Vampire Enforcer (Hidden Blood Book 1)

by Al K. Line

  Oskari looks like an albino twenty-something and it's deceiving. He's remained young rather than allow himself to age to look suitably crinkly and garner respect because of his looks. He doesn't get respect by his apparent age, he gets it by his actions. Slender, powerful looking, hair as white as a yeti's belly and eyes of a pale blue so washed out they're like a gentle stroke of an artist's brush daubed on wet paper. I've seen them a few times, and I knew that behind his dark, gold-rimmed shades he was staring at me intently with those all-seeing eyes.

  They are so pale because of what he did, how he became what he is. He forced himself to go out in the light. Every day for years, then decades, he would go outside and stare at the sun. It had begun before dawn broke, with just a hint of lightness to the sky, and he would stand and wait for the sun to rise, look for the blink of an eye, then retreat indoors as his body crisped and his eyes frazzled.

  He would heal for the next twenty-four hours and one minute then do it all over again, until he had completed the cycle, having witnessed every single minute of the day. Finally, he was immune to this curse old vampires have no choice but to endure. The process burned away nearly all skin color, and his irises also lost their pigmentation.

  Nobody else has ever been successful in doing this. At most, the old guys can cope for a brief spell or two if the day is particularly dull, which, I guess, is another reason why Cardiff is ideal as it's usually bloody cloudy with near constant drizzle.

  Oskari sat at the far end of a highly polished table capable of seating twenty, the remains of a simple meal set before him, with a glass of something red half finished. No, it wasn't wine.

  My footsteps echoed as I crossed the endless divide, wishing I hadn't worn boots that made such a loud noise.

  Oskari smiled at me and continued to sip elegantly on his true meal, the rest more a habit and to keep his system used to such things than because he needed it as sustenance.

  I stood a respectful distance away and waited; neither of us had said a word.

  When he'd drained his glass, Oskari removed his glasses and settled his icy gaze on me. He smiled.

  "It is done?" he asked, his accent making his voice gentle.

  "Yes," I answered, knowing he knew about the ink, not questioning why.

  "And it works?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it good?"

  "The best."

  "Show me."

  He wasn't being pervy or anything, he was genuinely interested. Oskari is interested in everything, wants to know all there is to know. His network of spies and informers is vast, helping him run the country better than any of his predecessors.

  I removed my leather coat, draped it over a chair, and lifted my t-shirt so he could see my belly. Would this be enough or would he want me to strip? I knew it wouldn't be to ogle me, but I wasn't about to offer him a peek at the goodies unless told to, and even then I wasn't sure I'd do it.

  "Hmm, impressive. How does it make you feel? Have you used it yet?"

  "It makes me feel like my body is singing, like the forces of the universe are at my disposal. Yes, I've used it."

  "Good, good. Kate, my dear, this is a very special thing you have done, and this magic you have, it's unprecedented. Very rare is it for a vampire to have true magic within them, such gifts are never given from our Hidden friends. Some learn magic, but none have power like this."

  I wasn't sure what to say as he seemed to be talking to himself as much as to me.

  "You spoke to Dancer? He asked you to work for his Council?"

  "Yes, Oskari, he said you gave permission."

  "I did. This is a good thing. Fighting with the humans is futile and stupid, it does nobody any good. Better to be allies, best all round. You are happy to be doing this? You have a choice, you know."

  "I was hesitant, but now I have my first job I think I'll enjoy it. Or, not enjoy it, but be good at it, capable. Make a difference. Keep things in order."

  "Order, yes, that is what we all need. Well, go do your job then, dear child." He paused, gaze lingering. "I like the leather and the hair, very... vampish, haha."

  "Thank you, Oskari." I put the coat back on and left. At some point after I'd closed the door I began to breathe again.

  Avoiding Trouble

  The stubborn part of me wanted to march back in and demand answers from Oskari. There were clearly many things he wasn't telling me; like all of it. He was up to something, of that I had no doubt. Sure, he wanted to keep the truce with Dancer, the benefits were obvious, but allowing one of his own to go work for the opposition? Nah.

  Maybe I was just being paranoid, but ever since being thrust into this strange world I've learned one important thing—all the Heads and main players have ulterior motives for almost everything they do. They play a long game, often decades long, and are all so obsessed with their machinations that they slip up sooner or later. Dancer may be an exception as he's never coveted Head position, rather it was thrust upon him. But Oskari, he is a man of too much experience and with too much influence to have anything but the best interests of his own kind at heart.

  Maybe it was as simple as wanting me to report back on anything that happened, giving him some insight, or maybe it was something deeper and darker. For now, I decided to just do my job and walk the tightrope between the two species much as I've been doing ever since I woke up to find I was dead but not dead, Kate but not Kate.

  It was with considerable shock that I found myself already parked outside Grandma's. It's a freaky thing when your mind is on other things and you realize you have managed to drive across a city without consciously taking in anything at all. Driving on total auto-pilot but doing it just as well as always. But I'd made it. I knew I had to visit Grandma and show her the ink before I got too deep into this whole no fear thing. Plus, she might have information for me, although Grandma never gets involved in politics and just does her own thing. She may not have been Head Witch but all the other witches look up to her and treat her as such and she always knows more than she lets on. She's just that kind of woman.

  I pushed aside thoughts concerning the games the men were playing and forced myself into the present, to enjoy the moment, have a nice visit, and talk to somebody I knew would always be honest. Okay, Grandma isn't above playing games herself, but it's different. She's family. My family.

  I shucked off the cares of a newly ordained vampire enforcer, opened the little gate to the front garden and walked up the path to the small house, the one Faz had been raised in following the death of his parents. The door was unlocked as usual so I went in and shouted, "Grandma, it's me."

  She popped her head around the doorway to the kitchen where she spends most of her time and smiled at me sweetly. "Tea's brewing," she said, then disappeared. It's a mystery how she knows, but tea is always ready when you arrive, usually sandwiches too.

  As I entered the kitchen, I smiled as I spied a plate laden with sandwiches on the scrubbed table. Two cups and saucers sat next to an ancient tea pot. Then the heat hit, and the smells, and I staggered a little before steadying myself on the back of a chair. No matter how many times you visit, it always comes as a shock just how intense the kitchen is. Ventilation is minimal, the extractor should have died years ago, and the potions boiling on the stove could dissolve bone. But she's immune to their noxious fumes, doesn't seem to sweat, and anyway, her presence is worth the sacrifice.

  "Hey, Grandma, what you cooking up?"

  "Never you mind," she said tapping the side of her nose. "Got a customer later. He's lost his love and wants it back."

  "What, wife or girlfriend run off?"

  "Eh? No, his love, the emotion, something stole it. Probably a bloody faery or a sprite or something, bloody buggers can't be trusted."

  "Oh, right."

  Grandma gave a huge pan of something green and bubbling a scowl and vigorous stir then came to give me a hug.

  There's nothing quite like it, a hug from her. This little old woman who appears to be
sixty but is centuries older—all witches seem to flick a switch and begin wearing housecoats, pink slippers, and wrinkly tights when they get to a certain age—gives the best hugs in the world.

  You feel safe and warm and protected and loved. I wrapped her in my arms as she made everything in the world feel just about perfect.

  "What's with the coat?" she asked. "And look at your hair! It was so pretty before, like the sun had landed on your head."

  "Gotta look the part," I said, knowing she'd have heard about my new position.

  "True, it's important to look like you mean business." She winked, and I wondered how much of her appearance was her playing a part, because she sure as hell had a lot going on under her housecoat that many Hidden had foolishly dismissed, paying the price for their ignorance.

  This little old lady, this dear, perfect, wonderful woman, who I loved so very much, always gave people what they deserved. If you were good then good things happened in her presence, when she gave you a potion or helped you out, but if you were bad, if you crossed her, then you were liable to sit at her kitchen table and scream as your bones dissolved or your eyes melted in your head. She's ace!

  "Pour the tea, there's a love." Grandma nodded in admiration at my new tattoos as I poured the tea and we sat down to a nice lunch.

  A Chat

  Sandwiches finished, three cups of tea drunk, and dishes done, we settled down for a chat. I knew what was coming but let her ask anyway.

  "How's Faz? Is he getting better?"

  "He's fine, getting there. I've seen him worse, and I'm sure you have."

  "That boy's always in scrapes."

  "Scrapes? Boy? He's an old man and he gave away so much, you know that." Grandma was a master of understatement; I knew where Faz got it from.

  Grandma tutted. "Just a babe. You wait until you get to my age, then you'll feel like a grown-up. So he's not moping about? You know what he's like."

  "Actually, no, he's been very positive. No moaning at all. Okay, hardly any moaning." And it was true. For someone prone to sinking into a funk after jobs became too debilitating, he'd been remarkably upbeat.

  "He's lucky to have you," said Grandma.

  "And I'm lucky to have him. And you, Grandma."

  "I feel the same. Now, look, love, you sure about all this working for Dancer business? I know he's nice enough, even if he looks odd, but do you really want to be concerned with their nonsense?"

  "I've thought about it a lot, and I need this, want it. I have this magic inside me now and it's been a weird few months. I feel like I'm going to explode if it doesn't get a release. The tattoos have helped, and I'm sure over time it will just feel like part of me, but I need to do something with it. More, I need to do something with my life."

  "You could do something less dangerous."

  "Haha, like make potions? I'd blow myself up within a day."

  "True, not everyone's suited to it, but I worry, that's all. But I see you've made your decision, and I won't interfere. So, go ahead and ask." Grandma winked; she had my number.

  "I guess you know what's going on?" Grandma nodded. The witch grapevine is powerful, but combine that with the penchant the Welsh have for gossip and news travels faster than a vampire told there's a room of virgins calling her name.

  "Do you know what's causing it? Why people are acting up? Dancer said they've lost their fear, and that's what it looks like. Nobody is holding back, like they have no concern about the repercussions. Like they never once think the other person can best them. It's disconcerting. You should have seen everyone at Madge's, acting like they were invincible."

  Grandma shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe it's something in the water. Or maybe someone put a spell on the city, on Hidden."

  "Is it? Have they?"

  "No."

  "Oh. So, no clue then?"

  Grandma frowned, clearly unhappy at being unable to provide answers. "Sorry, love, but I can't help. You know little old me, I don't like to get involved in these things."

  "No problem, I'm sure I'll sort it."

  "Just be careful. I'm looking forward to bouncing my great grandkids on my knee so don't want you getting hurt."

  "Yes, Grandma." I stood and after she'd panic-stirred her potions we hugged and then I said my goodbye.

  Back in the car, and with no idea where to start, I figured I'd do what all the best enforcers do when they need to figure things out.

  I went and sat on a bench in the city center and let the world pass me by.

  Within five minutes I was regretting my decision. Especially when I got hit over the head from behind.

  Little Rascals

  I turned, rubbing at my skull, panicking that my head was cracked open and I'd be dead in seconds and the last thing I would see in the world were miserable people leaving a fast food restaurant.

  "Sorry, lady, we were just playing." A small boy stood several feet away, wringing his hands and looking like he expected a hard slap. I bent and picked up the tennis ball then threw and caught it a few times.

  "You should be more careful," I warned.

  "Sorry." He glanced away and I knew exactly what was going on. Without taking my eyes off him, I snatched out with my right hand and grabbed tight.

  "Ow!"

  Still eyeing the boy, I said, "Over here, now. Or I'll chase you down and break your arm, your little friend's too."

  There was indecision, a moment of wondering if it was worth the risk, then he sighed and shuffled forward.

  "Around in front of me," I ordered. He did as he was told.

  I spun on the bench to face forward and pulled my squirming handful of thieving kid in front of me and placed him next to his accomplice. They were identical in every way. Two young boys of maybe eight or nine in white t-shirts and red corduroy trousers, gorgeous blond hair and the cheekiest smiles you're every likely to see. They looked like something out of old Milky Bar adverts and that made me wonder if they still made them and if I could go buy one.

  "Who are you?" I asked suspiciously, not for one minute thinking this was a random choice.

  "I'm Ben, this is Tom."

  "We're twins," said Tom.

  "No shit, Sherlock." I put a hand to my mouth, realizing too late that I'd sworn in front of children.

  "Don't worry, we say shit too," said Ben.

  "Well you shouldn't," I scolded. "Because if you swear you lose a proper word every time you use that potty mouth."

  "Lady, are you off your rocker?" asked Tom, or was it Ben. "We aren't babies, we know that isn't true."

  "Do you really? Are you sure, a hundred percent positive?" I squinted at them, gave them a good glare, but either I'd lost all my powers or they were immune to my gifts.

  One twin nudged the other and whispered, "Told you this was a bad idea. She's one of those nutters that hangs around benches waiting to scream at people and chase them. Odd in the head." The other boy chuckled so I threw their tennis ball away. It rolled down the street between the legs of shoppers, into the road and got flattened by a bus.

  "Hey, that was our ball."

  I shrugged. "Not my fault. I'm funny in the head, remember?"

  "Can we go now?" asked Ben.

  "No, you can't. Why did you try to rob me? Who told you to do it?"

  "Don't know what you mean, we were just playing a game. We weren't going to steal anything."

  This time I focused and stared at them both, hard. Not glamoring them, they were too young, but a proper, hardcore stare that told them I knew how naughty they were and that I was terribly disappointed and would tell their parents.

  They caved at the same time. "We were gonna get a tenner each. Plus Dad said we could feed the—Ow!" Tom scowled at Ben who'd nudged him in the ribs. "What you do that for?"

  "Because we aren't supposed to tell, you know that." Tom glanced at me, then said, "You don't says a word to Regulars about the..." Tom slapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself blurting something out, but they'd already said enough to mak
e me sure they weren't just two kids on the rob. They'd been asked by their dad to do this and they knew all about the Hidden world.

  "Okay, guys, spill it or I'll blast you to goo. You may not know who I am but trust me, I'm no Regular. You know who Dancer is, who Oskari is? Who Black Spark is?"

  They both oohed and aahed at the mention of Faz, seemed unimpressed by the other names. Guess he did have a reputation and it wasn't just him bigging himself up all the time.

  "Do you really know Black Spark?"

  "Of course, I'm his wife. I'm Kate."

  "She's a vampire," Tom whispered into Ben's ear and they both stared at me, eyes wide. Not scared, just excited, like I was a pink frog or something.

  "And if you don't tell me what's going on I'm gonna eat you for dinner," I warned.

  The boys took a step back then giggled nervously.

  I smiled, then my eyes turned dark and my fangs snapped down. They stopped laughing.

  "Good boys, tell Aunt Kate everything. I'll buy you an ice cream if you do."

  "Ice cream first, then we talk."

  Damn, what was with kids these days? I blamed it on video games or TV or something. When I was a kid I wouldn't have made demands if a vampire wanted to ask me a few questions. But then, these were no ordinary kids, and anyway, I really wanted an ice cream. And a Milky Bar.

  Bad Head

  I winced as ice cream froze my brain for a moment, that beautiful suffering you're so sure is worth the sacrifice that even before the headache dissipates you're going in for another mouthful.

  The ice cream was good, and judging by the way the twins devoured theirs it wasn't something they got to have too often.

  It soon became apparent why as they grew increasingly jittery and manic, talking faster and clearly unused to the high sugar content. I let them share the rest of mine between them while we walked, and soon we were outside the museum, sitting on a bench in a quieter part of the city, the castle just a stone's throw away. Or it would have been, if it wasn't for the vans and trucks already setting up for the fair on the pedestrianized area between the museum facade and the grassy areas.