by Will Hill
He doesn’t know he’s doing it, thought Jamie. Doesn’t realize how often he touches his scars.
Jamie felt his own hand twitch toward his neck, where an ugly red patch of skin stretched from his jaw to his shoulder, a memento of the search for his mother, which now felt like years ago.
You’re not the only one, he thought. We’ve all got scars.
“How’s your girlfriend?” asked Frankenstein. “What’s her name? The vampire?”
“Larissa,” said Jamie, through a suddenly clenched jaw. “She’s fine. Thanks.”
Frankenstein nodded. “Is she still in America?”
“Yes,” said Jamie.
“Best place for her,” grunted the monster.
Jamie bore down on the fury that was rising up through him with all his strength and somehow managed to push it back.
Be calm, he told himself. It’s not his fault. Be calm.
Frankenstein’s hatred of vampires was long-standing and potent. He had made his feelings on them as a species clear to Jamie the very first time they had gone out on an operation together; he believed them to be aberrations, creatures that had no right to exist in the world. His encounter with Lord Dante had not improved his opinion of them, and he had still not forgiven Larissa for wasting their time during the search for Marie Carpenter, despite Jamie’s repeated pleas for him to do so.
“She seems happy,” he said, as brightly as he was able. “So maybe it is.”
Frankenstein stared at Jamie with his misshapen, multicolored eyes, his gaze heavy and unblinking, and momentarily full of warning. “What about your other friend?” he asked. “The girl from Lindisfarne? Kate, was it?”
“She’s fine,” said Jamie, grateful for the new topic of conversation. “She’s getting stuck into this new project she’s running with Paul Turner. I hardly see her at the moment.”
“That’s life inside the Department,” said Frankenstein. “There’s always something going on.”
“Tell me about it,” said Jamie. “I’ve just come from a Zero Hour briefing. You’re not going to believe what—”
“I don’t want to know,” interrupted the monster.
“I know, but—”
“Jamie,” said Frankenstein, his voice like thunder. “We’ve been through this before. Cal offered me a place on the Zero Hour Task Force, and I turned it down. You know that. I don’t understand why you find it so difficult to respect my decision.”
They looked at one another for a long, silent moment.
“You’re still on the inactive list,” said Jamie, eventually. It was a statement rather than a question.
“That’s correct,” replied Frankenstein.
“Why?”
“I would have thought that was obvious. I’m dangerous. I’m of no operational use to anyone.”
“You’re dangerous three days of the month,” said Jamie. “And I’m obviously not suggesting you go out during them. But the rest of the time—”
“I’m sorry,” interrupted Frankenstein. “As always, I’m curious as to why you think this is any of your business?”
Jamie felt his face fill with angry heat. “I’ll tell you why it’s my business,” he said. “It’s my business because I risked my life, and the lives of four other people, to drag you out of that theater in Paris and bring you home safe. That’s why.”
“Why did you do it, though?” asked Frankenstein. “Why did you risk so much to rescue me?”
“Why?” asked Jamie, leaning forward in his chair. “What the hell do you mean, why? Because we’re on the same side. Because I thought we were friends. Because I didn’t want you to die. Take your pick from any of those. Dante would have killed you if we hadn’t got there when we did, and now all you can do is drink whisky and ask me stupid questions? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You’re lying to yourself, Jamie,” said Frankenstein. The monster’s tone was even, maddeningly so. “Why did you rescue me?”
“Because what happened to you was my fault,” shouted Jamie. “If I hadn’t listened to Tom Morris, then everything on Lindisfarne would have happened differently. You wouldn’t have fallen, or been bitten, or lost your memory. So when we found out you were still alive, I couldn’t let you die, okay? I had to find you and bring you home. Do you understand? I had to.”
Frankenstein smiled at him, an open expression that seemed full of genuine warmth. “I know, Jamie,” he said, his voice low. “And if you think I don’t appreciate what you did, then you’re sorely mistaken, I promise you. I owe you my life, truly I do. But we both know why you did what you did. Because you felt guilty, because you believed that rescuing me would atone for the mistake you believe you made last year. Which, as I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times, was never your fault in the first place. Bad things happen, Jamie. They do. You trusted a senior operator that you had no reason not to and things went wrong. You blamed yourself, and I understand that. But you rescued me, you brought me home, and now you can put down that weight you’ve been carrying around with you since I fell. I meant it when I said I owed you my life, Jamie. But that doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to live the rest of it.”
Jamie felt his anger dissipate, and slumped back into his chair.
“I get it,” he said. “I get how bad Paris was. I mean, I don’t really, but I can guess.”
“It’s not just Paris,” said Frankenstein. “Dante, Latour, they’re only part of it.”
“So what is it?” asked Jamie.
“It’s impossible for you to understand,” said Frankenstein. “I’d buried so many of the things I’ve done, buried them so deeply that I’d been able to convince myself that maybe I wasn’t the monster everyone claimed, that maybe the good I’ve done could outweigh the bad. But it can’t. It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not?” said Jamie. “Why shouldn’t it?”
“Because it doesn’t. You can never truly bury the past. I thought I had, and when it all came back to me, it was like experiencing it all again for the first time. It was like having my soul torn to pieces in front of me. I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me, Jamie, or pity me. But I need you to understand that I can’t go back out there. I just can’t.”
Jamie felt his heart go out to the huge gray-green man, who had once sworn a solemn oath to protect the Carpenter family. It was obvious to him what the missing word in Frankenstein’s explanation had been.
He’s ashamed. Of the things he did. Of himself.
“The thing you don’t want to know about is big,” Jamie said. “There’s a new type of vamp out there. Really strong. Really fast. Angela Darcy’s squad took one down last night and two of them ended up in the infirmary, so I’m going to say this for the last time. We could really use your help out there.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Frankenstein. “I can’t. What about you? Are you going out?”
Jamie checked his console. “In just over an hour,” he replied. “The entire active roster is going out today or tonight.”
“You’re taking your rookies?”
He nodded. “Holmwood has temporarily activated all the trainees. They go back to the Playground as soon as this is dealt with, but as of right now, they’re officially operators.”
Frankenstein poured himself another glass of whisky. “Are they ready?” he asked.
“No,” said Jamie. “But I think they’ll do okay. And, to be honest, they’re going to have to. This is pretty much the definition of ‘in at the deep end.’”
The monster took a sip of his drink. “Keep a close eye on them.”
Jamie forced a laugh. “Both of them are older than me. One was some kind of SIS assassin and the other was a Parachute Regiment soldier on the verge of SAS selection. I’m hoping they’re going to keep an eye on me.”
Frankenstein put his drink down and leaned forward.
>
“I’m serious,” he said, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. “I don’t care what they did, where they did it, or for how long. They’ve never seen the things that you and I have seen. So I’ll say it again: Keep a close eye on them. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah,” replied Jamie. “Okay, sure, I hear you. I’ll be careful.”
Frankenstein sat back. “I’m sure you’ll try,” he said. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter, and Jamie felt the atmosphere in the room lift. “Now let’s talk about something less gloomy. How is Matt enjoying being asked to save the world?”
Jamie opened his mouth to answer, then felt his console vibrate once in its loop in his belt. It was the alarm he had set for himself, to make sure he had enough time to do everything he wanted to do before meeting up with his squad.
“Matt’s fine,” he replied, standing up. “I’ll tell you next time, I promise.”
“You have to leave?”
“I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“I thought you weren’t heading out for an hour?”
“I’m sorry,” repeated Jamie, noting the expression of sadness that had flickered across the monster’s face. “I’ll come down tomorrow, okay?”
“All right,” replied Frankenstein. “Good luck with the op. Be careful. And remember what you promised me. Stay away—”
“I know,” interrupted Jamie, a smile breaking out across his face. “I know what I promised you. You remind me every time I see you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“All right,” said Frankenstein, the sad ghost of a smile on his face. “Tomorrow.”
* * *
“Really?” asked Valentin Rusmanov, placing two cups of tea on the low table that sat in the middle of his cell. “That’s really what he made you promise?”
“Stay away from Valentin,” said Jamie, grinning. “He reminds me every time I see him.”
“How perfectly lovely,” replied Valentin, settling easily onto the chaise longue that stood against one of cell’s bare concrete walls. “Under normal circumstances I would not consider myself easily flattered, but I must confess it gives me a rather warm feeling to know that the monster considers me worthy of such warnings. Has he explained why you should stay away from me?”
“He says you can’t be trusted,” replied Jamie, sipping his tea. “He doesn’t believe your reasons for being here.”
“Well, I suppose I can’t really blame him for that,” said Valentin. “Although I am glad you choose to ignore his warnings. And I do rather resent his hypocrisy.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jamie, glancing around the cell as he spoke.
Lamberton, Valentin’s long-serving butler, was in his own cell next door but liable to appear at any moment. The ancient vampires could pass through the UV walls that were supposed to contain them with casual ease, and did so whenever they chose to. Jamie assumed that Lamberton was providing the illusion of privacy while his master spoke with his guest, although he knew full well that the servant would have been able to hear every word from a far greater distance than the neighboring cell.
Several items had been added to the room since Valentin had arrived at the Loop, offering to help Blacklight defeat both his former master and his older brother. The elegant chaise longue, the rosewood coffee table, the matching pair of green leather chairs—all were new additions. Jamie didn’t know where they had come from; they were presumably the result of discussions between Valentin and Cal Holmwood, discussions that Jamie would have loved the opportunity to listen in on.
The vampire was still a deeply polarizing figure within the Department, even after his actions during his brother’s attack on the Loop. He had fought Valeri to a standstill in front of everyone and given his own blood to help Larissa in the moments before the base’s final defense mechanism, a ring of incredibly powerful ultraviolet bombs, had reduced them both to little more than burnt husks.
But to many operators, he was still nothing more than a vampire, an old and incredibly dangerous one. He had been turned by Dracula himself, and they simply could not bring themselves to believe that he was truly on their side. Some act of betrayal was widely expected, and the prospect contributed greatly to the oppressive air of anxiety within the Department for a very good reason: No one inside Blacklight was remotely confident of stopping Valentin if he decided to turn on them.
Jamie was unsure of his own feelings regarding the ancient vampire. Valentin was unquestionably a provocateur, and it was not in his nature to provide reassurance; he had refused all requests for some form of collateral to back up his words, whether it be wearing a limiter belt, allowing the insertion of a locator chip, or anything else. He maintained that his word should be sufficient, taking great delight, Jamie was quite sure, in the knowledge that there was no good reason for it to be. But he had fed Larissa his own blood after Valeri pulled her throat out, and for that Jamie would always be grateful. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it was highly likely that Valentin had merely seen an opportunity to increase his standing within the Department. But there were so many potential levels of bluff, double bluff, and counterbluff that it would never be possible to know why he had done what he did with any degree of certainty. Jamie had decided simply to take Valentin at face value, while never lowering his guard for a second or letting his hand drift too far from the grip of his T-Bone.
Doing so had proved easier than expected, because above and behind and beyond all the rational analysis of the situation lay a simple truth, a truth that would have broken Frankenstein’s heart to hear.
Jamie liked Valentin.
He liked him a lot.
The vampire was supernaturally full of life: cheerful, arrogant, funny, and endlessly charming. His appetite for the world around him was infectious, even though it had led him to commit atrocities that turned Jamie’s stomach, and he found his spirits lifted merely by being in the vampire’s presence. The same, he noted with a mixture of sadness and guilt, could not be said of Frankenstein.
“The monster has done things over the course of his long life that even I would have thought twice about,” replied Valentin. “I know he’s a loyal little Blacklight puppy now, but he wasn’t always so tediously wholesome. So for him to judge me seems rather hypocritical. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“I don’t know,” replied Jamie. “He regrets the things he did. You don’t. Isn’t that a pretty big difference?”
Valentin smiled broadly. “Touché, Mr. Carpenter. But answer me this. Do his regrets undo any of the pain he caused?”
Jamie shook his head.
“Quite right,” said Valentin. “Regrets and guilt and self-flagellation are all well and good, but they cannot change what has already happened. A murderer may find God in prison, or undergo therapy and come to regret his crimes. It may well mean he never kills again. But it won’t bring his victims back to life.”
“True,” said Jamie. “But it’s better than the alternative.”
“The alternative, in this case, being me?”
“That’s right.”
“I suppose from your perspective that’s true,” said Valentin. “From mine, there is nothing more cowardly than pretending to be something you are not. If the day comes when someone puts a stake through my heart to punish me for the things I’ve done, I will bear them no ill will. By the standards of what passes for morality in this day and age, I’ll deserve it, for having lived my life as I chose. Which is why it frustrates me to know that your superiors still cannot bring themselves to trust me. I have never claimed to be anything other than that which I am, and I have no intention of starting now. Can you see why it annoys me so?”
“I can,” said Jamie. “But if it surprises you, then you’re nowhere near as clever as you think you are.”
There was a moment’s silence before the ancient vampire burst out laughing, and Jamie joined in. The joke
had been risky, but he believed he had acquired a pretty good feel for Valentin’s boundaries, such as they were, and had been reasonably confident of getting away with it.
“I do enjoy talking to you, Mr. Carpenter,” said Valentin, once their laughter had faded. “There is more life in you than in a dozen of your black-suited friends.”
“Thanks,” said Jamie, smiling broadly.
I like talking to you, too. I look forward to coming down here.
“You’re most welcome,” said Valentin. “So. What’s currently occupying your time, Mr. Carpenter?”
“You know I can’t tell you,” replied Jamie. “Although I’m sure you know.”
Valentin smiled. “I do hear the occasional murmur, even all the way down here. Emptying the jails was a clever move on my former master’s part. Very clever indeed.”
“You think it came from Dracula?” asked Jamie. “Not Valeri?”
Valentin snorted. “Please,” he said, his voice thick with contempt. “Although getting others to fight instead of him does indeed sound like the work of my dear brother, this is too bold, too smart a move for his tiny little brain to have devised. This is Dracula beginning to assert himself, I’m sorry to say.”
“That’s what I thought,” said Jamie, and sighed, deeply.
“I hear the escaped vampires are unusually powerful. How perplexing.”
Jamie narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about it?” he said.
“Nothing,” said the ancient vampire, with a glint in his eye that Jamie didn’t like. “Absolutely nothing. I assume you and your colleagues are no closer to locating my former master?”
“You know I—”
“Can’t tell me, yes, of course,” interrupted Valentin. “So I will just assume that’s the case, and you need neither confirm nor deny. Which is a shame, especially as I’ve told your superiors on a great many occasions that there is a solution to your problem.”
Jamie sat forward in his chair. “What solution?”
“Me, Mr. Carpenter,” said Valentin. “Sorry, I rather assumed that would have been obvious. I can find them.”
