Vampires are sexy beasts. By now, that is a well established element of the canon.

It is easy to understand why.

Even in the tradition's early, pre-Freudian ur texts, vampires do not attack their victims but seduce them. A wild beast may chase down its prey and rip it to bloody shreds, but the vampire smoothly insinuates himself with the mortal society he--or she--preys upon.

The central act of vampirism--the passionate bonding of two bodies and exchange of vital essences--is sensual and packed with erotic overtones. Drinking blood is a deeply intimate act. The fact that it goes beyond anything we experience in ordinary biology does not lessen its power. The vampire lives within each of us on a primordial level. Stories about vampires well up from forgotten archetypes that are no less potent for our inability to identify their source.

Michael McCarty explains it perfectly in his new novel, Liquid Diet, when one of his characters says: "Vampires are bathed in the waters of magic. When you throw blood and sex into the mix--our magic becomes very powerful."

McCarty, a prolific writer with a fascination for horror in general and vampires in particular, pays homage to the world's favorite vampire stories in his new novel. Strains from Stoker to Rice and everyone in between reverberate down the darkened streets and dank stairwells in his story. In this book, McCarty is the literary equivalent of Brian De Palma paying tribute to Hitchcock in Sisters and Blow Out.

Liquid Diet could qualify as a doctoral dissertation on popular themes in vampire fiction, but McCarty has too much fun for this to be a scholarly treatise. There are flourishes of vivid creativity and over-the-top interludes with the Amazing Kreskin that bring to mind the wacky imagination of Ed Wood. The novel is subtitled, "A Vampire Satire," so that gives McCarty license to throw convention over the rail and celebrate all that is blood-red and bigger than life in the universe of vampire fiction.

There's also plenty of sex. But to end as we began, vampires are sexy beasts.

Prologue

The vampire stood outside the radio station. Thirty days had passed since he had last fed.

The Hunger forced him to lean against the side of the brick building. His head spun, his blood on fire. He clutched the sides of his stomach. His Hunger, like a ravenous beast, slithered in his guts, chewing up his intestines.

He lit up a clove cigarette and deeply inhaled the burning tobacco and spice. It felt good to have the warm smoke in his lungs. His stomach still growled furiously.

The vampire looked up at the titan radio tower on top of the building. The sprawling transmitter pointed toward the heavens. It reminded him of the Tower Of Babel--that brought a smile to his lips. Babble, an appropriate thought before appearing on a talk radio show.

The vampire's words would be broadcast on this thousand-watt station. The show had a cult following made up primarily of Goths, the children of the night, dread fans, horror freaks, and the doom and gloom worshippers of the Chicago metropolitan area and suburbs. The signal, especially at night, could be reached as far away as the bordering states in Wisconsin and Indiana.

His agent, Curtis Ballinger, had arranged this gig to help plug his new book and sell some copies from his backlist. The vampire, however, was more concerned with his troubled soul than any book sales.

It was hard not to notice the neon signs on the side of the building; they practically blinded him. The biggest lights were in bright red that read: THE CHICAGO MEDIA AND RADIO GROUP. Under that was a blue musical note with WXYZ 81.5 FM, a yellow WLIT 101 FM, and next to that was green tubing in the shape of a wolf baying at the moon, with the words WOLF 99.9 FM blinking underneath.

"Who is the sheep tonight; who is the wolf?" he mused.

Tonight would be magical, and vampires were creatures of dark magic. He took one last drag of his cigarette, dropped it and ground it underfoot.