by Deanna Chase
Someone once said not to judge a book by its cover. Whoever it was clearly never worked as a private investigator. How people look can give an observer information about who they really are. Attention to detail is vital. It’s something I’m not particularly skilled at, but I’m training myself to get better. For example, the youngish man in a suit who sits diagonally behind me may look dapper but his cheap, scuffed shoes and ever-so-faint twitch in his upper eyelid suggest an entirely different story. I’m interested in one woman whose hair suggests downtrodden housewife but whose clothes are more rebellious teenager. Anyone sporting contrasts in their appearance usually reflects those same contrasts in their personality. According to Tam, anyway. I make a mental note to talk to her as soon as I can.
I realise that the loud blonde is assessing me in much the same way as I am examining everyone else. She lifts an eyebrow in my direction when she sees me watching her, and raises a tanned hand to her perfectly coiffed hair. I register the watch on her wrist: a Timex. It doesn’t match her clothes and make-up or the way she holds herself. Perhaps I’ll speak to her soon, too.
By my side, Peter mutters something. I turn back to him just as the door closes with a deafening finality. My stomach drops unexpectedly at the sound. I see a vampire looping a twisted red rope around the handle, effectively locking us in. I understand it’s symbolic rather than a real barrier, but it’s clear that everyone in the room feels the same. The turning is about to begin.
Chapter Fifteen: Bloody PowerPoint
I suppose I’d been assuming it would be Michael Montserrat himself. Instead, the door behind the table of vials opens and a large male vampire strides in. As soon as he begins to speak, I recognise his voice: it’s Ursus, the one who came after me at The Steam Team. He doesn’t waste time smiling.
‘Good morning. The Family Montserrat is pleased to welcome you into our midst.’ He gazes around at all of us expectantly as if waiting for a reply. When there is none, he continues. ‘Before the turning takes place, there are some matters that need to be addressed. I understand that you are all nervous and keen to start as soon as possible.’ His mouth widens as if he’s going through the motions of smiling but not quite managing it. ‘However, it is vital you fully understand what is about to happen.’
He gestures to some invisible force and a projector screen drops down. A part of me squirms. Death by PowerPoint.
As soon as the screen clicks into place, an image appears of the Montserrat logo. It’s a twisting, almost Celtic, design and no doubt familiar to everyone in the room. I think it’s supposed to suggest eternity and strength; it’s unfortunate that these days it looks more like a tattoo you can get in any high street shop. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’ve seen it for sale as a temporary skin transfer. But I suppose that pretending to be a vampire for a day is easier than actually becoming one.
Ursus clicks on a handheld device and the next slide appears, filled with dense, tightly packed writing which he reads aloud. Despite the style of his delivery, I am rapt.
‘You are the lucky few,’ he intones. ‘Thousands apply to join us and few are accepted. It is not an easy road to take. From the moment you accept the Montserrat blood into your veins, you are beholden to us. Loyalty is non-negotiable and we do not tolerate anything other than obedience.’ Given the current circumstances, that’s obviously not as true as he’d like us to believe. ‘You will leave your human lives behind. Many of you will never see your biological families again. Some of you may not survive the turning process.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I see one of the more serious looking recruits raise a nervous hand. ‘How likely is it that we won’t make it?’
Ursus moves onto the next slide. Clearly this question has been anticipated. ‘Between eight and fourteen percent of new recruits do not make the turn. The reason why is unknown. We have studied our intakes for many years and there is no pattern. However, expect that at least one of you will not see what tomorrow brings.’
There’s a sudden nervous shifting. People start eyeing each other up. Who will be the statistical death? Several turn to the girl in the wheelchair with knowing glances. I feel my insides tighten. Ursus’s words remind me that I could well be making the worst decision of my life. I think of the alternative: of running away and hiding so I can be tracked down and killed by the rogue vampires while their buddies take over the world. It doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.
The next slide appears. ‘There are numerous myths you need to be aware of,’ Ursus continues. ‘To begin with, vampires are not immortal.’ I already know this and I’m sure the rest of the recruits do too. Everyone, however, leans forward slightly. ‘Your lives will be lengthened to an expectancy of around three hundred years. You will not be invincible, although you will be freed from the majority of illness that strikes other species. Accidental death and,’ he pauses, ‘death by design do still occur occasionally. Predators remain.’
Another hand goes up. ‘What about sunlight?’
‘You will be vulnerable to the sun’s glare between the first twenty to sixty months from the date of your turning. Everyone is different. After that, while you will not enjoy beach holidays, you will be able to venture outside without feeling too uncomfortable. Holy water and crucifixes will not hurt you. By becoming one of us, you are neither relinquishing your soul nor your faith.’ Next to me, Peter sits a little straighter. ‘A stake through the heart will pretty much finish you off, as will fire or beheading. And for the first year, you will find your body remains as weak as a human’s.’ Ursus attempts another smile. It still doesn’t work. ‘However, the concept of threshold boundaries holds true – unless the property is a business or uninhabited.’
I’d often wondered about that. It’s reassuring to know that a vampire cannot just break into your house and drink from you.
‘By joining our Family, you are subject to our laws. Let me stress that murder is verboten. You will drink blood but you will not drain, and for the first few years you will only drink from pre-assigned volunteers.’ I repress a shudder at the thought the many vampettes exposing their jugulars for our delectation. ‘There are, of course, other crimes. If you are found guilty of any crime, the response is usually immediate execution.’
‘So you can be killed even if you just steal something?’ someone blurts out.
Ursus turns cold eyes on the speaker. ‘Are you planning to steal something?’
‘I… I…’ she stutters. ‘No, of course not but…’
‘Well, then, what’s the problem?’ He carries on as if she’s not spoken. ‘Until your solar weakness is diminished, you will remain here. We will train you and help you find your new path in life, whatever that may be. Once you leave here, you will be required to attend meetings and fulfil duties as determined by the senior members of the Family. You will also pay a monthly tithe. Contact with other Families is not forbidden but we do require you to inform us of any exchanges that occur, no matter how innocuous. These are issues that we will explain in more detail before you venture back into the real world.’
Clipboard Lady appears and hands Ursus a bundle of papers. He holds it up. ‘Here are the contracts. You will sign in your own blood then, when you feel ready, collect a vial and exit through this door.’ He points to the one behind him. ‘The Montserrat blood will be injected directly into your system, after which it will take up to three days for the turning process to complete. You may experience some discomfort during this time.’
I push breath out through the gap in my teeth. Whenever a doctor tells you there will be some ‘discomfort’, it usually means there will be considerable pain. With seventy-two hours to turn, I dread to think what it will really be like.
‘You may still change your mind. We simply ask that you remain in this room and sign a binding non-disclosure agreement about what you have experienced thus far.’
I force myself not to look at the roped door. The distrustful human part of me finds it hard to believe that we can
simply leave after all of this.
Ursus turns to go but there’s one more person with a question. It’s the blonde.
‘So when do we meet Michael?’ she asks.
The vampire doesn’t bother to turn around. ‘You will address him as my Lord.’ He disappears out the door along with Clipboard Lady without answering the question.
Once he’s gone we sit in silence for several moments. Then someone stands up and walks over to where Ursus left the contracts. It’s one of the muscle-bound recruits. He twists his neck round and flashes us all a confident smile. I dislike him already. Everyone watches him, holding their breath. He picks up a small silver knife, polished so skilfully that I could probably do my make-up in its reflection, and pricks his index finger. A bead of blood appears. He flips through to the contract’s final page without bothering to read the words and presses the tip of his finger down. Nothing happens – no thunderclap or applause. He scoops up a vial, takes the contract and follows the vampires.
As soon as he disappears, it’s like a spell is broken. People move to the table, forming an orderly queue. Even in a situation like this, the British sense of propriety is in place and there’s no jostling or shoving for position. I watch as, one by one, they follow the protocol then disappear out the door. A few people grimace in pain when they prick their fingers and the blonde lets out a small squeal. I notice that everyone else has the sense to take the time to read the pages first. Despite this, it’s not long until the only people left are Peter and I and the girl in the wheelchair.
‘I’m scared,’ she whispers.
I give her a quick smile. ‘Me too,’ I admit.
Peter just wrings his hands.
‘What’s your name?’ I ask.
‘Nicky.’ She takes a deep breath then wheels herself up to the table. I’m tempted to ask if she needs any help but she may find that insulting, so I wait instead. She has no problems reaching the contract and the blade.
‘I hope don’t catch any nasty disease off this,’ she jokes half-heartedly. Her hand shakes visibly as she cuts. She, like Mr Muscles, doesn’t read the contract before adding her blood to the final page. I put his lack of care down to machismo; I wonder what her reason is.
She struggles with the door, so I jump up and open it. She gives me a grateful smile, then she’s gone.
I look at Peter. ‘Are you okay?’
He licks his lips nervously. His gaze flicks between me and the remaining two vials, then back to the door through which we entered.
‘I’m not sure.’
‘You can change your mind. It’s not too late.’
‘Do you think the non-disclosure agreement really works?’
I know what he’s asking. ‘I’m pretty sure that they won’t kill you if you change your mind.’ I hope I’m right.
He stands up. ‘No,’ he says finally. ‘I’m going to do this.’ He signs and then I’m left alone.
The silence in the room is oppressive. I look at the table and away again. I’m not usually an indecisive person but signing my life away is a whole different kettle of fish to the sort of decisions I normally make. Deep down, I know what I’m going to do; my fate was sealed the second I walked out of that police station with Montserrat. But I want to feel as if I really am in charge of my own fate. I realise that reading the contract isn’t going to make any difference so, like Nicky and the gym fiend, I flip to the last page. There’s a dotted line and nothing more.
I pick up the knife. It’s surprisingly heavy for such a small thing. It’s also remarkably clean considering it has already sliced the fingers of twelve people. I take a deep breath. I’m glad I waited to the end so that I’m doing this without an audience. I touch the knife tip to my finger and watch the bright red blood well up. Then I press down and sign, sealing my fate. I take the one remaining vial and am about to open the door when my gaze falls on Peter’s crucifix. It’s lying forlornly on his empty chair. I scoop it up then shove it in my pocket, just in case.
It’s time to go.
***
I find myself in a small ante-room with several doors. Clipboard Lady raises her eyebrows at me and points to the right. I follow her directions and walk through. There, waiting, is Michael Montserrat. Unfortunately he’s fully dressed this time, although the well-tailored suit does nothing to hide his toned physique.
‘I wasn’t sure if you were going to go through with it,’ he says, his dark eyes boring into me.
I shrug. ‘I wasn’t in a rush, my Lord. I thought I’d take my time.’
He scowls. ‘You don’t have to call me that.’
‘I’m going to be a good girl and do as I’m told.’
He laughs. ‘Really?’
I grin. If you make people think you’re toeing the line and following the rules, it’s amazing what you can get away with. ‘Of course,’ I tell him.
He obviously doubts me but lets it go for now. I hand him the vial and roll up my sleeve. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
He takes it but, rather than pulling out a syringe as I’d expected, he places the blood to the side. ‘We’re going to do this the old-fashioned way, Bo. You’ll have a better chance of beating the bloodlust and becoming Sanguine that way.’
My mouth dries. ‘Uh, the old-fashioned way?’
‘I’m sure you’ve seen Nosferatu.’
‘You’re going to bite me?’ My voice is high-pitched and squeaky.
He looks amused. ‘Yes. And then you’re going to drink a pint of my finest.’ He unbuttons the cuff of his left sleeve and rolls it up, exposing his tanned forearm.
I back away, my fingers scrabbling for the doorknob. ‘No! I can’t drink. If I drink I won’t become Sanguine,’ I protest.
He smiles at me genially although I can’t help likening him to a cat gazing at the mouse it’s about to pounce on. ‘Human blood, Bo,’ he says softly. ‘You can’t drink human blood. Mine is vampire through and through. It won’t provide you with sustenance after you’ve turned but you will need it to complete the process. It’s the same as injecting.’
‘Why doesn’t everyone turn this way then?’
Montserrat looks momentarily pained. ‘This isn’t always the easiest process. It’s very intimate. It can create feelings of possession in the vampire doing the turning.’
I don’t like the sound of this at all. ‘And the turnee?’
‘Sometimes they feel obligated towards their sire and can become overly attached to them.’ He takes a step towards me and holds out his hand. ‘But as I’m the Family Head, you’re going to do what I say regardless. Remember you just said that you’re going to do as you’re told.’
I stare at his outstretched hand. ‘If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll pass.’
He shrugs. ‘It’s up to you. But if you really mean to avoid drinking blood so you can become Sanguine, this is your best shot. The injection, which is made up of mixed blood from all the senior Family members, hits your bloodstream so directly and quickly that it can be almost impossible to fight the feelings that come afterwards.’
‘That’s even if I survive this,’ I grunt.
‘Somehow I think you’re too stubborn to allow yourself not to make it through the turn. But,’ his face remains impassive, ‘ultimately it is your choice. If you’d rather have the jab, I can have someone come in here to administer it properly.’
My legs feel like jelly. Neither option is particularly desirable. The last thing I want is to feel ‘overly attached’ to him. But if I can sweat through the lunar month and become Sanguine…
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Lets it do it your way.’
Montserrat inclines his head towards me. ‘As you wish.’ He extends his hand a little further. When I don’t move, exasperation fills his voice. ‘Bo, you’re going to need to come a bit closer.’
Shakily, I step forward. He smiles down at me. ‘You really are very short,’ he comments.
I scowl. ‘So?’
‘So nothing.’ His tone is mil
d. ‘If I can stoop down to kiss you, then I can certainly make it to your throat.’
‘Kiss?’ I half shriek.
‘I just meant that I can still do this, Bo. Nothing else.’ His eyes gleam. ‘Although I will bite even if you don’t.’
My entire spine is rigid with wariness, despite his amused reference to my faux-pas in his bedroom. So much for thinking that he’d not registered what I’d said.
He sighs. ‘It’ll go easier if you turn around.’ When I don’t immediately respond, he reaches out and brushes his thumb across my cheek. I flinch. ‘You can trust me.’
‘Said the spider to the fly,’ I mutter. However, I turn around so my back is to him.
I feel him step towards me until his entire body is warm against mine. He bends down until his breath is hot against the flushed skin of my neck. I feel his fingers gently pull away my hair and I stiffen involuntarily.
‘Relax,’ he whispers softly in my ear. Then his teeth graze my throat.
His tongue darts out and licks and I stop breathing. I can sense him shifting his weight behind me, one hand remaining at my head, fingers entwined in my hair to keep it back, and his other resting lightly on my hip. I feel more nervous than I’ve ever felt in my life.
‘Last chance to change your mind,’ he says.
‘I can’t,’ I begin, ‘I’ve already signed…’
I gasp as there’s a sharp nip of pain. His teeth sink into my flesh and I’m dimly aware of a rippling shudder running through his body behind me before a warm glow starts in my throat and begins to spread down my veins as he sucks. I lean against him, closing my eyes, while his fingers tighten their grip. My heart is thudding so loudly in my ears that I’m amazed Montserrat’s not deafened by it. There’s pain, but it’s not unpleasant and I can feel my toes tightening in an almost enjoyable response. I moan lightly.
His hand leaves my hip and moves upwards across my ribcage until it rests just under my breasts and pulls me tighter against him. Sparking pinpricks of light dance across my shuttered lids and I involuntarily reach behind and grab his body, my hands now gripping his hips. He makes an odd sound, almost like a purr and I can feel his fangs pushing deeper into my throat. My breath quickens.
