Chapter 4: Tarin the Righteous is Not Impressed

While Roquefort was realizing that Voluptua had, in fact, brought handcuffs, and not the padded kind, Tarin the Righteous was laying out her problems before Fr. Stephen.
“You see, I’m so conflicted! On the one hand, I know I must stay ever faithful and ever true to my mission: and that mission is to plant a stake in the heart of Roquefort. And yet, I grow lonely, plagued by doubts, unable to sleep because of restless desires. I know I must resist the charms of Lucretius, for they are only the charms of physical pleasure, yet how strongly they bind me, like cruel chains!”
“Catena saeva,” mused Fr. Stephen. “Was he into that kind of thing, then?”
“I meant figuratively, Father,” reproached Tarin. “And anyway, he is not for me. There is another, written in the great book of prophecy, who will join me in my lonely wanderings through this cold life.”
“There’s a book of prophecy?”
“Oh, yes! An evil book, bound in the skin of an Assyrian wood smuggler, written in the blood of two-headed tortoises and smelling faintly of bad breath. Even Roquefort fears this book, not because it harms him, but because it speaks the truth.”
“Fascinating! Who owns it?”
“No one knows. It’s a moot point, anyway, because the language cannot be learned. One must be born knowing it. The last person to have been able to read it died before I was born, drowned in blood and opals. It prophesied my coming and that I must slay Roquefort, slay him with the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuana, Estonia, and Sometimes Y. Yet I am not strong enough to do it on my own. The man who is able to help me in this quest is my chosen one, and together we will defeat evil of all kinds. For this man, chosen to soothe the ceaseless desires of my perfectly waxed flesh, will posses this tool, the Wooden Stake of Latvia, Lithuania, Estonia, and Sometimes Y. ”
Fr. Stephen tactfully refrained from any comment as to what notable Austrian psychiatrists would have said about the Wooden Stake of Latvia and Co. He instead contributed: “So what are you waiting for? Get on eHarmony. Possibly wear something more approachable than chain-mail.”
“But there is another side to this coin, a dark and seamy side.”
“There always seems to be,” observed Fr. Stephen, fishing the ice-cubs out of his scotch. Idiot bartender, knew nothing of whiskey.
“For if I unite my powers with Lucretius, we would be more powerful than Roquefort himself and would rule the vampire world. And, you know, the human one too, more indirectly.”
“I see the conundrum,” Fr. Stephen said. Before he could offer any advice however, a woman sauntered up to them, looking tall, dark and carnivorous.
“Forgive me for interrupting. But I saw you from across the bar and I had to ask. Am I in the presence of Tarin the Righteous?”
“You are,” said Tarin, eyeing the woman suspiciously.
“And you must be the famous Fr. Stephen. Is that a gun in your pocket, or are---”
“Actually, it is a gun. Who are you?”
“I know who she is, Stephen,” said Tarin nastily. “This is Voluptua. She seems like a good idea but she’s not.”
“Oh dear. How embarrassing. I see my reputation has preceded me. Perhaps I ought to go,” Voluptua murmured. Then she paused. “Can I just ask you, however, Tarin, if you’ve seen that ghastly Roquefort about anywhere?”
“If I saw Roquefort, everyone would know because I’d have ripped his head off. Then stepped on it repeatedly,” Tarin snapped.
“And quite rightly, my dear, quite rightly,” Voluptua said.
“I thought you were in league with Roquefort,” Fr. Stephen asked.
“Don’t talk to her, Stephen, it’s like wrestling with shit,” Tarin cut in.
“Well I was, but now it’d be rather useful to me to have him dead. I was going to offer to pay you to do it, but if you’re already trying and failing, then I’d better look for offers elsewhere.”
“I bet you’d get some on the street corner,” Tarin said. “And don’t even try appealing to my vanity. I wouldn’t take money from you in the first place.”
“In that case, forgive my intrusion,” Voluptua said. “I hope we live to meet on better terms, Lady Tarin. Fr. Stephen, have a pleasant night and mind your guns. There are dangerous people afoot.”
And with that she slunk off. Tarin found herself, against her better instincts, gazing hypnotically at Voluptua’s ripe, plump, persimmon-like buttocks. She shook herself. This was no time for Anglo-Saxon monosyllables.
“Warm in here, eh, Stephen?”
“And getting warmer. Who is she?”
“The devil with D-cups. Satan in a slinky dress. Mephistopheles in a miniskirt. Beelzebub with a beautiful bum. Old Nick without knickers. Lucifer with Lauren Bacall’s lips. In short, the opposite of everything we stand for!”
Stephen nodded thoughtfully. “I can assure you I had no intention of standing.”
“She was born from the black sands of time, and went to Eton.”
“Isn’t that a boys’ school?”
“I didn’t say she was enrolled.”