Deadly Departed: A Supernatural Thriller (Fletcher & Fletcher, Paranormal Investigators Book 2)

by David Bussell

  I checked the pad against the address we were at and found a match. By the looks of it, the building had been a storefront at some point, though its signage had long ago been lost to vandalism and apathy. Even the For Sale sign fixed above the boarded-up front door was on its last legs, hanging by a single nail and covered in a decade’s worth of exhaust soot and grime. Unlike most properties in London, it seemed this wasn’t one that buyers were particularly eager to invest in. Even the city’s vulture developers had stayed away from this grotty end of town. Out here, when a place was abandoned, it stayed that way.

  We skirted around to the rear of the building and found that the back door, like the one at the front, had been boarded over. Closer examination revealed that the wooden planks here were a front, though. In fact, they were nothing more than a fake skin covering a functioning door that would have granted us easy access if only it wasn’t locked.

  I put my ear to the door and heard the faint burble of conversation beyond. Someone was home for sure. Going by the time, I had to assume the conclave was already in progress, which meant we were missing out on what might prove to be some juicy gossip.

  ‘I’ve gotta get in there,’ I told Frank.

  He nodded once and raised his fists, ready to beat down the door.

  ‘No,’ I said, stepping in his way. ‘Just me.’

  He cocked his head and looked at me cow-eyed.

  I placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. ‘This is a stealth mission, mate. If you go in there’s a chance they might hear us, then this whole trip’s been a write-off.’

  Which was my polite way of saying that Frank’s best attempt at sneaking was likely to sound like the entire drum section of the London Philharmonic falling down a rickety staircase. And yet despite my diplomacy, Frank remained decidedly down in the mouth.

  ‘I know, I know, we’re supposed to be partners. It’s not fair leaving you out.’

  ‘Twiiiiiiice,’ he moaned.

  ‘Right, twice, but you have to trust me, this is for the best. And look, if shit goes down in there, you’ll be the first to know about it. I’ll need my muscle if things go sideways, so don’t go running off anywhere, okay?’

  He bobbed his head solemnly.

  ‘Oh, and Frank, one more thing… no eating anyone’s brains while I’m gone, okay?’

  He bared his teeth and growled. Not in a threatening way, just to let me know he’d had enough.

  ‘All right, going now,’ I said, and phased through the door.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the building’s shadow-drenched interior. I’d landed in a hallway that looked like a hundred years of dust held up by a century’s worth of paint. Cobwebs laced a ceiling lit by a few feeble light bulbs, and warped floorboards lined the floor. I glided over them, thankful that I’d chosen to leave Frank outside. The second his clodhoppers landed on one of those creaky boards we’d have had every vampire in the building on us.

  Following the hallway, I heard the sound of conversation growing louder with each step until I came to a staircase that plunged sharply into a cellar. I headed down the steps and found each one set at a different height from the last, making it hard to judge how low I needed to dip my foot each time. At the bottom of the stairs was another corridor, its ceiling low and held up by rotting beams. I hung my head and continued along it, noticing a warren of small rooms either side of me. The rooms were stacked with wooden racks heaving with tall green bottles laid on their sides. Wine, I assumed, at least until I took a closer look. With no small amount of effort, I firmed up a hand, uncorked one of the bottles, and poured out its contents. The liquid that slopped out was red, but vino it was not. I briefly wondered how many innocent people these vamps had tapped to fill a whole cellar, then decided I’d prefer not to know.

  I walked on as far as I was prepared to go; any further and I’d have crashed the conclave. Going by the noise they were making, there had to be at least twenty vampires around the next corner. I had a hard time against one of them—getting caught by that many would be suicide. So I ignored the corner and made my own path, taking a shortcut through brick and mortar and emerging inside the crawlspace of the wall surrounding the conclave’s meeting space.

  Through a narrow crack in the brickwork I was able to spy on the clandestine chinwag, which was taking place in a dungeonesque chamber spotted with fungal growths. There was a whole mess of vampires in attendance, even more than I’d guessed at, maybe as many as forty in total.

  From my hide I was able to get a good look at the congregation. With their matching stoops and scarecrow frames, these vamps were obviously of the same bloodline as the ones that had been stalking us, though I had no idea which clan they belonged to. I’d never seen vampires like this lot. They barely looked human. Their ratty facial features, pointed ears, and webbed fingers, made me think more of bats than people. If vampires shared some genetic ancestry with flying rodents, this was the strain that never fully evolved. The missing link, if you will. These weren’t your misunderstood heartthrob kind of vampires. They didn’t sparkle and they weren’t given to writing poetry or keeping diaries. These were the sort of vampires that wore high collars and glided out from walls of dry ice. They lived on the fringes because they had no choice in the matter. They couldn’t mix with humanity because they were too many steps removed.

  So why come to London, you might wonder. A couple of reasons I could think of, but first and foremost, the climate. The UK gets next to no sunshine and spends a good chunk of its time in darkness, which most vampires rely on to survive. The second reason was that vampires have a taste for the finer things in life. Sure, they could set up shop in Antarctica, but try finding a Harvey Nics out that way.

  Still buried in the wall, I listened in on the unfolding conversation, or rather conversations plural. There seemed to be no agenda in play, with clusters of clan members chatting amongst themselves as they pleased. That was until one vampire called order on the proceedings by banging the skull-shaped handle of his walking cane against a wall. My wall. The crack I was peeking through widened as a chunk of masonry spilled out. I shrank back, and held my breath (metaphorically speaking). Thankfully, the vampires were too focused on the sudden call for attention to notice me cringing inside the crawlspace.

  ‘Thank you all for coming this evening,’ said the vampire with the walking cane. ‘And at such short notice.’

  His voice was a cocktail of accents: an unholy mixture of British, Slavic, and Germanic. I craned my neck an inch to the left and snuck a goosey at him. He didn’t look like much—same ugly face as his brothers, same bent back—but it was obvious from the way he held court that he was top dog here.

  ‘It is my honour to host this conclave, gentlemen. Please, gather round.’

  The vampires fell silent and formed a circle about him. With their attention acquired, he placed the foot of his cane on the ground, laced his hands together, and leant upon the handle.

  ‘It is my sincerest wish that by sharing what we have learned these last few days, we will discover the whereabouts of the man we seek.’ He made a chest-to-fist salute. ‘For the Vengari.’

  The last part was echoed loudly by everyone in the room.

  The Vengari.

  I had to trawl the muck in my skull to find it, but I dredged it up soon enough. The Vengari were a vampire clan like no other. They were bottom feeders among their kind, and yet, like me, they were survivors. They’d endured all manner of purges and scourges over the centuries, and persisted come what may. It was said that the reason they’d developed those long fingers was because they’d spent so long clinging to immortality. Where so many other vampire clans had fallen, the Vengari had refused to let go, determined not to be beaten, determined to carry on.

  I suddenly felt very crowded. I’d intruded upon the den of a clan of deadly vampires. Vampires that had survived for centuries. What was I thinking coming here alone? Why hadn’t I brought the Nightstalker in on this? Dealing with vampires
was her job. Abbey Beckett did the Van Helsing thing for a living; it’s why they called her stabby Abbey. But instead of her, the Vengari clan were getting me, a walking memory who could barely uncork a wine bottle.

  I held my nerve. I hadn’t learned anything yet besides the identity of my stalkers, and that information alone didn’t amount to much. I still didn’t know what they wanted with me, or whether it had anything to do with my investigation.

  And then it came, served up hot on a platter.

  The top dog turned in a lazy circle, taking in each of the vampires girdling him, and said, ‘So, which of you can tell me where the Arcadian is hiding?’

  Chapter Nineteen: Crumbs From the Devil’s Table

  There it was. The vampires were just as interested in the killer fae as I was, though I had no idea why. Not yet, anyway.

  The top dog picked out a fellow clan member, seemingly at random. ‘What do you have to report, brother?’

  The chosen vampire sniffed and cleared his throat. ‘We discovered a bolt hole the Arcadian was using—overgrown with vegetation and drenched in fae magic—but by the time we got there, he had already fled.’

  The top dog nodded and turned to the next member of the circle. ‘What about you?’

  ‘My men have been on lookout detail, covering train and bus stations in case the Arcadian tries to escape the city.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘No sign of him yet,’ the vampire conceded, so quietly as to be barely audible.

  ‘I see,’ replied the head honcho, rubbing his red eyes. ‘And what about the rest of you? Can anyone here tell me where the Arcadian is located?’

  The room stayed quiet.

  ‘Do we have any leads at all? A single clue that could point us to his whereabouts?’

  Total radio silence.

  ‘So what I’m hearing is, we have nothing. Is that about right?’ He went on, the edge in his voice hard but brittle. ‘Need I remind everyone why it is so important we capture the Arcadian?’

  I got the distinct impression that he didn’t need to, but he went ahead anyway.

  ‘He jilted one of our own. That cannot be allowed to stand. He must be brought back to the altar, by force if necessary.’

  Well, bugger me sideways. An arranged marriage—was that what all this malarkey was about? Some fae/vampire merger gone to pot?

  ‘This is unacceptable,’ cried the top dog, hammering the cellar floor with the foot of his cane. ‘You must find the Arcadian and apprehend him at once.’

  He laid a baleful look on the congregation. Most bowed their heads in shame, but one vampire was brave enough to meet his icy gaze.

  ‘Who are you to dispense orders, old man?’

  A gasp rippled through the crowd. The Vengari at the centre of the circle fixed his blood-red eyes on a vampire with a harelip and shoulders so pointy he looked as if he’d forgotten to take out the hanger when he put his suit on.

  ‘Who am I?’ barked the man in charge. ‘I am the chair of this conclave and you will do as I—’

  ‘Enough,’ said the vampire with the harelip and the take-charge attitude. ‘We need action, not ceaseless prattle.’

  Whoever this bloke was, he had some balls on him. Vampire hierarchy was clearly delineated and brutally enforced. Speaking up to a superior like that could have cost him his neck, but he obviously didn’t care.

  ‘How dare you,’ roared the head vamp, spitting like an angry camel. ‘This meeting is more than just talk. It’s about pooling our resources… working together as a clan.’

  ‘If you really wanted to find the Arcadian you’d be out there right now instead of conducting this pointless ceremony.’

  I could tell from the way he carried himself that this was the smartest feller in the room. I think everyone could.

  ‘If you’re such a man of action, what are you doing here?’ asked the chair.

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ replied the upstart.

  He snapped his fingers and a vampire by his side helped him into his coat.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ demanded the chair, nostrils flaring.

  The vampire with the harelip shrugged on his coat and buttoned it up. ‘You stay here and have your little knitting circle. I’ll be out there finding the Arcadian and bringing him to heel.’

  ‘Come back at once.’

  But the upstart paid him no heed, heading out of the cellar and taking three vampires with him.

  The congregation had become agitated now. The chair was losing the respect of his brethren. He let out an awkward cough.

  ‘Surely someone must have something. Anything...’

  A vampire who hadn’t been brave enough to chip in before filled the vacuum. ‘Speaking on behalf of my chapter, I can report that we have located and continue to shadow Detectives Fletcher and Fletcher, who are also tracking our target.’

  So that was it. The only reason the Vengari were keeping tabs on us was to get to the Arcadian. Far as I was concerned, that was just rude. A total lack of professional courtesy. Now I didn’t feel the least bit bad about Frank ripping their man’s arm off.

  ‘And?’ said the chair, leaning forward on his cane. ‘Have the detectives’ findings proved useful?’

  ‘So far they’ve failed to lead us to the Arcadian, but we’re confident it’s only a matter of time.’

  That was it for the chair. He snapped his cane over his knee, his face a mask of pure rage. ‘Idiots. Idiots!’

  One of the other chapter heads spoke up for himself. ‘Perhaps we should consider cutting our losses. It’s clear that the fae are no longer interested in honouring the terms of our pact, so why are we so determined to recover their runaway groom?’

  A murmur of agreement bounced around the room.

  The chair’s eyes went wide. ‘Have you lost sight of what this union could do for us? An opportunity like this comes along once in a millennium, if that. This is our chance to rise up, to take our rightful place at the top of the totem pole.’

  I couldn’t make hide nor hair of this. The Vengari were already looked down on by their fellow clans—how was marrying off one of their own to a foreigner going to change that? And more to the point, what was in it for the fae? The Vengari were the lowest of the low, and the Arcadians were card-carrying royalty. Why would they be interested in forming a coalition with these cockroaches?

  And then there was the real poser, the one that had me utterly stumped: what did any of this have to do with my client?

  I broke it all down, the story so far. It really was a whale of a tale. Going by what I’d learned, it went something like this: the killer fae left Arcadia to come to London, got involved with a clan of vampires, and promised to marry one of their women. Then, for reasons entirely beyond my understanding, he abandoned their bride and did a runner. Having done the dirty on the Vengari, he then killed a random call girl, roughed up his drug dealer, and holed up in a sinkhole estate. What kind of behaviour was that? The bloke was all over the place. Maybe the drugs he was on had driven him doolally.

  Whatever he was up to, it was obvious that the Vengari had no more of an idea where he was hiding than I did. And yet, hiding in the wall had taught me more about them than they’d have liked me to know. Enough that they’d sooner kill me than let me slip away with their secrets in my head. Which seemed to me like my cue to leave.

  Without waiting around for the wrap up, I phased through the other side of the wall, crept back up the cellar stairs, and left through the back door. Frank was waiting for me by the exit.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said, nudging his elbow.

  Instead of falling in step, he remained motionless, arms crossed, a sour look on his face.

  I persisted. ‘Come on. We've gotta scarper.’

  But Frank dug in his heels. ‘Shaaaare,’ he moaned.

  Which was his way of telling me he wasn’t going anywhere until I told him what I’d seen.

  ‘Later.’

  Frank turned his nose up a
t me and snorted.

  Perfect. A pack of vampires could come pouring through that door at any moment, and instead of making good with our legs, moody bollocks was holding me hostage. All because he felt a bit left out. Christ. Don’t get me wrong, having Frank around has been great, but there are times he can feel like a real albatross around my neck. This was definitely one of those times.

  ‘Have it your way then, you stroppy sod.’

  In the spirit of compromise, I merged with Frank and downloaded what I’d learned into his rotting brain. This really wasn’t the time for it, but sharing information this way was quicker than a regular conversation, not to mention quieter.

  Our minds became one and I felt the two-way exchange of our thoughts crossing paths. Frank was miffed. More than I realised. I’d sidelined him more than once since this case began, and he did not appreciate it. We were partners, he reminded me. Equals. Where I went, he went. I wanted to tell him that the only reason I froze him out just now was because the vamps would have heard him coming from a mile away, but I was too busy filling him in on the Vengari’s secrets, so instead, I stayed schtum and let him say his piece. I was just about done passing along what I knew when the sound of a creaking hinge spelled out my worst fears.

  A lone vampire stepped out of the building’s back door, cigarette in one hand, a Zippo in the other. It was the Vengari chair, still raging from the disrespect he’d been shown downstairs. It wasn’t until he’d sparked his smoke and the door closed behind him that he realised he wasn’t alone. He stared at us, open-mouthed.

  Frank got there before I did, lashing out a fist and putting the stuffy old bastard on his arse. Not before he put him through the door, though, which broke with a sound like a starter gun and with much the same effect.

  ‘Intruders,’ shrieked the vampire.

  His cry was quickly followed by the sound of feet hammering warped floorboards as the rest of the Vengari raced up the stairs to see what they were missing. Frank didn’t take any cajoling after that. Without separating, the two of us picked up our feet and stole away into the night.