The Dracula Diaries

A retirement party. A fucking retirement party.

 

For me.

 

My first wife, Anastasia, had already arrived, invited by Lucifer himself. She’d been seated at the guest of honor’s table beneath a banner that read GOOD LUCK, VLAD!! I scoffed. Two exclamation was a sign of mental instability—nothing needed that much emphasis outside of ‘Augghhh, my spleen!!”

 

Lucifer greeted me as an imp took my cloak. The First ushered me to my seat beside Anastasia, pumping my hand so hard it felt pulped like an orange.

 

“Vlad,” he said, his smile huge and even more off-putting than usual, like he knew every perverse and twisted through you’d ever had and how best to capitalize on that knowledge. But at least he wasn’t wearing cargo shorts. He’d opted for tuxedo pants pressed so sharply they could cut flesh.

 

“Lord First,” I greeted with an infuriatingly humble bow of my head. I wanted to know what I needed good luck for and why I’d been summoned to this ridiculous gathering.

 

“Isn’t it wonderful, darling?” Anastasia asked as she came up on the side opposite Lucifer. Hooking her arm in mine, she gazed up at me with wide brown eyes. She was my first wife, and the only one I’d sought out in my afterlife to make amends. It had taken a century for her to forgive me.

 

“Lord First said you’ve done such a marvelous job all these centuries!”

 

“It’s always pleasant when someone appreciates your hard work,” I told her, patting her fine-boned hand with my knobby knuckled one. I glanced up at Lucifer, a question in my eyes.

 

“Your work these many centuries has been impeccable,” he answered, “but all good things must come to an end—don’t I know that from experience!—and that’s why it’s time for you to retire. To enjoy your afterlife.”

 

Retire? That word is still strange to me, even now as I write this after the fact. I adore my job, though it is mine no longer. Punishing the souls of the damned was a higher calling, plus I’d come leaps and bounds with my impalement techniques—really revolutionizing the field. My position had been a win-win for everyone.

 

Perhaps not for the souls of the damned but who counts them?

 

Lucifer threw his arm around my shoulders, guiding me away from Anastasia. It was his habit, this chumminess. I’d grown used to it these many centuries though I privately thought it diminished his reputation to be so approachable. He steered us over to one of the many shadowed corners as demons, imps, and assorted Lords of Hell trickled in like water from leaky bucket.

 

“Look, Vlad,” he began, the thread of darkness in his voice raising the hair on the back of my neck. “You’ve been at this for over half a millennia. No one here doubts your work ethic or your performance.”

 

“When you love what you do, it doesn’t feel like work,” I told him. I had no idea what to do with myself if I wasn’t impaling. I wasn’t called Vlad the Retired!

 

This had to be a joke.

 

“Lord First—,” I protested only to be summarily cut off.

 

“I’m going to need you to go with this.” His wings shivered, as if Lucifer fought to keep them from flaring wide. His tone promised repercussions if I did not.

 

I nodded, unable to do anything else but agree. I didn’t understand any of this. I wasn’t aware that retirement from Hell was an option—not that I would have pursued it if I’d known.

 

“We’ll meet later to discuss the particulars.” His words sounded more threat than reward. Then Lucifer’s smile returned, a beam of radiance. “Now go and enjoy your party to your future life!”

 

Future? I had no future. But the First of the Fallen commanded me to endure this farce, so returned to my seat beside Anastasia and waited for whatever came next.