He went on. “Holy water. Sunlight. A well-placed wooden stake. But we are a cautious race. Most of us take no blood that is not freely given.” Ceriden showed me his fangs. “For three hundred years I have followed this tradition.”
Three hundred…
Ceriden’s gaze lingered on the handkerchief. “I knew Gianni, you know. And later, Donatella- but that girl was so wild. No time for me.”
Lucy goggled at our new friend. “Do you know Burberry?”
Ceriden laughed and ruffled her hair so fast I didn’t see him move. “Puhlease! Stick with the eternal Italians, my dear. Gianni, Georgio, and Guccio. And maybe Enzo. How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” I said.
“Nearly sixteen,” she shrilled in my ear, and added, “Soon.”
“We need to get you an outfit,” Ceriden eyed me. “Assuming the Grumpmeister here will let you have one.”
“Look,” I said. “I don’t mean to be rude, and especially to a vampire, but-“
At a sudden loss for words, I gestured at Belinda.
Help? Please get me out of here.
She grinned. “Background info- Vampires, the good ones like Ceriden here- take what are called ‘shades.’ Willing men and women who stay with the vampire for life, almost like a soul-mate, if you like, allowing their master to feed off them and slake his blood lust. If he is careful a vampire like Ceriden may need only a dozen shades in his entire life, never feeding off an innocent.”
“I thought vampires lived forever?” Lucy asked, recovering her voice before I did.
“No, dear, Hollywood overestimated us there I’m afraid. Vampires are not immortal,” Ceriden flashed his fangs at her like a benevolent blood-sucking grandfather. “We reach our peak around three-to-four hundred before beginning the dreadful slide into obscurity and senility,” he glanced pointedly at me. “Death occurs after about five hundred years. A vampire that old literally falls apart.”
“Gross," Lucy said.
I wondered at her mounting confidence. Was it because she had been given new purpose? Or was it because her old dad was floundering?
“These human shades,” I picked up on one of the many things bothering me. “Are they your slaves?”
“Not at all,” Ceriden flapped a wrist. “A shade may walk away at any time. After a few years they will recover and be able to lead a full life. No after effects. But the rewards of being a vampire’s shade far outweigh the downsides.”
“Why?” Lucy was quick to ask.
“Too many to count, little one,” he said. “And not for the ears of one so young. Maybe another time.”
I gripped Lucy’s hand, thinking don’t count on it, fang-face.
Belinda gave Ceriden a big hug. “You know about the big pow-wow tomorrow night. All the little chiefs should be there. Fate of the world and all that.”
The vampire nodded. “Fear not. My well-tailored buttocks will be seated beside your own sweet cheeks, my dear. And I will pass the word.”
“That’s it then,” Belinda waved her hand to and fro in front of my face. “Still wavering, Logan, or did the fence just collapse beneath you?”
What could I say? I thought of our Victory Wall back home, of all those professional photographs taken by yours truly. If it didn’t sell, it didn’t get framed. Maybe I could make one exception.
“So tell me,” I said to Ceriden. “Do you photograph well?”
By the time we arrived back at Aegis’ safe house I was feeling beyond bone weary. It was well after midnight. Lucy had been quiet the whole way back, and didn’t protest when I agreed with Belinda’s suggestion that we stay the night. At the time I put it down to her exhaustion. How naïve of me.
Lucy’s room was spacious, dominated by a large double bed. I tapped on her PDA for a minute, leaving a note reminding her to change her bandages in the morning. I kissed her on the forehead, and then left the room.
My daughter. It would be a mistake to believe she wasn’t really dying inside, still blaming herself for her mother’s absence. The dark watches of the night bring into sharper focus those things that torment us the most.
I headed into the kitchen and threw a weary glance at Belinda. She returned my look with eyes that held too much wisdom for someone her age. I wondered what she’d gone through in her short life.
“Quick drink?” She asked.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “A camomile tea if you’ve got any. I don’t know what’s harder- meeting a vampire or trying to talk to my daughter.”
“Sure you don’t want anything stronger? We could share vodka.” She spoke the last word in a terrible Russian accent.
“No alcohol.”
She fixed the tea, explaining that Aegis had bought up this entire six-house row, and then knocked each house through until it became an extensive warren of plush carpeted corridors and high vaulted ceilings. I couldn’t imagine how many rooms there were in the whole three-storey high building, or how much the place was worth.
As Belinda delved into the floor standing freezer and came out with a half-empty bottle of Grey Goose, I plonked my weary frame down at the kitchen table and thought seriously about Raychel for the first time in weeks. Mostly now my absent wife was a fleeting distraction. I had dwelled on her far too much during that first year. But Holly had taken every foul word and petty incident I had thrown at her with almost inhuman patience and forgiveness. I owed her more than I could ever repay.
I had learned to compartmentalize. My method was in keeping busy. By design, there was rarely a moment these days when I got chance to sit down and dwell.
My story is simple. One day my wife disappeared, taking nothing with her but a platinum ring inscribed with the legend: ‘To Dean, all my love forever, Raychel’. At first I was a suspect, now they believed my wife had just run away. Happened all the time, apparently. I’d spent a year clicking away on the internet, searching for sightings of missing persons. There are websites for that, you know. I guess you have to be in my unique and desperate position to find out about them.
And sometimes I still clicked away after Lucy had gone to bed when she wouldn’t hear me. I entered Raychel’s name in all its guises, her old mobile number, her old addresses. I checked Google and more recently Facebook, MySpace, Twitter.
Imagine the torture of a ringing phone. A knock on the door.
Back then, I’d hit the bottle hard. I’d ceased to care about my life and the lives of those closest to me. I blamed myself for Raychel’s vanishing act. I had failed her, and I had failed Lucy, and I had thrown away my career. Why the Hell would anyone make me one of the Chosen?
I swallowed a lump of pure guilt as Belinda finally came over, a glass half full of clear liquid in her left hand, my cup of camomile tea in her right.
“Shall we toast?” she said.
I stared questioningly at her.
“To doing the right thing,” she gave an easy smile.
“You always drink that much?”
Belinda grinned in that carefree way of hers. “It’s a ‘Belinda-shot’, sugarcake. Just enough to take you there.”
I stared into her eyes, shining with health and wit and wisdom. It was a wisdom she concealed well, and purposely, behind a light exterior.
I briefly wondered why.
Then I raised my cup. “To friends,” I said simply, knowing she would understand. “Both old and new.”
15
YORK, ENGLAND
I slept poorly for a few hours, my dreams haunted by a beast I could neither name nor remember. I climbed out of bed, then pulled on yesterday’s clothes and headed down to the kitchen, following the smell of freshly-brewed coffee
Belinda was already at the table, a steaming cup in front of her. She looked the opposite of me, fresh, bright-eyed and perky. Today’s t-shirt read: ‘Innocent’. I almost smiled.
“Just brewed,” she said, indicating the expensive-looking coffee machine. “It’s Komodo Dragon blend. Myleene brought it back from the States a few weeks ag
o.”
I poured a cup, then nearly dropped it when I noticed a short girl with masses of bouncy hair and a wide, wicked smile stood behind the door.
“Meet Felicia,” Belinda waved at her. “This here is Dean Logan. One of the Eight. Go easy, poodle, you’re his first Lycan.”
I stared, feeling rude but unable to stop. Felicia looked soft and sweet and all things cute. A silver ring sparkled at her navel and two more at her earlobes.
Felicia gave a pretend growl, showing sharp canines. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ve already eaten.”
I closed my mouth with a clack of teeth and turned my attention back to my coffee. I wasn’t about to poke fun at a werewolf no matter how light-hearted she seemed.
The coffee was dark and smooth, with a hint of liquorice. Belinda said, “Like it? I’m a coffee connoisseur. Don’t laugh.”
“She’s a geek,” Felicia breezed past, heading unerringly for the coffee pot.
I said nothing, feeling intimidated. It soon became obvious the kitchen was a kind of sounding stage where views were aired and reactions evaluated. More decisions were ground out here, I wagered, than in any official meeting room.
Felicia seated herself beside me. I noticed her send a wicked grin in response to Belinda’s warning look. “We Lycans are a loose affiliation, Mr. Logan. We like our freedom, so tend not to linger in once place for long. We move in groups of three or four, but rarely more. I am the only Lycan within a hundred miles of here,” she winked. “At least, the only one worth knowing.”
Felicia was about to continue when someone else entered the kitchen. I recognized Myleene, dressed in a black, well-cut business suit.
“Now there-” Ceriden said approvingly. “Is a woman who knows how to dress.” he turned to me. “What does that look say to you, Logan? Power? Dominance? Some Vivienne Westwood mixed with a little S and M?”
Felicia giggled.
“The meeting,” Myleene cut across us. “Is about to start. Everyone must assemble in the meeting room within five minutes.”
I heard the tension in her voice. It reminded me that these discussions would affect the future of our planet. I glanced at the apprehensive faces of all the fantastical beings arrayed around me in the kitchen. It was their expressions that, above all else, drove home the indisputable fact that we were facing the severest situation in our history.
*****
The meeting room was full to bursting. I sat with a bedraggled looking Lucy as unobtrusively as possible. A high row of windows marched away to my left, looking out onto an ordinary York street. People walked there- mothers pushed prams, little girls held their fathers’ hands, a postman delivered letters- completely unaware that on the other side of those opaque windows the fate of the world was being decided. I recognized few people to be honest, Myleene, Belinda, the lovely Lycan, Ceriden the vampire and the oriental guy, Kisami, sitting a few rows in front.
And God how I wished for my trusty old Nikon. The camera is the physical extension of the mind, and my mind captured grainy studies in tension, fear and anticipation.
Myleene brought the meeting to order by indicating the quad bank of video screens mounted on the wall, facing us. “Soon we will see Tristran, Master of Vampires. Cheyne- the Witch Queen. And Eldritch- King of the Elves. Their representatives in the room are Ceriden, whom you all know, and-” Myleene paused as if in awe.
“Eleanor, the wife of Eldritch. Queen of the Elves.”
My jaw dropped. I knew enough to be stunned by the presence of a being even vampires said were rare and reverential.
Elves? I thought. Am I dreaming?
I saw a diminutive figure give a slight nod from the front row. I craned my neck to get a better view, then noticed Lucy doing a complicated neck-wrenching manoeuvre beside me. I patted her knee. “We’ll catch her later,” I winked.
Myleene had recovered her poise. She flicked a switch and the screens flickered to life.
And so this momentous meeting of the true leaders of the world began.
Giles, the world leader of Aegis, said nothing. Myleene stayed on her feet, taking the spotlight. They’d probably worked out a routine between them where she took the limelight, whilst he kept to the background, taking time to think. The idea was sound.
Myleene spoke up. “First the good news. Devon Summers, of Maui, has been successfully extracted. Our enemy got to her first but made a mistake," she smiled. “Devon is our healer.”
There were a few positive expletives around the room.
“Devon is on her way to York. And Ken Hamilton, another of the Eight, has been found, though he is proving hard to convince.”
“Just put me in line for a crack at that,” Belinda said.
Ceriden cooed. “Belinda!”
I guessed they knew something about Ken Hamilton that I didn’t.
“All the Eight have been located,” Myleene said with obvious pride. “And all are alive. We will do our best to keep them that way. But we have not yet made contact with the majority of them.”
“How long do you anticipate?” Eldritch asked.
“Twenty four hours,” Myleene said. “That’s all we need.”
“Make it quicker, please,” Eldritch said, somehow making his order sound like a reasonable request. “The Eight are all that stand between us and oblivion.”
Tristran spoke up next. For a master vampire he didn’t sound good. His voice shook as he spoke. “Any luck with triggering their latent. . . powers. . . yet?” Tristran’s words ended in a series of wracking coughs.
“We haven’t started yet, Tristran.”
“Then what happened with Devon Summers?”
“We believe her powers surfaced in response to a near-death situation,” Myleene sighed. “Let’s hope it’s not the only way.”
“We can at least start their training,” Eldritch said “Perhaps Eleanor could help? None are better at training than the elves. If anyone can coax their powers out it is Eleanor, our finest.”
A voice answered from the front row. “I am grateful for the opportunity, husband.”
I noticed Myleene relax. I realized there was more diplomacy going on here than it seemed.
“I’m sure we can still learn more from this text,” Cheyne said. “This text of Arcadia. I’m sure I don’t need to mention that nobody has located the seventh Destroyer yet, Trickster. I would like to continue spelling the text here in the library.”
Cheyne was a true beauty, with the bearing and appearance of a model, but nothing could take my attention away from her nose. More like a beak, it was nearly double-jointed and crooked. It was as if God had said okay, I’ll give you all this power, I’ll make you a true witch, but you’re gonna have to live with this in return. And bam! She’d gained a conk only a shade shorter and slightly less crooked than the Grand Canyon.
I heard Lucy stifle a giggle-cough beside me.
“Don’t say a word,” I leaned towards her. “I don’t want my daughter turned into Shrek.”
Cheyne now folded her tanned legs beneath her, and sipped from a crystal wine glass at her side. “I want more specifics about this last battle. And I’d bet my ribbed broomstick that we can discover more about Gorgoroth. He is the coming world-ender, of whom we know nothing.”
That made me frown. We knew nothing? Myleene and the gang had kept that little fact quiet.
Felicia found her voice. “I offer the services of Hugo’s pack. They hunt not an hour’s run from the Library.”
“And I offer Eliza’s help, and that of her shades,” Tristran said around a choking cough. “Eliza…is our best… by far.”
I heard Ceriden whisper, “Do you think I should offer the services of David Beckham?” and blessed him for lightening the moment. The guy was an odd card, sure, but was he a Joker? Or an Ace?
Belinda said, “I wouldn’t mind being offered the services of that ribbed broomstick,” under her breath.
“Good enough,” Myleene said, taking Giles’ silence as affirm
ation. “Now, I know this will cause contention,” she paused. “Marian Cleaver.”
Felicia surged to her feet. The small lycan looked out of place, but her words carried true conviction. “He should never have been left to face this alone. Never. “
The Aegis leader held his hands up as if in surrender. “Fine. I was wrong, you were right. I made a mistake leaving Cleaver vulnerable. I wanted to…give him a righteous goal, if you like. But it was a decision we all took, and something he wanted. Needed even,” Giles said carefully. “And I will not take all the hits for it.”
The Aegis leader loosened his tie.
“A mistake that can be rectified,” Ceriden put in. “Now.”
Felicia nodded so hard I thought her masses of blonde curls might fall off.
“I hear you,” Giles pulled on his shirt collar for ventilation. “Eldritch will meet up with him soon.”
“And since we know Gorgoroth will make his appearance in Miami,” Ceriden said. “Perhaps we should start to congregate more than just a few teams there,” his bony hands were steepled together on the table.
“Later,” Giles told him. “I want to know more about Gorgoroth and his Destroyers before we take any major action. Also, it might draw attention to you,” he flapped a hand generally. “To Ubers, I mean.”
“Agreed,” Tristran overruled Ceriden. “Unfortunately, the only clear facts are that we must protect the Eight and we must learn more about this Gorgoroth.”
“And what of the new threat?” Cheyne asked between sips of wine. “What of the Hierarchy of Demons?”
Myleene looked confused. “New threat?”
“Dementia has surfaced in San Francisco, and she is a demon,” Cheyne spoke with care. “Not a Destroyer. Something is not right there. . .” she trailed off.
There was a long silence. Cheyne, it seemed, had raised a point no one else had considered.
Cheyne was scratching at her chicane-like nose. “Summoning Dementia is an act without reason. I mean, demons are demons, loyal only to Lucifer- the Devil Himself. I’ll be burned at the stake if I can’t figure out why they would ally themselves with this Gorgoroth, this world-ender.” Cheyne ran her fingers through her dark, curly tresses. “And more pressing needs mean we have to focus on Gorgoroth and worry about the Hierarchy later.”
Chosen (The Chosen Few Trilogy #1) Page 6
