Sanctified

by Uncanny Kingdom

  ‘Whatever,’ I said, ‘it happened, and there’s nothing either one of us can do to change it now. Can’t we just work together? Can’t we be friends?’

  ‘Friends? You and me? This isn’t going to be some... ebony and ivory thing, you know.’

  ‘Wait a second... you know Stevie Wonder?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘And yet you've never seen Men in Black?’

  Gen sighed and settled back into her seat. Unless I was mistaken, she was wearing the slightest hint of a smile. ‘Why don’t you fetch another couple of pints and tell me all about it?’

  22

  By the time the pair of us staggered out of The Beehive, it was going on ten o’clock. Or at least I think it was, I was having trouble making the numbers out on my phone. Things had gotten a bit smudged by that stage, to the point that I could already feel tomorrow’s hangover creeping around the corner.

  I wasn’t about to let that get me down though. Christ, no. I was living it up. I’d looked the boogeyman in the eye and sent him back to Hell. I’d earned my fun all right. Earned my fun and then some.

  ‘You’re drunk,’ Gen noted, as I succeeded in tripping over my own Doc Martens. ‘I’ll have to escort you home.’

  ‘Oooh,’ I said, entirely too loudly. ‘Are you trying to get inside my knickers, missy? What kind of an angel are you?’

  I prodded her playfully in the chest. She grabbed my finger and shoved me back, almost knocking me on my arse.

  ‘Oh, calm your tits,’ I slurred. ‘I’m just mucking about.’

  I followed this statement with a rousing karaoke rendition of Stevie Wonder and Paul McCartney’s classic, Ebony and Ivory, complete with mispronounced lyrics and badly screeched instrumental solo.

  Unsurprisingly, Gen failed to join in, leaving me to sing the duet alone. Not that I minded. I was perfectly happy to sing solo, and very very loudly too. As a matter of fact, I must have reached a good hundred decibels by the time we passed by another pub and a bunch of normals spilled out.

  One of them I recognised right away. It was Gary. As in my boss, Gary, the 4Chan forum that got hit by lighting and became a real boy.

  ‘Abbey?’

  ‘You?’ I belched back. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He was accompanied by two other men. Friends, I guessed, that or I was seeing triple. Actually, that seems more likely in retrospect.

  ‘I’m leaving a pub quiz,’ he said. ‘Victorious, I might add.’

  ‘Ooh, look at me,’ I chirped. ‘I’m Gary and I’m dead clever and that.’

  ‘We were just heading home,’ said Gen, putting an arm around my shoulder and trying to steer me away.

  I was feeling gobby though, and had decided that this was the perfect forum to tell Gary exactly what I thought of him. Batting Gen’s hand away, I wobbled my way towards my supervisor and all but pressed my nose into his.

  ‘You know what you can do, Gary?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, fanning the air between us to banish my beer breath. ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘I’ll tell you what you can do, mate. You can stick your job up your arse is what you can do.’

  ‘Okay, that’s enough of that,’ said Gen trying to guide me away again, but forgetting that I had Nightstalker strength (not to mention a powerful, drunk belligerence).

  Gary said, ‘If I were you I’d go home and sleep this off before you get yourself in real trouble.’

  ‘But you’re not me, are you, Gaz?’ I countered triumphantly. ‘You’re just a stupid office supervisor, and I’m a professional monster hunter.’

  ‘What are you banging on abou—?’ he started, but I was already spinning the other way and flipping him off over my shoulder.

  ‘Fuck you, Gary,’ I said as I swaggered away singing Ebony and Ivory.

  Roughly three minutes later, after I’d staggered into a side street and fallen on my face, I puked my insides into the gutter.

  Gen was kind enough to hold my hair back. ‘Sing with me!’ I insisted between retches, but the girl was decidedly reluctant. Angels can be snotty like that.

  * * *

  There was a bit of an old blackout after the puking, and the next thing I knew I was waking up on a train in Thamesmead. Gen helped me out of the carriage and on to the platform, then led me to my tower block.

  ‘You didn’t have to come all this way,’ I slurred, ‘I’m absholotely… absoslutly... I’m fine.’

  I gave her a thumbs up to prove just how okey-dokey I was, but managed to jab myself in the eye doing it. This did little to convince her of my sobriety.

  We pushed our way into the building, and eventually, after a nine-storey hike, we reached the front door of my flat.

  It was hanging wide open.

  That sobered me right up.

  I lunged inside. ‘Neil? Neil!’

  No answer.

  I felt as if I’d taken a sudden dip in an ice bath. I checked the flat from top to bottom, but there was no sign of him. Everything was just where it was supposed to be—no overturned furniture, no missing valuables—but Neil was nowhere to be seen.

  Panicking, I ran back to Gen. ‘He’s gone. Neil, my boyfriend. Even his oxygen tank.’

  ‘So he went out, what’s the big deal?’

  ‘Neil doesn’t really go out, not with his condition, and especially not at this time of night.’ My heart hammered under my chest. Terrible scenario after terrible scenario whipped through my mind, each of them featuring men with large, pointed teeth.

  Gen had started prowling around the flat, sniffing at certain areas and grimacing before circling around, back to the front door.

  ‘Was it them?’ I asked. ‘Did they take him? Gen, have vampires found my home and taken my boyfriend?’

  Gen stayed silent.

  ‘Fuck! Why? Why would they do that?’

  ‘You’ve taken two of theirs already, it was only a matter of time before they fought back. This isn’t a safe world you’ve wandered into, Abbey. This is for keeps.’

  I was about to respond when I saw a twitch of movement behind Gen and noticed a pair of rheumy eyes staring out through my neighbour’s letterbox. It was the old man who lived across the hall, Mr Munford.

  Munford was the chair of the block’s Residents’ Association, a nosy old sod who wielded way to much power around these parts. Ordinarily, Neil and I walked on eggshells around the bloke knowing he could cause us any end of grief if the mood took him, but tonight I wasn’t worried about the terms of my tenancy agreement. Tonight I only cared about saving Neil.

  ‘Munford,’ I said, catching his eye.

  Realising he’d been spotted, he quickly retreated into his flat, leaving the flap of his letterbox to slam shut with a metallic clang.

  I marched over to his door and pounded my fist against it. ‘Open up,’ I shouted.

  After a few moments hesitation, the door opened a crack, secured by a short, brass chain. An old man in a ratty dressing gown stared back at me with a face so ancient you could have taken it on the Antiques Roadshow. Unruly whiskers sprouted from his ears, and a bald spot shone through the remains of his hair like a big red bulls-eye.

  ‘What do you want?’ Munford demanded.

  ‘You saw, didn’t you?’

  ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ he croaked.

  ‘I don’t care. Tell me what happened to Neil.’

  Munford frowned. ‘He left about an hour ago. Buggered off with some young fellas.’

  ‘What, they kicked the door in? Dragged him out of there?’

  Munford snorted. ‘What are you banging on about, girl? They walked out of there like best friends. Or maybe more than friends, if you catch my drift...’

  I was considering busting Munford’s door down and throttling him when Gen placed a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. ‘They must have used mesmerism,’ she said, ‘a vampire trick.’

  ‘Yeah, I pretty much worked that out myself,’ I hissed back.<
br />
  ‘People shouldn’t be coming and going at this time of night,’ Munford grumbled. ‘Clomping about in their size-twelves and waking up the whole building. It’s a bloody disgrace.’

  ‘What did they look like?’ I asked. ‘The other men?’

  ‘There were four of them,’ he said. ‘Done up in suits.’

  ‘What kind of suits?’

  ‘I dunno. Black. Grey. One of them was wearing stripes I think.’

  I felt my blood go cold. ‘Pinstripes?’

  ‘Yeah. A nice suit, actually. Used to have one like it myself once. Very sharp.’

  Gen cut me a sideways look. I’d only briefly mentioned Pinstripe before, embarrassed that he’d waylaid me, roughed me up and snatched a lock of my hair in the process.

  ‘This pinstriped man?’ she asked. ‘He’s the one who attacked you?’

  I swallowed hard and ignored her. ‘What else?’ I asked Munford. ‘What else can you tell me?’

  He was running out of patience now. ‘What do you want to know, girl? Nice shoes, expensive haircuts, tall.’ Then something else came to him. ‘Except for one of them. He was a big lad, but only sideways. A proper porker, he was. Had a right old birthmark on his face. You know, one of them… whatchamacallit… port-wine ones.’

  ‘Is that it? Is that everything?’ I felt spittle spray from my mouth.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Gen, dragging me away from the old man’s door. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  Munford muttered something unsavoury and closed his door, latching it from the other side. ‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ I heard him say.

  ‘What are we going to do?’ I begged Gen. ‘I can’t let those bastards hurt him.’

  ‘Don’t worry, if they took your boyfriend with his oxygen tank, it means they want him alive.’

  ‘Okay, great. That's good, right? Right?’

  But Gen’s eyes said otherwise.

  23

  ‘Why Neil?’ I asked, as we raced down the tower block stairs.

  Gendith powered on ahead of me, not pausing for breath, not answering my question.

  I racked my brain, my thoughts tumbling over each other as quickly as my feet. Gen had said the Clan wanted him alive, but what for? Was it a symbolic victory for them, capturing the boyfriend of the enemy? Neil would make for a good trophy after all – the Nightstalker’s loved one, stolen from under her nose, from inside her home no less.

  But there had to be more to it than that. Of course there did. The Clan weren’t about to mount Neil in a glass case, dust off their hands and say, ‘Well done, boys, job done.’ They were going to use him, most likely as leverage. They’d threaten him, torture him, maybe even kill him, just to get to me.

  ‘It won’t do you any good trying to figure out their plan,’ said Gen, as if reading my mind.

  I threw up my arms as we arrived on the ground floor. ‘Well, then what should I do?’

  ‘For now, don’t worry,’ she said, pushing through the building’s exit. ‘I’m sure we have plenty of time before they do anything to him.’

  ‘Don’t worry?’ I cried. ‘A gang of vampires just shanghaied my boyfriend, Gen!’

  ‘I know, I was just trying to make you feel better so you’d focus. We really don’t have a lot of time at all.’

  ‘Good. Great.’

  I cradled my stomach. The leftover beer I was carrying had been sloshed and shaken during my sprint down the stairs, and burned like battery acid in my gut.

  Gen put a bracing hand on my shoulder. ‘The pinstriped man. Tell me who he is.’

  I fought back a belch. ‘He’s the ringleader, I think. He ambushed me a couple of times, tried to warn me off of becoming the Nightstalker.’

  ‘And yet you went ahead and did it anyway,’ she said, almost impressed.

  ‘Seemed like a giggle,’ I replied, somehow laughing and crying at the same time.

  If I was expecting Gen to hand me a tissue, I’d only be disappointed.

  ‘What do you know about Pinstripe?’ she asked, all business.

  ‘Not a lot... well, except that he likes fancy suits.’

  Gen arched an eyebrow, struck by something. ‘I have an idea. Give me your phone.’

  She snatched my mobile off me and used it to order us an Uber. The cab was with us in minutes. Gen bundled me into the back and strapped on my seat belt seeing as I was too shellshocked to work the clasps.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I asked.

  ‘Not now,’ she replied, putting a finger to her lips.

  Given that we weren’t able to discuss vampire business within earshot of our driver—at least not without zapping him with the jewelled end of the dagger, and who knew what lasting effects that might have—I stayed quiet for the drive. I found myself doing something I hadn’t done since I was about six. I offered up a silent prayer. A prayer to God to save my boyfriend. Neil doesn’t deserve this, I pleaded. As if he hasn’t had a hard enough life. As if he hasn’t suffered enough, now this? Taken by monsters and served up like some sacrificial lamb.

  No.

  I unclasped my hands. Neil wasn’t a victim. He didn’t see it that way, and I wasn’t going to think of him that way either. Fate might have dealt him a rough hand, but he never once complained about his lot in life. Never once said, Poor little me. Even on the days his condition left him hardly able to breathe, he always found a way to stay positive. Always appreciated what he had. I owed it to him to be that way too. To keep the faith, no matter what. Neil was alive, and so long as he stayed that way, I was going to find him and save him and mess up anyone who stood in my way.

  The cab bounced over a speed bump, jostling me from my thoughts. I looked out of the window. We were across the other side of the River already and heading into town. A short while later we were passing by Trafalgar Square, then we were on to Mayfair.

  ‘Pull over here,’ Gen told the driver, as we rounded the corner of Savile Row, London’s golden mile of tailoring.

  The car stopped outside an establishment called Hawkes & Ravenscroft, which boasted, in hand-painted cursive, Bespoke tailoring and alterations ~ Made to measure suits and custom clothing.

  We got out of the cab and the driver pulled away, making off to his next fare.

  ‘Best suits in the City,’ said Gen.

  It must have been two in the morning at least. ‘What kind of tailor is open at this time?’

  ‘A vampire tailor, that’s who.’

  Without further ado, Gen pushed her way inside, setting the shop bell tinkling.

  The establishment was exactly as fancy as you might expect, all waxed wooden floors and polished brass fittings. The aroma of expensive cologne hung heavy in the air. A pair of Bose speakers played classical music; Mozart or Bach, or some other dead white bloke. It was stirring stuff, and reminded me of one of Neil’s movie soundtracks, which only put more fire in my belly.

  In the centre of the shop stood a man in his boxers with his arms held out by his sides. Crouched at his feet, measuring his inside leg with a length of yellow tape, was a second man with a crop of salt and pepper hair. They turned as one as we barged inside, their eyes wide. The tailor spat pins from his mouth in surprise, while his customer ran for the door, not bothering to collect his clothes first.

  I shot an arm across the doorway, blocking his path, and he cowered before me like a dog wincing at the threat of a rolled up newspaper. He obviously knew who I was. I studied his features and saw he wasn’t wearing a letter J on his forehead. He was a vampire though, no mistaking it. Waxy skin, dark, predatory eyes and pointy, coat hanger shoulders.

  ‘Let him go,’ said Gen. ‘He’s not Clan, and we’re on a clock here.’

  She was right. Finding Neil had to take priority. I reluctantly stood aside and the vampire darted off into the night.

  It was just us and the proprietor now, a silly little man in a silly little waistcoat that made him look like he was running late for a snooker match.

  ‘We’re lookin
g for a Clansman,’ Gen told him, sliding shut the lock on the shop’s door.

  ‘One of those American fellows with the pointy white hats?’ he asked, trying for jovial but coming off awkward and sweaty. ‘Afraid I don’t tailor for those boys. No sense of style.’

  ‘That’s Clan with a C, you piece of shit,’ I said. ‘As in the Judas Clan.’

  I got up in his business, fixing him with my best drill sergeant stare. Just like the runaway customer, the tailor’s forehead was also letter-free, but this guy was as alive as I was, with a healthy pallor to his skin that didn’t match any vamp I’d laid eyes on.

  I turned to Gen. ‘I thought you said he was a vampire tailor.’

  ‘I meant that he tailors for vampires, not that he is one.’

  ‘I’m a businessman,’ the tailor stammered, ‘that’s all.’ His expression was pinched, his mouth turned down. ‘I serve people who appreciate fine clothing, whoever they might be.’

  ‘Even if they’re vampires?’ I asked.

  ‘With all due respect, especially if they’re vampires.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Vampires make excellent customers. They enjoy the finer things, dress well, and need new outfits regularly on account of them… well, getting bloodstained all the time.’

  This fucking guy. I picked up a wooden measuring stick from the shop counter. ‘You know what you are?’ I said. ‘You’re Hugo Boss, except instead of making Nazis look pretty, it’s vampires.’

  I struck him across the side of the face with the stick, making a loud thwack and leaving a red welt on his cheek. The brand throbbed with satisfaction.

  ‘Please!’ the tailor begged, hands held up in surrender, ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got some, mate...’

  I raised my arm to strike him again, but Gen stopped me. ‘The man we’re looking for has a thing for pinstripe suits,’ she told the tailor. ‘Now, are you going to tell us where we find him, or do I let her smack you around some more?’

  ‘Pinstripes?’ he said. ‘Yes, yes, I know the man.’ Without making any sudden moves, he reached under the counter for an old-fashioned Rolodex. He quickly rifled through the contact cards until he arrived at the one he was after, tore it out, and handed it to me, shaking like a shitting dog. ‘He comes in here all the time. Likes his suits delivered to his home address.’