Quincey Morris, Vampire ("The Wind Breathes Cold")
In 1991 author P.N. Elrod wrote a short story called "The Wind Breathes Cold" which appeared in the anthology Dracula: Prince of Darkness ISBN 0-88677-531-0. In the story Morris, who you may remember, died in the process of destroying Dracula, who had fled back to Transylvania when his plans for establishing a British homestead failed awakens in the night to discover that, as the result of an old affair, he has become a vampire. Dracula confronts him explaining that they belong to what effectively amounts to two different species of vampires and that many of Dracula's weaknesses to crosses, garlic and other anti-vampire paraphernalia are the price for his additional powers. The story ends with Quincey returning to the castle with Dracula, for a short times to adjust to what has happened to him.
In 2001 Elrod expanded the chapter into a full novel with Quincey heading off, first to Paris and then on to London in the hopes to convince his friends he's not the evil monster Van Helsing has painted him to be.
- Mass Market Paperback: 352 pages
- Publisher: Baen (May 1, 2001)
- Language: English
- ISBN 978-0-671-31988-5
- P.N. Elrod (May 1, 2001). Quincey Morris, Vampire. Baen Books. ISBN 978-0-671-31988-5.
Read more about this topic: Quincey Morris
Famous quotes containing the words quincey, vampire, wind and/or breathes:
“Cows are amongst the gentlest of breathing creatures; none show more passionate tenderness to their young when deprived of them; and, in short, I am not ashamed to profess a deep love for these quiet creatures.”
—Thomas De Quincey (1785–1859)
“I am the wound and the knife!
I am the slap and the cheek!
I am the limbs and the rack,
And the victim and the executioner!
I am the vampire of my own heart.”
—Charles Baudelaire (1821–1867)
“When the wind carries a cry which is meaningful to human ears, it is simpler to believe the wind shares with us some part of the emotion of Being than that the mysteries of a hurricane’s rising murmur reduce to no more than the random collision of insensate molecules.”
—Norman Mailer (b. 1923)
“When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay;
Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way
Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side,
The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream....”
—William Butler Yeats (1865–1939)