by Steve McHugh
"Francis."
"Vampire blood," Francis said. "My own to be exact."
Words actually failed me. I felt as dumb as my tongue-less friend in the corner. "You injected me with vampire blood?" My words were said slowly, ensuring I didn't get one wrong or accidentally call Francis a fucking asshat. "You're a vampire?"
Francis' expression managed to convey how stupid he thought that question was. "I live underground, and you've never seen me outside. I'm pale in complexion and obviously hundreds of years old. What did you think I was? Agoraphobic?"
I shrugged. "It just never occurred to me, that’s all." I swung my legs off the bed, grateful that Francis had left my jeans on along with my shoes and socks so that I didn't feel the coldness of the tiles as my feet touched them. I winced slightly at the movement, but felt happy that I wasn't utterly numb. "That's why I don't feel anything but a little dizziness," I said. "Because your blood is acting like an anaesthetic."
"Vampire blood, from someone of my power, has incredible healing qualities."
"Your power?"
"I'm several hundred years old and have sired a dozen vampires. They mostly live in the tunnels around us. I assumed you would be angry with me, so I wanted to do it before you woke up."
"What other great effects might this have?"
"Well it could lessen your inhibitions, or cause hallucinations. But any of that will only be for the next few hours. Which is why you've got to stay here."
"Hallucinations? You've injected me with nonhuman PC-fucking-P," my voice rose about a hundred decibels at the last word.
Anger flashed on Francis' otherwise calm face. "I saved your life, Nathanial. The side effects are temporary and a tiny concern, compared with the fact that you're capable of breathing. That is something you should be grateful for."
I sighed. Francis was right, I should be grateful I wasn't dead. A few hours of trippy weirdness wasn't a lot to bear, considering the alternative. "Can I get something to wear?" I asked and sat back on the bed.
Francis' bodyguard left the room and returned a moment later with a stunning brunette woman, who wouldn't have looked out of place on a catwalk. She wore dark jeans and a red t-shirt that had a picture of a comic book character that I vaguely recognised as Blade, the phrase 'real vampires kick ass', was written underneath it. She passed me a plain black t-shirt. "My name's Laurel, I'll be watching over you tonight," she said. "Apparently you shouldn't be left alone." Her voice made a shiver go up my spine, something I really didn't need with a body full of something designed to lessen my inhibitions.
"Tomorrow we'll discuss how you managed to get in the state you were in," Francis said. "It's eleven pm, you've been unconscious all day, and I need to feed. I will see you in the morning." He turned to Laurel. "If he gives you any shit, knock him out."
She nodded and then smiled at me.
*****
We'd been at the cabin for hours on end, talking about our future in-between bouts of love making. We'd explored each other’s bodies several times over, learning every inch by taste and touch alone.
When we were finally spent, we lay naked in each other's arms. I caressed her pale shoulder. Her long auburn hair cascaded across my chest.
"This is going to be it, isn't it?" she asked, never looking up at me. "Tomorrow there will be war. I am your friend's enemy, and you shouldn't be here."
I pushed the thought aside, but the shadow of it lingered, reminding me what I would lose if my love for the woman were to be publicly acknowledged. "Yet I am anyway. He is my friend... my king, but he doesn't control my feelings." I sat up in bed, pushing the thick covers away.
"You do terrible things for him, for Merlin too. I've heard what they call you. The rumours cast a darkness over you."
I sighed. I'd heard the rumours, too. And they didn't go anywhere near far enough to describe the things I'd done in the name of Avalon. "Horrible things need to be done to maintain a peace in this kingdom. Arthur is a good man... a great man. But he's not capable of such things. He would find the very idea of murders and assassinations to be abhorrent. I do whatever is needed."
"Would you kill me? If Merlin ordered you to?"
"Merlin is... was your teacher. He has a great affection for you and would never ask me to do such a thing. And if he did..." I let my answer trail off, afraid of what that thought would lead to. "Let's not discuss such matters." I crawled across the bed and took Morgan in my arms once more, kissing her hard on the mouth. She reciprocated and began to trace her tongue down my neck and chest.
"You're going to tire me out," Morgan said slyly as she began kissing my stomach.
"Then I'll know I've done my job right," I said and laughed, stopping immediately as she took me in her mouth. The next few minutes were awash with joy and ecstasy as Morgan did things with her tongue that no woman had ever done to me before. Morgan stopped abruptly just before the point of no return, moving back up toward me. "That's cruel, leaving me like that." My voice was ragged, and full of need.
She kissed me hard and the door exploded open. I immediately raised a shield of dense air alongside us, deflecting the tiny shards of wood as we rolled off the bed and onto the floor.
I stood ready to kill the intruder, daggers of pure white air formed in my hands. Morgan was no slouch with magic, either. Her body became covered in thick rock, both protecting her and giving her a dangerous weapon.
"Who dares," I began.
"I dare," replied a familiar voice and a man stepped inside the room, the darkness from the forest beyond no longer casting thick shadows over his handsome face, and huge frame. Torches flared to life inside the cabin, orange glyphs blazing along his hands and forearms.
"Arthur," I whispered. The stone armour encasing Morgan vanished, along with my own daggers.
He took another step inside. "Get some goddamn clothes on."
*****
My eyes shot open and I bolted upright, taking in huge breaths as I fought to calm myself. Laurel was at my side in an instant, her hand on my chest, lowering me back to the bed. "Are you okay?" she asked.
I nodded. "I… I’m not sure. I don’t know what I just saw, but it was so real."
She smiled slightly as if recalling an old memory. "Probably a hallucination, they can be real mind fucks sometimes."
I stared at Laurel's hair. It was almost the exact same shade as the woman in my dream. Maybe it was exactly what Laurel said it was, but something inside me remained unconvinced. "Probably. How long was I out?"
"About three hours. I managed to finish my book." She pointed over to a comfortable leather armchair and a table, neither of which had been here when I'd fallen asleep.
"Any good?" I asked. "And any chance of some food?"
"It was about vampires, and they got most of it wrong. But it was enjoyable. The vampire died though, which wasn't the best ending ever." She walked over to her chair and removed a blue cooler from behind it, placing it next to me on the bed.
I opened it to find sandwiches, crisps, an assortment of chocolates and soft drinks. I grabbed a large BLT roll and set about filling my stomach, which growled in response. "So you're a vampire, I take it."
Laurel nodded.
I opened a can of coke with a loud hiss and savoured the cold as I took a long drink. "Shouldn't you be feeding too?"
"Already did, that's why I was late in coming. I didn't fancy rat hunting first thing in the morning, because I couldn't eat during the night."
"So do you all use humans?"
"Some of us do. But Francis owns several clubs that cater to our needs, as well as a few slaughter houses. As nice as human blood is, it's good to have a change once in a while."
I raised an eyebrow and started in on a second sandwich and a double decker chocolate bar. "Really? I thought human blood was the best you could get."
Laurel smiled, showing a tiny amount of fang. "You like steak, yes? Would you like steak every day for the rest of your life? Of course not, that would be stupid
and you'd soon get bored. So we mix up the human with cow, chicken, or any other animal we feel like. A few years ago one of us started biting the animals at London Zoo, apparently lion blood is delicious."
For some reason I couldn't help but find that ridiculous and laughed. It was the kind of laugh that makes your ribs ache, which as I'd had mine broken not long ago, made me wheeze and cough in pain. "Don't do that," I said with a smile.
"You're an odd man for a sorcerer," Laurel said, removing the cooler so I could lie back down.
"Why do you say that?"
"Most of your kind are suspicious of vampires. They think we're only one step away from one of your fabled crimes against magic. You don't appear to have that problem."
"Maybe the old me did, I just don't remember."
She shook her head. "Maybe, but ever since I was turned against my will fifteen years ago, you're the first sorcerer I've met who has looked at me with honesty in his eyes. Not fear, suspicion, or the need to use me for his own agenda. "
"Who turned you?"
"A bitch. Francis saved me from her, and has looked after me ever since. He likes you, and that's rare."
"He charged me money for saving my life," I pointed out.
"But he saved your life. With his own blood. Anyone else he would have just had Jerry toss the body into the Thames."
What a pleasant thought.
Chapter 21
"Nathanial, we need to have a conversation."
I didn't bother to open my eyes. "What time is it, Francis?"
He paused briefly, probably looking at his pocket watch. "A little after seven."
"Wake me up at ten," I said and smiled as Francis exhaled in annoyance.
"Nathanial..." he started.
I opened my eyes and sat up, immediately wincing with the sudden movement. "Nathan or Nate. For crying out loud, Francis, it's not that bloody hard. How would you like it if I called you Frank?"
Francis' eyes narrowed. "That would be... unwise."
"Then don't piss me off." I swung my legs off the bed and stood, causing more muscles to protest. I felt like I'd been hit with a car, and then backed over to make sure I got the point.
"Feeling sore?" Francis asked and motioned for me to remove my t-shirt. He examined the bullet hole and ribs, ignoring the six dark swirling marks on my chest and ribs. "They're healed, almost to the point you'd never know you were shot. The deep gash above your eye has vanished. The ache you're feeling is the gargoyle venom and remains of the silver poisoning, they're leaving your system, but you'll feel stiff and achy for a few days."
Apparently the vampire blood wasn't a total miracle worker. Still, I couldn't help but be impressed. "You should bottle your blood and sell it, you'd make millions."
"And kill millions more," he said without missing a beat as he removed the gauze from my stomach. "Drinking any more than a fraction of vampire blood by someone who is not gravely injured will kill them. Painfully and slowly, and that's if the madness doesn't drive them to suicide first. Your magic stops most of the blood's adverse effects. It's lucky you were as hurt as you managed to get yourself, otherwise you'd still be nursing a bullet wound. Besides it's a one shot deal to humans, they can take it once and if it saves their life that's it. No second try."
"Why?"
"Anymore than one dose in a human will heal the wounds, but drive them insane." He started washing his hands in the nearby sink. "Basically, all the bad shit that could happen to a person who takes it will definitely happen if it's your second time."
"How do you know all this doctor stuff?"
"Laurel taught me." He motioned for me to replace my t-shirt. "She used to be a nurse and likes to keep up to date with modern medicine. She's probably better than most doctors."
"Where is Laurel? I wanted to thank her."
"Gone to sleep for the day, she had a long night." Francis walked over to a blue tea pot placed on the table next to the armchair and poured two cups of white tea. He stirred some honey into both and passed one to me. I took the hot china teacup in hand and hoped my days of passing out were firmly behind me. I didn't need the cost of a tea set added to my bill. Knowing Francis it was probably worth thousands and had belonged to Queen Victoria.
I took in the aroma of the white tea and honey before taking a sip. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Why you got shot, and generally how much shit you've brought down on me by coming here."
I took another drink of my tea and started to tell Francis about the past few days, the job at Mars Warfare, the murder of Daniel and rescuing Dani. It took a while, but Francis never interrupted, not even a cough. He got up once to refill his cup, but that was the extent of his reaction to what he was being told.
When I got to the meeting with Jenny and my slight brain spasm, he leaned closer, as if that was the really interesting part and then moved back when I recounted my escape.
"So you and this Jenny girl are lovers I assume," Francis said. As an opening gambit, it had style.
I had to smile at his lack of tact. "Yes, we did the dance of forbidden love. Why?"
"Did you have any visions or, as you put it, brain spasms, as you were mating?"
I shook my head and tried not to think about Francis' use of the word mating. "Only the one at the pub, although I had a strange dream last night. You think Jenny's a psychic?"
"There are several types of psychics. Some have convulsions when they see a vision. Some enter a trance-like state. Some even cause both themselves and the person they're viewing to go into that trance-like state. The one common denominator is that they need body contact, the more powerful the psychic the less contact they need. Did she have contact with you?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Other than the sex," Francis said impatiently.
"She touched my hand with her finger."
Francis chuckled at whatever it was he found amusing, I wasn't about to ask what it was. I was already sure I didn't care. "Psychics live a shortened life, even shorter than a human normally does. I've known many, and only a few live into their fifties, let alone beyond. And even those have to be the most powerful. I once met a psychic who could cause visions just by caressing your skin. She was sixty-three years old. How old is this Jenny girl?"
"Mid-twenties."
"In that case, unless she is the single most powerful psychic in a millennium, I would say it's a coincidence. Maybe she slipped you something in your drink."
"I got the drinks."
"The photos could have jarred something loose. But no matter, I'm more interested in this blood magic talk. When we spoke about possible causes for your memory loss I hadn't considered it. Mostly because I know little to nothing about it. Sorcerers keep the secrets of blood magic close to their hearts."
"What do those marks on my chest mean? Could they be part of the spell on me?"
Francis looked confused for a brief moment. "What marks?"
I lifted my t-shirt again and the six marks came into view once more. "These, what else am I talking about? You just examined me and they were there, you going blind in your old age?"
Francis walked over and lowered my hands gently. "Nathan, I don't see any marks.”
The news hit me like a freight train. I blinked in shock, my mouth refusing to work. When I finally learnt to speak again, I said, "I have six dark marks on me. They're always changing, each about the size of my fist. How can you have never seen them?"
"Has anyone, in the ten years you remember, ever asked you about them? Even once?"
"They're not always there," I said weakly. "They only come when I'm using magic, or if I think about them."
"No one has, have they?"
I shook my head. "What are they?"
"I don't know, Nathan. But I'll find out for you."
I laughed. "And how much will this favour cost me?"
"We'll make a deal. You don't pay a penny, not for my help or for the vial of blood. But in exchange you'll do certain jobs for me
at a much reduced cost. You do that, and I'll help you with this in any way I can."
"And why would you do that?"
"If I involve myself in whatever crap you're in, that will use my time and resources. Favours might need to be called, and as information is power in my business, that could cost me in the long run. So instead of making you pay a cost, you'll help me in return.
"And to answer your question, I'm going to help you because, despite myself, I like you and you need my help. But nothing's for free in this world, Nathan. This is about as good a deal as you'll ever get from me."
Having Francis' full help would certainly make my life easier. But the idea of working for him on a more official basis concerned me. In the long run, it wasn't like I had a whole lot of options. The mystery woman on the phone wasn't exactly in any hurry to tell me what was going on, and with no memory of whom any of the people trying to kill me were, I couldn't go straight to the source and end it all.
In the end I had one choice. "Three," I said to Francis' obvious confusion. "I'll do three jobs, no pay, in exchange for your help and support. And I pick them. I'm not going to spend six months trying to infiltrate the mafia so I can steal a fifteenth century oil lamp."
Francis' smile reminded me of an Orca that's just found its next meal. "Deal. As of right now, I work for you. What do you need?"
Well, that stopped me in my tracks. What did I need? A missile launcher? Some sort of guide on how to kill a gargoyle? "Information," I said after a minute's silence. "I stole the Iliad for you. I want to see the people who wanted it."
"Out of the question."
"Francis, since I stole that book I've met a psychotic murderer called Achilles and been told that this whole mess started with King Priam. I don't think that job was a coincidence. Whoever came to you either knows what's going on, or they're neck deep involved. I need to see them. Preferably before the well-funded bastards after me get their wish."
