"What developments?"
"I've been travelling around for years Kurt, trying to put the past behind me, trying to live as normal a life as possible. It's not been easy. I don't expect your sympathy and nor do I want it. I didn't want to be with other vampires, you see? But I soon learned that even vampires get lonely. I began to feel isolated, alone."
“I can’t imagine vampires feeling lonely, yet you talk of regret and of sympathy. This is not what I expected. It’s all very … surprising.”
"But you are not as surprised as I thought you might be. You immediately seemed to know what I am,” said Kasper. “I've heard that there were people who hunt vampires, people who know of our existence, but want to destroy us, rather than work with us, live alongside us. Are you one of them, brother?"
"A hunter? No." He had read in anthropological research and religious texts about men whose roles were to defend their communities against vampires, spirits or other demonic entities.
"Then how do you know of us? Few people recall when they have met a vampire. Meet the wrong vampire and they may not survive at all.”
Kurt took a sip of his whiskey, placed it on the table next to him and extended his hands to warm them in the heat of the fire. “For many years, my area of study was comparative religions, within a framework of the sociology of religion.”
Kasper smiled, remembering his brother, pouring over his books by Margaret Meade, Durkheim, Weber and Wallace. Kurt had his head in his thesis the last time they had seen each other.
“Studying religion got me thinking about how myths and mysteries are used to address sociological and societal problems - possessions, miracles and so on. I was researching a piece in Romania when I became intrigued with how their legends and folklore are still so alive. You could say that I have hunted them ever since – metaphorically that is. I have always believed that there was some factual basis for many shared supernatural beliefs, although they may not necessarily be paranormal in origin.
”Interesting, so you have believed in the existence of vampires since then?” Kasper asked.
“I suppose I have, although it has been research I have pursued as a hobby rather than on a professional basis. Until now I have never met with someone who identified as a vampire.”
Kasper raised his glass in a toast, but without a hint of pleasure in his eyes. “Then you are lucky.”
“There was a man recently, who I helped after a collision with a car. I was convinced at the time that he was a vampire, but the incident happened so quickly I couldn’t be certain.” Kurt said, returning to his whiskey.
“What made you think he was a vampire, Kurt? We don’t usually make our true natures known.”
“I think he was dazed by the incident,” Kurt replied. “He tried to bite me. He missed fortunately, but they were not normal teeth. At least they didn’t look like it, the glimpse that I saw.”
“You always were the one with the brains," Kasper said, gazing around the sitting room. The gilt-framed map of Europe on the wall, the leather chairs, the Chinese rug on the floor and the wooden carvings on the side table, all screamed bachelor. Kurt may have had brains, Kasper thought, and even a little money, but there was no sign of a family, of a life other than his books, papers and research. Although the decades had taken them on different paths, they had both ended up in the same place - alone.
Kurt took a sip of whiskey. It warmed him. “Not clever enough to work out what happened to you though, eh brother?"
"You could not have known,” Kasper replied. “How could you have?"
"Perhaps."
“There is no perhaps about it, brother. When I awoke in that room, covered in my own blood, confused, scared – even I didn’t know what had happened to me. You didn’t find me because I didn’t want to be found.”
Kurt grabbed the arm of the chair as he stood and walked over to the side table next to the fire. He poured himself a large measure into the crystal glass. "Whiskey?"
Kasper shook his head.
"I still can’t get used to the idea of you drinking whiskey with me one minute, then drinking blood the next.”
"But I have to drink blood brother, I would die without it. But I take a little and only when I need it. My victims are none the wiser or the worse for it."
"You make it sound harmless."
"I didn't say that."
"Have you killed anyone?"
"Yes, I have made mistakes, a long time ago. I tried not to feed, to try to conquer the vampiric disease taking control over me, but abstinence made it more difficult. The hunger became greater, my self-control weakened. I reverted to feeding little but often, I rarely veer from this."
"But sometimes you do? Is that what you're telling me brother?"
"Yes. I am not the same as once I was. I look like the brother you knew; I have his memories, his habits even, but he is slipping away. This is a lonely life Kurt; when the only company you can hope to have, is that of other vampires, you start to think in ways you wouldn't previously have done. Humanity becomes a concept, an interesting thing to study, but the physical emotions are fading."
“Is that why you are here? For company? Why Kasper? Why now?”
“Company? No," Kasper replied. "I wish it was that simple. For the past year or so I've been travelling with a crew of vampires, a motley crew I admit, and not people you would want to associate with. We ended our relationship in Antwerp; they weren't the most restrained of hunters and caused some problems. I wouldn’t have stayed with them for much longer. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they caused some issues there, attacked some people they shouldn't. It led me to a bar where I came across a photograph of Julie's daughter, Sophie."
"Sophie. How? What? Sophie. Really?"
"You know her?"
"I know of her," Kurt said.
"What do you mean you know of her? You were at Julie's house! Are you not friends? What are you keeping from me?"
"Nothing, I’m not keeping anything from you.” Heat flashed across Kurt’s cheeks, but it wasn’t from the fire. “I just went to look; I mean, I sometimes go there, just to check in, to make sure she's safe."
Kasper took a long, cool look at his brother. “You just watch her?”
Kurt studied the vampire sitting opposite him. The glow of the fire warmed Kasper's complexion and he appeared youthful. He was again the handsome, no, beautiful, boy he had grown up with. He wanted to throw his arms around his brother and embrace him, but something held him back.
"Why were you at Julie's?” Kurt asked, gazing at the amber whiskey.
“I’ve told you. It’s because of Sophie.”
"What? Sophie? What has she got to do with it? You leave her out of it. And Julie. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all. You don't bother to pick up the telephone and call your parents, but you go out of your way to find Julie now? She doesn't need this. She has a daughter. She has moved on. You may not want to hear this brother, but she is happy, I know it!"
"You know it? Really?” Kasper snapped. “If you know so well, then why are you sneaking around in her garden? Why didn't you knock on her door and call the police when you saw an intruder?"
Kurt stuttered, his head was pounding, the heat from the flames was making him sweat and he needed more whiskey than was left in the bottle. "You were watching her! Sneaking about!"
"If I was sneaking about, then what were you doing brother? You question what I want with her. I'm fucking dead! Why are you trying to rationalise my behaviour? I’m a vampire. You shouldn’t be surprised if I ripped your throat out now – you shouldn’t be surprised by anything I do. I don’t have to explain anything to you, especially about Julie."
"Leave her out of this!" Kurt slammed the glass down on the table beside him. "You... you...you don't deserve her."
"No brother, I don't, but I think - neither do you." Years of watching humanity from the sidelines told Kasper his brother was jealous. He was a little surprised that he hadn’t seen it before – not just in th
e way Kurt’s eyes danced when he mentioned her name, but in Kurt’s unwarranted coldness towards Julie all those years earlier.
Why else would someone with such disdain for her be lurking around Julie’s house? Kurt was in love with her. His own brother, in love with his Julie!
A feeling like anger curdled in the pit of Kasper’s stomach. In that moment, he wanted to leap across the Chinese rug and sink into his teeth into Kurt’s neck more than anything else. His pupils dilated, his lips curled back, his fingers became claw-like.
Kurt's eyes widened, his breathing became rapid, heavy, he knew he was in danger, that he'd spoken fast and loose with his brother. Amidst the head injury, confusion and the welcome sight of his brother, Kurt had momentarily allowed himself to forget that the creature sat in the high back chair in front of him was a killer.
Kurt leapt to his feet, instinctively reaching for the crowbar he'd brandished as a weapon. But he quickly remembered it lay across the room on the sofa, the seat he had foolishly vacated. His eyes met Kasper's.
Kurt looked at the poker propped against the fireplace. Kasper looked at it too.
"Ruunnn..." the vampire hissed.
Kurt made for the door. He wished that he still ran, that he’d taken care of himself, his athletic frame now weighed down with an expanding midriff he'd done little to halt. Still, it was amazing what motivation could do. Kurt lolloped past the sofa, grabbing the crowbar as he went.
Kasper watched, his neck muscles tense, his nostrils flaring, eyes darkening, fingers ripping into the leathery flesh of the chair's arms.
Kurt swung the door open. It hit the arm of the chesterfield sofa and bounced back, smacking his rear as he staggered through it. The door slammed shut and he heard the turn of a key behind him. Clunk. Kasper had locked himself in the room. Kurt collapsed on the hallway floor, his back against the wall, the crowbar clutched desperately in both hands; then he waited, waited for his brother to burst through the door and kill him.
13
Elsewhere in the city, another human was having a different type of vampiric experience. Darren Thomas didn't like renting to vampires, or anything else supernatural for that matter. They were a devil to clean up after. Vampires left blood on the carpet and werewolves tore the furniture up something chronic. He would have preferred to have rented to students, but that was now firmly out of the question since the new regulations came in - now they all needed their own sinks and locks on the doors. Besides, the vampires were prepared to hand him a huge wedge of cash.
He wondered whether he should just sell up. Lots of small-time landlords were. But the regular income was useful. If he didn’t have that he’d have to take a job and he liked doing his own thing. If he sold it, he’d lose a substantial chunk of the proceeds to the tax man. Most of the time he rented to families and they didn’t cause him any significant issues. He only had to pick up the weekly rent money and complete the odd repair. The house was in good condition so needed little in the way of renovations.
Of course, the guy handing him over a wedge of cash ‘no questions asked’ wasn't walking around wearing his ‘I heart vampires’ badge, but Darren could tell he was one of them. Perhaps he wouldn’t have guessed if it was just the guy, but the three of them together had a look – the look. Plus they had that smell about them - blood.
Darren knew that the majority of people would have thought there was nothing suspicious about the two men, nor the woman. But Darren had been a sickly child and had been around enough blood and close to death enough times to know what it smelled like.
Darren’s grandfather had also been a hunter. A vampire hunter, among other things. Aneurin Llewellyn-Bevan, his maternal grandfather, had hunted the supernatural and the strange for most of his adult life. Aneurin had never told Darren directly, he had just crafted tales of the weird and the wonderful for his grandson. . Darren’s childhood had been filled with fantastical tales of scary monsters, stories full of life lessons and morality, stories packed with danger.
In his later years, when Aneurin became more infirm and less mentally stable, he openly told the world of the demonic creatures he had tracked and slain. “It’s his frail mind,” Darren’s mother had told him. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Darren had humoured the old man, much to his mother’s annoyance.
It was only after the old man’s death that Darren had found the journals and notebooks that this grandfather had maintained over the years. They were locked away in a box in the attic of the house he had inherited and now rented out. He still wasn’t sure how much be believed and how much was fantasy.
What Darren did know was that his grandfather would be spinning in his grave at the prospect of vampires living in his house. But times had moved on and, as long as nothing did him any harm, Darren was prepared to take a more relaxed view.
As long as nobody got killed and people paid their rents on time, he wasn't bothered what people did behind their own front doors, even vampires. For all he knew, half of what his grandfather had scrawled down in his ramblings were made up anyway. The old man had lost his mind in the end. A lot of it was probably exaggerated anyway.
"So, do you know how long you'll need the house for?" Darren asked the younger man in the tight t-shirt.
"God, let's hope it's not for too long," said the leggy brunette with the great shoes.
Richard stared at him. "There's enough cash there for both the first and the last month's rent.” Darren took the wedge of cash being offered to him. “There's an extra grand there to cover our bills - we don't want to be troubled with them if you don't mind. It’s better they stay in your name. If we need it for more than two months, or you need more for the utilities et cetera, there'll be cash ready."
"And you're sure you don't want to take a look inside the property first?"
"That's quite alright, Mr Thomas,” the older vampire said. “My daughter and my business associate have perused the listing in some detail, as have I. This will do quite nicely."
"Okay, well if you're sure," Darren said. In fact, it was more than alright with him too. He didn't want to have to spend any more time with the creepy tall guy than he had to. Immaculate and well-dressed he might be, but there was a chill in the air around him that made him uneasy. The other two might have appeared younger, but Darren had the overwhelming feeling that the older man was the most dangerous.
"Yes, Mr Thomas," Ferrers’ fingers brushed his as he took the keys from his hand. Frostiness swam up his arm and tickled his heart. Darren didn't trust this guy at all.
Darren thrust the wad of cash into his messenger back and zipped it up. "Okay, well you have my number if you need anything.”
The three vampires watched him hop into his beat-up camper van and hurtle down the tree-lined street.
"I've dealt with my fair share of contracts," Rachel said, "but did anyone else think that was odd?"
"Careful my dear,” Ferrers, said smiling. "You almost sound like your old self again. Perhaps if we’re all very lucky you’ll be able to exercise some self-control and behave yourself soon."
There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice which was not lost on Richard. "It would be easier for all of us if you could, you know,” Richard said.
Rachel rolled her eyes.
"There is a middle way, my dear,” Ferrers said. "I turned you for the person you were, let's start improving on that shall we? Let's try to build on it rather than fighting it?"
For a moment, Ferrers reminded Rachel of her own father. He always told her that she could do anything, be anything, not be that stereotypical woman - not like her mother who was always horrified that her daughter hadn't married and started producing kids by the time she was thirty. A partnership in a law firm won't keep you warm at night she'd say. The skin on Rachel’s arms tingled, and she felt a strange sense of pressure in her chest - her human emotions trying to figure out where they lived in the mind and body of a vampire. Damn it, she thought, Ferrers is always right about everything.
Ferrers’ and Richard's eyes met and Ferrers nodded, signalling that they should take Rachel in. Richard had been a cold human being, heartless even some would say, and so his body's battle with becoming a vampire was purely a biological, rather than an emotional, one. Ferrers’ used him to anchor Rachel. If he hadn’t, then Ferrers would probably have killed her. It was all becoming quite tiresome.
Richard took the keys from Ferrers’ hand. They jangled as he searched for the front door key, but he quickly found it. With the right key at the ready, he placed his hand firmly on Rachel's back and steered her towards the door.
Ferrers cast his eye around the street before following them - quiet in terms of people, cars parked each side, trees, street lighting, and broad pavements. They had blood packs in the cooler in the boot of the car which would see them through the immediate days ahead, but they'd need to be careful about hunting after that. He'd send Richard out to take a more detailed look around later - he could be trusted to control himself. Until then, he would catch up on his reading about the dead vampire being held in the university's research centre and the increasingly thick dossier that Richard had built up on Sophie Morgan.
Ferrers closed the front door behind him softly. It had been a while since he had lived in a city and he was filled with a peculiar sense of belonging which surprised him. It was as if he was surrounded by more kin than Rachel and Richard, a stronger more resounding feeling like being home. But for now there was just the three of them. The gentleman, the temptress and the nihilist.
Margeaux welcomed the official from the British consulate in and ushered him towards a chair across from her. Although she had a study, Margeaux preferred to complete her business in the boudoir or her salon. The familiarity of the surroundings helped her guests to feel more at home. The more relaxed they felt, the more inclined they were to tell her what she wanted to know.
"Madame Renard, it's a pleasure to meet you again," the sombre-suited civil servant cooed, extending a hand.
Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family Page 12
