Kindle Edition Amazon Vampires Don't Cry Category:  Horror Publisher: Hallanish Publishing ISBN-10:  1475239610 Pages: 270 Copyright: Jan 2012 ISBN-13: 9781475239614 Lyman's friend Alan is killed by a visiting cheerleader, his neck torn to shreds in the middle of the marching band. Lyman is determined to find out why, but Mandy (the cheerleader) has her own story to tell. An exciting NEW format by the new collaboration of Ian Hall and Lachelle Miller. Not only a new Vampire series, but a whole new way to write! The critics may have thought there was nothing new in the “Vampire genre”, but this book proves them totally wrong. Gregor Academy in Northern Arizona, has one main problem; it’s got a small population of vampires, hiding in its academic ranks. Page one of this fast-moving vampire adventure, has Gregor Academy senior, Alan McCartney, being murdered by a local visiting cheerleader. This is big enough news at the best of times, but when they both turn out to be vampires, and the act happens on the steps of the school at the Friday-night ball game, AND it happens in the middle of the marching band, it’s hardly a private matter. As the students and musicians flee the scene, the only person running to Alan’s aid, is his friend, geek Lyman Bracks. So begins a brand new two-voice, super-fast paced vampire adventure. Brand new; ready for you to devour. Ian Hall writes from the perspective of Lyman Bracks, Alan’s best friend as he is dragged kicking and screaming into the world of Vampires and Helsings. Lachelle Miller writes from the perspective of Mandy Cross, the cheerleading vampire who has Alan’s blood on her hands, down her chest, and smeared all over her pretty smiling face. Excerpt Chapter One The Visiting Cheerleader It all started on Friday evening; football night. The first high school game of the season, the excitement ran high, and there were kids milling around everywhere. The visitors, nearby Everton High, hadn’t arrived in numbers yet, so the area was a sea of white and crimson. Flags, jackets, shirts, balloons; we had it all. The Gregor Academy marching band rehearsed near the main entrance, doing dips and the well-rehearsed shimmies, the final practice before taking to the field at the start of the game. I knew my best friend, Alan McCartney, marched somewhere in the middle; he’s first clarinet. Great guy, he’s got a bunch of the greatest friends, and he plays clarinet and guitar. Girls melt at his feet most of the time. Everyone wished they were Alan. I’ve known him for just over a year. The school band wears white with burgundy trimmings, (Mrs. McCartney always complained about washing Alan’s uniform) and the white uniforms shone like fresh snow in the early floodlights. I stood, waiting for the cheerleaders who normally followed the band; I mean, a guy’s got to have some entertainment in his life. The band turned, doing a boogie version of the school’s anthem, (Go Hawks!) when the music slowly fizzled to silence. The band began to run in all directions, like someone let off the stink bomb of a lifetime. The musicians evaporated from the center out, and I just watched in fascination as some stampeded towards me to safety. I jumped up on a low wall and clung one-handed to the black lamppost like that guy in “Singing in the Rain.” When the rout died, standing alone on the concrete were Alan and a visiting cheerleader, in a way too tight embrace. Snogging like dervishes. Well, at first I thought they were kissing. She had her back to me, and I couldn’t see much of anything at all. (I heard later that she marched with him, holding his hand down her top; so he wasn’t playing much clarinet. Then she got kinda passionate and started to drill his neck). So there they were, standing in a crazy, tight embrace. She had one hand rubbing his crotch, while she feverishly chewed at his neck. This chick had the cutest butt you’ve ever seen, long blond hair - everything a guy could want. And her butt wiggled as she munched on my best friend’s neck. I began to get a wee bit jealous, when I suddenly knew something wasn’t quite right. In fact, it felt as wrong as it could possibly be. Alan dropped his clarinet - his pride and joy. His folks had paid a fortune for it. The ebony tip hit the concrete with a loud ‘popping’ sound, and shattered, sending shards of black wood and silver parts in all directions. Then the cheerleader turned around to face me. Her mouth and lips were covered in blood, and her teeth shone a bright white. As she turned, I saw Alan’s neck. Man, no matter what stain fighter Mrs. McCartney used, she wasn’t getting that color out in a hurry. “Mandy,” I hissed, remembering her once visiting the school. I didn’t know her full name, but I knew they had an off-and-on thing going on. My best friend’s white tunic hung in shreds from his bare shoulder, and a mass of the deepest red spread from his neck to his balls. The blood stain got worse as my mouth opened, and arcs of deep ochre pumped rhythmically from his neck, the dark red pulses flashing in the spotlights. “Help!” I roared, but it did more harm than good. Hearing my cry, Mandy let Alan go, and he fell to the ground like an empty suit. Mandy caught my stare and flashed me a fleshy-bloody grin, then ran off as fast as her pretty legs would go. Man, her tits bounced real good. Yeah, I know I’m going to take some ribbing for that observation, but there are a few facts to learn before jumping to the wrong conclusions about me. My name is Lyman George Bracks, but due to a mop of shaggy ginger hair, everyone calls me ‘Red’. It’s the ultimate teenage curse; worse than zits or halitosis. Yeah. Laugh now, but you don’t have to deal with it every day. I do. I know I’m destined to never get to first base with any girl anywhere, because they’ve already been warned off by their friends for even thinking about dating a ‘ginge.’ Yeah, laugh. So, yes, I did check out Mandy’s tits as she ran away. I waited ‘til the last of the retreating bandsmen had passed, then I ran to Alan’s side. I knelt down on the grey stone and lifted his body onto my lap. The blood still pumped from his neck, but not with as much pressure as before, and I knew that wasn’t a good thing. I looked around, and gasped; so much blood already spread outwards from his body onto the concrete. I put my fingers on the wound, and pressed as hard as I could. Despite my pressure, it still surged through my fingers. “You’ll need replacing in the band,” I joked through my tears. “When your throat’s ripped out by a visiting cheerleader, you’re not likely to be returning to the Gregor Academy marching band. At least not anytime soon.” Go Hawks! I thought of the opponents from Everton High, a town ten miles west. I lifted my eyes to see the crowd gathering round me. A hundred cell phones were dialing 9-1-1. My voice trembled. “Man, this is going to put an edge on the age-old rivalry.” ~ ~ ~ Hi. My name’s Mandy. Mandy Cross. Being a vampire’s not necessarily all fun and games. Sometimes it kinda sucks. Pun intended. First of all - you’re technically dead. Secondly - you have to eat your friends. Thirdly - after a couple snack attacks, you don’t have too many friends left. Least not the human ones. And if that’s not bad enough - then to be a vampire and have your unbeating heart ripped right out of your chest, thrown to the ground and marched over by some fanged Don Juan… If you’re buying into that fire crotch’s BS about Alan being all Mr. Wonderful, then you’re just as lame as he is. Pick up Gregor Academy (Vampire High), turn it upside down, and shake. Not one of the jerk-offs that falls out will know the real Alan McCartney like I did. The guy was a total douche. And he had it coming. If you just skip over all the chapters written by that effing red-headed retard, I’ll tell you the for-real story. Of course, if you like being a loser, then skip my parts and listen to the Ginger-bred Man, the King of Loser-Town. BTW—he totally checked out my rack as I ran away. What a geek. Last summer turned out to be a very rough time for me. I should have been a senior at Everton High this year; the school for regular kids; the ones who haven’t been forced to drink vampire blood, killed, and then came back to life. Like I said…last summer was not a good time. I’d spent my junior year being all into this total jock named Craig. I was seriously in love with this guy; we did it and everything. But, as soon as summer hit, he hooked up with some other chick and like, totally just blew me off. BTW- that other chick just happened to be my BFF, Cami. Spoiler alert: Cami is now fish food. That was one of the things so totally awesome about getting in with a real-live vampire. Alan was all, “You don’t have to take s-h-i-t from anyone; your soul is already gone, so it’s not like you can go to Hell or anything.” But, it’s not like I just went, “Oh, cool. I’ll become a vamp so I can tear out Cami’s throat.” In fact, it took a long time for me to make that decision. Not that Alan didn’t work overtime to try and convince me it was worth the gross blood-sucking and even getting bitten. Seriously - that dude was so stoked up on plasma half the time, who knows if he really believed what he said. His VH buddy’s gonna try to tell you Alan was all cool and stuff, such a nice vampire and wouldn’t hurt anybody. Like I said before, though, I’m the one who really knew him. He’d jump through my bedroom window at two in the morning and have red Kool-Aid stains all over his face. Except it wasn’t red Kool-Aid. We pretended, so I wouldn’t totally hurl. But, for real, it was… feline blood. Yep - that a-hole drank cats! One of my cats even. Mr. Stinky; may he rest in peace. That’s how Alan and I met, in fact. I felt so depressed that summer that I couldn’t sleep like, at all. So, I’d go out to the gazebo in the middle of the night and just kind of, you know, chill. One night I sat there, ironically, reading Vampire Diaries by L.J. Smith, when I heard a rustling in the hydrangeas behind me. I dropped my book and ran for the back door. I don’t know why I did this - total brain fart - but, instead of running inside, I just flicked on the flood lights and stood there like a dum-dum. I made that kissing sound you call cats with. “Stinkmesister, is that you, baby? C’mere, Stinkyson…” I watched in like, total horror as my sweet little Persian came limping out from behind the hydrangeas. Two stumbling steps later and he fell over, dead as a dodo. I freaked and then launched into some weird Superwoman mode. The rake just, like, leant up against the house so I grabbed it and went to town on the bushes. I swung, and hit something that couldn’t have been bush. Next thing I know, this dude is like, popping up from behind the plants, blood all over his face and holding up his hands like I was gonna arrest him or something. “Okay! Knock it off,” he said. I totally slugged him with the metal part of the rake. The pointy things went right into his temple and he dropped. I felt so pissed about my cat that I didn’t care; I went to Mr. Stinky and tried CPR. Of course, Mr. Stinky stayed dead. But the guy with the rake for a face didn’t. He crawled at me like a snake, all yellow-eyed and bleeding. Then he grabbed my ankle and bit. It only took a little blood for him to heal. Anyway, that’s how Alan McCartney and I met for the first time. ~ ~ ~ The cops were called of course, I mean, a hundred-piece marching band has at least fifty cellphones tucked in pockets and bra cups, but that kind of stuff takes a while to arrive. I knelt in the growing pool of blood and held him and cried. I could tell by the sea of white trouser legs that the rest of the band had gathered back around, but there was no, “Let’s do what we learned in First Aid.” That bitch had hit a big artery, and I couldn’t see a way back. Alan lay in my arms, either very dead, or dying before our eyes. Trust me, for all my inattention at first aid classes, I felt certain. In two minutes he’d bled out totally. I knelt in his shiny red-ochre, and probably ten others stood in the same growing pool. Then, bursting through the silence like a firework on the Fourth of July, Grant Porteus hit the first notes of ‘Last Post’ on his cornet. I knew it would be Grant without looking up. Alan was pretty well liked, and Grant was the kind of guy who knew instinctively the right thing to do - always. For all the hundred or so kids on the concrete, you could have heard a pin drop as Grant’s plaintive tune rang out into the evening. The ambulance eventually came. Its siren pierced the silence, and the band parted reluctantly to let the paramedics through. They didn’t attempt resuscitation, though, they just nudged me out of the way, wrapped him up, lifted the body onto a gurney, then left. The police came and like school kids all over the country, the band kind of dispersed, standing in guilty groups, most having nothing to say. A few did something very strange, and they all did it in the same way. In the midst of all this weirdness, it got suddenly weirder. They bent down to the pool of blood, ran their forefinger in it, and licked it clean. I counted them; six altogether. I knew them all; counted them as quasi friends; friends by association with Alan, no more. I didn’t ask. I just observed. But I took mental note of the names of ‘the six.’ Soon, a cop tapped me on the shoulder and asked me questions. “Mandy something,” I answered. I wanted to mention her tits, but I just closed my eyes and remembered them. “Do you know her?” “She came to school once.” “Here? To Gregor Academy? When?” “Last week. I don’t know.” I must have looked like a real wacko, but he took my name and told me they’d be back for more questions later. “Alan spoke to her. That’s all I know.” With the front of my shirt and my jeans all covered in his blood, I kinda wandered around aimlessly after that. “Tonight’s Game is Postponed,” the big electronic scoreboard read ten minutes later. I looked around for a friendly face, but found none. Girls were crying, but each of them seemed to have someone with them, and I wasn’t bold enough to intrude. I looked for ‘the six’, but they were conspicuous by their absence. In the depths of my loneliness, I decided to go home. I set out for the gate. I walked past the school sign when I spotted Dorothy Squires sitting on the curb. She’s one of our cheerleaders, and sat so low, her knees were high in the air, her already-short skirt bunched up at her waist. She wasn’t crying, but she looked pretty beat-up. “You ok?” I asked. Okay, I’d blurted out the dumbest thing, but I wasn’t really expecting an answer anyway, she’s a cheerleader, and they don’t talk to the likes of me. She looked up at me and presented a grim smile, lips closed. Then she stuck her legs out onto the road, and smoothed her skirt down. It was too late for that kind of modesty; I’d already seen her white knickers lots of times on the field. She’s a cheerleader for goodness sake. “Hi, Lyman,” she sniffed, then pointed up to my bloody clothes. “You’re covered in his blood.” Lyman, the name hit the back of my brain in microseconds. She hadn’t called me ‘Red.’ No one called me Lyman, except grown-ups. “You need anything?” I asked, hoping a grope wasn’t out of the question. I had nothing else; no cigarettes, no gum. Dorothy got unsteadily to her feet. “You guys were close, huh?” My tears started without warning. I felt a fool until she came close and hugged me. I was bloody from head to toe, but she still pulled me close. Not to lose a chance to feel those goodies against my chest, I hugged her back, but the tears didn’t stop, even though I wanted them to. My friend had just died, and here I stood, getting farther with any girl ever. And Dorothy Squires was a cheerleader! She held me, then, stepping back, looked up into my eyes. Man I thought we were going to kiss. I moved forward like the awkward geek, and she instantly held a waving forefinger in the air between us. No kiss then. She shook her head slightly, but for some reason I focused on the swaying finger. Yes, it was the bar to our kiss; but it was more. Her nails were manicured, her fingernails varnished white. But under the nail, arcing back and forth like a metronome, winking at me like a sliver moon, lay a wet ridge of crimson. The white-nail part had been licked clean, but under her fingernail, Dorothy Squires had Alan McCartney’s blood. ~ ~ ~ Okay. Back to me - Mandy. There are lots of things humans think about vampires that are just totally false. Let’s get them out of the way right now. First myth: Vampires like, totally “disintegrate” in the sunlight. Give me a break. Really? You’re telling me that you believe if this supernatural predator came at your throat, all you’d have to do is raise the shade and kill it off? Not so much. Vampires troll the nights when they need to feed only because we’ve got amazing see-in-the-dark vision and humans don’t. It’s much stealthier to catch prey that can’t see you back. But yeah, we can totally come out during the day, too. Oh…and garlic. Kind of one of my faves, people. Especially with pasta and mushrooms. So, that’s another myth I’d like to shoot down. Crosses don’t burn us. We don’t wear black capes, we don’t have unfolded wings on our backs, or turn into bats. All that’s totally bogus. I’m doing you a favor by telling you all this, by the way. I mean - I could just let you clutch your garlic and wait for the sun to come up then snatch you as you bend down to get your morning paper. So, now you’re not really any safer but maybe a tad wiser. So…after that totally bizarro introduction… Alan started coming to see me. A lot. He kept saying stuff like, “I’ve never met anyone like you before.” I totally thought he meant ‘cause I’m so smart and all that; but, turns out he was just really into my ass. Not to be stuck-up or anything, but I did gymnastics for like, eight years and then cheerleading for three; so yeah, my ass is pretty killer. And, I have to admit, I dug the fact that this vampire dude was into me. Mom used to tell me all the time that I have some “bad boy complex.” Like, whatever, Mom. Rolling eyes. Anyway…he’d been coming around for a couple weeks. We’d sit in the gazebo under the moonlight, listening for cats. That dude could hear something like a block away. When he got one, I’d just have to close my eyes and pretend I was in the rainforest or something. Once he’d gotten all fed and mellowed out, we’d have some really nice conversations. I remember one of those talks like it happened yesterday… “Mandy?” I’d been waiting out there for a while. Right when I was about to give up, Alan came. He had this really sexy voice. It sounded like violins playing through the pouring rain. Dreamy-like. When I heard it, I felt suddenly warm. “Hey,” I replied. “Thought you would never show up.” ”What is it you humans say? Wild horses couldn’t pull me away?” I felt confused. “I never say that.” In addition to that melodic voice, Alan had an angelic face. Kinda round like a baby’s - but his eyes were deep and intellectual. I could tell he’d already fed plenty that night ‘cause his cheeks were super pink and his lips rosy and glossy. Kissable for sure. “What kept you?” I asked. “Just some vampire business to take care of. You know how it is.” “Nah. Not really.” Just then he kinda brushed my bangs out of my eyes. He had an icy touch but his skin felt so soft. I remember him tracing my mouth with his finger. I thought at that point he was going to finally kiss me. Instead, he got all sullen and just stared out to space. “You’re lucky you don’t,” he told me. “Things can get a little gory on my side of the fence.” “What? Did you like, kill somebody tonight or something?” I forced a laugh into my words, but deep down I really dreaded the possible answer. Alan turned me on; I can’t even begin to lie about that. But, truthfully, he kinda scared me, too. My question caught him off guard. He looked at me with this like, challenging expression on his peaches-and-cream face. “What if I had, Mandy? What would you think of me then?” I got all sick to my stomach. I totally didn’t want to give off the vibe that I was super down with this killing-people racket. But, I also didn’t want to piss off a vampire. So, I played it cool. “You’re a vampire, dude…I guess that comes with the territory.” His glaring look became a lot less intense. “I hate to say it, but sometimes it does.” “So…is that what kept you? Did you…kill somebody tonight?” Alan’s cool eyes got real narrow and he pulled his gaze from me and stared down at the ground. I was scared for sure; but, I also just felt really bad for the guy. I mean - what must that be like? Having to kill people just to survive? I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay. Whatever you’ve done…” And then the big dork shot this fangy grin up at me. “Gotcha, sucker! It was midnight madness bowl - unlimited games from eleven to two at Ten Pin. Me and the guys dominated the alley.” That kind of pissed me off. I mean, I thought we were having a bonding moment. So, I swatted him on the head. Of course, it wasn’t until afterward that I realized I’d just like, totally hit a freaking vampire. Seriously- I almost wet myself. Luckily, he laughed. That’s when we started to get all cuddly; for the first time he really put his arms around me and it felt awesome. We were quiet for a while. Probably would’ve been best if I’d just let it stay quiet, but I can be a dork that way. After a while I asked the question that had been floating around in my brain. “So…have you? Ever killed a person, I mean?” He didn’t really say yes or no; kinda danced around the subject if you ask me. “Death is just one more state of being, Mandy Cross. A mortal losing their life is no more tragic than a caterpillar turning into a butterfly. It’s not gone; just turned into something else.” “You mean if I died you wouldn’t be even a little sad? You just be all, ‘Oh… there goes Mandy; now she’s a butterfly.’” Alan laughed. It sounded like those wind chimes that are made out of seashells. “Don’t you worry about that, Mandy Cross,” he told me. “When you’re ready to become a butterfly, I’ll be the one who teaches you how to fly.” “What do you mean? Like me becoming…one of you?” “If by ‘one of me’ you mean immortal and invincible, then yeah. I mean - if given the choice…why wouldn’t you?” “What about all that ‘gory side of the fence’ stuff?” “I was screwing with you! Trust me - if you ever really want to learn how to live, you’re gonna have to learn how to die first.”

Bloody Good Time
Wow what a fun book!! The two authors definitely weaved a story that came together nicely at the end. I've read books before that have been two-voiced, written by two separate people, and it didn't work. In this case, it was meshed together wonderfully. If you love gore, romance, magic, and a story where the underdog saves the day, then this book is for you. Lots of twists and unexpected edge-of-your-seat moments.
5 stars!


These vampires are NOT Shiny and Glittery!
Right from the first page, this is a torrid, rip-roaring tapestry of adventure.
Lachelle tells the gritty story of Mandy Cross- a vampire cheerleader's love and revenge against the vampire that 'turned' her; bad-boy Alan McCartney.
Intertwined with Mandy's story, Ian tells the tale of Alan's best friend Lyman Bracks, and the unbidden discovery that he's a Helsing; a vampire hunter.
The two authors weave their characters like craftsmen, and the ending/climax where the two stories collide is just superb.
If you're looking for glittery, shiny, beautiful-people, two-dimensional vampires, this is NOT for you.
This is gritty, edgy, stuff, and although not my normal genre, I just held onto the adventure, and rode it to the last page.
This is not your usual Vampire High School story. Love and revenge doesn't get much more In-Your-Face than this!"