Ysabel paused and sighed, looking down at where her hand rested on Beth’s arm, when she continued, her voice was quieter, and her accent seemed more pronounced,
“At the turning ceremony, he mutated. As all the vampires selected to be sires at the ceremony have already been proven to produce warrior class, any mutations that occur are on the side of the human, which is exceedingly rare. To my knowledge, Archer was only the second ever recorded case of it, and it was extreme. He turned fast, very fast, and ran almost immediately… although not before attempting to kill the high elder. And as you know, we never did find him… he is patient zero. The first of the third and most regrettable type of vampire; the ferals.”
She looked up at us again and spread her hands.
“Since then, Archer has increased his ranks exponentially. Killing both humans and true vampires at will. It is not just the human race they threaten, but our own as well.” She finished.
“Hold on there a minute, darlin’,” Nathan drawled, “you told us that you vamps had an army… where is it?” He had a gleam in his eyes, whether he was sensing a hole in Ysabel’s story or a potentially untapped resource, I wasn’t sure. She grimaced,
“At the turning ceremonies, the entire guard is present, along with all the elders and a lot of other, powerful vampires and human allies. Such arrogance, to gather everyone in one place like that, even when we were at war. At the 1999 ceremony there was a disaster. A hoard of ferals came, including Archer. They killed everyone. The whole guard and all our elders were wiped out in one blood-soaked night.”
She dashed a hand over her eyes, which were threatening to spill over with tears. Beth looked at her with concern, shifting her arm so that Ysabel’s hand slipped into hers, Ysabel looked up at her with a weak smile, then turned back to look at Nathan and I,
“That is why the feral problem has only become apparent to you in the last ten years or so; because the guard hasn’t been about to keep their numbers down,” she shrugged.
I sat back in my chair, mulling what I had been told over in my mind. Some things still didn’t seem to fit,
“But, Ysabel, you said the entire guard went to the ceremonies. Why weren’t you there? And also, why don’t the high vampires fight? You said that they were fast and strong, and they could always use guns.”
She looked a little uncomfortable at this, with the briefest flicker of her eyes towards Beth,
“I was indisposed that night. Lucky really, or I’d probably be dead too. And as for the high vampires fighting, um, they have a certain weakness that makes them rather unsuited to battle situations, hence their need for the guard in the first place. Vampires of any kind don’t tend to like using guns either; a blade with the strength and speed of a guard behind it is more destructive and more accurate than a bullet, and it won’t run out of ammo or jam. We also have extremely sensitive ears... guns going off right next to us is actually quite painful.”
I raised my eyebrows when she stopped there, as did Nathan, we glanced at each other,
“Well,” he said brusquely, “what’s the weakness?”
Ysabel hesitated and her eyes flickered once more towards Beth, definitely uncomfortable now,
“I’d really rather not discuss the weaknesses of the true vampires if that’s ok. It’s not something that applies to the ferals, so it doesn’t matter.” She placed both hands flat on the table as she said this, but Nathan wasn’t having any of it. He pulled his pistol out and aimed it straight at Beth’s forehead. As he did, the two soldiers in the corners of the room also aimed their guns squarely at Beth. Ysabel’s eyes opened wide for a moment but then narrowed and perceptibly darkened,
“Mon dieu. I have told you everything you need to know. Why are you not satisfied?” she clenched her fists and her pupils spread to take up more of her eyes. Beth’s eyes were closed, and she had a tense set to her mouth that for some reason didn’t seem to me to have anything to do with the gun aiming point blank at her head. She opened her eyes and looked over at Ysabel, gripping her arm hard,
“Ysabel,” her voice was a strained hiss, “Calm. The fuck. Down.”
Her eyes flickered briefly towards her sword belt, which was sat in one corner of the room along with Ysabel’s long sword. Looking towards the pile of leather and metal, I sucked in a sharp breath as something clicked, the niggling feeling that I had at the back of my mind suddenly satisfied as Beth’s stubborn refusal to use guns was given context by Ysabel’s words, as well as her slightly freakish fitness and fighting ability and a whole of host of other, smaller things that I had noticed but dismissed out of hand. Beth’s eyes snapped to mine like she knew the conclusion I had just reached. I stood up fast, shoving my chair back so that it fell over with a clatter, and yanked my own pistol out of its holster, bringing it up to join the others pointing at Beth’s head. She raised her eyebrows, too calm, and I fired.
The pistol kicked in my hands and Beth was knocked backwards off of her chair. As she hit the floor, I could hear everyone hold their breath, in shock at what I had just done. I found myself desperately hoping that I was right in my suspicion, not least because at that moment there was a rush of air and a hard pressure at my throat as I found myself pinned to the wall of the meeting room by a furious Ysabel. Spots were dancing in front of my eyes and I vaguely heard a scuffle as the people in the room all moved at once, as well as a whoosh of air as several people gasped in shock.
“Put him down, Yzzy.” Beth’s voice was calm and quiet, and relief flooded through me to hear it, which was, as a small part of my brain told me, a rather odd reaction to have considering what it meant. I looked up from where Ysabel dropped me, sprawled on the floor, just in time to see the bullet hole marring the centre of Beth’s forehead disappear.
Chapter 24
Beth
Michael stared at me for just a second as he stood up, then shot me again, in the stomach this time. I jerked back a step and a grunt escaped me as pain radiated outwards from the wound, a wave of burning,
“Ow.” I said, through gritted teeth, “what the hell was that for?”
He laughed, but his voice came out too loud and too high, making him sound slightly mad. His thoughts were scattered and erratic,
“What do you think? You stupid, fucking vampire!” he laughed again, “You’re a vampire!”
He raised his gun again, but was preventing from firing by Ysabel, who snatched the gun out of his hands quicker than he could think. Glancing around the room, I saw that the others had also been disarmed. I raised an eyebrow at Yzzy, who just shrugged, her movements made jerky by anger. Normally it was me who had trouble keeping my temper. I shook my head, my slight amusement feeling out of place, and moved back to the table, righting my fallen chair and sitting down. I gestured for the others in the room to do the same and waited quietly while they decided whether or not to do so. Ysabel’s mind skimmed over mine, seeking entry, I looked coolly at her and did nothing. I was frankly amazed that I had avoided shifting until now and wasn’t going to risk losing my control by opening my mind even slightly. Seeing Ysabel in full shift was one thing… with her velvety, pearly white wings and delicate fangs, the air of danger that surrounded her wasn’t all that great to people used to dealing with ferals, but I was rather more blatantly intimidating.
Michael and Nathanial sat themselves down, looking warily at me. Michael’s thoughts were less chaotic now, slowly settling on plain old betrayal. I grimaced as I felt that, feeling ashamed of my lie for the first time, having come to think of Michael as a friend. I concentrated on him, ignoring the waspish drone of Nathan’s anger.
“I’m sorry, Michael.” I said it simply, there was no point embellishing when there was only one thing I could be apologising for. He just looked at me for a moment and then left, quietly standing up again and leaving the room without a word.
I blew out my breath slowly, looking up at Nathanial, who had an annoyingly triumphant expression on his face.
“I always knew ther
e was something not right about you two,” he gloated, “I don’t think it needs to be said that you can be taking your leave now. As in, out of the building and well away from us. However,” he beckoned to the soldiers behind him, who edged towards their guns, scooping them up fast and flicking off the safety switches,
“Just in case you’re so stubborn or stupid that it does need to be said, you will indeed now be leaving. Escorted by these good soldiers.” He smirked, “in Michael’s absence, I can at least make a sensible decision without an argument for once. If we see you on this compound again, we will shoot you.”
The two soldiers came round the table with their guns pointing at us, their hands shaking slightly. I rolled my eyes and reached out with my mind towards theirs, yanking their arms down by their sides. Levelling a glare at Nathan, I stood up calmly and left, followed shortly by Ysabel, who had paused to grab our weapons.
As Yzzy and I strode down the corridors, my anger at Nathan began to dissipate and I felt safe opening my mind to Yzzy again, mostly just feeling hollow and worried. She had also calmed down, and seemed more like herself,
“Don’t worry, ma chérie,” her endearment echoed through the halls of my mind, soft and soothing, “Michael will come around, and until he does we will track them and help them anyway. After all, how would they stop us?” she smiled at me, “we always knew that they would find us out eventually. It will be better in the long run; we won’t have to hide or rein ourselves in. We can do real damage!”
Her smile this time was sharp and infectious, making me grin back at her. We continued out of the buildings, scattering soldiers to either side of us as we walked towards them – news travels fast – and went to the car. As we accelerated away, I mused on the notion that this was probably the last time that we would have to use it, which made me feel a little lighter. It was necessary to maintain the appearance of humanity, but I never had liked to be trapped in those tin cans on wheels. Travelling is much more enjoyable when you have nothing but the quiet, open sky around you.
Ysabel and I spent the next week sequestered in our apartment, meditating in order to stretch our minds over the distance to the military base until we recognised each man and woman’s mental signature, each scent, each unique set of footsteps. Once we had the entire unit firmly settled in our memories, we could reach them easily and with minimal effort from anywhere across the city. There would be little, if anything, in the way of orders or troop movements that we would miss.
After a full week of exerting ourselves mentally we were exhausted. I dragged myself off of the bed, where we had allowed ourselves a scant few hours sleep after finally breaking out of our trance, and shuffled slowly and painfully towards the kitchen, aching and creaky, to retrieve a couple of bottles of stored blood from the fridge. I think I felt what humans would describe as old or decrepit, a thought which I found amusing despite myself. I couldn’t be bothered to warm the blood, just gulped it down straight out of the bottle, grimacing at the chill in my stomach as it filled. Dead blood was never great, it was just enough to get us moving and functioning again enough to hunt, which would recharge us properly. I downed another bottle and then took two back to the bedroom for Ysabel.
Chapter 25
Michael
I was still furious at Nathanial for dismissing Beth and Ysabel without my permission, or Beth at least. If I thought about it without letting my judgement be clouded by irritation I supposed that Ysabel was technically Nathan’s to command as she had been assigned, or had assigned herself, to the American unit. As much as either of them were anyone’s to command that is. He was just blustering around about the whole thing, insisting he was right and refusing to acknowledge that they had helped us in any way. I was sure that as far as he was concerned, we would have gotten this far on our own. Of course we would… bloody yank. There was a sharp crack and I felt a stabbing pain in my gum... I was sat at my desk in my apartment, wondering how to go about contacting Beth or Yzzy, and in my annoyance had bitten into my biro, shattering the plastic. I grabbed a tissue and spat blood into it, rubbing my gum hard with a finger to try and spread the pain.
Sighing, I sat back in my chair and looked around the dark room. It was a mess. I supposed I was a typical example of bachelor disarray, but I really couldn’t find it in myself to be bothered about an untidy flat when I was one of just a few people who were trying to defend the thin line between the world as we know it and the world gone to hell. I snatched up my mobile phone from where it sat next to my laptop and dialled in Beth’s number again, not really expecting a reply, or even for it to ring. To my surprise, it did. I held my breath, suddenly alert, and found myself praying that Beth would pick up; she didn’t of course, but it did at least go to answerphone. Her mellow voice scrolled off a generic message, requesting me to leave a message after the beep,
“Beth! It’s Michael, thank god your phone’s on again. Look, we need to talk. I guess you deserve a chance to explain. I’m not saying everything’s forgiven, but… well, call me when you get this.”
I hung up feeling like my message had been lacking something. Not that you could ever put everything you wanted in the way you wanted onto an answer machine of course.
Sauntering into the kitchen, I hit the switch on the kettle and leaned against the counter to wait for it to boil. Yawning, I scrubbed a hand over my eyes, trying to will them into waking up a little. They had that horrible scratchy feeling that comes from too little sleep and too much caffeine. The edge of my hand ran over my cheek, registering the sharp prickle of three days’ worth of stubble,
“Shit Michael, you really are a bloody mess” I muttered to myself, dumping two teabags and an indeterminate amount of sugar into an oversized mug that I’d bought purely so that I wouldn’t have to get up to make tea so often.
As I retreated to the relative comfort of the living room and its simple, boxy sofa, there was a soft tap at the door. I stopped dead, wondering if I had imagined it, but no, there it was again. I put down the mug as quietly as was possible with something that big and heavy and crept towards the door, sliding my pistol out of its holster where it was slung across the back of an armchair. I flicked the safety off as I leaned in to the door to peer through the spyhole. There was a tough looking girl, with wild, afro curls somewhat tamed by a hair band, wearing jeans and a red hoody standing outside, alone. Not good, I thought. How had she gotten past the guards by herself? I decided against opening the door, not that a door would be that much of a barrier if she actually was a vampire,
“Who are you and what do you want?” I said, blunt and to the point.
The girl looked up at the spyhole and her rich, brown eyes came into view,
“Uh, what?” she said, sounding confused.
Frowning, I wondered whether she really couldn’t hear me or whether she was just pretending to try and make me think she was human. I shook my head, exasperated, this new found knowledge that there were vampires who could quite easily pass themselves off as human had certainly complicated things. I repeated my question in a louder voice, and the confusion cleared from her face.
“Oh, my name’s Alexandra McClennon… Lexi, really. I’m a friend of Beth and Ysabel’s, I need to talk with you.”
She spoke with a Scottish lilt to her voice, and I felt a strange mix of barely strangled hope and caution ignite in my chest,
“Did they send you?”
“No. I don’t know where they are at the moment, but I heard that you found out about them being vampires and sent them away.” This made me nervous, a girl who knew inside information and had somehow gotten onto a secure base? It stank of having an informant in the unit. That or she was indeed a vampire…
“OK, I’m opening the door. Don’t try anything, I’m armed.”
She held her hands up and stepped back a couple of paces. I unlocked the door and removed the chain, swinging it inwards from one side, so that I was standing close to the wall with my gun pointing at the entrance. She walked through the
opening slowly, keeping her hands up, and turning to face me and back away as she came into the room.
“Please don’t shoot me. I’m not a vampire, and I’ve heard that it really bloody hurts.”
“No offence, but I’m not inclined to take your word for it.” I reached out with one hand, the other aiming the gun unwaveringly at her heart, and shut the door, then gestured at the sofa with a jerk of the gun.
“Sit.”
She moved cautiously to do as I told her, her hands up all the while. Perching at one end of the sofa, she finally relaxed them, letting them hang down to grip the edge of the seat and watched me move around her to sit in the armchair.
“If I prove to you that I’m not a vampire, will you stop pointing that thing at me?” she asked, raising her eyebrows quizzically.
“Sure I will, but how are you planning on proving it?” I remained sceptical,
“Well have you got a knife I can use? A sharp one mind, if I’m going to cut myself I at least want to do it cleanly. Some alcohol would be good too” she explained with a grimace,
I squinted at her for a few seconds, trying to read on her face whether she was being serious or not. She stared at me unflinchingly, I wondered how old she was.
“Alright. Wait there!” I gestured sharply at the sofa with my gun then went quickly to the kitchen, grabbing the sharpest knife I owned, a bottle of whisky and a kitchen roll, then, as an afterthought, a box of plasters. Going back to the living room, I dropped the lot onto the sofa next to her,
“Knock yourself out,” I said grimly.
She tipped some of the whiskey onto a few folded sheets of kitchen roll and cleaned the knife in a business-like manner, then spoiled that impression by taking a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle with a grin and a wink at me. She rolled up the left sleeve of her hoody, exposing her slim lower arm and then quickly, without so much as a blink, drew the knife in a straight line across the flesh just below her elbow. It welled with blood immediately, which ran down the side of her arm where she caught it with some more kitchen roll before it dripped onto the sofa. She pressed the wadded tissue to the cut for a couple of minutes, which I spent watching her nervously for any sign that she might be lying, then held her arm out for me to inspect. The cut was long, but actually barely more than a very neat scratch. More importantly, it was still there.
The Guard Page 16
