changeling Moonlust, but he did remember wanting something from Tristine Havoc...and it definitely wasn’t her pretty head!

Her voice floated to him again. “Oh, my, Josh, you’ve grown bigger and longer than the last time.”

She had spoken provocatively to two different men. Were they having an orgy right here in Spellfire Woods? Adam’s jaw clenched. Quieter than a field mouse, he swiftly moved through the trees toward the brook. His demvir chameleon ability, to make himself one with whatever he touched, would prevent him from being detected. He crept to the edge of the semi-circular clearing and blended in with the foliage around him.

A very tall tree stood at the edge of the brook, its thick roots trailing down the embankment and into the water. Tristine Havoc sat on the largest root, her long shapely legs dangling in the bubbling liquid. Her waist-length mane of sable curls covered her nicely rounded curves. Adam scanned the area, but he didn’t see anyone else. Not an orgy—unless she had been making out with the tree and brook. Who had she been talking to?

He started to leave the camouflage when an impatient male voice came out of nowhere. “Aw, Tris, you’re going to have to find someone soon. We can’t remain cursed forever. We need more than your rare visits.”

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps someone he knew long ago? Once again, he began to take a step from the underbrush, but movement of the tree stopped him.

Two branches dipped to encircle Tris in its leafy embrace. “I’ve been a live oak for too long, girl. I wish you’d hurry up and fall in love so this curse would end.”

“Me, too.” Another voice chimed in, this time from the brook, and it had a familiar ring to it, too. A clear male form, made entirely of water, rose from the brook’s surface near Tris’ feet. “Come on, Tristine. There’s got to be someone you’ve had a hankering for. You need to quit being a coward and start dating again.”

Tris shook her head, her luxuriant hair falling softly over her abundant breasts. “Bobby, how can I take that chance again? Look what being in lust caused. You’re a babbling brook, and Josh is a live oak. And you aren’t the only ones. If I bed anyone else, who knows what they’ll turn in to!”

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