Emily Shadowhunter - Book 1: VAMPIRE KILLER

by Craig Zerf

  When she had arrived back at the apartment the night before, Emily had decided not to tell Bastian or Nathan about her run in with the thugs in Soho. No harm had been done to her and she was afraid that the men would overreact and put some sort of curfew on her.

  ‘I got no girl clothes,’ she said to no one in particular, as she entered the sitting room the next morning.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Asked Nathan. ‘You have clothes. That’s what you wear every day.’

  Emily rolled her eyes. ‘I’m meant to be going on a date tonight and all I have is jeans and t-shirts or our black Shadowhunter outfits. I mean, they’re pretty cool but I don’t want to go out to some fancy place looking like I’ve just walked off the set of The Matrix.’

  ‘Going out on a date?’ Asked Nathan. The surprise sounding clearly in his voice.

  ‘Yeah,’ confirmed Emily. ‘What? You think that I’m too hideous to be invited out?’

  ‘No,’ Nathan shook his head. ‘It’s just that, well, who is he? Or she, whatever. You’ve only been in London for a day. How did this happen. Is it safe?’

  ‘It’s all cool,’ interjected Bastian. ‘Some posh nob who owns the Antique Emporium that we went to yesterday. You would know if you actually did any work instead of swanning about on your own private business instead.’

  ‘I wasn’t swanning about,’ denied Nathan. ‘I had stuff to do.’

  ‘Sure,’ countered Bastian as he stood up. ‘Tell you what,’ he said to Emily. ‘Let’s go out. You got a Foundation debit card; we’ll use it to buy you some “Girl Clothes”.’

  ‘The card is not for frivolities,’ snapped Nathan.

  ‘Lighten up, dude. Stop being such a fassy-man. The girl needs some clothes and the Foundation got more money than god, so shut your pie hole, right?’

  Nathan held his hands up. ‘Fine then, whatever. But let it be known that I don’t approve.’ He stood up and went through to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘Wow,’ exclaimed Emily. ‘Who put a bug up his ass?’

  Bastian grinned. ‘I think our Canadian boy is jealous.’

  ‘Of what?’ Asked Emily.

  ‘Don’t be so dense,’ answered Bastian.

  Emily blushed. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘But, we’re just friends. I mean, I hardly even know him.’

  ‘So? You don’t know William either and you’re going on a date with him.’

  ‘That’s different.’

  Bastian shook his head. ‘No. Not really. And you still haven’t worked out how to control that blush response of yours.’

  Emily stuck her tongue out.

  ‘Charming,’ laughed the Jamaican. ‘Let’s go.

  We got some plastic to bend.’

  Emily spent the rest of the day choosing clothes and accessories, helped by the surprisingly knowledgeable Jamaican. When she commented, he informed her that he had grown up as one of seven children. And he had been the only male.

  When Emily had enquired where the rest of his family was now he had simply shaken his head. She could see by the look of anguish in his eyes that bad things had happened. She grasped his shoulder in mute understanding and he smiled back at her in appreciation of her sympathy.

  That afternoon Emily arrived back at the apartment with three separate outfits complete with matching accessories and, after much deliberation, she decided on the one that she was going to wear that evening.

  At half past seven she emerged from her bedroom, fully dressed and ready for the first date that she had ever had. Nerves chewed at her stomach and caused her heart to flutter madly in her chest and, for a moment, she actually contemplated calling the whole thing off.

  She walked into the sitting room and stood still, waiting for some sort of comment from either Bastian or Nathan. Hoping that it would be complimentary.

  Or at least not insulting.

  Bastian stood up as she entered the room and he gave a long, low whistle. ‘Hey, all de fruits are right, girl,’ he said. ‘Looking fine with a capital F.’

  She wore a figure hugging, knee length white and red Ted Baker cocktail dress with a pair of red Christian Louboutin stilettos and a simple silver necklace with a red garnet tear drop crystal pendant. The ensemble was finished off with a small red Vivienne Westwood clutch bag in a textured glitter finish.

  Emily giggled ‘Thank you, Bastian.’

  Nathan stood up. ‘You look…’ he hesitated. ‘Stunning.’

  Emily turned to thank Nathan but before she could he had already left the room and headed to his bedroom, once again slamming the door behind him.

  Bastian shrugged and shook his head. ‘Just ignore him,’ he advised Emily.

  Before Emily could answer there was a buzz from the lobby intercom. She went over to the screen and took a look. Standing next to the concierge was an old man with a chauffeur’s cap on. The concierge spoke into the intercom. ‘Ma’am, your ride is here.’

  ‘I’ll be down now,’ confirmed Emily. ‘Man,’ she said as she left. ‘What is it with this country, does everybody have a chauffeur?’

  Bastian laughed. ‘Hardly,’ he answered. ‘Have fun. Don’t do anything that I would.’

  ‘As if,’ countered Emily as she stepped into the private elevator.

  She and the chauffer went down and then she followed the ancient driver out of the building to the waiting car. William stood outside and waved to her as she approached.

  He kissed her briefly on each cheek in the French fashion and then opened the door, holding her elbow as she slid onto the back seat. Then he walked around the back of the car and climbed in next to her. Meanwhile the chauffer had gotten behind the wheel and they pulled out into the traffic.

  The car was a Bentley Continental R, a massive beast of an automobile, almost eighteen feet long and twelve feet wide. The interior was as plush as a gentleman’s club and so silent that the only sound was the tick of the carriage clock that was sunken into the walnut paneling above the small bar.

  William pushed a button and the strains of Miles Davis filled the cab, the sultry tones offsetting the nervous flutter that his brief kisses had set off in Emily’s chest.

  ‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Miles Davis, Porgy and Bess. Released March the 9th, 1959. This was one of his first modal compositions. Instead of soloing in the straight, conventional, melodic way, his new style of improvisation featured rapid mode and scale changes played against sparse chord changes. A real break from the norm.’

  William raised an eyebrow. ‘So, I take it that you are a huge jazz fan.’

  ‘No, not really,’ admitted Emily. ‘It’s just that I know stuff. Well, I remember stuff. All sorts of stuff. Everything, actually.’

  Emily realized that she was babbling but for the life of her she couldn’t stop. It was like the words were tumbling out of her mouth in an attempt to sabotage her date by convincing the tall, good looking man next to her, that she was a complete airhead.

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I’m prattling on. Must be nervous or something.’

  William laughed. ‘Do you get nervous on all of your dates?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘No. I mean, maybe. Not sure.

  Actually, I’ve never been on a date before.’

  Inwardly she cursed herself. Great, she thought. Now he knows that you’re a complete nerd and you’ve lived the life of a recluse. Darn it.

  ‘Well there’s no reason to be nervous,’ assured William. ‘We’re just two people going to get a bite to eat. You look really nice, by the way,’ he continued. ‘Smashing. So how come you’ve never gone on a date before?’

  ‘It’s a long story. Short version is, I lost my parents when I was quite young so I had to move in with two family friends. They were great but they lived in the middle of nowhere. No people, therefore, no dates.’

  ‘I see, sorry about your parents. I too have lost mine.’

  ‘Sucks, doesn’t it. I mean, Bart and Ryoko are great. Really lovely, but they aren’t my mum and dad. I miss my paren
ts. Do you still miss yours?’

  William shrugged. ‘I lost them so very long ago. Decades.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been that long,’ pointed out Emily. ‘Hell, you can’t be more than twenty three, twenty four.’

  William scowled. ‘Of course. I mean, it seems like decades. Years and years.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Emily. ‘Sometimes it does.’

  The driver pulled over in front of a large, solid looking building on the banks of the river Thames. On the top of the edifice Emily could make out a sign that read OXO.

  The chauffer opened the door for her and she followed William into the building.

  When the exited the elevator on the top floor they were greeted by a young man in chefs’ whites.

  He bowed to William and then led them through the restaurant and into the kitchen. Then he showed them to a small table situated next to a plate glass window that overlooked the river, the lights of London diffused into smears of color from the light rain.

  Another man came bustling up. He was also dressed in chefs’ whites and he greeted William with a hug. William introduced him as Jeremy and the chef kissed the back of Emily’s hand.

  ‘Sit, sit, sit,’ he urged. ‘I bring food and wine. You relax.’

  Within minutes a bottle of wine arrived and was presented to William. He glanced at the bottle and nodded his approval.

  The sommelier opened it, tasted it using a tastevin that hung around his neck, poured a glass for each of them and left. Soon after, food began to arrive.

  It was obvious that Jeremy was sending them whatever he thought worthy of their special attention. Scallops in a white wine reduction on a bed of pok choi, Slices of lobster in a truffle sauce, rare Kobe beef fillet with brandy cream, asparagus and wild mushroom risotto. Multiple small portions of exquisite culinary genius.

  As the evening wore on, Emily found herself more and more at ease. William was the consummate host, charming and attentive as well as being a great raconteur.

  It was only when the dessert of handmade chocolates arrived that Emily realized that she still knew very little about the handsome man sitting opposite her. Every question that she had asked had either been only superficially answered or gently deflected. He had told many entertaining stories but none of them were about himself.

  Over coffee and liqueurs she made a last concerted effort to pry some personal information out of William. But, once again, he replied in non sequiturs, or simply reversed the question so that she ended up talking about herself again.

  In the end she gave up trying and, instead, simply reveled in his company as she enjoyed herself more than she had since she could ever remember.

  Later that evening, when he dropped her back at the apartment, he had kissed her goodnight.

  And when she climbed into bed she could still feel the touch of his lips against hers. Soft yet firm at the same time. As hot as fever and as cold as ice.

  She smiled to herself as she slipped into slumber.

  Chapter 14