Uprising vf-1

by Scott G. Mariani

  ‘It felt so real.’

  ‘Just dreams,’ she said. A strand of hair fell across his eye. She brushed it away.

  ‘How long have you been sitting here?’ he asked softly, with a smile.

  ‘I’ll go now.’

  He put out his hand to catch her arm as she got up to leave. ‘Stay,’ he said. She could so easily have broken his grip, but didn’t.

  What are you doing, Alex?

  She let him pull her down towards him, slowly closer until she could feel his warm breath on her lips. His eyes were shining in the moonlight from the window.

  Then, when the kiss came, there was no going back from it, for either of them.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  The Dorchester Bar, London

  10.17 p.m.

  Slumped on a stool at the end of the curved bar, Kirsty Fletcher drained the last of her gin and tonic and ordered another. She glanced at her watch. More than three-quarters of an hour since her boyfriend Steve had been due to turn up. He was making a habit of that. And just under six hours since she’d walked out of her audition feeling utterly deflated and demoralised. The feeling hadn’t gone away. Steve had suggested the Dorchester as a treat, to help drown her sorrows together.

  Cheers, Steve, she thought bitterly as she took the first gulp of her second G and T. She followed that up with a bigger one, and before she knew it the ice was clinking against an empty glass. At about twenty quid a sip, she couldn’t hang about here all night. There was a bottle of cheap wine in the fridge back home in her little Hammersmith flat; she’d take it to bed, turn on a movie and put the rest of the day out of its misery. Sounded like a good plan.

  It was the ripple of whispers from the group of women sitting at the table behind her that made her look round at the entrance.

  ‘Who’s he?’ the skinny blonde said sotto voce behind her hand to the brunette next to her. Kirsty followed their gaze towards the man who had just walked into the bar. He was tall and almost impossibly elegant, but without a hint of affectation. Maybe in his early forties, he was built like a tennis champion and walked with the easy grace of an athlete. His hair was thick and dark, and the eyes beneath the sleek brows were the most vivid blue she’d ever seen. She swallowed.

  Ohmygod…he’s coming this way.

  He walked the length of the bar, pulled up a stool two seats away from where she was sitting, and peeled off the long leather coat he was wearing to reveal a beautifully tailored suit. When he ordered a glass of champagne, his voice seemed to trickle like warm liquid over her.

  Suddenly she was thinking about hanging around. Just a little longer. She fingered her empty glass. That was when the man turned and gave her a smile that sent a frisson through her whole body.

  ‘I’ve always hated drinking alone,’ he said. His tone was gentle and warm. Kirsty could feel the envious looks of the women at the table.

  She nodded.

  ‘Care to join me?’ he asked.

  She said that she would. He ordered a bottle of champagne, introduced himself as Gabriel. When he asked her what she did, she blushed and said she was an actress.

  ‘Not a very successful one,’ she added, and told him about the few bit roles she’d had, mainly TV, and her failed audition that afternoon. ‘That’s why I’m here,’ she explained. ‘Feeling rather sorry for myself.’

  He gave her that shattering smile again. ‘I believe in synchronicity, Kirsty.’ He took out his card and slipped it into her hand.

  ‘Topaz Productions?’ She looked up at him, blinking.

  ‘I’m an executive producer,’ he said. ‘And the funny thing is, we’re just about to go into production with a film project I’ve been developing, and the lead actress just dropped out.’ He told her the name. It was a famous one. ‘But I must tell you, I never considered her quite right for the part. I was looking for someone like you.’

  The champagne just seemed to be slipping down. Kirsty was getting heady. It didn’t seem to affect Gabriel. He ordered another bottle. ‘It’s exquisite, is it not?’

  ‘I like the way you talk,’ she said. ‘You’re not like other men.’

  ‘Maybe I’m old fashioned,’ he said.

  ‘I like it. Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.’

  He smiled. ‘All over.’

  ‘Tell me more about the film.’

  ‘Do you have a little time?’

  She thought about Steve. Screw him. ‘Plenty,’ she said.

  He paid the bill, leaving the half-empty bottle without a second glance, and she followed him out of the Dorchester. The night was cool and fresh, and the moon was full over London. He walked her towards a car that was lower and sleeker than any sports car she’d ever seen before.

  ‘Wow. What kind of car is this?’

  ‘It’s the fastest car in the world,’ he told her as he opened the gull-wing door for her. The driver’s seat was in the middle, like a racing car. Kirsty climbed a little uncertainly into the passenger seat positioned just behind and to the side. The car felt very low down. Gabriel settled in behind the wheel, flashed another brilliant smile and started up the engine with a rasping roar.

  In what seemed like no time at all, they were hurtling down the motorway heading out of the city.

  ‘Henley?’ she said when he told her where he lived. ‘That’s in Oxfordshire.’

  ‘It won’t take us long in this,’ he said. As the car accelerated and Kirsty felt herself pressed back in her seat, she watched the surreal climb of the speedometer.

  150…180…190. She blinked, laughed, dizzy from the champagne.

  ‘Do you know how fast you’re going?’

  ‘I can go faster, if you wish.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about the police?’

  He turned. ‘Should I be?’

  ‘What if they stop us?’

  ‘Then I shall simply kill them,’ he shrugged casually.

  She laughed again. ‘You’re such a joker, Gabriel.’ He obviously had enough money to bribe his way out of any kind of trouble, she thought.

  ‘I never joke,’ he replied.

  As he’d promised, it wasn’t long before they were speeding through the country lanes of south Oxfordshire. He pulled up at the high gates of what looked to Kirsty like a huge estate. The gates opened automatically, and the car rumbled on through them and up a long, winding driveway.

  She was babbling with excitement as they pulled up outside the house. ‘This is where you live?’

  ‘Not all of the time. I have homes in several places.’ He killed the engine, climbed out and opened her door for her, taking her hand to lead her across the gravel.

  ‘I’ve had too much to drink,’ she giggled. As he led her inside the grand hallway, she asked him, ‘Do you live here alone?’

  ‘Some of my family also reside here. My sister Lillith is here at the moment. You may meet her.’

  Kirsty’s head was spinning with more than champagne as he ushered her through the house.

  ‘This is the library,’ he said. She looked around her at the enormous oak-panelled room, the ornate coved ceiling, the towering bookcases filled with antique leather-bound volumes, the gleaming grand piano in the corner. A fire was crackling brightly in a marble fireplace.

  ‘Would you care for another drink?’ he asked.

  ‘Why not?’ What the hell. She thought about Steve again, and smiled to herself.

  Sweet revenge.

  Gabriel graciously excused himself. Alone in the library, she went over to one of the bookcases and ran her fingers across the polished wood. She opened one of the glass doors and selected a book at random. Carefully flipping open the cover, she saw it was Milton’s Paradise Lost. She wondered how old it was.

  ‘Very old indeed,’ said Gabriel’s voice, making her jump.

  ‘You startled me.’

  He smiled. ‘It was unintentional. I apologise.’ He was carrying a heavy silver tray with a bottle of Krug and two slim flutes.

  ‘Thi
s is more champagne than I’ve ever had before,’ she said. She sipped her drink as Gabriel walked over to the piano. His hands descended delicately on the keys, and he began to play.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ she murmured.

  ‘Composed by someone I once knew. His name was Frederick. Frederick Chopin.’

  Kirsty frowned. ‘Isn’t he, like, dead? As in, dead a long time?’

  Gabriel made no reply. He went on playing, and the powerful, melancholic music filled the room. As she listened, Kirsty wandered back over to the bookcase and found one by someone she recognised, Jane Austen. She opened it carefully and saw it was signed by the author.

  ‘This is an amazing collection of books, Gabriel,’ she said. ‘Some of these must be terribly rare.’

  He abruptly stopped playing and stood up. Picked his glass off the piano and sipped it as he walked over to her. ‘Just little things I’ve acquired on my travels,’ he said. He reached past her and slipped a book off a shelf. ‘Like this one. Turgenev. First edition. It’s extremely valuable.’ He weighed the book in his hand, then flung it in the fire. It burst open and curled and blackened as the flames devoured it.

  She stared at him.

  ‘Just words,’ he said. ‘The truth is, Kirsty, I have little love for human culture. It amuses me for a while, but ultimately I find it vacuous and oafish.’ He stepped closer to her and touched the skin of her shoulder. ‘So soft,’ he said. ‘I could have a coat made out of you.’

  ‘You’re crazy,’ she giggled. He leaned in slowly to kiss her. She felt the cool press of his lips on hers, and responded. She was breathless by the time he broke the embrace.

  ‘Do you have a husband, a boyfriend?’

  ‘Never mind him,’ she breathed.

  ‘So fickle. Frailty, thy name is woman.’

  She went to kiss him again, but he stopped her. ‘I’d like to see you in costume,’

  he said.

  ‘Costume?’

  ‘For the role you’re going to play. Lillith will take you up to the dressing room.

  Here she is.’

  Kirsty turned in surprise to see a woman slinking her way across the library towards them. She was extremely beautiful. Jet black curls tumbled down over her shoulders and the glistening black leather outfit that hugged her lithe figure. Her skin was like ivory in the soft light. Her eyes glittered black as she approached.

  ‘You called me, Gabriel,’ she said without taking her gaze off Kirsty. Her voice was dark, smoky.

  ‘I didn’t notice,’ Kirsty laughed nervously.

  ‘My sister and I are very close,’ Gabriel said. ‘You might say almost telepathic.’

  He tenderly stroked Lillith’s shoulder. ‘Would you take Kirsty upstairs now? I’ve left out the costume for her.’

  The champagne mist parted as if it had been cleft by a blade. Kirsty frowned.

  ‘You left it…But how—’

  ‘That’s right,’ Gabriel smiled. ‘I picked it out for you before I left the house.’

  ‘My brother always prepares things in advance,’ Lillith purred.

  Kirsty suddenly felt edgy. She looked at her watch. ‘Maybe you should take me back to London. We can talk about the film another time.’

  ‘Come with me, Kirsty. You’re going to love it.’ Lillith took her arm. Her grip was soft but firm. Kirsty wanted to protest, but something in the woman’s eyes made it impossible to resist. She allowed herself to be led away. Lillith spoke gently, sweetly, as they walked together out of the library and up a winding red velvet staircase.

  Gilt-framed portraits seemed to leer at Kirsty out of the shadows as Lillith escorted her down a long corridor. Then they were in a room filled with clothes, like the biggest walk-in wardrobe she’d ever seen. Draped over an ornate chaise longue was a beautiful long white silk dress.

  Lillith smiled warmly. ‘Go on. Put it on.’

  Kirsty picked it up hesitantly. ‘It’s a little low-cut, don’t you think?’

  ‘You’re going to look gorgeous in it.’

  Kirsty took the dress behind a screen and began stepping out of her clothes. It was as if she was someone else, no longer in control of her own actions. Everything felt hazy and distant. As she emerged from behind the screen wearing the white dress, Lillith drew a breath.

  ‘There. Didn’t I tell you? My brother has an eye for beauty.’ She came up close.

  ‘Let me zip you up.’ She ran her hands over Kirsty’s naked shoulders. ‘So warm and soft,’ she murmured. ‘Like velvet.’

  Kirsty tried to move away from her. The closeness of another woman was strange, and Lillith’s fingers moved on her skin like a lover’s.

  ‘Come and look at yourself.’ Lillith guided her to the tall mirror and stood behind her, still touching her shoulders. ‘See how beautiful you look.’

  Kirsty gazed into the mirror. She looked herself up and down, thinking she looked like the bride in someone’s fantasy. Then she looked at Lillith’s reflection behind her.

  Lillith was smiling as she ran her fingers through Kirsty’s hair. ‘You ought to wear it up, like this. Don’t you think?’ Her lips were full and red. Then they parted. Kirsty stared at the white canine teeth that were suddenly grown hideously long and curved and sharp. The fangs bore down on her exposed neck.

  Kirsty screamed. Twisted away and burst out of the dressing room. She was screaming wildly as she ran all the way back down the corridor. The portraits watched her and seemed to sneer.

  Gabriel was standing at the end of the corridor. Kirsty flew into his arms, and he gripped her tightly. She screamed again as she saw Lillith moving fast towards them, her teeth bared in a vulpine grin.

  ‘Get her away from me!’ she shrieked.

  He pointed at Lillith. ‘Stay back,’ he hissed at her.

  Then Kirsty looked up at Gabriel. There was a look in his eyes she hadn’t seen before. Not in anyone’s eyes, not ever. She froze. His mouth opened and he leaned towards her. This time, not for a kiss.

  ‘The first bite is mine,’ he said.

  And the blood spattered down across the white silk of Kirsty’s dress.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  The Metropole Hotel, Venice

  3.02 a.m. local time

  Alex and Joel had made love for hours in the pool of moonlight that flooded across the satin sheets.

  ‘You’re incredible,’ he’d gasped afterwards, as he held her tight. ‘You’re going to kill me.’ She could have gone on and on, but he was completely spent and worn out, and soon fell back into a deep sleep with his arm draped across her naked body. She lay there beside him in the rumpled bed, caressing his cooling skin, listening to the rise and fall of his breathing, her senses bright and alert.

  She was sailing into uncharted waters now and she knew it. If VIA ever had the slightest inkling of what she’d just done, it was all over for her. Not her service record, not even Harry Rumble’s intervention, could save her from the punishment that was carved in stone on the Federation’s sacred list of commandments. They had the power, and they’d use it. She’d be arrested and taken straight to the execution chamber.

  Strapped in a chair, hardened steel loops around her wrists and her neck. She’d be forced to watch as the vampire executioner filled a syringe from a vial of Nosferol. Then the needle would come closer, and closer. The jab of pain as it stabbed into her arm.

  The agony as the poison ravaged her body, twenty seconds of horrific screaming torment that lasted longer than a century of walking the earth. There was no pain like it. The horrors that humans had inflicted on their own kind, the witches and martyrs and torture victims through the ages, didn’t even come close.

  She shuddered. Joel stirred beside her, muttered her name and rolled over, still fast asleep. She carefully disentangled herself from his arms and stepped naked into the moonlight. She picked up the trail of clothes that lay strewn across the rug and dressed quickly and quietly.

  The familiar old tingle was coming over her. She needed to
feed, and soon.

  Glancing back over at Joel’s still form under the sheets, for a few intoxicating moments she could sense nothing but the blood pumping through his veins as he slept. Its rich tang filled her nostrils, and she could almost taste the warmth of it on her tongue, running down her throat. Her heart began to quicken as a force that was stronger than her threatened to impel her towards the bed. Not to love him this time, but to bite him.

  Her fangs began to elongate in her mouth.

  This was the dangerous time, when nothing that lived and walked and bled was safe.

  Get out of here, Alex. Now. You can’t do this to him. Not him.

  She tore herself away. Out on the balcony, she glanced down to the narrow street that separated the hotel from the banks of the canal. She looked left, then right.

  There was nobody around. But there would be, somewhere out there, walking the street. And they were hers.

  She flipped herself over the edge of the stone balustrade, dropped the twenty feet to the ground and landed without a sound.

  Now it was time to hunt.

  Wallingford

  2.06 a.m.

  Dec was lying sprawled out on the couch at Matt’s place. On the table next to him were the remnants of a microwave meal he’d managed to stagger into the kitchen to prepare earlier that evening, but hadn’t had the stomach to eat. He had no idea how long he’d been staring unfocused at the television. The images on the screen made no sense to him. Some kind of movie with lots of car chases, but he kept drifting in and out and couldn’t follow it. Feverish extremes of hot and cold kept washing over him, leaving him sweltering one minute and racked with shivering the next.

  He had only the vaguest notion of what he was doing here. His memories were all confused and mixed up. It was impossible to get comfortable on the couch; he could hardly move without getting nauseous and every twist of his body brought a sharp pain in his neck. He touched the sore spot with his fingers, then withdrew them with a wince as he felt the raised puncture marks, crusted in dried blood. What had he done to himself?

  He became aware of a strange sensation in his groin, like a pulsing tingling feeling — then realised it was his phone vibrating in his pocket. He took it out groggily and pressed it to his ear.