Vampire Enforcer (Hidden Blood Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  "Hey, Madge, you're looking effervescent today. Is that a new pair of earrings?" I gave Madge my best, most gentle of smiles.

  Madge put a wrinkled, shining hand to her ear and pulled at the lobe, dislodging something thick and yellow. She brought it up to her glasses then to her nose and sniffed. She popped it in her mouth and swallowed. "No, bit of egg. What do you want? And where you been?"

  "Sorry, things have been odd lately."

  "I know that!" she snapped, her face wrinkling as she frowned, not that she was never frowning. The lines just deepened, squeezing out lard like when you scrape a spatula around a mixing bowl.

  "Um, of course."

  There was an awkward silence. Awkward for me anyway, Madge just took the opportunity to practice her scowling.

  "So," she said with a sigh, "how is he?"

  "Still weak, and tired. Thanks for what you did to help, we appreciate it."

  Madge glared at me and leaned forward until our heads met across the counter. "Don't mention it," she hissed, meaning, don't talk about it ever again. Madge had helped Faz, which led to us being where we are now, and had revealed her true nature to him, even though I'd already had my suspicions when she'd helped me out of a dangerous situation. It was a secret, never to be told to other Hidden.

  "Of course," I said, gulping and feeling little and weak before such a formidable presence.

  "Good. Now, what do you want? I'm busy."

  "Madge," I said, brightening. "After months without, after such terrible withdrawal symptoms from your unabashedly fine culinary skills, I would like the full monty. A fry-up to beat all fry-ups, a plate laden with your most auspicious of sausages, intermingled with runny yolks so orange in hue they make the sun weep, with beans so molten they'd make an imp cry, with—"

  "So, the usual then?" Madge said with what I'm sure was the hint of a smile. Then she shouted through to the kitchen, "Breakfast! A big un."

  "Yes please."

  "Get your own cutlery and don't start anything funny. I know what you're doing here, don't even think about it."

  "I won't, honest."

  I took a seat at a just vacated table and tried to ignore the bits of what looked suspiciously like goblin boogers mixed with hash browns that stuck to the table like miniature mountains surrounded by a sea of sugar-laden tea.

  Ah, it was good to be back. You can't get insulted like this at home, the ambience is all wrong.

  Tastebud Destroyer

  Madge slammed a chipped mug down in front of me and said, "What did your last servant die of?" sloshing milk into the tea. She pulled a tarnished spoon from her apron pocket and her veins popped as she fought to break the surface and mix the milk in. Like trying to move tar with a blade of grass, she strained to stir the tea, giving it up as a lost cause.

  "Thanks."

  "Food won't be long. You gonna sort out this mess? It's bad for business."

  "Hopefully, but it's my first day. Anyway, business seems fine," I said, glancing around at the customers.

  "You'll see," she said ominously, then ambled off, walking like she was on the moon, each step slow so she didn't lose her slippers.

  I poured sugar into the tea but it sat on the surface refusing to have anything to do with the murky depths below.

  Sighing, I jabbed it hard with a knife I snatched from the cutlery rack and it sank below the surface. I'm sure I heard a scream as it dissolved. Taking a deep breath, I sipped, careful to avoid the chips, and felt the thick goodness slide down my throat like a troll on a kids' slide. Reluctant, but knowing there was no turning back. It hit my tongue and several tastebuds died, warning of things to come. Get out now, or all is lost, this is just the beginning.

  "Eat it quick," warned Madge as she threw a plate any weightlifter worth his belt would have felt proud to lift.

  "Er, okay," I said warily, but Madge was gone, moonwalking back to her domain.

  Hash browns stared at me in golden, crispy warning, beans bubbled in rich sauce, eggs sang with cheery, runny fervor, sausages cautioned me not to ask about meat content, and toast, drowning in butter, promised blackened delights. I got stuck in, knowing I'd be good for the day after such an assault on the digestive tract, my only concern if I should have worn a loose t-shirt rather than the body-hugging one I'd picked so I'd look the part.

  For several minutes I was lost to the delights of the meal, amazed as always just how insanely good it tasted, but gradually my surroundings came back to me, a hubbub penetrating my senses until I couldn't concentrate on my food. I turned with a sausage pierced by a deadly fork, inches from my mouth, to stare in amazement as a goblin walked up to the troll and began punching it repeatedly in the stomach, as high as it could reach.

  The murmurs of astonishment and shouts of encouragement from the goblin's mates died down as the troll turned its head glacially from the shaker it was now smashing against its head to get the last salt crystals out, and looked down at the sweating, shouting goblin. If it was capable of showing emotion, it would have been one of surprise. You didn't go punching trolls for no good reason, you didn't go punching trolls even if you had a good reason. Why? Because they'd hit you back, and then you'd be nothing but another sticky stain on Madge's floor.

  "Why you do dat?" asked the troll, wide mouth looking more than capable of chewing idiot goblins.

  "Cause I ain't scared of you, right. An you wuz lookin' at me funny like, ain't that right everywun?"

  "Yeah, I saw it," agreed a dwarf.

  "E's got it comin', that's wot he's got," chimed in one of the goblins.

  "Look at him, he's doing it again. He's laughing at you, he's laughing at all of us," said a suddenly animated wizard, standing and rolling up his sleeves to reveal scrawny arms covered in tattoos hundreds of years old.

  The troll lifted a chiseled jaw on neck muscles composed of multihued granite and I swear I saw a flicker of surprise. "I was just standing," it said, perplexed by the turn of events.

  "Nah, mate, you bin showing off ever since you got 'ere," said the goblin, then it returned to pummeling the carved six pack.

  No guessing what had got into everyone. Dancer was right, a third of the room had lost their fear and if this was how they behaved under Madge's roof then there was no hope for the rest of the city. Normally, people were on their best behavior, fearing banishment—no more sausage was a terrible price to pay for misdeeds.

  I shoveled my food into my mouth as fast as I could, swallowed, then felt the vampire venom surge up and mix with magic to repair the damage to my esophagus. Reluctantly, I pushed back my chair and stood.

  "Ahem. I'm Kate, most of you know me. I am now officially the first Hidden Council Vampire Enforcer and it's my duty to warn you that such behavior will not be tolerated. I have permission to stop such infractions of the Law in any way I deem fit, so I'm ordering you to cease and desist!" My eyes darkened, my fangs snicked down, I spread my arms wide, willed magic to surface, and white wisps of crackling energy lit the room in a way not seen since Madge last cleaned the lighting, meaning never.

  Everyone laughed.

  "Right, that's it. You were warned, now you're gonna get it."

  I might have got carried away, but it was my first day so you have to make allowances.

  Taking It Outside

  Knowing Madge would be furious if I went wild inside, I did the only thing I could think of and shouted, "Anyone want a piece of me, bring it on," then ran away like all good enforcers know is often the smartest move.

  Thinking better of it, I dashed back and grabbed a piece of toast, dunked it in an egg, and scoffed it as I yanked open the door. "I'll pay next time, Madge," I shrieked, as dwarves and goblins and wizards all took chase.

  The cool air came as a shock after the stifling heat of Madge's, the air lighter and easier to breathe. The wheezing, heavy feeling in my lungs lifted. I took deep breaths, backed away from the front door, and readied for what was to come.

  First were the dwarves, stocky creatures
all beard and hair, wearing identical leather gear with belts laden with hammers and chisels and other dwarven paraphernalia. Except the belts weren't as weighty as they should be, because the dwarves were wielding their hammers and charging right at me.

  "Stop, I order you. I have authority from the Council, from the Head." They weren't bothered, they kept on coming.

  Before I knew it, my ink pushed tight against my clothes and unknowable energy swamped me. I swung out with an arm as a hammer came right at my legs, vampire boosted muscles making the move too fast for the eye to see. I felt the magic in my fingertips as my hand connected with the hammer, stopping it dead in its tracks. As I made eye-contact with the naughty dwarf, I snarled and squeezed, obliterating the hammer head, nothing but dust now.

  The dwarf looked from me to its hammer and tears fell. "My hammer! That was given me by my great, great, great, great, great, er, great, great granddad, Sips Hammer Forger, right back when we got through the Cave of No Return back in Mighty Odis the Angry's day. That's my hammer!" Dwarves take their history seriously.

  I shrugged, and brushed him aside with a lazy swipe. He flew back into his friends, toppling them all like fat, hairy bowling pins.

  "Ere, you can't do that," said a goblin, its green pot belly bulging in indignation as it waved scrawny arms at me in accusation.

  "I warned you, I warned you all."

  Then they jumped me.

  From beneath a pile of stinking Hidden, I willed my body to life, sucked in the foul air scented with endless noxious fumes, and let my new powers escape in the most spectacular of ways. The world was seared white as energy crackled and forces escaped from the gaps between bodies as pressure built. Then everything exploded away from me and I was left alone. I got to my feet, blinked away the aftereffects, then got into a fighting stance, ready to deal with them.

  Except there was nothing left to deal with. All that remained were concussed creatures lying in the wet and the trash of the street, dazed and confused and rubbing at various body parts.

  I readied myself for action, said, "Come on, who's next?" but they got slowly to their feet and looked at me like I was nuts.

  "What's got into you, lady?" asked a wizard. "Why'd you do that to us?"

  "Because you were attacking me. And you," I pointed at him in case he didn't know it was him I meant, "were biting my ankle."

  The wizard shook and tried to think but I could see he was confused, couldn't remember.

  It was the same for everyone. They stood if they could, but seemed to have no recollection of what had happened beyond me letting the magic loose. I relaxed, knowing it was over, that whatever had made them lose their fear and act this way had passed, returning them to themselves.

  Then the air felt different, like a heavy cloud had landed right on our heads, and always one to have my wits about me I backed up down the street until I felt the pressure ease.

  The others, they shook their heads, cast angry eyes on me, and started to come after me.

  This time I ran and kept on running. Which was a bit daft as my car was right outside, but, as I said, I was new to all this.

  The Real Boss

  After circling the block a few times, I figured it was safe to go get the car. Looking both ways—safety first—the coast was clear so I wasted no time buckling up and burning rubber. As I accelerated, I was pushed back into the pliable leather seats and new car smell made my head swim pleasantly. It's something I've grown to appreciate over the years, and this new Hidden fleet vehicle was fresh off the production line, the only mileage mine.

  My system thrummed and the familiar vampire rush heightened my senses, making my body feel almost too perfect for it to be real, like it shouldn't be possible to have it this good. This was what Faz lived for, this heady rush, the thrill of the chase, of solving a mystery, and it was easy to see why. I was only just starting, but it was the same intense tingle in the pit of my stomach I got when I went to cross someone off the list.

  Which, of course, made me feel bad. Bad for the things I'd done, bad for replacing Faz when this was what he did best, and bad for hurting people when they weren't themselves. I had to rein it in, get a grip of myself, or I'd be out on my ear, too wild and unpredictable to be called upon again.

  I had so many questions and no answers but knew I had to get the go-ahead from the only person who really mattered if I was to do my job without constantly second-guessing whether or not I'd be hauled in and reprimanded.

  It rankled more than you can imagine, to have to ask permission to live my life, but we all answer to someone. There's always someone pulling the strings and directing operations. Being a vampire gives you immense freedom but it takes a hell of a lot in return. You're part of something bigger than yourself. I can hear the others, feel them. When we need help we can call to each other, the vampire grapevine I guess, and each of us has this little part of our mind that's always susceptible to the actions of others. As we age it grows, becomes finely tuned, until we are like one creature, part of a larger whole.

  We also have rules, things we can and can't do, and we answer to our local Head as well as the country and worldwide Head. My Head just so happens to be in charge of the UK as Cardiff is the de facto base for so many Hidden. A strange choice maybe, but none of us like the bustle of major metropolises—it's hard to hear yourself think amid the clamor of millions of frustrated souls, so a small city like this suits the higher powers perfectly.

  And it was this higher power, this ultimate boss, that I was off to see. To ask for permission, to check it was okay to be running around bashing heads and doing the work of what I knew the Head believed to be nothing but dirty humans. Our food, our lessers.

  Close to lunchtime, I navigated the intense security at the gate, far removed from a troll and a little barrier, and drove into the grounds of Undead HQ. Younger vampires, those that were fine in daylight, all under two hundred years old, patrolled vigilantly, the vampire Dobermans alert to any intrusion, cropped ears forever listening, red eyes half crazed, keening to chase down prey and please their handlers.

  The manor house was extensive, even better protected than the grounds, and even though the air was chilly when I greeted the guards and they let me in I shivered at the extreme drop in temperature.

  People came and went, but quietly, no talking. Ghosts who went about their business without a word of complaint, running the country, dealing with issues, logging those of our kind, easing over issues between factions, placating the Heads and all the myriad things involved in operating a large and powerful network of immortal beings.

  All of this was fine, I was used to the stoicism, the nods, the air of decay, the heavy old furniture and the dark wood. But what creeped me out every time, because I refused to just accept it all and embrace it, were the whispers. The dreams of the old ones, the presence of such ancient malevolence, and the indifference of those locked away in the crypts. Ancients who slept away the centuries in the countless windowless rooms, their disdain and bitterness, their hatred, their air of superiority over this world and those who inhabited it, permeating the very fabric of the building. It was bloody depressing, and I like to think of myself as a rather happy-go-lucky gal.

  One ancient vampire didn't sleep, may have been weaker during the day but could remain awake if he wished, although often chose not to.

  Oskari Thorstad, sun walker, Head vampire, ancient Finnish dude, and my master.

  Getting My Orders

  Oskari isn't like the other Heads, he's smarter for one, certainly more charismatic, looks young rather than ancient, and he's much more devious. He's also frosty verging on glacial in comparison, which is saying something.

  He's also very competent. If there's a problem he deals with it. Justice is swift and merciless and he expects utter obedience from his subjects, no excuses. He's also freaky, even by our standards, and trust me, being a vampire means freaky comes with the territory.

  He hadn't called, hadn't summoned me, in fact not
hing had been said at all about my absence the last few months. Odd in its own right, as here I was, a rare magical vampire, and we'd hardly spoken a word since it happened, him seemingly satisfied to leave it all alone. It wasn't right, wasn't how things worked, and I knew it meant he was biding his time, probably waiting for this to happen, for me to get in on human Hidden actions.

  I'm no fool, why else would he leave me in peace? I saw the way the others looked at me now, partly in pity for they didn't understand the drives of motherhood now lost to the women, and the men just went around doing what the hell they wanted, but they were afraid, in awe, because they knew I was stronger than them, could obliterate them. Trust me, when you know you can live for millennia you think of life as even more precious than before. There's more to lose, more life experience you will miss out on, and for all their smugness at having this immortality, for all the posturing and the overt aggressiveness and disdain for mere mortals, nearly every vampire I have ever met is quietly terrified of dying.

  I was ushered into the dining room and the aide closed the door behind me, the thud echoing around the spartan room. Oskari likes to keep things simple in many ways, yet in others is ostentatious. His lunch was the perfect example. The room was almost bare, dark polished floorboards unadorned by a single rug. The walls were hung with endless paintings, all of men looking serious in dark rooms, all of them with white hair and pale skin the same as Oskari. His forebears, his lineage. His family.

  Unlike most vampires, who are made by a vampire that took a shine to them, Oskari can trace his line back for generations through the male side of the family, each man fathering a male child to a Regular woman. When they came of age they would be turned, carrying the gene, the virus, and so it continued.

  Uniquely, Oskari can walk in the daylight. It's a sign of the man's determination, his formidable will, his utter focus and fearlessness, and his refusal to be beaten down, even by his own nature, let alone by something as paltry as the sun.