Phoebe Harkness Omnibus

by James Fahy

  The irony is that in my waking life, I haven’t seen Allesandro, or indeed any other vampire, since the bloodbath in the basement at Blue Lab. He had called me initially, and I had politely asked him to give me space. I needed time to work through everything. Being kidnapped, attacked, almost devolving into a subhuman, nearly being sacrificed, having to kill another being. It was a lot to work through, and that’s not even including my father’s chequered past, which I was still coming to terms with. Sort of.

  Was it any wonder I was too much of a mess to want to meet up for coffee or catch a movie, or whatever the vampire equivalent was?

  To my surprise, Allesandro had backed off. In fact, he hadn’t contacted me again. Not once. A small, childish part of me was actually a little offended. I guessed Cloves had been right all along, vampires use humans. Allesandro needed me to stop Gio, to kill his own boss so that he could take over as Duke of Sanctum. Job done. He was like the anti-Oscar, completely ignoring me instead.

  If only he would now get out of my head as well as my life, I’d actually be thankful. These nocturnal visits were driving me to distraction. I climbed back into bed, wondering vaguely if they were a side effect of Epsilon. Some kind of psycho-chemical imbalance in my bloodstream. Or was it that the feral primal part of me was no longer held as tightly in check as it used to be. The Pale virus basically released the id. Removed the inhibitions we all walk around with, the self-imposed restrictions of whether we should have something, whether it’s right or morally sound. The id is a hungry and simple animal. It simply wants. Was this manifesting while I was asleep, when I was unable to counter or deny it? If so, I was a little afraid of my id. It apparently wanted to be ravished by the undead and bathe in blood. I’m sure my parents wouldn’t have approved.

  I glanced at my bedside table. Tucked under my alarm clock was a small slightly tattered business card for Sanctum, the vampire nightclub located under the Eagle and Child on St Giles. ‘When you need me’, he had written on the reverse, with a number. I hadn’t called him. Would it be a bad idea?

  Memories of my uncomfortable interview at Cabal HQ resurfaced unbidden. The dry-eyed suggestion of the high council that I ‘foster my connection to the vampires. That it could be beneficial to Cabal’s interests’. Coldwater had even suggested that we should ensure I was indispensable. Basically suggesting I socially whore myself out to the vampires for their benefit.

  Well, screw them. I flicked off the light, turning on my side and forcing myself to go back to sleep. I wasn’t going to be Cabal’s puppet if I could help it. Not in this. I was still my own person.

  8.

  “You are not your own person.”

  Coldwater’s words were delivered in a friendly but very certain manner. We were standing in the lobby of the Liver. It was 8 AM and I had just been handed a very large manila file.

  “While you function as official Cabal-GO liaison, you do not represent merely yourself, Dr Harkness, but the entirety of Cabal. Indeed, given that your ambassadorial role is as a cultural bridge between our race and others, you could be said to represent humanity itself. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, tucking the file under my arm. It was heavy and I didn’t want anything to slip out of it. “No pressure then,” I joked.

  “That’s hilarious,” Coldwater smiled. “But in all seriousness, please be assured that it is extremely important that you make a good impression.”

  I still didn’t quite know what to make of Director Coldwater. Cloves had dropped me off at the Liver an hour ago. I didn’t have the clearance to enter myself. Cloves was acidic as always, but at least I had a handle on her, or thought I did. This Director Coldwater on the other hand, I couldn’t quite figure out. Her manner was pleasant, she was chic and executive. Not nearly as brash and media-focused as Cloves. Physically she was a handsome specimen of a woman, mid-fifties perhaps, but it was so hard to tell with such expert and expensive facelifts. Her hair was platinum blonde and managed the near-impossible feat of looking both playful and competent. I never could bring myself to be at ease around a woman with politically ambitious hair.

  Her manner was polite and warm, in a rather non-personal way. You get that a lot in higher powers. It tends to be middle management who equate being obnoxious and rude with efficiency and dominance. Once you get to Coldwater’s pay grade, there’s really no need to act the alpha female any more. One blink from her and I’m fairly certain I could disappear from public record if she wished. When you have that kind of clout, you didn’t have to shout from the rooftops. She could afford the luxury of affability.

  There was something off about her though. Maybe it’s just my own prejudice, my distrust of Cabal in general colouring my judgement, but despite her niceties and polite no-nonsense demeanour, it just felt like something was missing. Like she wasn’t really putting any effort into her smile, it didn’t reach anywhere near her eyes. Maybe years of bureaucracy ends with you simply going through the motions.

  I promised to make a good impression, in so far as I could, but I had my doubts.

  “I haven’t been told what exactly is expected of me,” I said. “What is it you want me to do here?”

  Coldwater clasped her hands before her. “Doctor Harkness, as you must be aware, we have something of a political situation on our hands with the Tribals right now.”

  “You mean Marlin Scott?”

  “Exactly.” Coldwater smiled her dishwater smile again. “New Oxford is suffering from a power crisis. The brownouts are getting more frequent, our services less reliable. It’s a constant concern. Scott Enterprises’ proposed new plant aims to bring an end to that, but the intended site is currently in the Tribals’ largest reservation. We need an independent party such as yourself to bridge the two sides. To test the waters and find out what’s happening in the Tribal mind-set.”

  “And you also want me to poke around and see if I can find out if there’s any link between this situation and the three murders, right?”

  Coldwater’s face froze a little. “There have been no official murders, Dr Harkness. We are dealing with three missing persons. I wish very dearly for the public record to remain as such, at least for the time being.” She gestured toward the doors, and we began walking out together. “However, that said, should you discover anything of interest purely by chance, I would be most indebted were you to relay your findings and impressions to me. You will be meeting with the current head of the Tribal community, Jared Kane. We don’t have much information on him, but what we do have is in that file you carry. I suggest you read up on your drive over.”

  The doors of the Liver opened for us as we approached. There were two Ghosts flanking either side of the door, like Swiss Guards at the Vatican, only in forgettable grey suits rather than eclectic mediaeval garb.

  “I do appreciate your involvement in this affair,” Coldwater said to me in tones of confidence. “I’m aware of the sterling work you do, Doctor, working toward your cure for the Pale virus, and I know this takes you away from that. But please do believe me when I say that you and I want the same thing. A brighter future for humanity. An end to the troubles with the GOs. Perhaps in time we can cure them all.”

  “I’m not convinced the GOs require a cure, Director,” I said, as respectfully as I could. “The Pale on the other hand, they are not GOs. They’re a man-made scourge. Our problem which we need to fix. It’s a fairly common misconception to presume they are classed the same as vampires, Tribals and Bonewalkers.”

  “How educative.” Coldwater stopped at the head of the steps. “I am of course familiar with your quarterly reports. You seem most invested in the treatment of GOs. Tell me, Doctor, out of curiosity only of course, where do your sympathies lie? Are you with the Mankind Movement, or do you believe the equal rights protesters have a valid cause? Should GOs be given full rights, like regular humans?”

  I was unsure what answer would be prudent to give. In my opinion, if the vampires and Tribals wanted anything, they could pro
bably take it and there wouldn’t be a damn thing we could do to stop them. They were faster and stronger than we were. We were lucky they needed us to live, otherwise they most likely would have let the Pale wipe us out during the wars. It was a strange view. Some of humanity considered the GOs second class citizens. Some of the GOs considered us a food source and unpaid lackeys, and we all politely pretended that neither was the case.

  “I try to stay neutral,” I said eventually, smiling. “I think it’s probably best, in an ambassadorial role, not to be swayed by the masses.”

  “Very well said,” Coldwater nodded. “We are all, after all, servants to the people here at Cabal.”

  I noticed the tiny tattoo near her left temple. All Cabal servants carried one. A mark of office. I wanted to ask her why she was so invested, personally, in this whole thing. Why she had met me just to pass me files. Surely this was grunt work? Perhaps she was simply the hands-on type. I couldn’t begin to fathom the leadership tree of Cabal. It was more of a thorny thicket.

  I didn’t immediately see Cloves waiting for me as I left the South Park compound, because as soon as the high, purpose-built steel gates closed behind me, sealing me out of the Liver complex, I was assaulted by a man in a red parka.

  I say assaulted – he didn’t actually attack me, but he leapt seemingly out of nowhere and thrust a small black box under my nose.

  “Doctor Harkness? I wonder if I might get a few words from you on the current GO crisis?” he said, in a speedy babble. I almost stumbled backwards and fell on my ass. The man was right in my face. Looking down, I saw that the black box he was holding was a portable datapad, audio-file engaged. I stared at him mutely. His parka was bulky, blonde choppy hair sticking out haphazardly, restrained unsuccessfully by a grey wool cap. He was wearing thick black-rimmed glasses and a fixed smile. His eyes were very bright and eager, magnified slightly by the glasses.

  “I’m sorry?” I leaned back away from him, clutching the manila folder to my chest. He leaned forward to follow me, seriously up in my face.

  “The people would be very interested to hear…” he jabbered, “…about what Cabal has to say about the treatment of the Tribals. Some are saying they are being persecuted, hounded off their own land like unwanted travellers in the name of city progress. Do you agree that Cabal, as servants of the people of New Oxford, have a duty to serve all people, or only the human percentage of the population?”

  “Uh…” I opened my mouth. But he cut me off, talking fast.

  “Or would you say Cabal support what many are calling the aggressive and bullying tactics of Scott Enterprises? Does New Oxford’s favourite son hold enough power to sway Cabal’s interests? Is it a case of big business winning out over morality and ground level interests?”

  “Scott?” I said. The guy was a reporter. “Which network are you with? Channel Five?”

  “Is it true you are currently courting Oscar Scott, the heir to the Scott fortunes?” He ignored me, pressing forward. “How would you respond to the worries many have that a Cabal underling, tasked with fostering goodwill between the races is in bed with the son of the Mankind Movement’s most ardent supporter? Do you think your position is compromised by these liaisons?”

  I was suddenly more furious than confused. Who the hell was this cock?

  “I am not courting, or having any kind of liaison with Oscar Scott,” I said. “Mr…?”

  “Baverstock.” He smiled at me like a demon. “Donald Baverstock, Independent Oxford Network. Do you deny, Doctor Harkness, that you attended the Mankind Movement charity gala last year as Oscar Scott’s guest? You were seen together. This was the same time Oscar was kidnapped by renegade GOs, is that not right?”

  “I was there, but—”

  “And I understand you have a relationship with the same vampires who were involved with the kidnapping, the new Duke of Sanctum. There are those who would wonder if your seduction of Oscar Scott was nothing more than a preamble to manoeuvre him into a vulnerable position in which your vampire radical associates could exploit him, how would you respond to that?”

  “Okay, now you’re contradicting yourself,” I pushed him away none too politely. “First, I’m sleeping with Scott and a Mankind Movement supporter who has no business acting as GO ambassador, and now you’re accusing me of honey-trapping Scott for renegade vampires? Make up your mind.”

  The reporter grinned at me. He seemed happy to have gotten a rise. “A hostile rebuttal. So you deny wholeheartedly both of these associations, interesting. What are your feelings regarding the worries the city currently has concerning missing persons?”

  I must have paled, as I saw something glint in his cool grey eyes.

  “You are aware, surely, that although nothing official has been stated on the DataStream, several individuals appear to have fallen off the map, which is quite an achievement in a fortified town such as this. Do you suspect foul play? Cabal involvement? Do we have a GO serial killer on our hands here, Doctor? And if so, don’t you think the people have a right to know?”

  Before I could think of a single response, Veronica Cloves appeared beside me, like the world’s least likely magical genie. She had clearly seen me being assaulted by the gutter press and quite literally swooped in before I could say the wrong thing. She placed a hand on my shoulder, practically spinning me out of the way while at the same time leaning forward and gripping the reporter’s hand in a warm shake.

  “Veronica Cloves,” she beamed at him, her eyes twinkling as she flashed him her most disarming smile. “I’m ever so sorry to interrupt, but I’m afraid Doctor Harkness has a pressing appointment to keep in her new ambassadorial role. I, on the other hand, as is well known, deeply value the voice of our people, and would be only too delighted to give you my time, Mr…?”

  “B…Baverstock,” he replied. He was trying to see past her to me, but Cloves had effectively turned herself into a friendly, agreeable wall between us. “Of course Ms Cloves, it would be an honour. I’ve seen you on the DataStream of course. I thought you only gave interviews on the main channels, however. Our production generally prefers to approach the source directly—”

  “How honourable!” Cloves smiled, placing an arm around his shoulder. “Well, to tell the truth, you are right, but in this case, I’ll make an exception. Consider it a favour to a smaller press. I’m a champion of the underdog as you know. Consider it your first scoop,” she tittered.

  Cloves’ interview technique was a sight to behold. Bubbly, playful and reassuring. If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was gripping my wrist in a vice-like grasp while she beamed and flirted with the paparazzi, I would have believed it myself.

  I was grateful, however, for the rescue. Cloves would never have let me speak to the press willingly. It was either step in herself or have me picked me off from a nearby rooftop with a sniper rifle. I was grateful she had left her gun at home.

  “Run along, Doctor,” she said over her shoulder to me in a cheery tone. “Your car is waiting for you across the square. Mr Baverstock and I have an exclusive interview to give. We shouldn’t keep you from your duties.”

  Cloves practically shoved me out into the street, still holding the reporter hostage with a friendly arm. I took the escape route and left hurriedly.

  This exit from the compound let out onto an old square. Shops and coffee houses lined the sides, and a small market ran alongside one edge. There were no other pedestrians around as I made my way over to the waiting car, an unmarked black Audi. Typical Cabal fare.

  I could still hear them talking rapidly behind me as I clicked my heels across the cobbles, Cloves’ voice overriding the reporter entirely. My mind was a jumble, furious at the accusations, the basic character assassination. I had never been exposed to the press before. Professionally, of course, when I gave the quarterlies, but that was different. Work. This was my personal life under attack.

  I was so distracted by my thoughts that I only half registered that the driver in my car was lean
ing forward, slumped as though asleep at the wheel. There were two people sitting in the back seat. They were nothing more than shadows, but they were also lolling, their heads thrown back. The one closest to the window had long pale dreadlocks. I couldn’t see the other clearly. Who the hell were they? Were they asleep?

  Something caught my eye, a movement by the corner market stalls. I turned my head, wondering if the reporter had a friend on site, but then stopped so suddenly I almost fell on my face.

  It was Allesandro. The vampire stood by the market stall. In broad daylight. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans under his customary biker jacket. He would have looked like any normal human, were it not for his white skin. But something was wrong. Vampires don’t come out in the daytime. They can’t. He practically shone, the light bouncing off his skin like sun off snow.

  “Be careful.” His voice, suddenly in my head. Even from across the square I heard him perfectly clearly, as though he were whispering into my ear. “It’s death.”

  I had time to notice he was holding a dragonfruit, plucked idly from the stall. I whipped my head back to the waiting car, its silent passengers. Death?

  “Get down.” Allesandro’s voice boomed in my head. I looked back, but he wasn’t there. There was no one standing at the market stall.

  I had no time to think. There was a strange smell in the air. Panic rose in me as recognition kicked in and I turned and ran for the market stall. I heard myself shout a warning to Cloves as I threw myself headfirst behind the stall, just as the waiting car exploded in a fireball, blinding and deafening me, and incinerating the occupants.

  9.

  Griff leaned over in the car, attempting once again to dab at my eyebrow with a medical swab. I flapped my hands at him, pushing him away.