by P W Hillard
Atop the long stone stairs, a car was parked. A ratty old Volkswagen Golf, bright cherry red with a single door a stark blue. The woman who had emerged from the creature leant against it. She had removed the blood with a towel, the thick viscous substance oddly eager to wipe away. She had slipped on a pair of denim shorts and a plain white t-shirt, tossing the seal skin into the boot. The woman leant there, arm resting on the open boot door, staring out at the sea, as the sun began to rise.
Agrippina looked out over the legions makeshift base. They had left in pairs, her and Commodus, Maximus and Anthony. Each had returned with what could charitably be called junk. Half battered tables, wonky lamps and bookcases missing shelves. Maximus had found a sofa with broken springs in a lay by that he was particularly proud of. It was a massive improvement on the bare concrete and few plastic boxes they had found to sit on last night. Still, there was more to be done.
"Not a bad find!" exclaimed Maximus, not for the first time. "Can't believe someone just left this on the side of the road." He was laying across the bright orange monstrosity he had found, the only real way to use the sofa. The first person to try sitting in it had sunk about a foot before getting stuck.
"I can one hundred percent believe someone left it there," said Agrippina, "it's junk."
"It's free," said Maximus, pointing his finger at her. "Also, untraceable, that's the important part."
Agrippina sat on the arm of the sofa. It rocked worryingly. "I've been thinking about that. I don't think that those vamps have access to something like that. It looks like they were doing something with drugs? All those thralls in their underpants, like in the movies."
Maximus thought for a moment. "Yeah," he said, pausing for another. "I know what you mean. It's so they can't steal drugs or something right? Why would those monsters care if those people were mind fucked anyway?"
"Maybe they got the same idea about it from films? It's the done thing, right?"
"You think," Maximus said chuckling, "that vampires spend their time watching Breaking Bad? Go home and pop on the old Netflix?"
"Why not?" Agrippina stood up again, the sway of the arm cushion being a little too worrying for her. "Anyway, I'm leaving tomorrow, going to head to work."
"No-one goes out alone, you know the agreement."
"There are four of us Maximus," Agrippina said. "That means we can go to two places at once. Hardly the most efficient use of our time."
"It's for our safety, our numbers are depleted," replied Maximus.
"That's my point, I need to be back in work, looking for recruits, at least refill our ranks somewhat. You know I'm right." Agrippina put her hands on her hips and leant forward slightly.
"Determined to get your way as usual." There was a buzzing noise and the whole sofa seemed to shake in response. Maximus pulled out a phone from his pocket. Not his phone, but an ancient grey and white brick, its screen a small square of green. He looked at the screen reading the message on the antique Nokia. "Hah, good timing it seems. It's from the oracle, another task out east in Broadstairs."
"That's where Marcia got that werewolf a few months back."
"Not surprising, seems that evil abhors a vacuum as much as nature. This works out well. We can send someone out there to deal with it, they should be safe enough a few hours away. If you're insistent about trying some recruiting again, well I don't think I could stop you," said Maximus.
Agrippina let a smile sneak its way on to her normally stern face. "Damn right, I'll keep in touch. What's out east?"
"Something called a selkie according to this? Not sure what that is," admitted Maximus.
"A selkie?" The voice was Commodus, who was carrying several plastic bags of groceries. The Valueways logo, the company name placed over the bottom line of an elongated pound symbol, was stamped onto brilliant white. "It's like a mermaid, kind of. A seal maid? Maid seal? Whatever, either way, it's a sea creature. It looks like a person until it puts on its sealskin, at which point it turns into a seal. Surprised you've never heard of it, it's a British myth." He placed the bags down in front of the sofa. He and Agrippina had made the trip to buy them, but he had demanded to bring in every bag at the same time, in true masculine fashion. His fingers throbbed a bright red from the rough plastic handles.
"Right well," Maximus said sitting up. He steadied himself for a moment, and satisfied he wasn't going to sink into the sofa tapped Commodus on the arm. "Thanks for volunteering then, good luck."
A plate was placed onto the counter, clinking against the polished worktop. Someone rang a bell, and the plate was whisked away from the worktop out into the restaurant. It was a packed house, every seat full, a sizeable queue trailing out of the door. Another plate, another bell. The young woman who had dropped off the plates smiled at her handiwork. She wore the long white apron of a chef, her blonde hair tied into a hairnet and tucked under a cap. Another chef, a man with broad shoulders, his arms thick with black wiry hair watched her work. He had owned and run the small seafood restaurant for nearly two decades, but it had never been this busy.
"I've said it once," the Chef said, "and I'll say it again. You have a real flair for this. Honestly, Agatha, you need to tell me where you learnt all this. Some of these combinations I would never have thought to try."
"Oh, you know," said Agatha as she tossed some scallops into a frying pan. Oil hissed and splattered. "Just some things I picked up in my travels. You learn a thing or two as you go. More from necessity than anything."
"Mother of invention after all," replied the burly chef.
Agatha laughed. "Something like that. Pass me that lemon Steve."
The man turned, and lifted a lemon from the counter, its skin partly shaved away. He lifted the fine grater next to it and passed both to Agatha. "You've been a real godsend," said Steve, watching the woman shave fine peels of lemon skin into her pan. "Really, it was a pretty bad start to the summer until you turned up. It almost feels like you just drifted in from the sea to answer my prayers."
"I don't like it," said Mark, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. Sat next to him was a small child. The girl was happily scribbling with crayons, only semi-successfully getting it on the paper. "There's a million things that could go wrong."
"It's a better idea than doing nothing. Shauna's up for it and Weston has given her sign off. Sandy and Gemma are in as well. Everything is ready to go. Really what- "Jess was cut off mid-speech as her wife lowered two plates onto the table. Bright red coloured pasta, thick with pesto and covered in a dense layer of cheese steamed lazily.
"No work talk! You know the rules," said Hannah as she turned to grab two more plates from the kitchen worktop. One of them was much smaller, which she placed down in front of her daughter. Lana looked unimpressed and tried to pull her sheet of paper from underneath the plate, tipping it and spilling a few loose pieces of pasta onto the table. Mark and Jess shot each other a look and then nodded in agreement. It had taken a while, but Jess had convinced Mark to come to her home once every few months for a good home-cooked meal. She worried sometimes that he was a bit too much of a loner. The four of them sat there silent for a moment, shovelling great forkfuls of pasta into their mouths. Or at least, Lana was attempting to do that, instead managing to cover the area around her mouth.
"Oh, dear you're getting messy," said Hannah, producing a handkerchief from somewhere inside the pale blue floral dress she was wearing. "Lana was very good in nursery today weren't you love?"
"I seen a bird!" shouted Lana raising her hands excitedly.
"A bird?" said Jess feigning exaggerated interest. "What kind?"
"Big and black, it went kaw!" The young girl launched into the story of how and when exactly she had seen the bird, and the adults listen along. Right there and then, it was the most interesting story in the world.
Chapter Fourteen
Jess sat in the interview room, hands clasped together, staring at the woman opposite. She had gone in, sat down, and aside from stating her
name for the tape had said nothing, simply looking at Linda. Taking in her face, her expression, absorbing all her features and committing them to memory.
"I think," Jess said after several minutes, "that I would like to give you one last chance to tell us where we can find whoever has been helping you. You must know that you're going away for a long time Linda- "
"Drusilla."
"Linda," continued Jess, ignoring the fake name that Linda insisted on using. "If you cooperate it will look good for your sentencing. You do realise that the case against you is ironclad?"
"There is no case for me to answer, I simply tried to erase scum from the earth. I should be praised for what I did," said Linda, pressing her fingertips into the table. "Once people hear the truth they will understand?"
"The truth? You think that you go into court and start ranting about demons and monsters that people will believe you? No, I don't think you really think that. You're a clever woman Linda, that much is obvious. You must know that doing that would mean a one-way trip to a care facility rather than a prison cell. I can't imagine you would relish the thought of being semi-conscious on drugs for most of your time." Jess leant back in her chair, hands in her pockets almost casually.
"I did nothing wrong. You think you're so high and mighty. They were demons. Demons! And here you are protecting them. Monsters, fiends, literal minions of the devil! They aren't even human; how can you call killing something so evil a crime!" Linda was shouting, tears welling up in her eyes.
Jess took her hands from her pockets, placing them flat onto the table. She took a deep breath in through her nose, and then out through her mouth. "I feel sorry for you," she said, her voice low, an almost whisper. "I really do. When I look at you, I see the woman I could very easily have become. And that saddens me. I do pity you, Linda. Not fake sarcastic pity. It's genuine heartfelt sorrow for what you have become. The laws in this country, over a hundred years ago, decided that supernatural people are exactly that, people. Those supposed demons you tried to kill, well they run a small business, they follow the law, they pay taxes. If they never do anything out of the ordinary, who are we to say they aren't ordinary." She laughed faintly to herself. "You know, the law is a funny thing. Over a hundred years of supers being legally people, whilst I couldn't marry my wife until twenty fourteen, well two thousand and four if you count civil partnerships. You think it would have been the other way around. Oh, and don't get me started on the devil's minions. You still haven't worked that one out have you?"
Linda sat there for a moment, trying to process the torrent of words that had flowed from between Jess' lips. "How dare you pity me," she muttered, more because it was the expected thing for her to say than anything else.
"So," said Jess, "I'm guessing you still aren't going to give up your compatriots?"
"Go to hell!" shouted Linda
"In this job? Maybe one day."
Sandra sat at the kitchen areas small plastic table, sipping pale tea from a mug. On one side was Kermit the frog stamped proudly over the word Muppet. On the other, the phrase "Most useless police person ever trained". The mug was a gift from either a birthday or office secret Santa, Sandra wasn't sure which. She let the warm tea work its way down her throat, as she watched Jess storm over to the kettle and flick its switch aggressively. Jess leant her back on the work counter, crossed her arms and grumbled lightly to herself.
"I take it your last-ditch appeal didn't work out?" said Sandra.
Jess sighed, letting her anger out in her breath like a deflating balloon. "I don't know what I expected really. Thought maybe, just maybe I might get through to her. Someone really did a number on that woman."
"Could be she's just regular crazy all on her own?" said Sandra, blowing steam from the top of her mug.
"No, that's not it," said Jess. She lifted the kettle, which had completed its rumbling build-up to boiling. Jess took a mug from the cupboard above, placed a teabag into it from a bright blue box next to the kettle, and poured. "The way she speaks, it's like she's been fed lines."
"Indoctrinated."
"Exactly," replied Jess, opening the tiny fridge and adding a splash of milk to her tea. "I do think that our plan is the best way forward now."
"Right then," said Sandra, "grab your mug. Let's go gather the troops."
Commodus pushed the door open and stepped through, his wheeled suitcase rattling over the small stone step as he pulled it through by the extendable handle. The door led into a small hallway papered with a dark green paisley wallpaper with a horrid brown carpet. The left way had been knocked through at about waist height to create a counter. On the dark varnished wood was a small metal sign. "Ring bell for service" it read. It sat next to a large silver bell, the kind Commodus had only seen before in old black and white murder mystery movies. He pressed the small button on the top and it rang pleasantly.
He waited, huffed, then pressed the bell again. Another five minutes passed and still nothing. Frustrated he leant his head through the hole into the small reception room beyond.
"Hello? Anyone there?" he shouted. Still nothing. Scanning the room, he spotted a list of phone numbers on the wall. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and rang the first listed number.
"Sorry, sorry!" said a middle-aged woman, her hair a mix of grey and auburn, as she barrelled through the door. "I forgot there were any guests due today."
Commodus was not impressed, having waited a further twenty minutes for the hotel owner to arrive. It hardly boded well for his hopefully brief stay. Leaving his compatriots in the legion during such a serious time of need was difficult, but duty waited for no one. "I've been here for nearly forty minutes," he said more for his own gratification than anything else, the owner was already well aware.
"I know, I am sorry love. Tell you what, I'll knock off the cost of breakfasts whilst you're here, consider it my apology," she smiled at him.
Commodus thought for a moment. Free breakfasts and a dead freak. Maybe his trip wouldn't be so bad. "Ok," he said after a thought, "sounds good to me."
The two vampires watched as their prisoner stirred. The woman had been sleeping for days now, her skin split and bruised. Both eyes were blackened. From the way she winced as she tried to move Vlad could tell at least one rib was broken. She wasn't doing well, fading in and out of consciousness too frequently to question.
"I think we should give her some of our stuff," said Vlad biting his thumb as he talked.
"Are you sure boss? I reckon I could get the bitch to talk said Carl, running a hand across her face. They had placed Marcia into a chair and tied her with a thin frayed blue rope that had been laying in the warehouse since they had moved in. They needn't have bothered, she wasn't in any condition to go anywhere.
Vlad laughed, a horrid growling croak of a laugh. His skin was still charred and blackened, though the dark outer layer was starting to break away revealing fresh pale skin underneath in a great crack running across his face. "I don't think she would survive you trying. I think the temptation for vengeance would be a bit much for you. No, we'll use some of our stuff on her, that should do the trick I think."
It took an hour for Steve to get to them. He had grumbled initially but quickly changed his tune when Vlad had taken the phone from Chet and demanded he attend. Steve was currently doing what the other vampires needed him for and fitting a canula to a vein in Marcia's left hand. Steve was still wearing the pale green scrubs emblazoned with the care homes name on the left breast. Happy with his work, he turned to face the others.
"Got a bag ready?" he asked, hand outstretched, his palm turned up.
"Chet, get a bag," barked Vlad, picking at the flaking black crust on his skin.
"I'm Carl," replied Carl. He went silent for a moment, his head tilted downwards. "Chet's dead," he whispered. He walked towards the small room they used for blood processing, dragging his feet as he did. He returned a few moments later with a selection of plastic pouches, bags of vivid crimson. "Do we know her bl
ood type?"
"How the fuck would we know that?" barked Vlad. "We only have one type anyway after you two chucklefucks drained that woman. A good test to see if blood type matters after all."
Steve took one of the bags of blood from Carl, sliding a needle into a thin rubber port protruding from the bag. The needle was attached a long thin clear tube, which he plugged into the canular he had fitted. "Hold that up high," he said, lifting Carl’s arm into the air and placed the bag into his hand.
"How long does this stuff take?" asked Vlad, peering curiously at the jury-rigged blood drip.
"A little while. Give it twenty minutes at least," said Steve.
Steve had been a nurse for a long time, even before he was a vampire, and had long ago learnt that it was better to overestimate. No one complained when something took less time than they were told, but the opposite wasn't true. Their mixture of vampire and human blood started its work after only ten minutes. Marcia's eyes burst open, ripped from her semi-comatose state into a sense of alertness she had never experienced before. Her eyes danced around the room, taking in her situation. She tried to move, the rope burning as it rubbed her skin.
"Where am I?" Marcia demanded. Her eyes stretched wide as she spotted the canula. "What are you doing to me?!"
"We," began Vlad, stepping up out of his chair, "are saving your life." He smiled, bearing a horrific mess of jagged teeth.
"Fuck you beast!" Marcia shouted, rattling her chair as she threw herself forward, desperate to free herself.
Vlad ignored her. "This," he said, stepping over to Carl and tapping the bag of blood in his hand, "is my little masterpiece." He flashed her another mangled smile. "Even if I do say so myself. I'm sure you're aware, hunter, that ingesting vampire blood turns you into a vampire. I always hated that myself, makes us seem like we're just some disease, some bloodborne pathogen. The hepatitis of the supernatural world. This was my little experiment with that." Flecks of blackened skin drifted away as he spoke, the movement of his muscles loosening his crust like the shifting of tectonic plates. "I tried cutting vampire blood with human blood, dilute it down. Didn't work like I hoped but had an interesting side effect. Fills you full of vim and vigour. Heals wounds, disease, makes those nagging aches go away. All the health and vitality of a vampire, none of the nasty other stuff. Well to you lot anyway, I rather like it." Vlad winked, the skin on his eyelid falling away revealing the newly grown skin beneath. "Turns out rich old biddies will pay good money for this, really good money. Once we work out a way that doesn't need this nasty drip business. We tried having someone drink it and well, the results were rather grim." He chuckled at the thought. "Then well, we can push it out onto the streets, be the hot new drug."
