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The Protagonist Speaks

Interviews with the characters of your favourite books

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Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)

Dear readers, tonight we’re chatting with an English literature professor who encountered a most unusual ghost. Straight out of Eastern European Judaic mythology, it has led him on a journey of discovery and mysteries.

TPS: We were pleased to have the opportunity to speak with Professor Emeritus Benjamin Dinerstein about his experiences with an ibbur and the remarkable history the two of them uncovered. Professor, welcome!

BD: Thank you very much, and please call me Ben. It is a pleasure to meet you.

TPS: Likewise. Well, Ben, it is now more than twenty-two years since your encounter with the ibbur. Have you had any further contact either with her or Zephaniah, the mysterious old woman who played such a prominent role in the narrative?

BD: Sadly, I have not.

TPS: But you are quite certain that you actually encountered an ibbur, in this case, the ghost of your former student, Miriam?

BD: Excuse me. I hate to wax pedantic, but I must make a quick correction. An ibbur is not to be confused with a ghost. It is a very specific type of possessive spirit. Miriam came to me seeking my assistance. She had one last mitzvah, a good deed, to perform, and that was to finish her uncle’s quest. In fairness, she would surely have completed the task herself had she not been killed in the automobile accident. That said, I am absolutely certain that the entity I encountered was indeed Miriam.

TPS: I understand. In fact, I found the story quite convincing myself. Why, there’s so much history — not only her family’s saga, but European history, from before World War One through World War Two…

BD: … and, as you probably realized as quickly as I did, it all “fits.” As implausible as it might seem, these events took place almost exactly as Susanna, whom Miriam had planned to contact, described them.

TPS: I found Susanna absolutely fascinating. What remarkable strength she must have had!

BD: I got to know her quite well over the years, and she was a wonderful woman. She died just a few months ago, though not before she had seen five great-grandchildren.

TPS: But Naomi was her only child?

BD: Yes. It seems that irony ran rampant in that family. Michael Goldberg, Susanna’s husband, had had a bad case of mumps and was apparently unable to have children of his own. Similarly, Zephaniah told me that the man Yosef Müller believed was his father had also been rendered sterile by that disease. However, it seems as though everything fell into place nevertheless, didn’t it?

TPS: Indeed. Now, I must ask you something a little more personal. You have long described yourself as a skeptic, yet you seem so willing to accept an encounter with a purported ibbur without any reservations. Did you step out of character? Did you make an exception because of your feelings toward Miriam, your former student?

BD: Not at all! Like the ancient Greek skeptics, I tend to withhold assent, at least initially. Thereafter, I reserve judgment until I have gathered sufficient information. The image of Miriam convinced me that she was indeed my brilliant student, and the strange family saga that we unfolded was considerably more believable than the appearance of an ibbur. Everything made sense, except —

Continue reading “Prof Benjamin Dinerstein (of The Ibbur’s Tale, by Lenny Abelson)” →
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Philip Pirrup, aka Pip (of Twisted Expectations, by Brent A. Harris)

Dear readers, tonight with us is one of everyone’s favourite Dickens’ characters – talking about 19th century London, steam engines, time travel, and dinosaurs.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I grew up poor out on the Moors of Kent with my sister and her husband Joe Gargary, the local blacksmith and to whom I apprenticed under. I was raised by hand by my sister, and I do mean a mean one. Luckily, a generous benefactor intervened and sent me off to London to become a gentleman.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

I played at knaves with Uncle Joe, and we’d often race to see who could eat our buttered bread first each morning, and the times we’d work together at his forge, but I gave all that up when I was offered a chance to become a gentleman in London, a choice that I sometimes think back upon in regret.

What do you do now?

I am a gentleman of the city, you see. My duties are to my wealth and to my name. I’m seeking a parliamentary seat, and for that, I’ve called upon the London’s own vigilante, The Orphan, for his assistance. I wish to ally myself with him.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Well, I should have known, chaps, that involving myself with Mr. Twist would inevitably wrap me up in one of his mad schemes to save the city when creatures – extinct creatures, mind you – arrive without invitation or provocation.

Continue reading “Philip Pirrup, aka Pip (of Twisted Expectations, by Brent A. Harris)” →
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Glinda and Hastur (of Yellow King of Oz, by Casper Hedron)

Dear readers, tonight we reprint a school newsletter from the land of Oz, interviewing two of the main characters.

Hello dear readers, and welcome to another issue of Bullet Point, official newsletter for the Royal Military Academy of Oz! Today we have something very special lined up for you; an interview with Glinda the Good, and her former adversary, Hastur. Let՚s start with a round of introductions. I am Miss Cuttenclip, writer and publisher of Bullet Point.

Glinda: And I am Glinda, Good Witch of the South, Headmistress of the Royal Military Academy of Oz, and protagonist of Casper Hedron՚s Clockwise series. You may have also seen me in Frank Baum՚s Land of Oz series of books. He wrote fourteen of them. My name was even in the title of his last book. I՚d wager not many of you knew that.

Hastur: They՚re baby books. For babies. Don՚t read them.

Cuttenclip: Hastur, care to introduce yourself?

Hastur: Of course. I am Hastur, the King in Yellow, the Unspeakable, Magnum Innominandum, the Once and Future King of Oz. I՚m also the “antagonist” of the book Yellow King of Oz, and have appeared in adult horror novels by HP Lovecraft and RW Chambers. Not for babies.

Cuttenclip: Speaking of babies, why don՚t you both tell us a little about where you grew up?

Glinda: Certainly. I grew up in Quadling Country, the southern region of the Land of Oz. It was just me and my sister, two wandering orphans, but it wasn՚t bad by any means. Oz is a fairy land, full of magic and wonder, and the people who inhabit it are for the most part decent and kind. As children, we heard and read many stories about Zixi, the Witch Queen of Ix, and she became like an idol to us. So much so that we both resolved to become witches ourselves. At the time, Quadling Country was ruled by a beautiful sorceress named Princess Gayelette, and after several failed attempts we eventually convinced her to take us on as her apprentices.

Hastur: I grew up aeons ago, in the frozen wastes of Kadath. *sighs* I remember it fondly. My home was a simply magnificent onyx castle perched atop a mountain range, overlooking tens of thousands of subjects encased in ice, trapped in perpetual torment. You wouldn՚t think that people who were frozen solid could scream, but you՚d be wrong! I used to hang myself from one of the balconies and listen to that enchanting choir of anguish for hours every day. Good times.

Cuttenclip: Err … moving on. Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Glinda: Lord Librasulus Tiddlywinks III. He was a stuffed white rabbit with a red waistcoat and a monocle, given to me by a fairy. I loved that rabbit. One day while we were travelling through Munchkin Country, I lost him to the man-eating plants that grow there. I was still just a child at the time, so I didn՚t know that you could pacify the plants by singing or whistling to them. So there I was, bawling my eyes out over having lost my rabbit, and what does my sister do? She lets herself get eaten by the same plant, then cuts her way out of it from the inside. Out she pops a minute later, completely caked in sticky plant goop, Lord Tiddlywinks in hand, and I hugged her so fiercely I knocked us both off our feet.

Cuttenclip: Aww, that՚s sweet. *clears throat* Hastur?

Hastur: When I was only a few thousand years old – still a toddler, basically – I destroyed a Yithian city and took one of their lightning guns as a souvenir. Afterwards I decided to pay a visit to my brother in R՚lyeh and show him my new toy. Perhaps you can see where this going?

Cuttenclip: Umm, no…?

Hastur: Oh, well, R՚lyeh is an underwater city. Water conducts electricity. *chuckles* So anyway, there I was, shooting everything in sight with my Yithian Lightning Cannon, everyone is screeching in pain and terror, and did you know that lightning can make music? I think humans call it a thoramin, or a zeusaphone, one of those Tesla Coil machines. *laughing* So all through the chaos and … and the screaming, my lightning gun is literally singing! Bweee-wooo! I … I like to think of it as my Melody of Mayhem. *wipes away imaginary tear* I guess you just had to be there.

Continue reading “Glinda and Hastur (of Yellow King of Oz, by Casper Hedron)” →
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Quinn Iremonger (of Cycled: Rebirth, by Alekz Wokal)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a man who hunts unlawful holders of soul shards — the mysterious crystals that each grant their holder a unique supernatural ability.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I’m from Overta Layartha, the busiest port on the east coast. You may have heard tales that hooligans, beggars, and thieves run the streets, and it’s true. I was one of them. My parents tried, but I was a rowdy kid. I wanted to be free, I craved the rush of street life. From stealing fruit from the market, to escaping the law. Pocketing coins from unsuspecting travelers and pilfering ships. There were many great times, but I eventually learned that life wasn’t for me. I could never bring myself to do the more heinous acts my crew did. Once that was sorted, I grew sick of the city, and all I dreamed about was leaving. Even considered asking the pirates whenever they docked if I could join their crew, but something always held me back. Like I wasn’t quite ready to leave. Then, one day, while sitting on a pier watching the vessels, a lovely lady sat with me and struck up a conversation. That’s when I knew why I hadn’t left yet. But that’s a story for another time.

Tell us what it means to be a trapper. What is it like?

We hunt unlawful shard holders, or as we like to call them, ushers. People who find a soul shard, and, instead of turning it in, use its powers as they please. Let’s say there’s a shard out there with the power to make appendages explode. Some random person finds it and decides to start popping people’s toes. Well, that’s where we come in. We go through rigorous training and develop special skills that allow us to hunt them. It takes years to master, but believe it or not, we can feel when a shard is nearby. We’ve also learned how to crack a shard from a distance, and if we can crack an usher’s shard before they do, they won’t get the power. Then, we go in and rough them up a bit. As for what it’s like being a trapper… A bit of a tricky one. Of course, you could say dangerous. Stressful. Often lonely. But where’s the fun in that? It’s exciting! Rewarding. Look, we’re catching the bad guys. Imagine you were the one who captured Aeryn the Maimer. Would feel pretty good, right? And you’d probably get lucky a time or two at your local tavern. Not that I would know anything about that, of course.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Not much, I’m afraid. Not sure who all will be reading this. But what I can say is that I met Ember and Coen, and when I decided to travel with them, things got wild. Through them I’ve witnessed things I didn’t think possible. I’ve reunited with someone I thought long gone. We’ve fought side-by-side in battles where I was certain we would lose. But most of all, I’ve learned things that shook me to the core of who I am. Cryptic, I know. Let me just say this: I used to be a devout thaed. Not so much anymore.

Continue reading “Quinn Iremonger (of Cycled: Rebirth, by Alekz Wokal)” →
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Max (of Unfixed, by Amy L Sauder)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young man, fascinated by historical circus wagons at the edge of town. He’s here to speak about claimed of an enchanted circus, abandoned mansions, and the blurring lines between villains and sidekicks.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there? Any cherished memories?

That seems a bit nosy. I grew up same as everyone else, I suppose. And I cherish each memory. Why do you ask? What are you fishing for?  

At any rate, I don’t like talking about the past. The now is what matters, that and the future. The rest is in, well, the past. Let’s leave it there.

What do you do now?

I’m a private investigator, looking into the disappearance of the Circus of Strange Marvels and the night of the fire while doing simple upkeep at the abandoned Trencher mansion. My unfortunate roommate Fancy is no help, and the witnesses are unreliable and few.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

I’m sure you heard of it. The supposed hauntings, the claims of magic. Other than that, what else is there to say? The walls can’t talk and the people won’t. But sooner or later, something has gotta come out. And when it does I’ll be there, ready to jot it down.

What did you first think when you read about the night of the fire?

There’s so mystical an air around it that the only guesses are practically a fairy tale. Even the newspapers bought into the hype…what sort of journalist does that? And of course there’s no proof. Everyone loves a good story, but there’s a reasonable explanation underneath all the vanishing people and fresh corpses. In time, I’ll find it and watch the magic crumble.

Continue reading “Max (of Unfixed, by Amy L Sauder)” →
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Anna of Cleves (of The Swan Maiden, by G. Lawrence)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a young noble woman, sent from her home in the Holy Roman Empire to be a wife to the English king. She’s here to speak about the women’s world at both courts, and what it’s like to be the fourth wife of a king who cast off his previous wives.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

My homeland is known in England as Cleveland, but in truth it comprised two states of the Holy Roman Empire, Julich which were my mother’s lands and Cleves, which were my fathers. They were united by the marriage of my parents.  

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Many cherished memories. I grew up in the Frauenzimmer, the court of women, which in Cleves was kept separate from that of men, for the protection of the women. My mother, the Duchess Maria, presided over our court, teaching us many skills good for a woman to know, such as needlework, the art of cookery and medical skills. Until her marriage into Saxony, my sister Sybylla lived with us and we were close, most of the time. She did once throw a set of shears at my head, leaving a scar in my eyebrow, but she was contrite afterwards. Our younger sister, Amalia, also grew up with us there, a rebellious soul who loved to secretly write poetry and dreamt of becoming as Joan of Arc once was.

Although I loved my family, the Frauenzimmer was a restricted place to grow up, many rules and not a great deal of freedom. We were not prisoners, mistake me not, and we joined the main court from time to time for feasts and hunting, but our day-to-day life was sometimes dull.

All the same, given where I am now heading, I would accept a life of dullness over my present state of trepidation and fear.

What do you do now?

I am to be a bride, sent to marry the mad King of England, Henry VIII. The thought was that either Amalia or I would become his next Queen, he has had three already, and I did not want my sister sent to this much-married man. The English think we do not know how he cast off his first wife, executed his second, (many say she was innocent) and allowed his third to die of neglect, but we know. My brother, now my guardian and master, knows what kind of man he sends me to. But Cleves needs allies against the Emperor, and so, for the good of my people, I am sent to secure this alliance with the King by marriage. He is twice my age and has killed women he swore he loved as well as friends.

I do not want to marry him.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

My most recent adventure is to leave the only life I have known, in the sheltered world of the Frauenzimmer and be taken through my homeland into Imperial territory, through the Low Countries and thence into France so I may be taken to Calais and then to England and this unwanted marriage. For much of my life I have been shut away, and now I am exposed to the wide world! Also, it is the start of winter, and we are not making good time. The wagons get stuck, the roads are slick with mud, and we are crawling to England, where I am to be made Queen. I think God hears my terrified prayers and delays my arrival.

Continue reading “Anna of Cleves (of The Swan Maiden, by G. Lawrence)” →
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Grieve and Jana (of Wintersun, by Cindy Tomamichel)

Dear readers, tonight rather than interview we are sitting quietly at a tavern and observing a discussion between the two protagonists and their companion, as they speak about travels, adventures, and dragons.

Scene: a tavern, rough and cheap. Grieve and Jana are riding back home with Worth, a water magic bearer. It’s been a long day after escaping another city where a lot of people wanted to kill anyone with magic. Jana is a tree Druid, sister to Grieve. Grieve has no magic but gets into lots of fights protecting his friends.

A platter of dried fruit, bread, cheese, roast meat, and tankards of cider have arrived at the table.

Worth picked up a piece of roast meat and chewed hard. “It’s hard to believe you two are twins. Your village is far to the north isn’t it?”

Grieve drank deeply of his cider and wiped his mouth. “Aye. Far into the snow and cold of the ice demons winter. You have been lucky to grow up in the sun down south, even the streets would be more welcoming than the ice of our home.”

Jana nodded, leaning over to grab some bread and cheese. “We were born the same night our mother Maeve died.” She shuddered and wrapped her cloak tight around her shoulders. “She killed a pack of ice demons, then died as Grieve was born. My little brother bears the scars of more than battle, the ice death that claimed Maeve also touched him.”

Worth glanced at Grieve. He was a giant of a man, covered in the scars of battle. “The white streak in his hair, you mean?”

A cat jumped up into Grieve’s lap, curling its tail under his nose. He sneezed, and picked up a piece of meat for it, and pushed the platter to Worth. “Here, eat this. You need to put some muscle on those chicken wings you call arms.” He scratched the cat under its chin, and Worth decided to drop the subject of their birth.

Worth, trying to lighten the conversation. “Jana, as the big sister, did Grieve have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?”

Jana smiled. “Toys? No more than you did growing up on the streets. The village was clinging to existence and Osric our uncle was hard pressed to keep us fed. But Grieve made snares in the forest and caught us rabbits to eat, and I foraged for herbs and any greens that survived the endless winter.”

“Osric had magic too?”

Jana said “Yes, his magic was that of stone. He taught me all he could, but I would need to find one of the elders of the forest to learn more tree magic. Our father, who died before we were born, had the magic of beasts. Learning of magic was the best times growing up.”

Grieve grunted as the cat bunted his nose. “I learnt how to do chores. Osric made me help the villagers cut wood and all sorts of jobs to earn our keep.”

Jana chuckled. “Well, and also to pay back when you fought someone for insulting me or Osric.”

Worth offered the last piece of cheese to Jana. “So magic was not a blessing up north either?” He sighed. “It is a dangerous business being born to magic, yet none of us would give it up.”

Jana asked, “What are our plans for tomorrow?”

Grieve gestured to the platters which only had crumbs left. “That was the last of our coin. We sleep under the stars and either Ringbalin provides, or we work for our next meal.” He gave the cat a last scratch and nudged it to the floor before standing.

Worth glanced around the tavern. Several grim looking men had been eyeing Jana, but they suddenly lost interest as Grieve stretched to his full height and rolled his shoulders.

Worth stood. “At least there are no wraiths. Did we tell you about them, Jana?”

Jana: “Wraiths? No. We’ve already fought off ancient mages, sentient apes, and those damned mermaids.” She frowned up at Grieve. “Something you aren’t telling me, little brother?”

Grieve laughed, picking up the saddlebags and blanket rolls. “Just another creature trying to eat me. There’s a lot of that about, I’ve found.”

Jana smiled. “What about all the women you have fended off as well, hmmm?”

Grieve rubbed the back of his neck and mumbled. Worth couldn’t quite see in the fading light as they left the tavern, but he thought Grieve was blushing. The giant barbarian he had seen take down a dozen creatures at a time and moved faster and more ferociously than any man he had ever seen, was blushing. He smiled in the dark as they reached the stables.

Jana giggled and grabbed his hand as Grieve strode ahead and started working out the reins. “He is very popular,” she whispered. Worth could say nothing, he was overwhelmed by the feeling of Jana’s hand in his. A beautiful woman with such magic would never look at a beggar boy from the streets. But for a little while, the night did not feel so cold.

They rode out of the small village and into the forest, settling down for the night.

Worth helped Grieve take their saddle bags off the horses. “What was the scariest thing in your adventures?”

Grieve looked into the darkness, facing north, and sighed. “The moment I woke when the ice demons captured me. I could face being a slave, face the gladiatorial games where they bet on our lives… “

“But…” Worth asked.

“I never knew where Jana went, or even if she was alive.” He hobbled the horses and threw Worth a blanket. “Here, now go to sleep. I’ve never known anyone like magic bearers for asking questions and giving answers that have no meaning.”

“I was going to ask you what the worst thing you faced was, but perhaps the dark of night is not the best time for such talk,” Worth replied. Grieve grunted a response and headed out into the forest.

Grieve stared into the forest, looking north. Behind him, Worth and Jana practiced some magic, holding hands while Worth focused on making water fountains.

What was the worst thing? Being alone, he thought to himself. Jana and Worth curled up together, close to the fire. All his boyhood he had fought the suspicious glances at his hair, then at his strength. Demonspawn, they had named him. He looked up at the sound of a leathery flapping and braced himself.

Ringbalin the dragon landed close by, ramming into his legs. “Alone?” he heard the dragon speak in his head. “You have friends, many friends.”

Grieve smiled, reaching to scratch the dragon behind the ears. The dragon was shedding again and loose scales fluttered in the air.

“Yes, I am lucky to be friended by a dragon, even one as smelly as you.” Ringbalin turned and licked his face with a long slorpy tongue. “Blerrghh, turkey again? You can bring us a couple for breakfast.”

The dragon flew off into the night, silhouetted against the near full moon. “Another month gone. How are they fairing north, I wonder? He had left friends behind when he escaped and could do no more than hope they survived. Logar the soldier who had trained him, Mem the clay man who died at the hands of the Ice Lord. Grieve clenched his fists and felt the ice cold anger rise within him. Too many friends had died already in this fight against the demons – how many more would he lose?

A thump as he rested against a tree, two dead turkeys landing at his feet. Curling up in the grass, Ringbalin rested a taloned foot on his leg, so that human and dragon could hear each other’s thoughts.

“Worth and Jana? It is good, she was alone for many years, and she needs someone with magic.”

Grieve frowned. “Yes. I guess I just found her, and now feel like I have lost her already.”

“She is not lost to you, not ones of the same birthing. The bond between dragons of the same hatch is strong, but not as strong as two that shared a womb. She will always be there when you need her, as you would for her.”

Grieve sighed and nodded, absently picking up the turkey and starting to strip it of feathers.

Ringbalin nudged him, almost knocking him over. “We will find a lady friend for you.”

Grieve pushed the dragon off him and snorted. “We have to deal with the ice Lord and his demons first. They have taken everything from this land. Spring, magic, my friends, and my parents.” He clenched his hands and his eyes iced over. “They came out of the depths, pouring forth in their thousands. The Druid Cain told me we have only a few months to defeat them, or the world will never see another Spring. They do nothing but gamble with human lives and kill us for sport.” He turned to the dragon. “How can one man defeat them?”

Continue reading “Grieve and Jana (of Wintersun, by Cindy Tomamichel)” →
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Felicity Brockenhurst (of the Mon Dieu, Cthulhu! series, by John Houlihan)

Dear readers, tonight with us is a British lady from the time of the Napoleonic wars, who — quite unlike other ladies — is one of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s renowned spies and assassins. Call her a love-interest at your peril, but we did interview the protagonist from these books before.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

My name is Felicity Brockenhurst and I was born in British India in 1789. Sadly, my mother died giving birth to me, so I was raised by my father who provided me with the best private tutors, and an all around education which was quite unconventional for young ladies.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Toys? No, there was very little time for such frivolities. My tender years were spent in training and preparation. Riding, hunting, fishing, shooting, handling all forms of weaponry like knives, guns, swords and even lances. I am quite fond of the custom pepperbox revolver my father gave me aged seven though.

What do you do now?

Well, normally I am not so indiscreet, but since you asked so nicely. By day, I am a… I suppose what you might call an operative, an instrument, one of Sir Arthur Wellesley’s most renowned spies and assassins. The French call La Rosignol, the Nightingale and have all manner of wild tales of my accomplishments. It is said I smuggled Trouvier out of the Bastille hidden beneath my skirts, liberated the plans for invading Iberia from a locked strongbox under the Empereur‘s bed, and even eliminated the unfortunate General Lanoir through the sheer vigour of my lovemaking…  Modesty forbids me telling you which of these contain more than a grain of truth.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

Ah, the affair of the Shadow of the Serpent? It is Gaston Dubois’ tale truly of course, that brave, foolish, hot-blooded chap. He’s an absolute clod sometimes, but a brave one and an undeniably handsome one with those moustaches and cadenettes. He is one whom I must confess, I have more than a trifling affection for.

In this tale from his memoirs, Dubois is drummed out of this beloved hussars over a foolish duel and sent in disgrace to the “Accursed 31st” Dragoons who he is charged with turning into a proper fighting force (accompanied by his loyal sergeant the redoubtable Bastien Sacleaux, of course). There he earns the enmity of the countryside and a local bandita by the name of La Espina, the Thorn, who seems determined to have this head. While it is a trying experience, it is also an instructive one, for it is during this epic travail and through the battles he fights, first against La Espina’s wiles and then against the Spanish army, that he first begins to learn the real truth behind the Eternal Struggle which governs the age of Napoleon. It is where he is first set on the path that will bring him into the light to become a Keeper of the Hidden Flame, as am I.

Continue reading “Felicity Brockenhurst (of the Mon Dieu, Cthulhu! series, by John Houlihan)” →
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Byron (of the Vampires and Spies series, by Taggart Rehnn)

Dear readers, tonight with us is an undead space-time traveller, who likes to hunt monsters, explore worlds, and do some light archeology in his spare time.

Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?

I was conceived in the altar of a blood god in Mexico, born in a castle in Northern Provence, and spent my life in ICUs, protected and controlled by my paternal grandmother, Countess Chloé, the matriarch of our family.

My parents, both archaeologists, were rarely home. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t conceive. So they traveled a lot, and became workaholics. But then, alien ‘visitors’ only Chloé ever saw, told her how my parents could have a child. My parents did it, and it worked. From then on, Chloé made everyone follow their instructions. Since ‘the visitors’ said I shouldn’t be ‘eugenized’ in utero, I was born with severe congenital disorders.

Beside our castle in Provence, we had many vacation homes, but I spent more time intubated in clinics and ICUs than enjoying any of that. So, after reaching adulthood, pumped full of any drug known to man or monkey required to do it, I traveled far and wide, and became a ‘French Indiana Jones’.

Did you have any favourite toys as a child? Any cherished memories?

Not favorite toys per se, but a sort of playhouse the size of a hangar, representing the 42 tasks ancient Egyptians believed a soul must perform to get into their ‘Paradise’. There I felt both scared of, and protected by, Egyptian gods—scared I might offend them if I did something wrong, and sheltered from a world where I was a bullied weakling with mild Asperger’s.

Fond memories from trips all over the world with Chloé, I have too many to count. My parents died when I was in my teens, and Mamie Chloé when I was in my early twenties, leaving behind a bevy of lawyers and wills—and Severian, the ‘real Dracula’s grandfather, who kept our family’s fortune in tiptop shape, even after everyone on Earth thought I was dead and gone, buried alive during an expedition.

What do you do now?

I hunt down monsters, explore worlds, and work as an archaeologist in my spare time. Since I shall live forever and often travel through space-time, I guess I’ll keep doing it.

My gradual transformation, molting like an insect, from one kind of undead to another, seems now complete. At least, I hope it is. Each time I feed, the resulting massacre makes the news; and, with each molt, those massacres get bigger and gorier. But there’s someone who should know how to control this: Ukko, an Ancient who left Kemet (the world where I became an undead) for Earth about a thousand years ago. Since we must find him to defeat our nemesis, I hope he will help me with this as well.

What can you tell us about your latest adventure?

‘The Visitors’ tells the story of my life, my mysterious disappearance and my first years in Kemet, when I became this ‘creature’. But my life’s story starts with ‘Freer of Souls’, which describes how my family and Severian prevented the Apocalypse when my parents were still working hard to conceive me—alas, in vain. ‘The Visitors’ comes after ‘Freer of Souls’, ‘Catatumbo’ and ‘Vyrus’, followed by ‘The Revenants’—the story of our arrival from Kemet and our fight against ‘varjugga’, a ‘dark energy demon’ that fled our world. We were never able to destroy it, and I’m not sure we can trap it either. That’s why, although we’re still fighting it, we need Ukko. Alas, he’s now in stasis, slowly dying. If ‘varjugga’ finds him first, it will create an army of enslaved humans and undeads, conquer Kemet, and end all life everywhere—your ‘Apocalypse’.

Continue reading “Byron (of the Vampires and Spies series, by Taggart Rehnn)” →
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