Contents
Title
Copyright
About the Author
Dedicaiton
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Preview
First published by The Writer’s Coffee Shop, 2012
Copyright © Michelle Birbeck, 2012
The right of Michelle Birbeck to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Writer’s Coffee Shop
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(USA) PO Box 2116 Waxahachie TX 75168
Paperback ISBN- 978-1-61213-078-1
E-book ISBN- 978-1-61213-079-8
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the US Congress Library.
Cover image by: © Francois De Beer | Dreamstime.com
Cover design by: Jennifer McGuire
www.thewriterscoffeeshop.com/mbirbeck
Michelle is 28 and has been writing and reading her whole life. Her earliest memory of books was when she was five and decided to try and teach her fish how to read, by putting her Beatrix Potter books in the fish tank with them. Since then her love of books has grown, and now she is writing her own, and looking forward to seeing them on her shelves, though they won’t be going anywhere near the fish tank. When she’s not writing, she’s out and about on her motorbike, or sat with her head in a book.
To James, I wish you could have seen this.
Huge thanks to all the wonderful people who have helped me through writing this, including Bec, Cait, Alice, Shay, and all the staff at TWCS. And to Bunny, first name Plot, for all the whispering.
London, 1940
London had changed a lot over the last hundred or so years. Once it had been little more than an overgrown playground for the rich and snooty society of the time. Well, perhaps it hadn’t changed that much.
As I stood on London Bridge, looking out across the city, I noticed that life seemed to go on as normally as it could in these times. The sun had set and the people were retiring for the night. They drew their blackout shades and bedded down to another night of waiting. Waiting for news of loved ones sent to war. Waiting for news that the war was over.
Silence surrounded me, making me feel as though I was standing in a gallery admiring a painting. Just like patrons of a gallery, I too was an observer, watching as the world passed me by. There were times when I simply glanced at the picture, gaining a general idea of what was happening before moving to the next one. And there were times when I saw everything. Every minute detail that the painting had to offer came alive before my eyes, but only if I took the time to look.
It came alive before me now in the form of a vampire skulking down the road. The dark colour tinting his aura stood out clearly in the darkening streets, marking him for what he was. I’d seen the face before, standing tall by the side of the London Seat of Power, one of the vampires’ ruling bodies.
Ducking my head, I intended to walk straight past him, heading home before more creatures began prowling the night for something tasty to kill. He spotted my quickened pace and thought I was on the menu. I wasn’t, but I also wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation, not when I was so close to the London Seat. Following my instincts was bad enough—I’d spent hours staring at a map before being drawn here—but now they’d forced me into the heart of a raging war and the home of the one Seat I couldn’t abide. The last thing I wanted to do was show up on their radar.
The first thing one of their lackeys would do would be to attack me. If they survived, they’d go running straight to their masters, all too eager to give up information about where I was. If they found me, they would try to kill me, or worse, have me followed home and target my family.
Avoidance was better. I wasn’t supposed to kill them all.
Still, I could do what I did best and plant a few ideas in his mind before he passed me by.
No sooner had I reached for his mind, intending to influence him into a change of direction, than I made the mistake of glancing up. Closer than I thought; he was staring right at me, eyes wide with recognition. My emerald irises and flame-like red hair were too much of a calling card not to be looked at twice. My appearance was well known among the lackeys.
I shuddered to think of how many humans had been killed in the pursuit of the vampires’ famed Angel of Death. Or how many more would fall because they were fated to appear too similar to me.
“Hey, I know you.”
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, slowing to a casual saunter. “Too much knowledge on your face to not be who I think you are.”
Working in his mind as fast as I was able, I clung to a fraction of hope that he’d change his mind.
I took one step past him; one more and I’d escape.
His pale hand shot out, gripping my arm. “No. I’ve seen you before.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Imagine what I’ll get for bringing the body of Azrael to our king.”
I sighed. It was time to live up to my name.
Part of me enjoyed it, especially after everything the vampires had done, to my race, to me—to my sister.
“If I am who you think I am”—I pried his hand from my arm—“then what makes you think you’d win?”
“Finding your mate makes you sloppy.”
My loud laugh filled the night air, echoing off the empty buildings. “Perhaps, but then, I wouldn’t know about that.”
Whoever they were getting their facts from didn’t know anything about me. Had I found my partner, my mate, I wouldn’t have been within a hundred miles of any Seat. Clearly they weren’t offering a high enough price for information. They never did . . .
The first blow almost surprised me; a laughably feeble fist thrown towards my side. Blocking it easily, I stepped away, luring him to the alley beside what had once been a factory.
He followed me, his eyes tracking my movements. When we were hidden from the prying interest of any passers-by, I was free to do as I pleased.
Which meant killing the thing before he reported a sighting.
My family was here. I would not risk them.
Yet I wanted to draw out the fight, wanted to make it last until the lights died, draining the colour away and leaving the city blanketed by darkness and fear. When he
came at me, smiling brightly in the fading light, I shook my head and went in for the kill. I ducked another fist and laughed when he took a chunk out of the wall, sending dust and shards of brick into the air. The confidence I sensed in his mind faltered, but only for a second.
“If you wanted an easy kill, go find some other redhead to throw at your master’s feet!” My words did nothing to deter him. He pivoted back to face me, features glowing.
The vampire’s fist came flying towards me again, and I grabbed hold of it, using his momentum to swing him off balance and send him tumbling to the ground. A moment later, I hooked my arm around his throat . . . and pulled. The snap was loud in the quiet alley. His body went limp in my arms, the fight leaving him in a rush of stagnant breath.
But death was never a sure thing with a snapped neck, not for a vampire.
Helen, my sister of sorts, wouldn’t be impressed if I dismembered the body by hand. She’d never get the blood out—or the smell. The best and only way to make sure a vampire was dead was fire, but a fire would draw too much attention. Head and heart were the next best things.
Pulling a small knife from my purse, I knelt in the rubble and turned the vampire over. He looked dead enough, eyes fixed and staring, breathing ceased, but I couldn’t take the chance. One stab to the heart, up and in under the arm, and another to the brain, straight through the ear.
The sun would incinerate the body as soon as it spread its warmth on another day, burning the overfed vampire until all that remained was ash. So I tucked him out of sight of the road. It was either that or the river.
A good fight normally did wonders, easing my tattered nerves, but not tonight. Tonight my mind was filled with a dread that had little to do with the dangerous times.
The mere thought that such petty human battles could affect me was laughable. Wars were fought. They were won, they were lost. And still I lived on.
Heaving a sigh, I began my walk home.
A large townhouse awaited me in the heart of the city. From rich coloured Indian rugs to antique furniture, it was filled with some of my most prized possessions. But it was the basement I wanted most—so I could cram it tight with our records, piling the books high until it was fit for bursting.
“Did you run into any trouble on your way?” Helen asked as soon as I walked in. Her shrewd green eyes watched me closely, checking for injuries.
I shrugged out of my jacket. A distinct chill was in the air despite autumn having not quite arrived. “No, not at all. It just took a while longer to wind down than I thought.”
“And yet, you are as tightly wound as when you left,” she commented, taking my coat.
“I feel that something is about to go terribly wrong. Perhaps it’s because we’re here. It’s been so long since I’ve been this close to the heart of things.”
“Being close to a Seat of Power will cause you stress, but it has never caused this reaction in you before. When was the last time you slept? Ate?” She narrowed her eyes and refused to let me further into the house until I answered.
“I ate with you and Jayne three nights ago, and I’ll sleep when it comes.” Although what I ate was very little, given the rationing.
“You ate, but you didn’t taste the food. And you haven’t slept in months, well before we moved. Not long after you made the decision to move here.”
“I’m perfectly fine.” I turned my back to her, trying to head for the stairs.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” She meant well.
Helen and I had a unique relationship. To an outsider we were mother and daughter, but I had watched her grow, as I had her mother and her mother before her. We fought, on occasion, like an old married couple, and we could sit for hours discussing her thoughts about the world. She worried about me like any mother would, and I worried about her in the same fashion. We were the best of friends and the closest of sisters. Our relationship had changed so much over the years, moving from my being her aunt, while her mother was still with us, to her being my daughter. And now she was my most trusted companion. The cycle had been the same with her mother, as it would be with her daughter.
She was right about one thing, whether or not I was fine was a matter of opinion, and she could see straight through my falsehoods. I was far from “perfectly fine.”
“Oh, Serenity?” I stopped, one foot on the stairs. “The charity auction is tomorrow evening.”
“Do I really have to bother?” I asked, turning to look at her.
It was part of the price I had to pay for moving to London. My contacts were kind enough to “forget” about Jayne being here instead of being evacuated on the condition I put in a generous appearance at their fundraising evening—including helping to pay for the affair. The money I would have to spend wasn’t an issue; it was the event itself I dreaded.
“Unfortunately, but I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you fear. Perhaps you could woo some of the boys that are yet to be sent to war with your dancing skills.”
“I would rather waste it than be forced to dance with those pompous idiots,” I muttered as I climbed the stairs.
“Shall I inform Sam that he’ll accompany you?” she called after me, and I sensed smug satisfaction in her voice.
“Actually,” I turned to face her again, “I’ll be taking you.”
“Oh,” she gasped, sounding pleased. Not quite the reaction I was hoping for. “I best organise another dress for the evening, then.”
“Damn it.”
“Language . . .”
“When you’re as old as I am, you can use whatever language you please,” I said.
Why would I have a need to dance? I wasn’t built for spending an evening daintily dancing around a hall. I was built for protection, for keeping the peace between the races.
“Damn it,” I muttered again. They were slowly becoming my favourite pair of words.
The sun was rising once more, and yet another night had been filled with nothing but thought and pointless mind chatter. That made more than six months without sleep by my reckoning. At least. Not a record, not by far, but worrisome.
The last time I’d gone longer without sleep, it was because I was fighting for the lives of my brothers and sisters. Trying to get them to safety before . . .
“Auntie?” a small voice asked. “Are you awake?”
“I am,” I answered, matching Jayne’s volume. “What’s the matter, sweetie?”
Jayne was Helen’s five-year-old daughter. She was a beautiful little creature, the mirror of her mother. Of me, as well. Dark red hair tumbled to her shoulders, framing a heart-shaped face and a bright pair of green eyes. She was going to be on the short side, all the women in the family were, but that wouldn’t affect her in the slightest. Already she was feisty.
Crawling onto the bed with me she whispered, “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake Mama.”
“Well, you came to the right place. How about a story?” It always helped her after she’d had a nightmare and I hoped a story would ease her back to sleep for a while.
She never told me when that was the problem, but I could see it in her eyes. The light that shined out of them would dull, and she would stare off into space. Her nightmares didn’t come often, but they were occuring with regularity since the move to London.
Jayne sighed and snuggled deeper into the warm blankets. “Yes, please.”
“Shall I choose?”
When she nodded, I reached into the antique bedside table and pulled out an old, battered book of fairy tales. It wasn’t the kind seen on modern shelves with princesses and princes. These were special stories, and though I didn’t need to read the words, Jayne did.
“Let me see. How about I tell you about two little twins who lived a very long time ago? They were the first twins in the family, the whole race, in fact. But they were not the last . . .” I wasn’t sure why, but I’d chosen my own story to tell.
A couple of hours later, we rose for the day. Jayne had fallen into a light sle
ep partway through the second story, and she slept peacefully until Helen came to find her.
It hurt her when her daughter came to me like this. It wasn’t the fact that Jayne had come seeking comfort; it was the fact that she needed to seek comfort at all.
“Did she have another nightmare?” Helen whispered, reaching out to stroke her daughter’s cheek.
“She didn’t say, but I think so.” She was worried. “I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?”
“You cannot tell me you haven’t noticed the increase in her dreams since moving here? I brought you with me.” It was something I was starting to regret, deeply.
“And we chose to come. It has always been a choice. We were never forced to come with you, Serenity. You make that clear each time we move. Always have. Now, enough of this talk. You will join us for breakfast today.” It was apparent in her tone and hard look that blaming myself for Jayne’s unrest was not acceptable. It didn’t stop me. Probably didn’t stop her, either.
We all were quiet at breakfast, though Helen tried to start a conversation about the auction that evening—the one where dancing played an uncomfortably large part of the entertainment. It was a futile attempt. All I wanted to do was show up, do my part, and leave. But there was no doubt in my mind I would be forced to endure the entire evening.
“There was some mail for you this morning.” Helen was smiling as I helped clean up after breakfast. Only one reason caused such a joyous response.
“William?” I asked, hardly able to contain my excitement.
She nodded, just once.
I grinned, then raced off to see what was in the letter. Correspondence from William was always the highlight of my day, especially considering how hard it must be to get a letter out of France. He was my brother in every way that counted. Fifteen hundred years younger than me, and the only other remaining Keeper. We weren’t related by blood, only by race and purpose, but we were as close as I’d been with my own sister. My twin. I smiled as I read his words.
Dearest Serenity,
I hope this letter finds you well. Of course, I do not expect you to be anything but.
The Last Keeper Page 1
