Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family

by Treharne, Helen

  It reminded me of lazy Sunday afternoons when the three generations of Morgan women would sit and cackle at the television, while my grandfather potted about in the shed or in the garage. Granny would hush us to be quiet while Mum and I would pull faces at the ceramic oddities taking pride of place on the screen.

  “I should go,” I sighed as the credits rolled.

  “You don’t have to you know,” Mum said. “You’re always welcome here.”

  “I know,” I said yawning. “I’ve got some receipts to sort through at home and I want to take a quick pass at the monthly accounts.”

  Mum shuffled up the sofa, adjusting her top and fixing her hair which had been flattened by reclining.

  “Oh, leave it, I’ll be doing them. They’ll wait.”

  “Yeah, I know but I’d rather get a head start on things. Besides, it’s sleepy-time I think and a big day tomorrow. I want to go online and have a look at what’s up for sale. I know we talked about keeping an eye open for some bargain properties, so I thought I’d check out what the auctioneers have got on. There’s an auction in Cardiff tomorrow I wouldn’t mind checking out.”

  “Very exciting. It’s nice to have you back Sophie. You’re much better at all that wheeler-dealing than me.”

  “I doubt that. But we should look into our options. It might help us figure out if we want to invest in more houses or stay with things as they are.”

  Mum swung her legs off the sofa, reached over and patted my knee. “Always so sensible Sophie.”

  “Isn’t that the way you raised me?” I replied, smiling.

  I was right; the house did feel empty on my return. Mickey was gone. Charlie was outside, taking advantage of the recently installed cat flap and the milder weather.

  I threw the local newspapers, The Gazette and The Western Mail, down on the counter. The latter contained the weekly property supplement, for Cardiff and the surrounding area, areas we didn’t currently own in but demanded the highest rents and biggest selection of tenants.

  Mum had quickly circled a couple of properties which were for sale, one of which was an older property in Cardiff and was going to auction following the death of the owner. The three-storey property had been converted into self-contained flats, all with tenants, but the beneficiaries hadn't wanted to keep it. They wanted a quick sale - perfect for our little property empire. I read the adverts over a cup of tea in the dining nook. With the new carpet and a good scrub, you would never have known I'd slain a vampire in the tiny annexe only a few weeks earlier.

  Flicking through the newspapers was a welcome distraction to Mickey’s absence. In addition to the property listings, I read the "IRON AGE MAN PUTS WALES ON THE ARCHAELOGICAL MAP" article twice. The plan was to exhibit it in a new collection at the National Museum in Cardiff as part of a collection showing the evolution of Gaelic life in the area. It was being hailed as a "first for Wales" as it was rare to find a relic in such a location, proving that the coastline around Bethesda was not only further out, which was already established, but that it had been inhabited.

  I was relieved that everyone seemed to accept that my slain vampire was just some unidentifiable relic from history, but I hoped that the story wouldn't get much further pick-up. As far as I knew, that was the only vampire in the area. I didn't want any other vamps to pick up on the photos and realise that someone had killed one of their kind. I doubted they had that sort of emotion, but you never knew - who could tell what went through the mind of a stone cold killer. That’s all vampires were, after all.

  12

  Kasper hadn't expected Kurt to be unconscious for quite so long. If it was going to be much longer, Kasper would have to bite him - partly because he could help heal the cut on his head, but also because he was hungry. Hunger had a habit of creeping up on him when he felt vulnerable.

  In the time that Kurt had been lying on the cellar floor, Kasper could have easily walked out of the building, got his bearings, fed again and returned. Kurt would have been none the wiser.

  But Kasper also knew that this might be his only opportunity to see his brother again and he wasn't going to fuck it up. Kasper had come to Wales to search for Julie and for what he thought might be his daughter; finding his sibling there too had to be a sign that something big was going to happen. Kasper hadn't chosen to be a vampire and while he had the strength and wherewithal to cling onto humanity he would. He wouldn't kill if he didn't have to. He wouldn't manipulate if he didn't have to.

  The killing of the boy in Antwerp jarred with him. His acquaintances, his coven, his nest, whatever they wanted to call themselves, had gone too far. None of them could have saved the boy - he was so far gone it would have required the skill and expertise of a much older, more practiced vampire. The irony, that if he had been with Ferrers then the boy would be alive, didn't escape him.

  A groan came from the body on the floor. Kasper shook his shoulders, stretched his neck and composed himself.

  Kasper had already freed himself from his restraints by the time dawn had broken. There had been little else to do. He'd even taken a little walk around the cellar, up the stairs and around the house. He'd seen the manuscript which his brother had left carelessly lying out on the dining table. He didn't understand it but, given the delicate nature of the material, he knew it was valuable. There were symbols which he knew to be from vampire lore, but the text was in Latin, a language he knew nothing of, except for seeing it in some of Ferrers’ books. It was probably best not to mention his reconnaissance to his brother; as far as Kurt was aware, Kasper had been holed up in the cellar.

  Kurt moaned again and lifted his head slightly from the floor. “What happened?” he murmured. He felt a large bump on the top of his forehead, near his hairline.

  Kasper sat on his hands and silently focused on the wall ahead of him. Waiting.

  Kurt shuffled around on the floor until he was able to prop himself up on his elbows. He scrutinised his brother and saw the bungee cords were missing. His eyes darted across the floor; they were nowhere to be seen, and neither was the crowbar.

  "Don't worry brother; you are quite safe,” Kasper said evenly. “The cords, you used to tie me to this chair, are in the bag in the corner, with some others. I assume that's where you keep them. The tool is on the workbench behind you. I'm not sure if you keep that to hand to kill vampires or if you keep it somewhere particular here."

  "You... demon... monster." Kurt's head was swimming and he felt sick.

  "Yes, I am at least one of those things. I know nothing of demons, or of hell. I just know what I am now and that it is not what I chose. This is not the life I wanted for myself and not one I would have had you see."

  "So, why are you here? And where have you been? How did you get like this?"

  "It's a long story in many ways and in others, it's so simple."

  "Then I think I need a drink." Pain shot from his parting to his eyes and he winced.

  Kasper extended his hand to him. "Here, let me help."

  Kurt hesitated. “You won’t hurt me?”

  “I won’t hurt you. A vampire I may be, but you are my brother. Besides, if I wanted to kill you I would have done it by now.”

  If the vampire had been anyone else, Kurt would have closed his eyes and prayed for a swift death. But this was not any ordinary vampire. Before all other things, perhaps, it was still his younger brother.

  As he had gone about this travels, Kurt had had always hoped that he would someday walk into a cafe or an art gallery and see his brother there. The thought angered him sometimes, the possibility that Kasper could disappear and put him and his parents through such heartache, but it was better than the prospect of him lying dead in a ditch somewhere. If Kasper was going to kill him, then Kurt wanted peace of mind about those missing years first.

  Kurt let his brother help him to his feet. It was a swift, easy movement for Kasper, even though he was by far the smaller of the two men. Kurt wondered if vampirism had made him strong. He had so many ques
tions, so many accusations, so much anger and happiness and frustration. He was confident that his brother could kill him should he choose. If he did so, then he wanted to go out in style - with a decent whiskey in him and his mind at peace.

  "Up the stairs, turn right, you'll find my sitting room. We will be more comfortable there. Besides, I need a drink."

  Kasper nodded and proceeded up the stairs and out of the cellar. He could understand why Kurt wasn't playing the polite host and showing him around. Brother or not, he was a vampire and Kurt was sensible to stay behind him, clutching on to the crowbar that Kasper had heard him retrieve.

  Kurt kept a sensible distance behind him, steadying himself on the wall whenever his concussion took over. Kasper didn't turn around; he didn't want to make his brother feel any more vulnerable than he was feeling already, though he was in more danger than he possibly realised. Kasper's humanity was fading the more removed he was from people and the more he fed, but feed he must.

  He didn't want to hurt his brother, but these were strange days - everything was confusing. He was in a foreign land, looking for a woman he had spent no more than a few weeks with more than twenty years earlier, chasing the notion that he might have a daughter. If the situation wasn't incendiary enough, he discovered his brother, in her garden of all places. Why was he there? He'd had a lot of time to mull that over during the night. It had occupied much of the morning too. Kurt knew where Julie lived - were they friends? How long for? Was he mistaken in thinking this girl could be his daughter? If she was Julie’s daughter, then could the resemblance to him just be a passing one - could Kurt be the father? Oh no, dirty bastard brother, he must have gone after Julie, got her pregnant; or maybe the child was his and Kurt, responsible, predictable Kurt has gone in and usurped his role as father. He had chastised himself for that thought - not least because that was possibly one of the most desirable outcomes. He didn't want Julie to be alone - did he?

  Kasper opened the door into the sitting room and walked to the wingback chair in the far corner, his back against the wall. He had been human for more than twenty years and had observed humanity for that time as well, so he understood that the best way, to get answers from Kurt, was to make him feel at ease.

  Heat hit Kurt when he entered behind his brother. He didn't remember lighting the fire, though if he had it should have burned out by now.

  "I lit the fire this morning. The cellar felt damp and given your condition, I thought a warm place, to recover, would suit you."

  "You've been up here?" Kurt asked, panicked. The dining table was metres away through the doors at the end of the sitting room. He had left the manuscript out. He cursed his stupidity. Perhaps Kasper could help him decipher its true meaning. Best not to mention it though, no need to arouse his suspicion or interest if he hadn't seen the manuscript.

  "Yes Kurt. I hope you don't mind."

  "Yes, I think I do."

  "You must be angry at me brother, I understand, I do. If I had thought that it would have benefited either you or mother or father for me to have made myself known to you, then I would have."

  "You should have. You have no idea what we went through, do you? The endless calls to the police, the private detective that they spent every last krona on? They sold the house, Kasper! The house we grew up in, the house they loved, all to try and find you. It killed them, the whole thing killed them."

  "And for that I am sorry, but I did not choose this."

  "You keep saying this, but yet you are here, and you are a vampire. So, what happened to you Kasper?" Kurt asked. "How did you become, like this?"

  Kasper took a sip of the whiskey that he'd poured for himself. Kurt's eyes widened.

  "Oh yes brother," Kasper said. "I can drink, and eat a little food. My body no longer needs it to sustain itself, but I can enjoy a little from time to time."

  "Really? I didn't expect that," Kurt replied. Many folk stories described vampires as everyday people with a thirst for blood. Others described demons which possessed the bodies of the deceased and rose at night to feed on innocents. Some viewed vampires as paranormal beings that sucked the energy or souls from their prey. From the Malaysian penanggalan to the Chinese jiangshi, even farther back to the striges and lamia of ancient mythology, lore was so diverse it was difficult to define what a vampire was, but he had never imagined his brother being one, and he had never imagined that a vampire would drink whiskey.

  "Yes, I don't often. It takes a while for my body to absorb it."

  "Then what happens to it?" It was an indelicate question but an inevitable one.

  Kasper smiled at his exceedingly prim brother's discomfort. "It is absorbed into my system and is excreted in other ways. Venom to be specific."

  "Venom?"

  Kasper put down his glass, lifted his lip with his finger and let his fangs drop down, the process creating a tiny tearing sound. "See?" he asked, squeezing the gum line near the top of his tooth.

  Kurt squinted but couldn't see anything. He shook his head. Kasper extended his finger. In the glow of the fire, Kurt spotted a glimmer of liquid on the digit. "Remarkable," he muttered.

  "Yes, my body has gone through many changes. When vampires feed, we automatically release a little of this liquid, from the pressure, you understand?"

  Kurt nodded. It was a strange feeling to be sat with his brother after so long, with his brother talking about vampires as if he belonged more to them than his own family.

  "Is it lethal?" Kurt asked. "The venom? Does it kill?"

  "No, far from it! I'm not sure how I would describe it, other than having an anaesthetic quality. The trace amounts that are secreted during feeding help cleanse and heal the wound. Within minutes, a bite can be healed completely. In larger doses, it has an amnesiac effect. That requires a little more effort on my part, more pressure, more focus, but it means that I can feed discreetly."

  "So you don't kill to feed?"

  "No. It's frowned upon, but I warn you brother, others will."

  "Good, good,” Kurt said with some relief.

  "But I am no saint brother. I have made mistakes. I have gone too far. I cannot guarantee your safety with me. While I have no desire to kill you, or hurt you in any way, I am capable of it, physically and emotionally."

  Kurt took a sip of whiskey and nodded. He noticed the poker propped up next to the fireplace. The crowbar, he had brought with him from the cellar, lay on the sofa.

  "So is the venom how you became a vampire? Were you bitten? Why didn't it kill you? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

  "Yes and no. I was bitten. I don't remember the details, but Ferrers, the vampire who turned me, bit me. I had been beaten up, badly. I don't remember the details. It's very vague and, at the time, I was so disoriented and broken that I would have certainly died if he hadn't found me. My injuries were too severe to be healed so he turned me instead."

  "With his venom?" Kurt wished he had his notepad with him.

  "No, although there's enough of the vampire virus in there to turn someone if they have enough. It would take a huge amount though. It's not the most efficient way of recruiting someone. A more effective way of infecting someone is through the exchange of blood. In my case, Ferrers gave me the virus by feeding me his. It healed my wounds and made me a vampire."

  A surge of bile raced up Kurt's oesophagus. He swallowed it down hard. It was sour. "Virus?" he asked.

  Kurt had harboured a suspicion that vampirism was a disease for a while. The holy water and the crucifix were things he had begun carrying after the incident with the 'Bristol vampire' as insurance more than anything - a belt and braces approach to protecting himself from the undead. This concept of vampirism gave him hope. After all, porphyria was still considered by many to be the basis for many myths and lore about the undead. What if vampirism were a disease, but a different one, Kurt wondered, perhaps then it could be cured. Perhaps he could get his brother back.

  "Does that mean there could be anti-virus, a cure?" Kurt asked.
>
  Kasper looked at his brother with kindness. "I use the term ‘virus’ loosely brother. I think of my condition as a disease. One that has consumed my body causing irreparable damage. My organs work differently. My senses are heightened, my reflexes sharper. The thirst for blood. They are all changes which I could no more reject by wishes than you could the onset of a cancer. A cure? I doubt there is such a thing but if there was I doubt it would be something the likes of you or I would ever hear of. There are people more powerful than us who have an interest in maintaining the status quo. We vampires don't have any particularly superpowers; we don't turn into bats, we can't walk up walls, we're just on this earth for much longer. Time gives us the opportunity to acquire knowledge, money, and connections - all the things that result in power. Most vampires would not want to give that up."

  Kurt swirled the amber liquid around the crystal glass. It glowed in the firelight. "And what about you, brother? Would you give this life up?"

  "Brother, I didn't choose it. I didn't want it. But it is the life I have and I must accept that. Hoping for a cure is futile. If there was one, yes I would take it. I would live out my years with a wife and children, and do all the things I wanted to. Those are the things I would have done with Julie. If I could, I would give anything to be with her, even now."

  A cocktail of sadness and rage bubbled within Kurt. There sat his kid brother, still in love with a woman that he had no right to. He was a vampire. They couldn't be together. He knew what that felt like, to love a woman that you could never be with. The irony, that it was the same woman that he and Kasper loved, did not escape him.

  "Is that why you are here now? Is that why you were at Julie's house?" Kurt asked, his voice shaking.

  Kasper took a slug of the whiskey before placing it down by his side on the marble hearth. "In a way," he said. "I've spent decades apart from her. I know I'm dangerous. I'm not naive. But in recent months, there have been some developments and I had to come. I couldn't stay away. Even if she never knows I'm here, I had to come."