The Gray Institute (The Gray Institute Trilogy Book 1)

by Leanne Pearson

  I suddenly feel embarrassed about my startled cat reaction and I straighten, rubbing my neck sheepishly.

  'Think not of it, Miss Ryder. It's your natural instinct.' The man smiles kindly. He speaks in a crisp English accent but – though he hides it well – I detect a faint trace of Arabic.

  He gestures to a wooden chair tucked into the desk and I hesitate before padding across the plush rug. I perch nervously on the seat as he gracefully takes his place in the arm-chair opposite. He regards me for a few seconds, his eyes sweeping – making an assessment – as I shift uncomfortably beneath his gaze.

  I'm painfully aware of my lacklustre appearance; my dirty clothes, greasy hair and – to put it politely – pungent smell. I'm the embodiment of his opposite with his crisp grey suit, black tie and cinnamon-smelling aftershave.

  'Don't worry, Miss Ryder. I've seen much worse.' He smiles, reading my thoughts. I barely register the fact that he already knows my name, the fact that Diana already knew my name. My parents must have found me and put me here; I don't carry any form of identification.

  The man's eyes are truly a wonder to behold; a pale, almost translucent grey. But deep within his pupils – barely visible – is another colour, one which sends a cold shiver down my spine. A tiny, flickering green ball shimmers and glitters in the blackness, like an emerald under murky water. It swirls and spins – like a ball of fire – dancing with the intensity of his gaze.

  'Miss Ryder, I'm afraid I must become serious with you,' His words jerk my attention from his eyes to his mouth and I grit my teeth, trying hard to focus through the haze of drugs.

  'I imagine you're feeling very confused and vulnerable. I extend my apologies for the nature of your arrival here.' His eyes are sympathetic, his words kind and concerned – but alarm bells are ringing in my head. Something tells me I can't trust this man, a gut instinct – one I can't ignore.

  'Where are my parents?' That odd sound that seems to be my voice escapes my throat again.

  'Your parents?' The man frowns deeply, narrowing his eyes. There's suddenly an underlying threat to his tone and I swallow a dry lump.

  'Yes, my parents. Didn't they bring me here?' I've been expecting to find my mum and dad waiting in a reception room just out of sight. Expecting a heartfelt reunion during which they'll beg me to come home and I'll apologise profusely. But the man's bewildered – and almost angry – expression suggests that my parents were never part of this.

  'I do not know of your parents' whereabouts; just as they know nothing of yours.' He speaks slowly and carefully, gauging my reactions, but – although part of me had hoped that my parents finally knew where I was and what I had become – I'm pleased that they don't.

  I'm also not surprised at the news that they didn't put me here; I'm well aware that the government locks people like me up in mental hospitals on a complete whim, purely to get us off the streets.

  'Where do you think you are, Miss Ryder?' The man asks, leaning back in his chair and linking his fingers together, a look of amusement and interest on his face. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, shrugging my shoulders and avoiding eye contact.

  'A psychiatric hospital?' It's a question, not a statement and the man attempts to hide a smirk. Attempts – but fails.

  'Why do you assume that?' He asks, raising an eyebrow as his eyes glitter, laughing at me silently. I shrug, feeling stupid. If I'm not in a mental hospital, where else could I be? It all made sense; the white walls, the drugs, the guards.

  'This is not a psychiatric facility, Miss Ryder,' The man shakes his head slowly, his voice serious again. 'This is a training facility.'

  'A training facility?' I frown, glancing around nervously. I suddenly feel anxious, fearful even; I'm alone in a building full of strangers – all of whom appear to know me. I desperately try to think back, to remember some forgotten detail; a short period of time within which I woke up, to remember being transported to this place.

  But all I remember is shooting up, passing out and waking up here.

  'Yes,' The man nods, sighing deeply and running a hand through his neat silver hair. 'I had hoped that Diana would give you the basic information – to prepare you for our meeting – but alas, she has fallen short of my expectations. I must apologise to you, Miss Ryder. I thought you knew all of this by now, you understand.'

  Actually, I don't. I have no idea what he means or what Diana was supposed to tell me; but I nod along politely as the fear grows more intense.

  'My name is Sir Alec Gray,' He beams, straightening his posture, adjusting his demeanour to that of welcoming host. The change of character is so swift it's shocking and I stare, mouth agape, as he extends his right arm. I shake his hand, dazed.

  'Welcome to The Gray Institute.'

  'The Gray..?'

  'Institute.' Sir Alec Gray beams again, as if the title alone provokes warm, happy feelings. 'Miss Ryder, you have been carefully selected to join us here at the Institute.'

  'What is the Institute?' My mind is racing, piecing together Sir Alec Gray's words with little comprehension until the end result is more cryptic than it was to start with. One thought sticks closely at the forefront of my mind, repeating itself:

  I must be dreaming.

  'I'm glad you asked,' Though Sir Alec Gray is trying hard to be pleasant and accommodating, his words are rushed, his expression impatient.

  'I must warn you, Miss Ryder, this will come as a shock to you,' He turns suddenly very serious. Unexpectedly, I feel some reluctance to hear his next words as he stands up, crossing to the window and gazing out thoughtfully.

  'It's been a long time since I've had to break the news of someone's transformation to them. Please forgive me if I'm a little blunt,' Sir Alec says. 'I leave it to the Creators to inform you of your change – perhaps Diana has forgotten.' His words fly over my head, their meaning of no sense to me.

  'You have been chosen, Miss Ryder, because of your lifestyle;' He continues. 'Your family are unaware of your whereabouts, you have no friends or close connections. No-one will notice that you are gone. As I said before; the Institute is a training facility for new members of our kind which – as of now – you are.'

  'Your kind?' I frown, panic settling deep within my stomach. Have I been targeted by some kind of strange cult? Seen as a vulnerable girl with no family who wouldn't be missed and would simply disappear without a trace? Or perhaps a government funded project; to be used for scientific or social experiments?

  'Indeed,' Sir Alec nods sincerely. 'Perhaps it's too early for you to notice, or perhaps you haven't fully come to terms with your transformation yet. You see, Miss Ryder, you are changed. You are not the individual you once were. Look around, listen, breathe in the scents – your senses are heightened are they not?'

  'Because you've drugged me.' I state plainly, all attempt at politeness and etiquette forgotten.

  'Certainly not, Miss Ryder,' He looks appalled and shakes his head fervently. 'No drug would have an effect on you now. Listen to your own body, feel its transformation.'

  I do as he asks – albeit sceptically – quietening my heavy breathing to listen to my body.

  Silence.

  I place a hand over my heart to feel its familiar, comforting thumps. It lies still within my chest.

  'What have you done to me?' I leap from my chair, backing away from Sir Alec into the corner of the room. Has medical science made a leap in progress? Am I the first – or maybe last – of its trial and errors? Is this the newest break-through in human biology?

  'Changed you.' Sir Alec replies carefully, his tone low and overly calm.

  'How?' My voice is hysterical, high-pitched and agitated. I can't get control of my breathing, can't make the process flow as normal although I'm not out of breath.

  'You don't live in the world you think you do,' Sir Alec steps forward, trapping me. 'Fairy tales and ghost stories – whilst mostly embellished – always have origins in the real world.'

  'What ghost stories?!' I'm shrieki
ng now but to Sir Alec's credit, he remains composed – if not a little irritated.

  'Miss Ryder, calm down. Take a seat and I will explain everything.'

  My eyes dart for the door – I could run, but where would I go? It seems I have no choice but to listen to Sir Alec, to try to accept the fact that my heart no longer beats in my chest. I try to ignore it – the way I deal with things best.

  'I'll stand.' I state defiantly, not willing to allow myself to be vulnerable – easy prey.

  'As you wish,' Sir Alec stifles a sigh. 'Miss Ryder, I'm afraid there's no easy way to tell you this so I will have to deal purely in facts. Do try to refrain from interrupting me and I'll do my best to answer any of your questions when I'm finished.'

  'What's going on?' I spit, struggling to process anything at all. What feels like ten minutes ago, I was sat in my usual doorway; an ex-addict down-and-out. Now, I'm in a luxurious study with a strange and beautiful man, in a castle, with an unbeating heart and 20/20 vision.

  I almost laugh at the absurdity of it – except it isn't funny.

  'You are an Immortal, Miss Ryder.' Sir Alec says simply, as if this one sentence is the sole answer to all my questions.

  'Immortal?' I repeat, knowing the word's meaning but being unable to put it into a context concerning me.

  'That's right,' He nods. 'We have changed you. Diana has changed you,' He explains. 'Do you remember experiencing a sort of... seizure? A painful sensation; like being set on fire?'

  'Clearly.' My tone is dry; I can still feel the flames licking at my temples.

  'That was your transformation. Diana is a Creator – she makes new Immortals. She created you by injecting her venom into your bloodstream - '

  'Okay,' I interrupt, taking slow and steady steps towards the door. 'I get it. Vampires, right? You're all into vampires?' I raise an eyebrow as Sir Alec remains silent.

  'This is some weird fetish club where you all play out your fantasies? You abduct strangers and pretend to turn them into vampires – like you? Inject them with drugs and keep them docile, cut open their necks and drink their blood? No fucking way,' I shake my head, edging backwards. 'I'm not joining your freaky, wannabe-vampire club. Whatever you've done to me, undo it and let me go or I'll call the police.'

  A spark of amusement flits across Sir Alec's eyes, his smirk on show with no attempt to hide it.

  'Firstly, we tend to steer clear of the word 'vampire,'' He informs me calmly. 'Though that is, by all means, what we are; the term has been romanticised and made a mockery of to the extent that we no longer wish to go by it. 'Immortals' or 'Our Kind' are the accepted vernaculars.

  Secondly, it's impossible to undo your transformation. In all senses of the word, you are no longer alive. Your organs don't function, your blood doesn't pump; you are frozen as you are now for the rest of eternity. Even we can't bring someone back from the dead.

  And thirdly, any attempt to call the police would be pointless and – quite frankly – hysterical. There are no phones and you are miles away from civilisation.

  This is no joke, Miss Ryder, no fantasy club house. Your reaction is anticipated and will be tolerated for the moment, but sometime soon you will have to come to terms with the fact that what you previously thought to be fiction – is actually fact.'

  'You're a vampire? That's what you want me to believe?' I tilt my head sarcastically. 'Why don't you prove it then? Do something vampiric?'

  'Miss Ryder, I hardly think that's necessary or appropriate – '

  'You people are sick,' I spit, feeling sudden anger bubble in the pit of my stomach. 'How dare you prey on a desperate and vulnerable woman. I was committing suicide! And what, you just picked up my body and brought it here?

  I've heard about people like you; you prey on the weak and the desperate, string them along to your freaky little club, initiate them and pretend like you saved their life – like you gave them a purpose. Do you thrive on control? Or having disciples? Do you – '

  My furious monologue is swiftly cut off as Sir Alec suddenly vanishes from sight. One moment he's perched on the window ledge, the next his fingers are around my throat, lifting me up with one hand until my feet dangle off the floor. His movements are so quick I barely register them and, as he bares his teeth, I suddenly realise that he's absolutely right – this is no joke.

  Every story I've been told, every tale I've dismissed as myth or fantasy was based on reality. There are real monsters in the world, the supernatural does exist – the man before me is a being of a whole other realm.

  The logical half of my brain pushes these thoughts aside, dismisses them with a wave of its hand, but the more accepting and creative side is winning.

  'Miss Ryder,' Sir Alec Gray's voice is an inhuman growl. Its depth and tone vibrates my bones and for the first time in my life, I feel mortal fear.

  'It is perfectly understandable that you may find this information difficult to digest. Anger, confusion, fear – these are all acceptable emotions at a time like this. But your impoliteness has gone far enough and I will not stand for it a second longer, is that understood?'

  I nod my head hastily, clawing at his fingers until he releases his grip, setting me back on my feet with a bump. He eyes me for a moment – his pupils dilated – before he takes a deep breath, composing himself.

  'I'm more than happy to answer your questions, Miss Ryder. Please forgive my lapse of self-restraint. But you must understand that this is not a trick, it's not a joke, it's not a role-play game.

  You can choose to cast aside your previous convictions, open your mind and allow yourself to believe that you are what I say you are. Or you can live the rest of what will be a very long life attempting – to no avail – to deny it.'

  I consider his words carefully, allowing myself a few moments with my thoughts. Could I believe that I am now a vampire? An Immortal? The suggestion is so absurd it's hard not to laugh.

  Perhaps if I lived in the eighteenth century, when vampires and dragons, demons and witches were the norm. But I live in these modern times, where once a person had to be convinced a fellow human being wasn't a witch, we must now be convinced of the supernatural. We are born sceptics – relying on science and hard proof to fuel our beliefs.

  But if it's science and proof I ask for, I need look no further than my own body. My heart no longer beats in my chest, no longer pumps the blood through my veins, and I've long since figured out that I have no need to breathe. I should be dead – yet I'm not.

  What about Sir Alec? He travelled at a speed not possible of a human right in front of my eyes not thirty seconds ago. Displayed enormous, almost unfathomable strength.

  If this were an experiment, the conclusion would be vampire. If this were a court case, the evidence would suggest vampire.

  Yet my logical mind still screams a rejection at what appears to be hard fact.

  'If I were to believe – ' I choose my words carefully as my ears struggle to comprehend what my own lips are saying. ' – Then what is this place? What exactly do you train... our kind in?' I emphasise the 'our', careful to express my unwillingness to identify myself with him.

  Sir Alec's triumphant smile infuriates me; I'm not yet ready to give in to the impossible, not yet ready to accept that stories of vampires and witches are historical fact. It goes against my entire belief system.

  'Allow me to show you something first of all,' Sir Alec Gray extends a hand to me, which I don't take; instead I follow him to a seemingly uninteresting tall wooden cabinet. It's oak – like the doors – but intricately carved with impressions of devils and saints, etched into the fine woodwork by expert hands.

  'Do you like it?' He asks, eyeing the cabinet.

  'It's exquisite.' I admit with a slight nod.

  'Thank you,' He smiles. 'I made it back in Egypt, many years ago.'

  I ignore him – still unconvinced that this isn't one big joke – and he swings one of the cabinet doors open to reveal a full length mirror bolted to the inside. The woman in
the reflection looks a little like me, but isn't.

  She's five foot and six inches – like me – with poker-straight black hair nestling on her shoulders and shocking green eyes. Her skin is pale, her legs long and her clothes are withered and worn. She wears an exterior of dirt and grime, but beneath her shabby costume is a beautiful, inhuman woman.

  Beneath the slime and grease, her hair is vibrant, full of life and shimmering in the candlelight. Her eyes are a brilliant emerald with flecks of blue and yellow – the whites clean, the lashes thick. Her skin is smooth as porcelain and flawless – like alabaster – and it shines and ripples beneath the light. Her limbs – once gangly and awkward – are elegant and endless, her muscles taut, her body lithe.

  I'm breathless, astounded by my healthy, unearthly appearance. I've never been ugly, but I've certainly never been beautiful. It's easy to see I'm different – not just from my usual self, but from other people, too. I have an ethereal presence, something I can't quite put my finger on but which is undoubtedly there.