by Cas Martin
'Tell me what you mean by one of them?'
'Don't make me say it out loud and sound crazier than you already think I am. It’s bad enough that you think I'm some pervert, without you thinking I'm adding psycho to the mix.'
'Say it out loud for me, and then we can think about carrying on this conversation elsewhere.' There was a nervousness in his voice that David could pick up on now. It was nothing to do with him, it was the fact that they had both been standing here for far too long. They had blown the chance of whatever they were going to do tonight, and what they really needed to do most was to make it back out onto the street alive.
'Okay, damn it,' hissed David. 'That building is full of vampires, and if we don't get out of here soon then we're probably both going to wake up tomorrow with a very sore neck. If we wake up at all.' David hated saying it out loud. It was like asking the boy to kill him for being a weirdo, or a one way street to getting locked up in an institution for the foreseeable future.
There was a pause as the boy behind him held his breath and stiffened. David felt the cool night air hit his neck where the blade had previously been.
'Let's get out of here,' came the voice in his ear. 'We need a place to talk. And pray for rain tonight. We've been standing here too long to be completely safe.' He gave David a gentle shove on his shoulder and the two of them made their way back along the perimeter fence and onto the street.
David heaved a sigh of relief as they walked along as fast as they could without drawing attention to themselves. There was nothing they could do or say until they were far enough away from the building to feel completely safe. From the corner of his eye, he could see the flash of the blade the boy was holding at his side. He clearly hadn't won the boy's trust completely, and that was probably a good thing. He knew what he was dealing with here, someone who had seen the very worst of what was out there, and had stopped trusting anyone a long time ago.
When they got to the end of the block, they took the turn onto a main street, and the sudden increase in the number of people meant that the boy was forced to put the knife away. It slid smoothly into one of the deep pockets in his long leather coat, and David knew instinctively that it was still in his hand. It would be back out again in an instant if the boy thought he was going to try anything funny.
Once they were a few blocks away, both of them visibly relaxed.
'I'm sorry we had to go through that,' began David, knowing this was going to be an awkward conversation to have, no matter how they did it. 'But I think we're okay. I don't think anyone has followed us.'
'I don't either,' the boy confirmed, chancing a glance back over his shoulder. 'Sorry, um, about the whole knife at your throat thing. I didn't realise you had any idea what was going on in there. I just knew you were following me, and that just had all my alarm bells ringing, know what I mean?'
'I completely know what you mean. And apology accepted. You have some pretty good skills in the field too.'
'For a kid, you mean?'
'That's not what I said.'
'It's what you thought though. You didn't realise I would be that much of a threat or you wouldn't have allowed yourself to get into that position in the first place.'
'We really need to talk. This is not a normal conversation to be having with a stranger at this time of the morning.'
'I know an all night diner about six blocks from here. One of my friends has got the late shift in there. We can grab a cup of coffee on the house and talk without being disturbed. He won't ask any questions.'
'Won't he think it odd that you've turned up in the middle of the night with some older guy that he's never met, just to sit and drink coffee and chat? You were the one who called me a pervert after all.'
'He won't ask me any questions. He owes me a favour, and a pretty big one at that. He's got used to me being out and about at this time now. It's just something that I do. Besides, I'm not a kid any more. I'm eighteen, and that means I can be out and about just as much as you can, old guy.'
20
Marcus Alexandrias could not believe his luck, or the way his life was turning out. It was a far cry from what his mother had always warned him about. His entire family thought he would come to nothing, always being mixed up in trouble. Ever since he was a teenager he had never learnt how to control his fangs.
The family had given him ample opportunities to reform over the years, as well as covering up his many mistakes and messes. He had tried, very briefly, to fight the bloodlust, but it always won out. The frenzy of feeding just became too much and he found himself with a beautiful dead woman lying in his arms.
He alone had dragged the name of the family down during the last forty years, which was something of a dubious honour. Other families had become outright hostile and there was nothing that could undo the damage he had already wrought. Several times he had nearly exposed them all, and that was something that the family, none of the families, could afford to happen.
So the elders had decided that he would be disposed of, before he got them all killed. It was a last resort, but allowed in the most extreme of circumstances. They had only waited so long because his own personal bloodline was considered to be strong and noble. His mother and his brother were highly respected, with both wealth and position. He was just the bad egg, and he always would be.
His mother, he later found out, had attempted to plead his case when the elders had convened a special emergency meeting after he killed a famous French model. Accidentally of course, but it had required pulling a lot of strings to control the damage he had caused with that little misadventure. Perhaps his mother had not pleaded his case well, or perhaps she had struggled to find a case to argue after the long list of irresponsible wrongs against the family had been read out, one by one, providing a damning list that could only lead to one possible outcome.
Of all the elders gathered, she had been the only one who voted to save him. One other person had abstained, but he never found out who that was. The twelve other vampires who had been gathered in that room had called for his death. To be done as quickly and discreetly as possible of course. With his fate sealed, he had woken that morning not knowing what the day ahead would hold.
The thing that surprised everyone was that the day did not include his death after all. Marcus had made his escape, living in exile and disappearing into the night to become lost. Others were dispatched to find him, but there simply were not enough of them to scour the entire world. Marcus had private money, and there was nothing they could do to limit his movements.
In a surprising move, the other families were contacted. It was the first time in over two centuries that such a direct move had been made. It was hard enough for any family to admit they had lost control of one of their own, especially one who had been raised right at its very heart. Warnings were given that he was on the loose, in case he broke any territorial rules. The last thing his family wanted, on top of all this mess, was for a turf war to begin because of him. They did not have the numbers or the resources to come out of that scenario well.
The really bitter pill for Marcus to swallow was that permission was granted to all families to kill him if they found him on their territory. Such an event, such a blessing, was so rare that there was only one historical anecdote. It added insult to injury, and Marcus was not the kind of man who would let such a thing go unpunished.
He would bide his time, but one day he would have his revenge on the family that had betrayed him so horribly.
For a while, Marcus had no choice but to keep on the move. At first the stress of doing so meant that he accidentally killed a few more times, gaining some notoriety with the police and conspiracy theorists alike. As he had grown more used to his nomadic lifestyle he began to enjoy it more and more, until eventually he gained some control over himself. Not completely — he was still prone to his little accidents — but they greatly reduced in number during his second year in exile.
So, with all this negative press behind him, i
t was something of a turnaround when he suddenly became someone very, very important.
He became the person with Professor Hastings’s journals.
At this precise moment in time, he was the only person in the world who knew where they were. They were under his lock and key, and he had no intention of letting anyone know where they were until he had used the leverage they provided to buy himself a little bit of forgiveness and a position within a family. Not necessarily his own family — after all they had betrayed him — any family would do. He was not too proud to be someone's bastard son if it meant that they offered him the protection he needed.
He felt no guilt or remorse about the treachery and killing that had been necessary in order to get his grubby little paws on the journals in the first place. Marcus had been born with such a small amount of conscience that it would take a hell of a lot more than that to poke at it with any great effect.
He smiled, glad that he had made his decision to bring the journals to America, rather than skulking around in Europe with them. It was such a delightfully easy country to get lost in. And the amenities were top-notch that was for sure, he thought agreeably, as he lay down in his tub big enough for two, a glass of champagne in his hand, his eyes roaming the naked body of the woman in there with him. She was very pretty. Wanted to be a movie star apparently, and that was all it took to find her weakness and convince her to come back to his hotel room with him.
Yes, America was a delightful place to be. Much better.
What no one had told him yet, was that Elizabeth Hastings had also decided that America was the place to be right now.
If they had, he would have been a lot less interested in the neck that was pulsing a few feet away from him, and a lot more worried about the state of his own mortality.
21
When Monica woke, she felt oddly revived and exhausted at the same time. Not for the first time lately, she wondered if it was time to take a vacation. Even leaders of ancient vampire families got to have a break sometimes, right?
She stretched into some yoga moves while the coffee was brewing, looking across the skyline at the sun rising over the horizon.
One of the main reasons that she had climbed the ladder so quickly had been her slavish commitment to the company. As far as they were aware, she was one person happy to work all the hours that god sent. Or rather, she was happy to work all those unpopular hours in the middle of the night when no one else wanted to. Being part of a global company, having someone there who would be available during a crisis in the Far East, or when the London branch developed a problem first thing in the morning, was a real asset.
Of course, it suited Monica just fine that she got recognition for what she was doing. The hours were better for her than she let on, obviously, and by having Dennis as her assistant, the package was complete.
However, this morning's meeting had been completely out of her hands and the hour did not entirely suit her. Sure, she appreciated the view of the sun coming up. It was one that she didn't get to see very often. From behind her carefully filtered floor-to-ceiling glass windows, she could enjoy it in complete safety without a moment's thought. Just as the fact she wore factor gazillion sun cream also meant that she could get out and about without too many problems. As long as she didn't overdo it of course. There was no point being stupid and taking any unnecessary risks.
Her reluctance this morning was more to do with the fact that she'd had little more than two hours sleep.
She stretched her back, feeling as though each of the individual vertebrae were clicking back into place. It was only a few mild yoga poses, more of a warm up than anything else really, but her body felt as though it had been put through its paces.
The only good thing was that she couldn't find even the merest hint of the hunger within her, and she hoped she had sated her need for the time being. For a couple of weeks ideally, although she had the sneaking suspicion that that would not be the case.
The smell of the coffee filtering its way around the room made her stomach rumble and she closed her eyes, trying to shake away all of the negative feelings about the day. It was just another day, and she was going to get through it the best that she could. Tackle the challenges head on.
In fact, a couple of hours later, she was even beginning to believe some of that positive spin bullshit she had been selling herself. By her third cup of coffee she was feeling decidedly more awake and much more like her old self. The meeting was going more smoothly than she had hoped for in her wildest dreams, despite being desperately underprepared.
She sat at the head of the large oak table, three other senior members of staff with her, the squawk-box in the centre of the table connecting them to the rest of the world. When Monica had suggested they close the blinds because she had a mild headache, no one had complained in the slightest.
Everyone in the room had felt more positive as the meeting wore on. The news from Asia had not been as bad as they were expecting and, in turn, their own bad news was received quite well. As she listened to the voice crackling down the line and into the centre of the table in front of her, she anticipated they would only have an hour left at most.
It was because it was all going so swimmingly that she was surprised when there was a gentle knock on the door and Dennis poked his head round, looking both horribly apologetic and worried. His smooth face was unnaturally crinkled with anxiety, and it sent a spike of fear into her stomach.
He held his hand up in apology to the other men in the room, then gestured that Monica should follow him. She in turn jabbed a finger in the direction of the middle of the table and shook her head. He then raised his eyebrows and gestured again that she should leave the room; this time with a face that meant he was not going to take any argument. Given that he was supposed to be her PA and not the other way around, she saw the other men at the table raise their eyebrows, concerned he knew something that could greatly affect the outcome of this meeting. She smiled in apology to them, gritted her teeth at Dennis.
'Wai-Ling? Sorry to interrupt,' she said loudly to the speakerphone. 'I agree with what you're saying but something has just come up. I'm going to have to step out of the room for a few minutes, but feel free to carry on this discussion without me. John will take the lead from this end while I'm not here. Sorry again,' she stood up, smoothed down her skirt and grabbed her phone, leaving the laptop where it was. There was nothing on there that the people left in the room could not be privy to, but there were personal things on the phone. She left the room as quickly as she could, deciding she was going to kill Dennis if this turned out to be nothing and he was just flapping like an old woman.
She saw him hovering at the end of the corridor and marched over. 'What is it?' she hissed, trying not to raise her voice in case the rest of the corridor overheard. Dennis indicated at a nearby door and she followed him into the small disused office. 'This had better be good,' she muttered.
'Monica, I think we have a problem.'
'Damn right we have a problem. Here I am trying to convince one arm of the company that they really are important to us, the most important in fact, and then I show them just how much by not even staying in the room to listen to what they have to say. This had better be worth it. Hell, this had better be life or death.'
'Of course it's life or death. I know how important that meeting is Monica, but this is far more serious. And it's not company business, if you know what I mean, so you'd better keep your voice down.'
'Damn. What is it now?' Monica slumped against the desk, mildly aware that she was probably getting a nice line of dust on the ass of her skirt, but not finding the strength or the inclination to care.
'It's to do with Professor Hastings' journals.'
'Have we located them?' For the first time, even though she was doing little more than clutching at straws, Monica felt her hopes rise.
'No, if we'd found them I'd be waiting in your office with a bottle of champagne and a smug look on my face.'
> 'Do we at least have more of an idea where they are?'
'No.'
'Then what the hell is all the fuss about?'
'I think we haven't found them because someone is stopping us.'
'Of course someone is stopping us. They don't want us to know where they are because they know that we are the only family in this city, probably across the entire world, who have the resources to retrieve them.'
'I don't mean that whoever has them is stopping us from finding them. Stop treating me like I'm an idiot and listen to what I'm saying. I think one of us is stopping us finding them.'
'What?' The hope she had previously felt rise in her stomach plummeted like a stone. She knew she was not the most popular choice to become the head of the family, but it wasn't like she had any say in the matter.
'I know you don't want to hear it, but I thought it was important. If I'm right, if my sources are right and believe me, I think they are, then there is every reason to think you're not that safe either.'
'Are you talking assassination?'
'I didn't say that. Relax. All I'm saying is that someone, maybe more than one someone, already knows who has the journals and they're keeping it close to their chest. The family should be the most important thing, you know that. The head of the family is the one who is the most important of all, because that person is the one who holds us together and protects us all. You are that person, Monica, and whoever is doing this clearly doesn't rate you that highly.'
'You know who it is, don't you?' She felt her insides go hollow.
'I have been given a name,' Dennis confirmed reluctantly.
