The Victorian Vampire

by Nick James

  We were walking into an old derelict industrial park, which was a popular meeting place for women of the night and their willing customers. I then saw a big pimp shoving his little white hooker/employee about. They were hanging around a piece of waste ground that looked like it had once been used as a car park for the surrounding companies. Now left to decay, nature was trying to reclaim it with wild grass shooting up from the cracks in the asphalt. There were a few cars in the darkness, and I’m sure all of the occupants received their money’s worth.

  Sia stood silently with me as we watched another car pull up and converse with the tall dark pimp, which ended with him pushing his employee into the car and taking a few bills in return before the car drove off into the scrubland.

  ‘What do you think, Albert?’

  I assessed the scene. We were stood in the doorway of an old carpet factory staring out at the moonlit wasteland. I scanned and saw that all the parked cars seemed to be moving in a rhythmical nature. ‘Okay, wait here,’ I said. She nodded as I crouched and moved off as quickly as I dared.

  I headed towards the pimp. He was resting lazily against his own car, seemingly bored and not paying attention. I continued to move towards him using whatever shadow and cover I could find. I negotiated the twenty feet quickly enough, leaving the last five which I could do in the blink of an eye. I was now so close to the man that I could hear the tinny emissions from his iPod earphones. I crept closer. It must have been a sixth sense because when I was within three feet, he turned around and went for his gun.

  ‘Fuck you, motherfu—’ he spat until my fist took him off his feet and into sweet Morpheus. The gun he was holding flew away into the darkness, but it seemed all his girls and punters were still busy exchanging services. I heaved the tall man onto my shoulder and carried him back towards Sia. ‘Dinner is served!’

  Her teeth glinted in the darkness. ‘Bloody hell, that was quick, but you first, Albert,’ she said.

  So I plunged my fangs into his jugular. Strangely, his blood was clean and tasted like a drink from a fresh cold stream. I felt my stomach awash with his blood, so I pulled away and let Anastasia drink the rest. It didn’t take long for Sia to be full, so then once again I fed the pimp my blood.

  We sat together in the disused factory waiting for our victim to turn. Shouts had started to come from around the pimp’s car; one of his working girls must have come back and panicked when he wasn’t there. In the other cars the grunts and groans kept on coming. When the time came and the pimp turned, I plunged my knife into the man’s heart to disappear him from this earth forever. Nobody will weep for him, and later I saw all his girls going through his car before driving off with it.

  The last thing I remembered was Sia lunging at me and kissing me furiously. And I don’t know how we got home, but I do know that we shed our clothes from the front door of my apartment to the bedroom. Our beasts had taken control of us after being allowed out to play during the kills. Blood flowed in the bed using teeth, tongue and claws until sunshine filtered through the curtained windows making shadows on the wall. By that time our lust and beasts were sated, so we could rest.

  Chapter 16

  It was midday and we were laid up in my bed; we had a slight chuckle about the situation. ‘Well, that got out of hand,’ she said with a smile on her face.

  ‘Yep, maybe that’s why I hunt alone,’ I replied and kissed her hair as she cuddled up resting her head on my shoulder.

  She nodded with the bedsheet covering her modesty. ‘I kind of understand the human thing now. Don’t get me wrong, last night was great, but our bodies, cold on cold, does give an uneasy feeling,’ Sia admitted.

  ‘My friend Tracey, we have the odd night together, but we know it won’t work. We aren’t designed to be together. It’s a shame as it would’ve been ideal. I believe we are solitary animals; we hunt alone and live alone. I think that’s why the coven is so strict on other people. Mainly because they are struggling being together, so they deflect by picking on other vampires’ actions,’ I lectured. The little bitch then bit my nipple, which caused her arse to be slapped.

  ‘I think you are right, Albert,’ she mused and traced my body with her nails. ‘Maybe I should get a place of my own. Although, the old duffers will kick off and blame you.’ She allowed a smirk to appear on her lips.

  I slammed my head back onto the pillow. ‘Shit, and the hits just keep on coming.’ I chuckled and closed my eyes.

  ‘So, did your friend Tracey talk to the UK coven yet?’ she asked, still playing let’s irritate Albert with nails and questions.

  The woman just wasn’t going to leave me be, so I picked up my phone and checked for messages. ‘Ah, we have a message from her. Oh, crap!’

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Tracey said she noticed, and these are her words, some nosey, needle-dicked prick following her, and she punched him. And it turns out he was working for the coven, like Ray the Dick,’ I told Anastasia and then texted Tracey back. ‘She has a meeting with them soon. God knows how that’s going to go,’ I said.

  ‘Why, do you think they will hurt her?’ she asked, looking concerned.

  I rubbed my forehead. ‘Well, I’m not sure. As you know I have never met them, but Tracey can be a bit feisty. And if they push her, it might go badly.’

  Anastasia smiled and sat up, letting her body free to the world. ‘Well, come on. Let’s give it another go in a nice hot shower. Better safe than sorry.’ She bounced happily towards my bathroom.

  I felt bad as I was going on a date later with a girl I had been pining for, but then again Sia was royalty, and I am but a servant, so I gave chase. Who knew duchesses squeal just like us commoners?

  8 p.m. Notting Hill, London

  Tracey Andrews was incensed. Not only were these coven pricks pissing off her friend Albert about him going out with nice, warm and normal women, but now they were following her, too.

  She strode to the address of the little rat bastard who was following her last night. He had spoilt her date with a football player from Chelsea. She could’ve milked that for days, possibly more. But nooo, she had to pick the only footballer who didn’t like to see his women punch out a four-eyed sneaky twat. Tracey stomped down the pathway to number 48 and punched the overly large black wooden door. It was a nice white stone town house, so the coven was clearly minted.

  She impatiently tapped her new Louboutin Iriza shoes in navy blue, not her favourite colour but they matched her dress, and waited for the door to be answered. It was a good job that vampires healed quickly because her feet were killing her. She chuckled to herself when she remembered how she had accidentally skewered Albert’s thigh with a different pair of stilettos during a night of playing Drunken Horny Redhead versus Albert.

  The door creaked open and there stood an old man. ‘Hello, I was told to come here,’ she said dismissively.

  He dipped his head. ‘Ah, Miss Andrews, please come in, our members are waiting.’ He moved aside.

  Tracey took off her Armani coat and handed it to the man who looked at it, shrugged and hung it on a coat hook. ‘Well, where is this coven, then?’ she said with more than a hint of impatience. There was a large mirror in the hallway, so she checked her make-up and smoothed down her brand-new Roland Mouret navy crepe dress. It cost her nearly £2000. Tracey hoped that they would appreciate it. She checked her phone for any messages but there were none so far. She placed it back in her Gucci Dionysus bag.

  ‘My name is Alfred Masterson, coven master,’ the old man said, smoothing down his own Savile Row suit. ‘This way, miss. The others are waiting for us.’

  Tracey silently chuckled to herself that she had given the great coven master her coat. ‘Nice place you have here,’ she said, letting her Bristolian accent come to the fore, but he didn’t reply. He just dipped his head politely and opened a large white door at the end of the hallway.

  She walked into the dark room which had a large polished wooden table. Her eyes flitted around, it had
thirteen chairs and two were empty. ‘Unlucky for me,’ she whispered while being directed to an empty chair. ‘Cheers, Al.’ She chuckled inwardly as Albert mentioned that vampires in the USA get a bit pissy if you mispronounce their names. Tracey looked around and saw what looked like the cast of a docudrama about the rise and fall of Henry VIII. They were split fifty-fifty men and women with Alfred but not including my fine ass.

  ‘Alfred, if you please, Miss Andrews,’ he said coldly as he took his seat opposite her and started to read through the file in front of him. ‘Right, to business. You are Tracey Daphne Andrews, born in Bristol to John and Alison Andrews, whom you fed upon on the night of your turning, along with your siblings,’ he read out and looked up at her.

  Her nails had dug into the polished wood of the chair. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? How dare you talk about them like that!’ Tracey almost screamed, her eyes now coal black, but these freaks didn’t even flinch. ‘I loved my family, and that bastard turned me into this animal!’

  Alfred nodded. ‘Indeed, and you killed him – and now you have embarrassed the lifestyle,’ he said in a monotone-like voice which any office worker had perfected over years of service.

  ‘Well, it’s either that or death. And I prefer life and fun,’ she replied, looking around at the cold, emotionless faces. No wonder Albert had kicked off at the USA coven, bloody busybodies. ‘So, I do my best to keep under the radar, and survive.’

  ‘Yes, we know, dear, that’s why you are here,’ said an old crow who was wearing the newest fashion of Henry VIII’s court.

  Tracey looked at them. ‘You have been spying on me. That’s not something friends do. So, why do you want me, and why wait so long?’

  They all seemed to laugh, although clearly they were out of practice as it sounded like the death throes of seals.

  ‘We don’t just let anyone in,’ said a man who looked like Alan Sugar. ‘We chose you because you treat the humans as a vampire should: for money and food.’

  Then it clicked – they wanted her to keep away from Albert. ‘So, this is really about my friend Albert. I heard that he got called in by the local coven, and they didn’t like his lifestyle,’ Tracey said pointedly.

  Another woman who appeared to come from the depths of the Tudor years cleared her dusty throat. ‘Yes, lying with and marrying the cattle, he is quite the embarrassment, and we don’t believe someone like you should sully yourself with such company, young lady,’ she criticised.

  The redhead bristled. ‘He loved all those women, and he fought for this country when you fuckers most probably stayed hiding in your bloody crypts.’ Her accent had now gone back to broad Bristolian. ‘He’s a good man and just wants to be left alone!’

  The same woman leaned forward sporting a wispy top lip and too much make-up and jewellery, but her fangs were prominent. ‘The problems with humans are just that – their problems. He allowed his nature to be known and used. And that could’ve impacted all of us,’ she snarled.

  Tracey’s fist bounced off the table. ‘Then maybe you should’ve talked to him. But no, you just watch and criticise instead of guiding and teaching,’ she retorted, struggling to remain calm. Albert always said her fiery red-headed temper would get her into trouble.

  It was Masterson who intervened. ‘Calm yourselves, ladies. Mr Morris’s failings are not why we are here. The reason for this meeting is to ask you, Miss Andrews, if you’d like to join our coven?’ he asked calmly, making Wispy Lip sit back, but Tracey was still stamping mad.

  ‘How many are in this coven?’

  Alfred gestured to those around the table. ‘This is the coven, the best of the best over the centuries,’ he said with pride. ‘And we wish you to join our numbers.’ They all tried to smile, apart the woman Tracey had clashed with.

  ‘And I suppose I would live here and follow your rules?’ Tracey asked, and the coven head nodded. ‘And what if I don’t want to?’

  ‘Well, we shall continue to watch you, to make sure you don’t do anything that we don’t like. And if you break the rules, then you would be punished,’ he explained like a schoolteacher.

  Tracey scanned them all angrily. ‘What will they do to Albert? And if I joined your little club, could my friend see me here when he comes for a long visit?’ She gave them all a feral grin.

  A man who hadn’t said a word so far gave a dark chuckle. ‘Mr Morris is not allowed back in these lands. The Yanks will make sure of that. Their punishments are harsher than ours,’ he said.

  The redhead saw the old woman smile who had gobbed off about her friend, which proved that their punishment would be finite. She had to do something about this. They thought they could control people because they were old and perceived themselves superior, even though they just sat in their ivory tower and played lords and ladies. Fuck ’em, she thought. ‘Can I think about it, please?’ she asked.

  They all looked at each other and agreed, all bar the bitch. Tracey knew that was going to happen. Alfred led her out down the hall and back to the front door. After she collected her coat, he opened the door.

  ‘Please consider our offer, Tracey. It would make your life easier and bring some young blood into our group,’ he said calmly.

  ‘I’ll think about it, Alfred, I truly will,’ she replied, pulling off an Academy Award winning fake smile. ‘How long do I have to decide?’

  The old man’s face was thoughtful. ‘You have one week. Come back this time next week, and don’t let Victoria upset you. She really is quite nice…deep down.’ With that, the door was closed and the redhead disappeared into the night, needing to rip some poor person apart, and then plan.

  Manhattan, New York

  I was finally ready for my date. Anastasia had left early as the sun’s rays had disappeared enough for her to escape to her waiting limo and back to the probably aggravated coven. It had been years since I had felt nerves like this as I put on one of my many branded suits with a dark purple tie.

  My watch told me I had ten minutes, so with a last look around my apartment I headed out, making sure that I had locked the front door. I didn’t want to come back to another surprise, especially with that shit Hughes on my case, and a drawer full of potential rapists’ driving licences, who shall receive a visit from me sooner or later.

  The tall and ever-happy Jasper was on the door tonight. ‘Evening, Bert. Date tonight?’

  ‘Yep, with a girl from the office opposite,’ I admitted and saw his grin widen. I held up my hand to stop any typical man-to-man sexual references. ‘I think you’ll have to manage with your sandwiches tonight, mate, unless I am really unlucky.’

  The tall man showed off his pearly whites. ‘Well, a man’s got to suffer sometimes, don’t we. Have a good night, Bert.’ He gave me a wink and another knowing smile.

  I smiled back. ‘See ya, mate. I hear there’s a new vegetarian takeaway place opening, might try it,’ I shouted back.

  As I started to cross the road I could still hear the doorman’s pleas for mercy, and that he was a carnivore. The traffic was busy, but that made it easier to jaywalk, and there she was all wrapped up to protect herself from the harsh winter winds. I stopped a couple of feet away from her and smiled, which she returned making the world feel that little bit warmer.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to finally meet you. I must admit I am quite thankful that you’re not dressed as one of your alter egos,’ Rose said, her dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth. Then she held out her small dainty hand. ‘Rose Sanders, parents named me Rosalyn, but if you call me that I will beat you to death with your own spleen. And you are?’

  I shook her hand gently. ‘Albert Morris, and that’s what my parents called me, amongst other things,’ I said. Her smile warmed the shell of my body even more.

  ‘Ah, you’re a Brit. Well, at least you don’t sound like those men off Downton Abbey and expect this girl from the colonies to swoon, Mr Morris,’ she teased, and then winked.

  I knew straight away that I liked her.

&nb
sp; ‘Aren’t you cold?’ she asked.

  I laughed. ‘Nah, I’m a London boy. If I was in that show though, I would be cleaning the boots or the toilets,’ I said, which made her laugh. ‘Nope. I’m a cold-blooded man like all British men as we plot to overthrow our old territories.’

  She linked her arm with mine and pulled me down the street. ‘Well, I am freezing my ass off, Berty. Do you mind if I call you Berty?’

  She was looking up at me as we walked through the crowds. Anna used to call me that; it had been so long. ‘No, that’s fine, Rose. Where are we going?’

  ‘That’s for me to know, and you to find out,’ she stated, steering me through the throngs, using me as a battering ram. ‘It’s not a well-known place, nice and quiet so I can pump you for information.’ Her face blushed when she said that. ‘Errrrr, not in the sexual sense either. I’m a good girl. No conquering Brit is getting over my ramparts on the first date.’

  She was a talkative little thing. ‘On my honour as an Englishman, your colonial virginity is safe with me,’ I replied, to which she guffawed.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, Berty. And about your honour, I’ve read history books. Your words aren’t to be trusted in our young nation. But you’re cute and I like your accent, so I will trust you…for now,’ Rose said with a chuckle before pulling me into a side road.

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘I didn’t take you for a back-alley girl, in the non-hooker sense of course.’

  She shot me a look and playfully thumped me in the stomach. ‘Berty, your mouth is digging a hole that only a night of Martinis can fill. So, Sir Morris, I hope your wallet is brimming over,’ the small and curvy motormouth said before pulling me through a dark doorway, which had thick contoured glass filling the door. It didn’t even look like a pub or bar. I expected to feel a gun to my head with a shout of, ‘Let’s get this done!’