May's traditional zombie stir fry recipe:
Honey Lemon Chicken and Asparagus
1 tablespoon oil
1 pound chicken, cut into bite sized pieces
1 pound asparagus, trimmed and cut into 1 inch pieces
2 tablespoons honey
3 tablespoons lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon zest
2 tablespoons soy sauce (reduced sodium)
1/4 cup chicken both – (May uses chicken bullion cubes)
1 teaspoon chilli sauce or a pinch of cayennne pepper
1 clove garlic, grated
1 teaspoon ginger, grated
1 tablespoon water
2 teaspoons cornstarch
- Mix honey, lemon juice, soy sauce, broth, chill sauce, lemon zest, garlic, ginger and set aside in a bowl.
- Heat the oil in a pan over medium-high heat, add the chicken and stir fry until cooked through and browned a bit.
- Add the asparagus and stir fry until it turns a brighter green, about 2 minutes.
- Add the honey, lemon juice mixture, stir
- Whisk the water with the corn starch, stir in to coat and cook until the sauce thickens, about a minute.
Serve over rice. (May likes to drink ginger beer with this, and finish up with lychees and her father's smoky moon-shadow tea.)
Who is May?
May stepped outside and opened her umbrella. The burst of hail had changed to sporadic, slushy rain. It was a glowering, bitterly cold evening. Clouds moved sullenly across the dark sky.
From her street on the hill, she could see the river curving in its gentle S, the two bridges, Christmas Junction where the sky scrapers glittered, and downtown, where she could hopefully find a taxi. The clouds were so low that they hid the top half of the skyscrapers in Christmas Junction. A train, far in the distance, looked like a brightly lit caterpillar crossing the busy downtown area below.
The street she lived on was in a quiet residential neighborhood with old trees and a large park behind a tall, wrought-iron fence. The buildings, trees, and fence all leaned together, conspiring to keep the riffraff out. The sidewalk was clean and the cars lining the road gleamed. No riffraff here tonight … unless that shadow was up to no good.
May tilted her head to get a better look. In between two cars, on the opposite side of the street, huddled a shadow. The hair on the back of her neck prickled. Something was not quite right. The shadow was too small to be a human, but too large for a dog. It slid around to the far side of the car to hide as May drew even.
What was it hiding from? And what was it? May was curious. She closed her umbrella and hooked it over the fence on her left, and then she darted across the street and peered behind the car. Crouching near the rear bumper was a small, skinny boy.
“Hi there. Are you all right?” May started toward him.
He bared his fangs and hissed as she drew near.
May’s step faltered. A vampire child. An abomination! Who the hell had made him? The prickle of fear turned into a full blown shiver. Poor creature. Too young to fend for itself, but dangerous nonetheless. As soon as it realized its powers it would go on a killing spree, and nothing living could resist it. Slowly, she eased her hand into her purse to get her cellphone to call for backup.
“Don’t hurt me,” he whimpered, cowering against the car. His eyes were huge with panic. Blood on his neck and a wet, brown stain on his T-shirt showed he hadn’t changed his clothes since it had happened, and that it had been recent. That was a blessing, at least. The more recently he had been killed, the weaker he would be. She might be able to handle this on her own.
Staying well back, she examined him. He wore no jacket and one of his shoes, May noted, was missing. “I won’t hurt you. Where’s your other shoe?” It was best to stick to unimportant things. Or at least, things that seemed unimportant. At times like this, anything could be crucial. Anything could set him off. She had to be careful. A rogue vampire had made this creature, and its saliva was deadly for anything other than a full-blooded vampire.
“My shoe?” He glanced down at his foot and flinched. “I don’t know.” He looked back up at her, his eyes pleading now. “I don’t know. I woke up nearby, I think, in a park. I woke up when the hail hit my face. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know who I am. Can you help me? I should be cold …” His voice trailed off. “I’m dreaming. Is that it? Is this a dream?”
May nodded, forcing her lips into a smile. “Yes. It’s a dream.”
Poor creature. He’d been badly made, hastily made, and made against all the laws and rules that governed the vampire clan. Not that they had many rules, and not that they really cared. They followed the rules only because they feared the consequences of breaking them and not from any moral obligation. May moved very slowly, so as not to startle him into attacking her.
“I can help you,” she said, crouching in front of him. “It’s a strange dream, isn’t it? I can help you.”
“I just want to wake up.” His voice was hoarse and his fangs, sharp as needles, glittered with bloody saliva.
“All right.” May eased her hand into her purse. “I want you to stand up straight. That’s right. Now, close your eyes and say, ‘There’s no place like home.’ Say it three times, and you’ll wake up.”
“All right.” He nodded, pathetically glad to obey. He screwed his eyes shut. “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.”
May took careful aim and drove the stake through his heart.
“There’s no place like … home.” The creature opened its eyes, but they were empty and saw nothing now. He was so slight he fell like a ribbon to the sidewalk, landing without a sound. His bare foot pointed at the sky. It started to rain again, harder.
Jennifer Macaire lives in France with her husband, three children, & various dogs & horses. She loves cooking, eating French chocolate, growing herbs and flowering plants on her balcony, and playing golf. She grew up in upstate New York, Samoa, and the Virgin Islands. She graduated from St. Peter and Paul high school in St. Thomas and moved to NYC where she modeled for five years for Elite. She went to France and met her husband at the polo club. All that is true. But she mostly likes to make up stories.
Welcome to The Purple Dee. Pull up a chair and get settled in, the show will start soon!
Our featured performer tonight is Jack the Stripper. He's Jack Severn, newly back from the dead. He's magical, he's hot, but evil he's not!
Jim Ling-Li, Necromancer extraordinaire, brought him back to life, gave him some extra features, and, as you'll see, made him irresistible --
Especially to Jack's ex-girlfriend Brianna. Jack's sexier than ever, and they're better together. But she doesn't want to risk her heart, not again, and definitely not with a zombie.
Jack also has a mission. He's back to catch the Heart Taker, the mutant that's been terrifying human and undead alike. His current obsession's none other than Jack's Brianna.
So give a big hand for Jack...he's going to need all the support he can get to catch his own murderer.
*Jack the Stripper was originally published by Loose Id as "Zombie Jack". It has been re-edited and re-issued by Evernight Publishing.
Now available at Evernight Publishing!
His arm fell off again. The first time it happened, he’d been holding a heavy suitcase. A woman noticed and let out a terrified scream. He looked down. The suitcase lay on the ground, his hand still gripping it.
“Ahhhh!” he screamed too. Suddenly everyone in the bus station was either screaming or running. Panicked, he grabbed his arm, first having to pry his fingers off the suitcase, and fled.
With the bus station far behind him, he slowed down and tried to take stock of his situation. He was lost. His arm had fallen off. Well, it could be worse. At least he hadn’t lost it. He took his shirt halfway off and popped his arm back into its socket—getting it backwards the first time.
It was so bizarre. His arm was like part of a toy that popped in and out of its socket. A strange, magnetic, magical effect held it together. At least he didn’t feel anything and it wasn’t too gross once you got used to seeing bare bone and muscle. No blood. No pain. No suitcase—he’d left it in the bus station. No clean clothes. A raindrop landed on his nose. Then the sky opened up and let down a deluge. Great.
Hunching his shoulders against the rain, he hurried down the street, letting his instinct guide him. A sort of whispered tingle ran through his body, urging him this way and that. It was the same sort of tingling pull that made him go to the bus station. It had led him this far—he might as well follow it to see where he’d end up. The mysterious force coursing through his body tugged him along, and then spun him around and pushed him into a dark, narrow alleyway.
He looked around. At one end of the alley was a dumpster. At the other end was the quiet street where he’d arrived. He knew where he was. Things were starting to fall into place.
He waited a few minutes, but no one had followed him. He sighed, and went to the green door. He tried the handle, but it was locked, and when he pulled it, his arm fell off again.
Depression and dismay rolled over him. He bent down, picked up his arm, and put it back in place. Nothing was going right. He kept hoping he’d wake up from the nightmare he found himself in, but it wasn’t happening. He was dead, and he had no place to go except here. Timidly, he rapped on the green door. No one answered, so he knocked harder, and then, when the door remained shut, he made a fist and pounded with all his might.
After a few moments it opened and a man with long blond hair down to his waist peered out at him. The man rubbed bloodshot blue eyes, yawned, and then said, “You’re too early for the audition. It won’t be for another couple hours.” With that, he shut the door in Jack’s face.
Audition? Jack blinked, backed up, and looked more carefully at the green door. Taped to the door was a sign. “Auditions. All day Sunday.”
He rapped on the door again, and the blond man opened it. He looked cross. “Look man, it says starting at 2 p.m.”
“It says all day Sunday,” said Jack. “Is today Sunday?”
“Of course.” The blond man looked perplexed. “All day Sunday? Let me see that.” He stepped out and examined the sign. “Right.” He looked at Jack. “Wait a minute.” He went inside. A minute later he was back with a felt-tipped pen. Carefully, he blacked out the “All day” and wrote, “Starting at 2 p.m.”. Putting the top back on the pen he nodded. “Better.”
“Could I wait inside?” Jack asked. “It’s raining.”
The blond man had been about to shut the door. He scratched his head then shrugged. “All right. You can wait in the lounge. Follow me.”
Gratefully, Jack entered the building where he was pretty sure he’d been killed.