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Paths of Destiny
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-083-3
ISBN-13: 
Genre: Dark Fantasy
eBook Length: 174 Pages
Published: September 2003
OUT OF PRINT

From inside the flap

This unique collection, authored by Bram Stoker nominated poet, Sandy Deluca, includes four memorable stories. In addition you?ll discover over fifty poems which read like mini tales of magic, fantasy, horror and forbidden love. The collection is presented in three parts and each teaches us some very interesting lessons about destiny.

In Part I, PATHS OF WICKED WOMEN, you?ll meet a young woman who is obsessed with the undead. She searches endlessly, walking nightly through the streets of Manhattan, in pursuit of her desires. She meets a charming and sensuous nightclub owner named Xavier. He draws her into VERMILION TEARDROP and imprisons her in a world of blood, sex and heaven. In the end he ultimately grants all of her wishes.

In Part II, entitled PATHS OF FANTASY, Ms. Deluca explores other worlds. She takes you on a journey in THE STARSHIP NEPTUNE. In this science fiction thriller a predator lurks in the shadows of a generation starship. The author creates exotic references to distant planets and details artistic techniques used by alien painters. In the end a pact is made and blood pours throughout the spacecraft.

Part III, entitled PATHS OF DESTINY, explores spirituality, witchery and the secrets of the female soul. In her story PATHS OF DESTINY Ms. Deluca introduces you to two female artists. They are from different backgrounds, but their souls are linked. They come together during a crippling New England blizzard and discover that their destinies are one.


Paths of Destiny (Excerpt)



CONTENTS


PART I: Paths of Wicked Women

Complicated Creation

Family History

Searching for the Savior

The Weaver Woman’s Curse

The Bad Wife

Gloria

The Fifties are Gone

Longing to be Number One

Making Moon Magic

Mourning is Never Long

American Female Psycho

Now that Saturn has Returned

Yearning for the Ferry Man

November Temptation

Vermilion Teardrop

Hunter’s Moon

I?ve Been Thinking of You

Memories of a Winter Night

PART II: Paths of Fantasy

Starship Neptune

Domestic Life in the Twenty-Fourth Century

The Results of Toxic Waste

Eighty Kilometers from Earth

How Dead Witches Granted Mortal Wishes on the Moon

Good Witch

Cat Dreams

Celebrations in the Fae World

Dream Catcher

PART III: Paths of Destiny

Creation’s Curse

Once in Her World

Visions from The Ten of Cups

In October

Fall 2001

Nana

Aunt Lil

How I Became a Painter

The Saint of Elmwood Park

When Autumn Comes

Morning In Egypt

Tango Man

African Love Spell

No Longer a Solo Woman

A Dream Before Rebirth

Manifestation

Conjuring the Great Spirit

Entering Sainthood

Where Have You Been?

The Crone Poem

Angel Hunting

The Angel?

The Goddess of Street Artists

Meeting In Manhattan

A Pregnancy of Decades

The Stigmata Comes Even When I?m Smiling

Bloody Sunday

Departure

The Crossroads

Paths of Destiny

Vermilion Teardrop
(Excerpt)


From Tales of Manhattan

My name is Ramona LePore. I wasn?t always called that. I was baptized Christina Webster, but that was in another lifetime.

I loved B movies, especially vampire flicks. From Andy Warhol’s Dracula to Castle of Blood I?d seen them all, knew all the plots, knew when each drop of blood would be sucked.

I didn?t earn enough money to buy expensive clothes, but I frequented the thrift shops, found what I needed and dressed in black from head to toe. Sometimes I?d wander into places like Saks and lift an item or two?no harm. Those places rip off their customers most times anyway.

I dyed my natural strawberry blonde hair black. I even got a tattoo of a bat on my shoulder.

I decorated my apartment in red and black, had a coffin in the bedroom. Not a real one, just a prop from an off-Broadway play. An actor friend of mine gave it me?a gift for going down on him.

I wanted to be a vampire.

Wouldn?t it be cool to live forever?

Wouldn?t it be wonderful if someone like Christopher Lee or Thomas Ian Griffith loved me?

The only time I felt admiration, or felt wanted, was when I danced. I had dreams of being on Broadway one day, but stripping in a bar in Brooklyn was the only work I could find back then. I?d powder my face, paint my eyelids midnight blue and wear a gown of sequined spider webs?I didn?t wear it very long though.

Guys from the club wanted to date me, but none of them were what I wanted?or needed. My true love waited somewhere else, not in Brooklyn.

It was my home, but my soul was in Manhattan. I knew something great was there for me.

I used to walk the streets in search of somebody who could turn me into what I longed to be?a vampire. I met a guy named Donardo at a Goth art show in Chelsea last summer. He took me to his loft, fucked me on a cold stone slab in his parlor. He made a tiny cut on my neck with a silver knife and licked it as he came. Told me that blood and semen mixed was powerful.

It didn?t do anything. In the morning when I awakened he was just a bum from So Ho with a hangover. The white powder on his face was caked. His black eyeliner smudged.

It was one of many disappointing encounters.

Dancing was my only refuge. On my nights off I continued to search; in alleys, in underground nightclubs, in the graveyards of my favorite borough.

One evening, around ten, as I walked through The Bowery, I discovered Vermilion Teardrop, an old warehouse converted into a nightclub.

Its neon sign welcomed me, flashing in deep reds and dusty blues. The line at the door stretched down the block. The club’s double doors were guarded by two black-robed bouncers. I took my place in line behind a pale brunette who turned to me and said, "We may make it in by midnight; that’s when all the fun starts anyway."

Clouds separated and a yellow crescent appeared above the skyline. At that moment the double doors swung open. A tall thin man with brown shoulder-length hair burst through. His boots clicked on the pavement. Even from a distance I could see that his skin was tanned, his lips were full and his eyes were the palest blue I?d ever seen. He was wearing a brimmed hat and an expensive charcoal gray suit. His hands were manicured and he wore a silver hoop earring in his left ear. He was the most beautiful man I?d ever seen.

I heard excited whispers, "Xavier. It’s Xavier."

He breezed by the front of the line and walked further down the street?almost to where I stood. He held a slender cigar in between his index and middle finger. The smoke made surreal patterns as he pointed at people. "You, you, and you, come inside." He didn?t stop to scrutinize anyone. He seemed to be making his choices by random?or by some extraordinary sense. When he got to the end of the line he pointed to me.

"You."

Our eyes meet for a moment. He smiled a slow delicious smile and then he turned quickly on his heels.

We followed him like salivating pups. "Be free, dance."

Vermilion Teardrop was noisy and crowded. Posters from famous vampire movies hung on the walls. Tabletops were covered with red velvet cloth.

People danced on a crowded dance floor. They were all dressed in dark clothing?velvet, leather and lace. Some had fake fangs. Others wore vials of fake blood around their necks.