Oxford Blood

by Georgiana Derwent

  Oxford Blood (The Cavaliers: Book One)

  By Georgiana Derwent

  Copyright 2012 Georgiana Derwent

  Book cover design by Scarlett Rugers Design

  www.scarlettrugers.com

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For F, the man of my overheated twenty-something dreams and the original Cavalier

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue - Trinity Term

  Part One - First Year, Michaelmas Term

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Part Two - Year One, Hilary Term

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part Three - Year One, Trinity Term

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  About the Author

  Prologue – Trinity Term

  The Cavaliers’ Midsummer Party. Celebrate the lengthening of the nights with us. Dress like it’s your last night on earth. 21st June. Be ready and we will be waiting.

  When she found the invitation, Stephanie French stared at it for a few moments, utterly speechless. Then she punched the air. This was it. Until she got a proposal from an aristocrat (and she was working on that one), she’d reached the pinnacle of Oxford University social progress.

  Despite her humble background, Stephanie had begun to feel almost blasé about her place in the in-crowd and each exclusive party. Nonetheless, she’d gasped at the sight of the tiny square of solid silver engraved with a heavily stylised sword and horse design.

  Although she’d tried to find out, Stephanie still didn’t know much about the Cavaliers, the most exclusive and secretive society in Oxford. She’d heard some rather alarming rumours about their summer parties, but was determined to do whatever was necessary to get ahead.

  ***

  The party began the moment that the sun went down. Each guest had been picked up from their college by an unordered taxi and driven out into the Oxfordshire countryside. One by one they had been deposited in a large clearing in the middle of a wood, several miles outside of the city. Stephanie was enchanted by the lanterns and flaming torches, and impressed by the elaborate free bar with every drink that could be imagined. Music of all kinds drifted out from hidden speakers. To her astonishment however, the space was dominated by a mock up of a scaffold, decorated in the Cavalier colours of silver and turquoise.

  “I hear that’s always there. Commemorating the execution of King Charles or something,” Alice, another of the guests, whispered to Stephanie.

  Stephanie nodded, trying to look interested in her socialite friend’s ramblings, but her eyes were on Archie, who was standing on the other side of the clearing. The son of a Duke, he was surprisingly sweet and shy, and all the time that she’d been social climbing over the last year, she’d had him in her sights as the ultimate prize. At some point however, she’d surprised herself by developing real feelings for the boy. Despite his aristocratic background Archie looked as though he felt as out of place as she did, apparently sober and staid amidst the drunken and drugged chaos.

  Before she could reach him, the music suddenly stopped and all the torches extinguished themselves. When they flickered back on, the Cavaliers stood on the scaffold, champagne glasses in hand. They wore similar white-tie outfits to the guests, but as full members, their waistcoats and bow ties were in the society colours, and many of them carried canes topped with a carving of the Cavaliers’ sword and horse design.

  “Welcome,” said one, a gorgeous tall boy with floppy white-blond hair and a finely sculpted, arrogant face. “I hope you’ve all been enjoying yourself in our absence. Now that we’re here, the party’s only going to get better.”

  Stephanie was intrigued to see the difference between the established members and the prospective ones. Everyone was exceptionally attractive, but the actual members notably more so. It was like looking at an airbrushed modelling shoot compared to a holiday snapshot.

  “Becoming a Cavalier involves trading one life for a new and better one,” intoned the blond boy. His voice was oddly hypnotic and Stephanie couldn’t take her eyes off him. “It involves power that you can’t imagine. It involves acts that some would call evil, but we simply consider exhilarating. Allow me to introduce one of our most eminent old boys and begin the induction of the new members.”

  A man who appeared to be about forty but was still very attractive walked out of the woods behind the scaffold and joined the speaker on stage.

  “Ladies, gentlemen and Cavaliers, please raise your glasses to Augustine.” As everyone complied, the speaker passed the microphone to the newcomer.

  “Thank you George,” said Augustine.

  If George’s voice had been hypnotic, Stephanie realised, Augustine’s was a thousand times more so. Nonetheless, she was sure that she had seen him before somewhere, and through her daze desperately tried to remember where.

  Augustine turned to face the candidates. One by one, he pointed at them, until five had been selected and lined up on the scaffold. Stephanie was delighted to see that Archie was one of the chosen few.

  “Congratulations gentlemen,” said Augustine. “Now please call your chosen guest to you.”

  The first selected candidate, a rower and College President named Peter called for ‘Camilla Jenkins,’ and a brash brunette who had headed the fashion show committee walked up to him.

  “Alice Howard-Jones,” said a socialite type called Charles and her friend and sometimes rival, a sexy blond South African who partied constantly and had a different eligible boyfriend every other week, sashayed onto the stage.

  Next up was Edward Howard-Jones, Alice’s twin brother. He was as blond as his sister, and tall and muscular. He was also notorious for being the leader of the gay scene in Oxford, and was generally amiably camp, right until the point when he turned ruthless when an election needed fixing.

  “Can I pick James?” he asked nervously.

  Augustine nodded, and James, a failed candidate, walked over to join him.

  Hugh, a well-built, charming black guy who had been President of the Union the term before, picked a girl called Amelia.

  Then finally, it was Archie’s turn. “Stephanie French,” he said quietly, not quite daring to meet her eye.

  Stephanie went to him, almost overcome with delight. So far, they’d been keeping their burgeoning relationship quiet, but Archie could hardly have made his feelings more public than by picking her out of this group of beautiful and talented women, in front of the most important crowd in the university.

  George, standing behind Archie, glanced at Stephanie questioningly. “French was it?” he asked quietly enough that only she and Archie could hear. “Are you any relation to Adelaide? I’ve been trying to think who you reminded me of all night.”

  Stephanie had felt that nothing could ruin the moment, but his words filled her with a sense of unease.

  “I had an aunt called Adelaide,” she whispered. “But she died when I was a baby, you couldn’t have known her.”

  George smiled. “How fascinating. Isn’t it strange how things t
urn out?”

  Before she could reply, Augustine called for silence and stepped to the front of the scaffolding again.

  “Now it begins,” he proclaimed in his hypnotic voice. “What follows is a necessity. I ask you all to remain calm.”

  He raised his cane before slamming it down on the floor. The Cavaliers, as one man, leant forward and sunk their teeth into the necks of the inductees. Oddly, no one screamed. Stephanie could only manage one coherent thought – that aristocrats don’t have blue blood after all. And then everything went dark.

  ***

  When Stephanie came around, the inductees were sat at a table sipping champagne. The difference that she had noticed between the existing Cavaliers and the new recruits had disappeared. The inductees were terribly pale, but otherwise their good points were emphasised and their minor flaws had disappeared. Like the existing members, they looked as though they had only just left the house – not a hair out of place, not a single wrinkle on their shirts or hint of sweat.

  The failed candidates appeared to have undergone a similar transformation, but they were unconscious and staked to the ground.

  “They’ll die in the morning when the sun rises,” she heard an existing members explain to a new recruit. “It’s a shame really, but we can’t have failures hanging around and they know too much to just wipe their memory.”

  “The girls seem to have woken up,” one member interrupted casually.

  “Perfect timing,” said George. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you’re all still feeling a little frail and confused. Being dead for a while will do that to you. But go and find your partner and you’ll soon be feeling much better.”

  As George and Archie came towards her, Stephanie knew she ought to run, but her mind and body felt as though they’d become entirely separated.

  “As a rule we aren’t sadists and don’t take more blood than we need,” Augustine intoned. “We try to avoid death and pain whilst still feeding our needs and urges. But to complete the transformation, we drink to the death.”

  On cue, each of the old members leant forward and bit the selected girls. It didn’t hurt as George’s teeth sunk into Stephanie’s neck. In fact, it felt almost pleasant. After a few seconds, once the blood was flowing easily, he stood back and guided Archie’s head to her wounds.

  Archie held back. “I can’t,” he whispered.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” hissed George. “If you don’t drink now you’ll die. Really die. You must have known what you were letting yourself in for.”

  “Fine, I’ll die,” he replied in a shaky voice.

  George shook his head and holding Archie in something resembling a headlock forced his mouth onto the gash in Stephanie’s neck. For a moment, Archie resisted, but then some survival instinct kicked in, and he began to drink. Stephanie snapped out of whatever strange hypnotic state she had been in. Pain and terror hit her, and she began to scream and attempt to fight Archie off. The other girls were still standing there placidly, making no attempt to resist their partners’ attacks, clearly mesmerised. All the Cavaliers turned to look at her.

  “George, put her under, for goodness sake,” said Augustine, calmly, but with a clear note of surprise.

  As Archie continued to drink, seemingly oblivious to her screams and certainly resistant to her attempts to drag him off, George put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Look at me Stephanie,” he whispered. “Just relax.”

  Stephanie could feel her mind and body trying to respond, but the pain and fear stopped her from giving in.

  “She’s resisting,” George shouted, sounding alarmed.

  Augustine walked over, put a hand on her head and stared at her, clearly confused. “For a moment there I almost thought you were someone else. Especially considering that you seem able to resist George’s mind control. That’s most unusual.”

  Stephanie wanted to plead with him to save her, but his expression quickly hardened.

  “It’s obviously just a strange coincidence and I can’t go around being overly sentimental. You won’t get away, so at least let me make it painless for you.”

  Listening to his words, she found herself no longer able to move or even to scream. She watched Archie continue to suck at her neck, George holding his head in place, presumably in case he was tempted to change his mind. As she began to pass out of consciousness, she finally remembered where she’d seen Augustine before. Not in Oxford, or even London, but back in her hometown years ago, at her cousin Harriet’s birthday party when they’d both been kids.

  And then Stephanie died.

  PART ONE - FIRST YEAR, MICHAELMAS TERM

  Chapter One

  Harriet French was bored of her northern town. She was bored of people’s lack of ambition, lack of glamour, lack of achievement, lack of life. Above all though, she was bored of the men in all their predictable, charmless glory. She’d applied to Oxford University not only for the intellectual challenge and the doors it could eventually open but in the hope of meeting the man of her overheated teenage dreams.

  Harriet dreamt of someone well dressed and flamboyant, who spoke like the lead in a black and white film, who drank champagne like other people drank Carling and who could talk about history and philosophy and life for hours, without making themselves sound like an idiot. Someone who made romantic gestures, who was generous to everyone and extravagant towards her. Someone, for preference, who rowed and had the muscles to prove it. When she was really having a bad day, someone with a title. Every time a well-meaning access scheme leaflet tried to reassure her and all the other state school applicants that Oxford wasn’t wall to wall Old Etonians permanently dressed in tuxedos, she died a little inside.

  ***

  When Harriet found out that she’d been accepted, she was at work at the Draughtsman’s Arms. Again. As far the manager was concerned, the Christmas holidays meant this his mainly school aged staff were off school and were therefore suddenly able to do five shifts a week instead of two. She was word perfect on every single one of the 24 Christmas Classics that had played on an endless loop all day every day since 1st December, and would have killed to hear anything else. The previous week, she’d spent four terrifying, glorious days being interviewed in Oxford. Going back to work afterwards had felt like being expelled from paradise.

  She’d just taken another order for a steak (well done, chips please) and was imputing it into the till when the phone rang. “Draughtsman’s. Cheap, delicious food and drink for all the family,” she chanted on autopilot, straining to hear over the eighteenth rendition of All I Want for Christmas is You so far that day.

  “It’s me Harriet. And I’ve got a letter here for you.”

  Harriet recognised her aunt’s voice and her heart began to pound. “Well, what does it say?” she asked, trying and failing to sound calm.

  Kate began to read, “Dear Harriet French, we are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to read Modern History at Lilith College, Oxford.”

  Harriet barely heard as her aunt read the rest of the letter and began to congratulate her. She felt dizzy, not so much with excitement or pleasure as with pure relief. As she put the phone down, Martin, the slave driving manager turned to her, clearly about to issue some demand.

  “I got in,” she told him, in a voice that tried for nonchalant and missed the mark by a long way.

  “That’s amazing Harriet. Well done!”

  Other staff members had overheard, and soon, she was surrounded by people offering their congratulations. Harriet tried to look embarrassed at the attention. Deep down though, she was loving every minute of it.

  “Go home and celebrate love,” Martin said more quietly. “God knows you deserve it. I wonder how many of those toffs who go there have ever done a proper days work, let alone whilst studying.”

  She gave him a hug, and he looked embarrassed.

  “Make sure you’re back in tomorrow though. Believe me, I’m not going to be buying any excuses about ‘food poisoning.’�
��

  ***

  By the time she’d walked the fifteen minutes back to her house, Aunt Kate had put up some balloons and made a pot of tea.

  “Congrats love. I always knew you’d do it. Give your uncle a call! I’ve been dying to tell him ever since I got the news, but I thought you’d prefer to do it yourself.” She turned and shouted upstairs. “Sam. Jane. Come and congratulate Harriet.”

  “Well I’ll really know I’m honoured if the twins come downstairs on my behalf,” Harriet said.

  While waiting, she phoned Uncle Bob, a man of few words and fewer obvious emotions.

  “It’s so hard to get in, you must have been really impressive,” he said simply, but she could hear the pride underneath it.

  The call took under five minutes, by which time, the twins, her cousins, had appeared in the kitchen. Three years younger than her, Sam and Jane were typical teenagers, obsessed with football and music respectively. When they were younger, they’d looked almost identical, but now Sam’s once curly blond hair was cropped close to his head, whilst Jane’s was long, and ruthlessly straightened. His childish puppy fat was rapidly turning to muscle whilst hers turned to curves.

  “Ha-ri-et. Ha-ri-et,” chanted Sam.

  “Oh my God,” screeched Jane. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing. Come here you.” She hugged Harriet tightly.

  “Can we get some champagne Mum?” they asked, almost simultaneously.

  “Go on!” Sam added.

  Kate laughed. “Ask your dad when he gets in. Do you want some tea for now?”

  Once the token family celebration was over Harriet went upstairs. Once in her room, she re-read the letter for what must have been the twentieth time, and then updated her Facebook status, trying to find a tone that didn’t sound like she was showing off.

  Congratulations were beginning to be text back to her as she opened her intricately engraved locket and took out her favourite picture of her parents. It had been taken in Spain in the eighties, a few weeks before the crash. Her father was dressed in a sharp suit, pink shirt, no tie. He looked rather like his namesake, her cousin Sam, tall and muscular with his blond hair slicked back. Instead of the hard, arrogant expression that might be expected considering his yuppie styling, he was cradling a baby Harriet to him, and looking at her with an expression of absolute adoration.