by James Fahy
“Mr Scott,” the doorman blustered. “I’m so sorry, sir, I hadn’t seen you arrive. I was just explaining to this young lady that…”
I span on my heel. Mr Scott?
The figure standing behind me, with an entourage of six or so private bodyguards flanking him from a discreet distance and looking humourlessly stuffed into their tight suits, was not the elderly, hook-nosed industrialist I had been hoping for.
It was a young man in a smart tuxedo. His face was open and smiling, his complexion fresh and rosy-cheeked as though he had just come from a day punting merrily along the Thames. His floppy blonde hair was neatly parted, like a pageboy.
I recognised the neat, expertly placed medical stitch across his otherwise pretty nose.
I should.
It had been my head that had split it.
“Oscar?” I stammered.
The boy blinked at me a few times, clearly struggling to place my face. Then realisation dawned. I watched various emotions cross his face like clouds across the sun in quick succession: shock, horror, embarrassment, guilt, and finally, after a moment’s consideration, amusement.
“Oh my Lord,” he said, breaking into a grin. “Small world, isn’t it?”
He certainly hadn’t been this lucid last time I had seen him, but now he was bobbing on his shining heels and looking like a dashed decent chap.
He had in fact been smashed out of his head when we originally met, firstly by being used like a walking wine box by vampires, and then by myself. Literally.
“Mr Scott?” I burbled, staring at the boy shining back at me like a paragon of well-bred innocence. “He called you Mr Scott?”
“Oscar Scott, yes,” he held out his hand politely, as though he hadn’t tried to wrestle me to the floor the previous evening to stop me escaping his undead sugar daddy. “I don’t believe we were properly introduced. You look rather … different tonight.”
I took his hand, not sure what else to do, and fairly certain that head butting him again would not get me inside.
“You too,” I said.
He was a far cry from the submissive, dog-collar wearing groupie who had dry humped my back in Sanctum.
“Marlin Scott is my father,” he grinned by way of explanation. “I think I did mention something about it last night, but to be honest I was pretty far gone by midnight.”
He glanced around us, looking slightly abashed.
“I may have … overindulged a little.”
A little? I thought.
The doorman was looking from Oscar to me politely.
“You know this young lady, sir?” he asked.
“Of course,” Oscar shot him a winning, Head Boy grin. “She’s here as my guest, Glenn. For goodness’ sake, let us in.”
To my shock, Oscar Scott, playboy millionaire and erstwhile off-duty Helsing, linked my arm in a gentlemanly fashion and led me inside, dismissing the frantic apologies of the doorman.
Was this really the same boy from the club? He looked as wholesome and good-natured as a choirboy. Did he really not remember what had gone on at Sanctum?
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked under my breath, as he led us with the other guests down the long and highly decorated hallways of the Bod towards the main event in the Divinity School.
“Look, lady…” he hissed back at me. His voice was low and urgent, but he kept up the act of smiling and waving in greeting to several other people as though he were minor royalty. “… If you came here to blackmail me, you’ll get nothing but trouble, okay? Don’t think just because you happened to spot me out on the town that you can sell your story to the bloody tabloids because none of them will believe a word of it anyway. What are you anyway, some kind of paparazzo? I’m sick of your kind hounding me.”
I stopped dead in the hallway and stared at him.
“Do you really not remember what happened last night? I’m not here to blackmail you, you idiot. I didn’t even know who you were last night. I barely do now if I’m honest. I’m here to see your father on a business matter.”
Oscar’s manner changed. He seemed to sag with relief.
“Oh thank God,” he practically blurted. “I thought … well, never mind. You’re not gutter press then. Thank God for that.”
He led me on again, positively chummy now, my arm still linked in his as he leant in to whisper.
“I am really sorry but I honestly was so bloody bladdered last night, I don’t remember a darn thing. My head was like broken eggshells this morning, I don’t mind telling you. Were you feeling delicate too?”
He sniggered like a naughty child.
“Wild night though, with the fire and all? It was like being at a foam party, right? All those sprinklers … I think I remember that.”
He looked momentarily confused.
“Hey, did we dance together at some point?”
I blinked incredulously at him.
“Kind of,” I said flatly.
So he really didn’t remember. I wondered if it was drugs, the blood-letting, or some kind of mind control by the white spidery Gio. It could be a fun combination of all three for all I knew. Whatever the case, my shiny new friend had just bought me a ticket inside and I was going with it.
We entered the Divinity School itself to loud swing band music. The room was resplendent. There were balloon arches in gold and cream dotted about here and there in the massive hall, the official colours of the Mankind Movement.
People drifted around us in elegant, finely-dressed clumps, like a sea of penguins and peacocks. Waiters moved between them, refilling champagne flutes endlessly. Nothing gets cheques written at a fundraiser more than a squiffy audience. If this had been a regular party, I would have called what people were doing ‘mingling’.
As it was a corporate event, celebrating big business and unity amongst the elite in their shared distrust of the ‘others’, most of them were more ‘networking’. There were quite a few, however, the richest of New Oxford’s rich, who were wealthy enough that they could actually be said to be hob-nobbing.
I’d never seen anyone hob-nob before. In truth, my experience of A-list swanky parties was woefully thin.
I stared upwards as the crowds moved around me, chattering and laughing decorously. The ceiling in the Divinity School is something to behold. I love my city and I knew my history. This place was built in 1488 as a school of Theology, and it certainly was a godlike chamber, a fitting cathedral-like space to ponder the divine. The stonework of the many-vaulted ceilings was amazing.
Oscar noticed me looking and smirked, almost proprietarily, as though his father owned the place.
“Pretty gothic, huh?” he said, referring to the elaborate decorations above us. He was obviously drawn by all things vampire-themed. I bet he had coffin-shaped cufflinks.
“Actually, it’s Lierne vaulting,” I said absently. “With bosses. It was designed by William Orchard in the 1440s, if I remember correctly. It’s in the perpendicular style.”
Yes. I’m a geek, I know. My passion for, some might say nerdy obsession over, all things pre-wars extends beyond old pop culture and sometimes to actual history.
Oscar’s smirk didn’t waver.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” he said vapidly. “Looks like a big spider web or something, right?”
God deliver me from brainless rich boys.
I accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Oscar was still holding my arm.
“So, you go to Sanctum a lot then?” he asked lightly. “I mean, you’re pretty hot for an older woman, you know. We should definitely hook up sometime.”
This brought my roaming gaze down from the ceiling.
“How old are you, Oscar?” I asked, staring at him in disbelief.
“Nineteen, why?”
I gulped my drink down and passed him my empty glass.
“Get me another of these for the love of God,” I said.
He flashed me his winning, barely-out-of-puberty smile again and disappeared
into the crowd.
Wonderful, in another turn for the worse I was now being hit on by a vain millionaire child with no brains and a thirst for the underworld. I was guessing that with a family as powerful as his, he had never had anyone say no to him before. He probably thought he was genuinely charming. Spoilt little rich boys were not my cup of tea, especially jailbait ones.
I scanned the crowd, looking for Cloves or Marlin Scott, but I couldn’t see any faces I recognised. I had moved a little way into the room, aware that I had drawn rather withering stares for my lack of black tie attire, but I was far beyond the point of caring when Oscar reappeared like a bad penny.
“Thought I’d lost you there for a second,” he said amiably, passing me a refilled flute.
“So you’re Marlin Scott’s son?” I asked, clearly unable to shake him.
He nodded, looking disbelieving that I might not know who he was.
“Don’t you read the society pages?” he asked me. “I pretty much own them.”
“I can never find the time,” I said wearily.
I was more impressed that the ancient Marlin Scott was robust enough to have such a young son. In the photo with my father, Scott had already been getting on in years.
“But hang on,” I said. “You are aware that your father is a pretty hardcore Mankind Movement bigwig, right? There’s a clue here with all the banners and such. And what, you just hang around vampire clubs getting your neck sucked for fun?”
His eyes widened with alarm.
“Keep your voice down!” he said under his breath. “For God’s sake! It’s not like the old fart knows, is it? Jesus…”
He looked around, as though expecting his father to descend on him out of nowhere.
“I would have thought someone like you would understand,” he said to me earnestly.
“Someone like me?” I was confused.
“A fellow Helsing.”
Ah … of course. As far as Oscar knew, I was another vampire-loving freak trawling the New Oxford underground in search of a quick, intoxicating nibble. He thought he had stumbled upon a kindred spirit. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that Sanctum was hardly my scene. After all, there wasn’t much offensive about the boy. Being mean to him on purpose would have been like kicking a puppy.
“I’m pretty discreet going to Sanctum,” he said in tones of confidentiality. “I hardly advertise the fact. You have no idea what it’s like living in a fishbowl like I do. Everyone deserves something that’s just theirs, don’t they?”
He gave a rueful smile, but there was a lot of bitterness behind it I noticed.
“Don’t think it would go down well with the old man, do you?” he sighed.
Talk about your teenage rebellion.
I had only just noticed that Oscar’s tuxedo shirt had an old fashioned high collar. It completely covered his neck. I would have bet my life savings that he spent an awful lot of time around dear old Dad wearing a polo neck, hiding his love bites.
“This is too ironic,” I said to myself, sipping the champagne, which was glorious by the way. “The son of a vampire-hater is a secret Helsing? Good lord, Oscar! Can’t you just get arrested for driving under the influence and snort cocaine like all the other rich kids?”
“There’s no buzz like the vampires, you know that, right?” he said, smirking again.
He actually nudged me with his elbow. Who does that?
“Hey, I wasn’t kidding before,” he drawled, giving me playfully seductive face and turning on the charm. “When this old fart party wraps up, we should head out together and hit the district. It could get wild again.”
I thought emphatically not, for so many reasons.
“I thought you and Giovannibatiste were pretty close?” I asked. “To be perfectly blunt, I figured you were gay. Now you’re asking me out?”
Oscar downed his drink.
“Wow, how old fashioned are you then?” he cackled. “Who doesn’t like the best of both worlds anyway?”
“How long have you been going to Sanctum, Oscar?”
The boy shrugged.
“Couple of months, I guess,” he said. “I’ve cruised the district, of course – most of the south St Giles clubs, but out of the blue I get an invite to Sanctum. It’s like the best of the best. Then I met Gio. He took a shine to me.”
I shivered while Oscar grinned.
“What in the world do you see in that man?” I asked.
Oscar looked genuinely perplexed.
“Power, obviously,” he said. “What, you think I should be satisfied with what I have? Daddy is powerful, yeah, he can put as many zeros on a cheque as you like. Wow. The excitement!”
His eyes gleamed with a look I was coming to recognise as the mark of a true Helsing, a full blown vampire-addict.
“But Gio?” he continued. “He’s fucking immortal! He has real power and he says he’s going to make me one of them.”
“They don’t do that, Oscar,” I said flatly. “Ever.”
He looked petulant.
“You sound jealous,” he said defensively. “You don’t understand. I’m different. Gio says he has plans for me. He told me I’m special.”
It was like talking to a love-struck thirteen year old girl. I was just waiting for his lower lip to start trembling.
He seemed to notice someone over my shoulder and stiffened.
“Oh Jesus, it’s the old man.”
Before I could turn around, Oscar gripped my arm, a desperate look in his eye.
“Hey, you said you were here to see him, right? You swear you’re not gonna dump me in it?”
I shook him off. Wow, he really was like a little kid. All this vampire business was just fun and sport for him, something to pass the time until the trust fund kicked in and he could get out from under daddy’s shadow, I guess.
“Your secret dies with me, Oscar,” I promised.
I turned away from him to spy Marlin Scott, making his way through the crowds toward us. He was an elderly man, mostly bald. His hook-nosed face was like a mummified and liver-spotted vulture, and he walked with a cane, but he had the well preserved air about him of someone who could afford the very best hip replacements. He had the sour facial expression so common to those who lived at the top and only had people to look down on.
I barely took him in, however; I was far too busy grinning sheepishly at the woman who walked toward us beside him. Veronica Cloves, resplendent in her black choker and a long black evening gown, which wrapped her like cling film and seemed studded all over with tiny jewels like the night sky. She was gripping her champagne in a hand covered with an elbow length evening glove, and wearing a frankly hideous fascinator which looked to me like a raven fighting a tarantula.
The reason for my sudden, sheepish smile is that the look on her face at seeing me here with Scott the Younger was priceless. She had the fury of a gorgon in her wide eyes.
“Veronica!” I said brightly as they approached.
Oscar muttered a respectful hello to his elderly father by my side. The old man barely glanced at the boy.
“How wonderful to see you again so soon,” I beamed.
Old Man Scott was eyeing us both with interest, looking grumpily confused. He had probably thought I was a waitress or some other serving-class attendant working the room.
“Ah, Doctor!”
Cloves had gained control of her face with impressive speed and restraint. Her game face was on. But then this was what she did for a living. She smiled sweetly at me, taking me by the forearms and dragging me into one of those hideous ‘mwah-mwah’ air kisses.
“How wonderful of you to be able to come at such short notice,” she gushed.
Cloves turned to Scott with a warm smile.
“Marlin dah-ling, this is a very very dear friend and colleague of mine,” she said smoothly. “Dr Harkness works over at Blue Lab. She is absolutely one of our best and brightest. I do hope you don’t mind my imposition inviting her tonight.”
“A
ctually, she’s here with me,” Oscar interjected proudly, but everyone else ignored him.
I shook Marlin’s offered hand. It was dry and leathery like the rest of him.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Mr Scott,” I said, trying my best for professional and winsome. “I’m a huge fan of your…” I cast around for something complimentary to say. “… wall,” I finished lamely.
I’m not good at small talk. It’s likely that I will never achieve the level of professional hob-nobber.
The old fossil cracked half of a grim smile. It fell off his face gracelessly as soon as it had come, as though it were costing him money.
“Most people are, Doctor. I only wish it could keep all of the monsters on the outside.”
He looked me up and down, clearly disapproving of my work clothes and lack of exciting headgear.
“I was not aware that Blue Lab folk cared about our cause here,” he said. “My understanding is that you people are trying to cure the monsters, not destroy them.”
His tone was withering. I could see how Oscar found him so lovable. He had probably grown up under that disapproving glare his whole life. Poor kid. I felt absurdly sorry for him.
“Actually, Mr Scott,” I said, “I do believe we have a mutual friend in common. Phillip Harkness? He was my father. Didn’t you used to work with him, before the wars?”
Scott stared at me hard, as though I had just slapped him. It was the first time he has seemed anything other than a grumbly old man. From the look that crossed his face, I might as well have thrown my glass of champagne over him.
“That was a long time ago,” he said, composing his features again. “Different world back then. I’m not the fool I was. None of us are anymore.”
He turned to Oscar, glaring at him witheringly.
“Fetch me a drink, boy,” he barked.
Cloves had gripped my arm.
“Actually, Marlin,” she said sweetly, “I’m so sorry but if I could just borrow the good Doctor a moment. I need to powder my nose. Couldn’t possibly go on my own. You know how it is with us girls. Doctor Harkness, would you mind?”
Her smile was a happy ray of sunshine beaming down on us all, but her fingers were digging into my elbow so hard they were going to leave bruises. I may as well have had my arm trapped in a vice.
