Serafina and the Silent Vampire

by Marie Treanor

  Sera had just about had enough of vampires. Falling back a step, she snatched the sharpened stick from her pocket and stood poised to strike.

  The newcomer’s smile broadened. “How very Buffy-esque,” he observed in apparent delight. Without so much as glancing at Blair, he held out the bottle to him. It looked like whisky. “Care to swap?”

  Two things struck Sera at the same time. Firstly, Blair hadn’t moved except to stuff his hands in his pockets; and secondly, the newcomer, like Blair, spoke in her mind without moving his lips.

  “Fabulous,” Sera said bitterly. “Another bloody ventriloquist. What the hell do you want?”

  The newcomer’s eyes widened. “She can hear us, Blair!”

  “Yes, she can,” Blair agreed. “And if you’ve had as much of that bottle as I think you have, you’d better back off, because she’s also quite fast for a human. Serafina—Phil. And no, I have no intention of swapping her for that gut rot.”

  “Why not?” Phil asked, his gaze riveted to Sera’s neck. “It grows back. The gut, I mean.”

  Blair stirred at last, removing one hand from his pocket to clap it to Phil’s shoulder and drag him back from Sera. Rather to her surprise, Phil didn’t put up a fight.

  “No,” Blair said mildly, and yet when she glanced at him, his eyes were like flint under the streetlight.

  Phil met his gaze and laughed. He lifted the bottle to his lips. “Oh, very well. Have it your way.”

  Hearing his voice while he drank seemed weirder than anything else that night. Sera glanced at Blair for enlightenment.

  “Phil won’t harm you. Now,” he added, obviously in the interests of strict truth.

  “Not me she should be worrying about, though, is it?” Phil interjected and lowered the bottle again. In apparently friendly spirit, he offered it to Sera.

  “No, thanks,” she said, baffled.

  “You don’t drink?”

  “It interferes with my powers of vampire detection. So you don’t talk either? With your vocal cords, I mean.”

  “Of course, I don’t. I’m dead.”

  Despite the bizarre, not to say chilling, nature of Phil’s words, there was a spark of laughter in his intense blue eyes that was curiously beguiling. Sera almost smiled back, then glanced rather wildly at Blair for guidance. Blair, however, appeared to be watching the other vampire very closely.

  “So what’s happening in Edinburgh?” Phil inquired. “Any more vampires?”

  “Lots,” Blair said bitterly.

  “Really? How very peculiar! What in the world are they up to?”

  “Talking, for one thing. With their vocal cords.”

  “They don’t do that,” Phil said positively. “You must—”

  “Yes, they do, and I can’t really see what the big deal is,” Sera interrupted. “You walk and drink and wave your arms around. I can’t really see why your vocal cords shouldn’t work either.”

  “She has a point,” Phil allowed. “Perhaps it’s because we don’t need them? Whatever, it doesn’t happen. Even Ailis doesn’t talk.”

  “Who’s Ailis?” She had a feeling she didn’t want to know, but the answer made her jaw drop.

  “The oldest vampire we know. She was made by the Founder.” Phil jerked the end of the bottle toward Blair. “And she’s his mother.”

  “His mother?” she blurted, staring at Blair. “Your mother is a vampire too?”

  “Not his birth mother,” Phil chortled—and that was weird too, for he really did laugh while he was talking. The two sounds were quite separate and yet occurred simultaneously, almost in harmony. “His maker. The vampire who turned him.”

  Phil’s attention wavered to a couple of young women who crossed the street to avoid passing them. “I’m torn,” he complained. “I’m hungry, and yet I want to hear more about those talking vampires.” His gaze fell back to Sera, and his eyes gleamed. “I know. Let’s go to Blair’s, and perhaps I could prevail upon—”

  “No, you bloody couldn’t!” Sera interrupted, since his meaning was blatant. “I’m going home, and if either of you comes within a hundred yards of me—”

  “Phil knows who Nicholas Smith is,” Blair said mildly, halting her mid-flow.

  She closed her mouth and glanced from one to the other. It was Blair who held her gaze. “How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I asked him.”

  “I didn’t hear you,” she challenged.

  Blair smiled, and in spite of fear and loathing and everything else, her stomach did a not unpleasant summersault. “I can be silent,” he observed. “And I can be very silent.”

  “Apparently, so can he,” she said dryly with a jerk of her head toward the other vampire currently swigging from his bottle. “So who is Nicholas Smith?”

  “Sorcerer,” Phil said apologetically.

  ****

  Sera was sure that when she thought about it later—if she ever had the chance to think about it later—she’d be appalled at her own stupidity. But at the time, it seemed less scary to go to Blair’s house with two vampires than with Blair alone. Besides, she’d worked out that Blair at least needed her tracking skills and seemed prepared to protect her from other vampires, whatever his own designs. His strength was such that if he’d really wished to, he could have drunk from her, or killed her outright, at any point in the evening. That he’d chosen not to must mean something.

  And she wanted to hear about Nicholas Smith the sorcerer.

  So she found herself reclining on a pile of cushions in the room of her vision of Blair—the elegantly proportioned room with the three Georgian windows and the same long, black velvet curtains she’d already seen in the downstairs room, now open to the night. As Blair had led them inside through the garden flat and up the dark staircase, Sera was sure she felt cobwebs.

  But Blair’s sitting room was surprisingly civilized, with tall bookcases lining the walls, a chaise longue and a sofa, and an artful pile of silk-covered cushions, which Sera immediately took possession of to avoid sitting beside either of the vampires.

  Now, somewhat relaxed by their unthreatening manners, Sera began to feel a little too comfortable. The tired ache in her feet was fading. In her hands, she nursed a glass of single malt whisky. The feel of the glass in her fingers gave her a pleasant little buzz of “oldness,” of continuity and things that never changed. But there was no revelation, no vision. When she wondered if he’d ever drunk blood from it, like in Interview with the Vampire, she was sure he hadn’t and was glad. Even relaxed as she was, she’d have thrown up if she’d imagined she was drinking from a glass that had once held a victim’s blood. Was that trusting of her? Or hypocritical? Right now, it didn’t seem important.

  The vampires lounged close by, Phil on the chaise longue, Blair on the sofa, both with glasses, since Blair had made Phil pour from his bottle in a more civilized manner.

  “Nicholas Smith,” Sera prompted, since they seemed inclined to forget why she was here. She’d almost forgotten herself.

  “I haven’t met the man,” Phil admitted with something like apology. “But in my travels, I have heard rumors of him from other vampires.”

  “What rumors?” Sera asked.

  “That he’s a genuine psychic with genuine powers of sorcery.”

  “But what does that mean?” Sera demanded.

  Blair stirred and stretched out on the sofa. “That he can harness occult powers for his own ends.”

  “Magic…” Witchcraft, like her friend Melanie? Sera wrinkled her nose and took a sip of the gorgeous whisky. It burned, smooth and smoky, as it slid down her throat. “What ends could he possibly have with a bunch of undead?” As the thought struck her, she leaned forward excitedly. “Wait, though! What if he’s serving their ends? What if he’s somehow cast some spell for them that lets them talk and mingle with human society?”

  “Why would they want to do that?” Phil asked, raising both eyebrows in wonder. “Vampire don’t mingle. We move in silence
and prey in secret.” He lifted his glass to her. “Present company excepted.”

  “More to the point, why would Smith do that?” Blair said lazily, drinking his whisky as he watched her. She had a sudden vision of him sipping not from the glass but from her neck and looked immediately at Phil instead.

  “Because they compelled him. He has something they need—magic. Blair won’t believe me, but I think he was trying to help me when he saw me in Blair’s company.”

  “He was certainly trying to detach you from my company,” Blair allowed. “But there’s no evidence as to motive.”

  “He was anxious,” Sera insisted.

  “I have that effect on a lot of people.”

  “At least admit you don’t know that he isn’t being compelled.”

  “He didn’t look very compelled when he let the vampiress into his house the night before last. Besides, what’s so kind about inviting you into a house full of vampires?”

  “You were the only vampire within spitting distance,” Sera retorted.

  Phil stood up. “You two should be married or something,” he observed, weaving across the room to slosh some more whisky into his glass. “Seems to me the only thing we know is that there is a connection. Any more connections?”

  “C & H. I’m going to look into that tomorrow,” Sera said reluctantly, leaning back against the cushions. Her wrist brushed against the silk, picking up an unexpected aura of peace. As if he never killed or was even angered in this room. Am I being manipulated? She took a last sip of whisky and set the glass down on the floor with determination. “Now I’m going home.”

  She expected some opposition from Blair, at least, but, jumping to her feet, she was ridiculously piqued to discover that neither vampire was paying her the slightest attention. They were in fact, gazing at each other, as if in some tense yet silent communication. Without a word, Blair got up and left the room.

  “Bye,” Sera said dryly to the closed door, torn between amusement and annoyance.

  Phil rose to his feet with surprising elegance. For the first time since she’d met him, he held neither bottle nor glass. “Blair has unexpected company,” he said politely inside her mind. “He’s hoping you’ll wait until he returns before you leave.”

  Sera scowled. “If he’s brought that girl back for his ‘supper’—”

  Phil turned his head on one side to regard her. “What is it with you and Blair?”

  She stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of those few feverish moments in Blair’s arms. “Nothing! There is absolutely nothing between me and Blair. Two nights ago I didn’t know he or his kind existed.” She paused. “Now, it seems, we both have an interest in finding out what the hell is going on.”

  Then, since Phil merely nodded sagely and she was insatiably curious, she asked, “You and Blair are old friends?”

  Phil smiled amiably. “We’ve shared the odd meal over the centuries.”

  Ignoring that, she asked, “How come you can ‘talk’ to each other without me hearing?”

  “Practice. Like a different level, a different path.” His eyes, suddenly, were extremely focused and cold enough to remind her exactly what he was. “I’ve never encountered a human telepath as strong as you.”

  “I’m not a telepath,” she argued. “Or at least, I don’t think I am. I can talk to the dead, that’s all.”

  “Who were your parents?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Your parents. Gifts and disabilities are often passed through blood. I know ours are.”

  “Mine aren’t. My parents were drug addicts who left me at the local clinic.” Although it was suddenly difficult, she managed to hold his gaze until a massive thud in the room below caused both their heads to snap downward as if they could see through the floor. “What the hell was that? Are his visitors—hostile?”

  “Sounds like it,” Phil said without apparent interest as another bump and a swishing sound was heard beneath.

  Instinct propelled Sera across the room to the door, but by the time she got there, Phil was before her. “Don’t worry,” he said, amused. “He doesn’t need us.”

  Two odd thoughts crashed into her mind: that she shouldn’t be this worried about a vampire’s safety; and that she was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner.

  ****

  It was the discourtesy that irritated Blair. Fighting a vampire for territory was one thing; breaking into his home with a party of allies was just plain rude. As he made his silent way downstairs, he sensed four of them in close proximity, and more outside. It was hard for a vampire to surprise other vampires, so he knew he’d need to rely on speed.

  His skin tingled; his fingers flexed and closed around the stake in his pocket. There were two lurking at the foot of the stairs, ready to jump him from either side. He could smell their aggression, their eagerness for blood, but no trace of fear. It was a pity they wouldn’t have time to learn about that one.

  As soon as his foot touched the bottom step, they leapt on him from the shadows. The first impaled himself on Blair’s stake, an expression of ludicrous surprise on his face at encountering such a thing at such a moment. But Blair didn’t have time to laugh. Even as he seized the other vampire to break his neck, someone else dropped on him from above, another from straight ahead, and he could sense those outside coming closer.

  As he fell to the floor under their combined weight, Blair’s teeth found flesh, buried themselves, and with two powerful sucks, the flesh’s owner disintegrated. Clutching one attacker’s neck, he heaved himself to his feet, shaking another loose like a dog dislodging rain water from its fur. A backward thrust of the stake and an upward twist, and a third vampire was dispatched.

  The fourth, he grabbed and threw across the hallway just in time to strike the vampires pouring out of the room in which he’d first entertained Serafina. Several of them fell back in. Blair followed, bent over the thrashing pile, and stabbed the top vampire in the back. He was plunging with cool efficiency for the next in line when the light blazed on and a strange woman’s voice said in horror, “Stop, for God’s sake!”

  It might have been curiosity that gave him pause, made him haul the vampire upright instead and hold him in front of his body like a shield. He wasn’t used to a vampire invoking the Almighty, audibly or otherwise. So he sidestepped the rising heap of vampires, stake at the ready, and faced the vampiress who’d spoken.

  The woman from the Bells’ party, she of the black dress, wore a smart black trouser suit today, and there was panic all over her pretty face.

  “You’re killing them all,” she said worriedly. “There won’t be any left.”

  It was bizarre. She was undoubtedly dead, like him, and yet the sound definitely came from her mouth, her throat. It made her annoyingly superior. Because she could speak to him, but he couldn’t reply. She wouldn’t understand him. He battered his way into her mind; she didn’t seem to notice. It was as if her pathways to receive were blocked with rubbish. He thought of shoveling his way through for ease of communication. But for the moment, it seemed more important to hang on to any tenuous advantage. And if these vampires could only communicate verbally with each other, surely that was in his favor.

  Blair let himself shrug, then placed the stake against his captive’s heart. His question was clear, even to the non-telepathic vampiress.

  “Why shouldn’t you?” she said quickly. “Because we have a proposition for you.”

  Blair curled his lip and exerted a little pressure on the stake. His captive screamed while the other bewildered vampires got to their feet, waiting, it seemed, for orders.

  “All right, all right, listen,” the woman said urgently. “We don’t know who you are, but we get that you’re strong and much older than us. We’d like you on our side.”

  Blair lifted his eyebrows. It wasn’t so hard after all. Centuries of silent if basic communication with humans made questioning her simple.

  “Why? Because we don’t think you wa
nt to hide, feeding off human flotsam and leftovers. There are riches out there that could so easily be ours, that would reverse human-vampire positions and put us in control.”

  Although she was still afraid of him, she spoke with increasing confidence, knowing she’d caught his interest.

  “We don’t need to fight,” she said persuasively. “There’s enough for all of us—enough blood and enough wealth,” she added as he stirred. It might not have been telepathy as such, but she understood him quickly enough.

  Slowly, Blair smiled and released his captive to wave the lady politely to a sofa. He was listening.

  ****

  Phil, Sera knew, was well aware of his own superiority. He was stronger, faster, and far more deadly than she. So she moved away from the door again, went back to pick up her glass. As she’d known he would, Phil followed her, relaxing as she did, although he didn’t retrieve his own glass. She did her best to radiate submission.

  “Vampires,” she said, lifting the glass to her mouth. The whisky sloshed against her lips as she began to pace around the room. “I can feel other vampires in the house.”

  Phil inclined his head.

  “Not friends of yours,” she hazarded, lowering the glass with no whisky swallowed. “Or of his. So why aren’t you down there helping him?”

  “He doesn’t need my help,” Phil said carelessly.

  “What did he say to you that I couldn’t hear?” Pausing for an instant at the dark window, she paced restlessly on.

  “He wanted me to stay here with you.”

  She kicked off her shoes to further allay his suspicions and glanced over her shoulder as she took another step toward the door. “Why?”

  Sensation shot through her foot from the cold floorboard, up through her leg and spine to her brain, blasting her with vision.

  A man. A young man, little more than a boy, a university student. His fear and horror tore through her before she realized what was happening to him.

  She’d been wrong before, so wrong. Blair had taken life in this room, right here where she stood, in an orgy of bloodletting and death. Part of her tried desperately to move away, to stop the awfulness of the young man’s suffering, while her cool, thinking self wanted to know more. But it seemed she had no choice, for suddenly she was swamped with far more than the young man’s pain. She felt the sensual pleasure mixed up in it, his confused jumble of emotions that somehow included pity for the being killing him.