Department 19 d1-1

by William Hill

  Standing at the back of the clearing, facing down the road, was a wooden house. The largest building in the village had a series of wooden steps leading up to a long porch, on which sat two benches, from where the occupants would be able to look out across Valhalla to the river and across to the rising eastern slope of the glen.

  “Why don’t we know about this place?” wondered Morris aloud, as they made their way up the track.

  “Admiral Seward seemed to know about it,” replied Jamie. “I wonder who else did?”

  As they walked, the doors of several of the houses opened, and people stepped out to watch them as they passed. Jamie saw instantly that they were vampires: They stood easily in the doorways of their homes, a feeling of calm, almost of welcome, exuding from them. There were men and women, young and old, vampires of every race and color. Some were dressed in worn clothing, T-shirts, and jeans that had borne the brunt of years of outdoor work. Others were dressed in suits and ties, or shirts and trousers. One vampire, a graying man in his forties, was naked; he stood casually outside a house that was covered with colorful murals of flowers and water. Jamie found himself nodding at them as he passed, and they returned his greeting with nods and smiles of their own.

  “Someone’s coming,” said Larissa, and pointed up the track.

  A vampire in his late twenties, in a beautiful charcoal-gray suit and a bright scarlet cravat, was walking down the road toward them. Beside him, a small figure was floating through the quiet air, and Jamie heard Larissa gasp.

  It was a boy, no more than five or six years old. He was wearing a T-shirt, a pair of shorts that had seen better days, and a wide, welcoming smile that faded as soon as he saw Larissa.

  “I knew you would come back to haunt me,” he said, softly.

  “Hello, John,” Larissa replied. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Again?” asked Jamie. “Do you two know each other?”

  “We met once before,” said the vampire child. “Several years ago.”

  “When?” demanded Jamie. “How?”

  “The day I was turned,” said Larissa, softly. “I didn’t know where to go, so I went back to the park and-”

  “Please,” interrupted the vampire in the suit. “I’m sure your story is fascinating, but we do have rules here. People are not encouraged to just turn up out of the blue, without one of our own to introduce them. I’m afraid I need to ask you who you are and what your business is here.”

  Frankenstein answered him, his deep voice rumbling around the silent valley.

  “I am Victor Frankenstein of Department 19. This is Jamie Carpenter and Thomas Morris, both also of Blacklight. And this is Larissa, who is one of you.”

  “And your business?”

  “We want to ask Grey some questions,” said Larissa. “Is he here?”

  “He is,” replied the vampire. “He’s been away, but he came home three days ago.”

  Larissa bared her teeth.

  Only Jamie saw her do it, and he cocked his head to the side. She shook her head at him, quickly.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” continued the vampire, smiling widely. “My name is Lawrence, and this is John Martin.”

  Jamie could not restrain himself any longer. He was overwhelmed by this strange, idyllic village. There was a palpable sense of peace and well-being emanating from the buildings and their residents, a feeling of contentment and happiness.

  “What is this place?” he asked.

  Lawrence smiled at him. “In Norse mythology, Valhalla was the place where heroes go when they die. This is the equivalent for vampires who have sworn not to taste human blood: a place where you can live in peace.”

  He gestured to a fenced-off area at the edge of the village. A herd of cattle, huge Angus cows with shimmering flanks that gleamed white in the moonlight, were grazing idly at the lush grass.

  “They provide all the blood the residents need. There are vampires here of every age, gender, nationality. You can come and go as you please, as long as you obey one rule: you must never harm a human being, under any circumstances.”

  He held out his arm toward them. Tattooed on the inside of his left arm was a thin black V.

  “This is the mark of Valhalla. I was brought here in 1967 by Grey, the man who founded this place. I can leave for years on end, but this means I will always be welcome.”

  Jamie stared at the tattoo, then frowned at Larissa. She met his gaze and shook her head.

  “How does all this work?” Morris asked. “Is it some kind of commune?”

  Lawrence laughed. “Basically, yes,” he replied. “Anyone who agrees to obey our rules is welcome to be here. Some stay for weeks, other for years, decades, even. We generate the power we need, we tend the herd that provides us with blood; all residents are expected to help with whatever needs to be done to keep Valhalla running smoothly. Apart from that, they may do as they wish.”

  “It sounds great,” said Jamie, smiling.

  “It’s the best place in the world,” said Lawrence, simply. “I’ve seen most of it over the years, and there is nowhere I’d rather be than here.”

  “It sounds like a bunch of sixties crap to me,” muttered Frankenstein.

  Lawrence shot him a sharp look. “It’s a life of peace,” he said. “If that sounds like crap, then I feel sorry for you.”

  Frankenstein grunted, but he said nothing more.

  “Follow me,” said Lawrence. “I’ll take you to Grey.”

  The vampire led them up the track toward a clearing. John Martin floated alongside him, casting nervous glances at Larissa.

  “This Grey,” said Frankenstein, in a low voice, “he is the one you’ve brought us here to see?”

  Larissa nodded.

  “Exactly who is he?”

  “He’s supposed to be the oldest British vampire,” she replied. “He’s been around for more than two hundred years; if anyone knows anything that can help us, it should be him. And he hates Alexandru, and all the vampires like him. They’re the opposite of everything Valhalla stands for. Apparently.”

  “Have you been here before?” asked Jamie.

  Larissa shook her head.

  “Why not? Why didn’t you leave Alexandru and come here?”

  She laughed. “You heard him. You can’t come in unless you’re introduced by one of them. Truth is, I wasn’t even sure this place existed. I thought it might just be a legend.”

  She lowered her head, and Jamie stared at her as they entered the clearing at the end of the track.

  A wide metal shed with an open front stood in the northwest corner, set into the hillside. A small tractor was parked inside, beside an ancient-looking plough and sacks of fertilizer and grass seed. They walked up the steps of the large house and waited on the porch as Lawrence disappeared inside.

  He emerged a minute later and told them that Grey would see them.

  They followed him into the house, and Jamie looked around as Lawrence closed the door behind them. They were standing in a large square living room, made entirely of wood. The floorboards were uneven and creaked beneath their feet, and the walls were painted bright white. It was surprisingly domestic; a rug lay over the middle of the floor, red curtains covered the windows, and two large homemade bookcases stood in the corners that faced the door. They were piled high with books: some that looked as though they had to be at least a hundred years old, others that appeared brand new. Two doors led further into the house, and Lawrence walked over and stood beside one of them.

  “Only Mr. Carpenter and Mr. Frankenstein are to go through,” he said, a hint of apology in his voice. “Grey does not like crowds, and he believes that what he has to say is only of interest to the two of you.”

  Morris opened his mouth to protest, but Jamie fired a warning look at him, and he closed it again. Larissa nodded.

  “Please make yourselves at home while you wait,” said Lawrence. “Gentlemen, please come with me.”

  He opened the door, a
nd Jamie and Frankenstein stepped through it.

  The room was a study, dominated by a large window that looked out onto the hill that rose behind Valhalla. A homemade desk stood before it, and in a chair behind the rough wooden surface sat Grey, smiling at them as they entered.

  It was immediately obvious how the vampire had got his name; his head was covered in a mane of hair that was almost silver, swept back from his high forehead and temples, descending below the level of his collar and on to his shoulders. His face was that of a man in his late sixties, lined and creased, but the eyes twinkled with life, and his lips were curled into a broad, welcoming smile.

  He stood up from the chair and walked around the desk. He was wearing a blue-and-white checked shirt, faded blue jeans, and battered brown boots. He looked like a cowboy on the verge of retirement; all that was missing was a worn ten-gallon hat. He extended a hand toward Jamie.

  “Mr. Carpenter,” he said, and the teenager gasped. Grey’s voice was unearthly, a rolling blast of bass and treble, a sound that was both swaggeringly large and charmingly soft. “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you. My name is Grey.”

  In the living room, Larissa’s heightened ears heard this greeting, and crimson spilled into her eyes. She reached out, grabbed Lawrence by the lapels of his suit jacket, and threw him across the room. He was taken utterly by surprise and didn’t react until he crashed into the wooden wall, splintering the planks, shattering the glass in the window above him, and shaking the entire house.

  Morris started to say something, but Larissa was already moving. She crossed the room in a flash, threw open the door of the study, and disappeared inside.

  31

  ONE RULE FOR EVERYONE

  The door to the study crashed open, and Jamie jumped around in time to see Larissa fly across the room, her eyes molten red, and grab for Grey’s throat with hands that were curled into claws.

  Surprise flashed briefly across the ancient vampire’s face, but then centuries of instinct took over. He reached out, gripped Larissa by the neck, flipping her over in midair and slamming her onto the floor on her back. The air rushed out of her, and he knelt across her chest, pinning her shoulders with his knees, looking at Jamie and Frankenstein with dark, gleaming red eyes. Morris rushed into the room and gasped at the scene before of him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Grey said, his voice like midnight ice.

  Jamie looked at Larissa, who was squirming and cursing under Grey’s weight. “I don’t know,” he said, honestly. “Larissa, what the hell are you doing?”

  The vampire girl howled, bucking and kicking like a wild colt.

  Then, abruptly, she stopped struggling, lifted her head, and spit in Grey’s face.

  He recoiled, disgusted, and wiped his face with his shirtsleeve.

  “Ask him!” she yelled. “Ask him why he didn’t just kill me and get it over with!”

  “Oh God,” said Jamie, realization flooding through him like cold water. This was the man with the tattoo from Larissa’s story. He reached for his T-Bone without realizing he was doing so, until Frankenstein stepped forward gripped his arm.

  Grey’s eyes reverted back to dark green. He looked down at Larissa, and Jamie saw recognition leap into his face. Then he looked at Jamie and Frankenstein, remorse contorting his features.

  “I didn’t recognize her,” he said. “I thought she was here to kill me.”

  “I am,” spit Larissa. “I’m going to kill you for what you did to me.”

  “What’s she talking about?” rumbled Frankenstein.

  “He’s the one who turned me,” said Larissa, her voice dripping venom. “He bit me and left me for dead. But I didn’t die.”

  “This is the man you saw in your garden?” asked Jamie. “The one from the fair?”

  Morris looked at him, confusion all over his face.

  “This is him,” said Larissa. She had stopped struggling, but her chest was rising and falling rapidly. “I’ll remember his voice forever.”

  Grey looked down at her, and an expression of such anger crossed his face that Jamie was absolutely sure that he was going to reach down and kill Larissa there and then. But the moment passed; instead Grey stood up slowly and reached a hand down toward Larissa. She slapped it away and pushed herself to her feet. The two vampires stood, eyeing each other warily.

  Then suddenly the room was full of vampires, and everyone started shouting at once. Lawrence was first, his eyes a blazing red, his neat suit rumpled and torn. He stared at Larissa with fury in his eyes, then saw the expression on Grey’s face, and went to his friend. The residents of Valhalla followed him into the study, drawn by the commotion. Their faces were full of concern for Grey, and suspicion for the outsiders who had punctured their peaceful village.

  “What’s going on in here?” demanded one of the vampires, a woman in her thirties wearing a pretty yellow sundress. “Grey, are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, Jill,” he replied, and gave her an unconvincing smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Everything is not fine,” said Larissa, fiercely. “This is the vampire that turned me four years ago. I don’t know how you make that fit with your precious rules.”

  Jill clapped a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide.

  “What’s she talking about, Grey?” asked John Martin.

  There was a murmur from the rest of the vampires in the room. Jamie looked around, saw that there were at least fifteen of them in the study, and a chilly thread of fear crept up his spine.

  If they turn on us, we’re dead.

  Grey looked at the men and women crowded in his study. His face wore a shiny veneer of calm, but it faltered under the gazes of his friends. An expression of terrible misery emerged, as if from a great depth.

  “She’s telling the truth,” he said.

  There were gasps throughout the room, and a vindicated snarl of triumph from Larissa. “I told you,” she said. “He-”

  “Shut up,” said Lawrence, his eyes almost black. “Not another word from you.” He turned to Grey, who was standing alone in the middle of his study.

  “What do you mean, she’s telling the truth?” Lawrence asked, his voice almost a growl. “How can she be telling the truth?”

  “I mean I turned her,” said Grey, simply. “She reminded me of my wife, my Helen. So I followed her, and when I found her on her own, I drank from her. Then I came home. I thought she was dead.”

  Jill, the vampire in the yellow dress, started to cry. A young vampire in a red T-shirt put a hand on her shoulder, and she gripped it, tightly.

  “What about our rules?” said Lawrence, his voice like thunder. “What about everything we stand for? Everything you started?”

  Grey looked at his friend, his eyes wide and pleading. “I’m weak,” he replied, his voice hitching. “I always have been. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it. Do you understand me? I can’t help it. ”

  Clarity flooded into Jamie’s mind. “This wasn’t the first time, was it?” he asked, softly. “Larissa isn’t the only one.”

  Grey looked at the floor, and a chorus of gasps and groans filled the study.

  “How many?” asked Lawrence. “How many innocent humans?”

  “A lot,” replied Grey in a strangled voice, his eyes fixed on the uneven wooden floorboards. “One every few years, since the beginning.”

  “Every time you told us you were going away to clear your head?” spit Lawrence. “Every time you told us you were going out into the world to remind yourself why Valhalla was so important, you were taking human lives. You were betraying the one thing we stand for above everything else.”

  Grey said nothing.

  “I can’t bear to look at you,” Lawrence said, his voice shaking. “You’re worse than any of them, the vampires out there killing and feeding. At least they don’t pretend to be something they’re not.”

  “What do you want me to do?” cried Grey, his face hot and full of shame. “I can’t bring any of them b
ack. I wish I could, believe me I wish I could, but I can’t. They’re gone. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. If you want me to destroy myself, I’ll do it. Just tell me how I can make this better.”

  “You can’t,” said one of the vampires near the back of the room. The crowd parted, and he stepped forward, a heavyset man in his forties, wearing a thick woolen jumper and a pair of dusty black jeans. “You can’t undo what you’ve done. But you can leave and never come back. That’s what I want you to do.”

  Several of the vampires around the man shouted in protest, but he didn’t even acknowledge them. He stared levelly at Grey, his face as rigid as stone.

  “That’s what I want, too,” said another, and the crowd hissed and gasped anew. The second voice belonged to a middle-aged woman wearing a long smock covered in garish splatters of paint.

  Grey looked at the two vampires who had spoken and then helplessly at Lawrence, who stared back at him without an ounce of pity.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked, his voice trembling. “Do you want me to leave?”

  Lawrence looked at his old friend. “Yes,” he said. “It’s what I want. It’s all you deserve.”

  Grey put a hand over his eyes. For a long moment, it seemed as though no one in the room was breathing; the silence and stillness were absolute. Then Grey lowered his hand and looked around at the men and women gathered in his study.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  There were shouts of protest, but he raised a hand and silenced them.

  “I let you all down,” he continued. “Worse than that, I let you believe better of me than I deserved. I’ll go, and I won’t come home until I find a way to atone for the things I did.”