Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (21 page)

Leaving my threat hanging in the air, I turned my back on him and walked back to my building without even a second look. When I closed the door behind me, I saw that he’d already disappeared.

Ferrers looked on, intrigued. This was not the typical response that a human displayed when confronted with a real, salivating, vampire. She seemed to know exactly what Rachel, his young protégé, was and she appeared to be quite confidently attempting to defend herself. It was interesting.

In the past three centuries, he'd seen humans demonstrate a range of responses when they realise a vampire may kill them. They ranged from debilitating shock to the shaking of charms and prayers for help. Whatever the words spoken, or actions taken, they were always wrapped up in fear and confusion. Even when a potential victim was begging to be saved from the pains and troubles of their human existence, they reeked of insecurity and uncertainty. Mr Ferrers found the whole thing rather unseemly.

Over the years, he had been able to moderate his impulses. He preferred to take his victims when they least expected it. He always ensured they were left with little more than a mild sense of confusion, His powers of persuasion had been honed to an art form, so much so that he could have been mistaken for being telepathic or having an aptitude for hypnosis. Neither was true. He'd spent centuries travelling the world, watching people, observing their behaviour, decades before that listening to the prayers and disclosures of his flock through the confessional window. The only sixth sense he had was observation – the ability to see and note the minutiae of someone's life, recognise the wealth of minor tells they gave away, and making a series of deductions. Rather than telepathy, he had excellent eyesight, a quick mind and years of watching human behaviour. Vampirism had increased these but was not solely responsible.

Of course, he did consume blood and that meant he could often detect if there were something fundamentally wrong with someone's health. It might taste thin to him, or have an unusual aftertaste. The most common problem was iron deficiency. The irony that he probably contributed to that was not lost on him.

It was how his diagnosis of Rachel's health had been confirmed. He was so skilled at feeding without detection that she hadn’t noticed that he'd taken a little sip at each of their appointments.

Her pale skin, the thinning hair, the dark rings around the eyes, the signs of mortality, which humans ignored all the time, had immediately altered him to the fact that something was wrong. The cancer caused bitterness in her blood, which he couldn't ignore. Neither could he overlook the fact that he didn't want to lose a good solicitor nor the occasional pangs of loneliness he felt. It had been decades since he had a companion and he needed to reconnect with the modern world.

This young woman, this girl fighting for her life before him, was different. Frankly, humans were mainly dull and predictable, but not this one, although he couldn't exactly figure out why. He was definitely experiencing a pull to her, not unlike the blood-bond that he felt for his vampire children, but it was, of course, impossible.

He knew that the girl was afraid - the perspiration on her brow, the flushed cheeks, the heart beating like a drum in her chest, they all gave it away. But this girl also knew that the woman in front of her was a vampire. She didn't have to stop and process the information, rationalise what was before her. She, therefore, must have met one before and survived. Any experienced vampire would have ensured that she wouldn't remember. Occasionally a newborn would kill someone or fail to complete the process of envenomation, but those occasions were rare. When it did happen, the culprits were primarily newborns who had been abandoned or unsupervised by their makers. For the past hundred years or so it had become the norm to only make new vampires in small numbers, usually one at a time, so this situation could be avoided.

Most vampires in the area had been made by him, or at least known to him. He was certain that this girl wouldn't have been attacked by one of them. It must have been somewhere else, somewhere far away.

The oldest of the original vampire clans, the Old Ones, had been systematic in their elimination of vampires who remained out of control, or were made without proper guidance. Although they had originally shared their lust for the kill, over the centuries they had learned that it didn't pay to be too obvious. Many of their numbers had been killed in crusades to wipe them out. Hundreds had died in the amphitheatres of Rome. The Inquisition had been the last major attack on their kind.

Without dealing with unruly vampires, the existence of the whole race would quickly be known to all. Rules were put in place to control breeding, armies and individual Enforcers sent out to investigate and execute dissidents. He had gone on a number of extermination missions in the past when pockets of ferals had risen up in Central and Eastern Europe. They quickly turned into colonies, taking over small and usually remote communities.

Although the Old Ones had retreated into the shadows of their world, their existence now part history and part legend, the principles were adopted and maintained by the modern vampire. Respect your kinfolk, eat only what you need, and only breed numbers that you can support and supervise. There were also norms around more practical arrangements, such as moving on, which was necessary from time to time to avoid detection. Cosmetic surgery, health and fitness had come a long way since vampires first walked the earth, but even so, people would get suspicious when you don't appear to age - best to keep a low profile or be prepared to have multiple homes in multiple locations. He often disappeared reappearing in his home community a generation later, posing as his own descendant.

The world had changed and vampires with it
. They now walked amongst humans, infiltrating all aspects of life. Fatalities were now practically zero. An occasional indiscretion by a new-born could be overlooked and dealt with informally at a local level by an established vampire coven. Larger problems were addressed by the Enforcers, vampires hired by the oldest and wealthiest families to dispatch those who offended against the unspoken code of conduct. Due to their prominence, they had a particular interest in maintaining the status quo.

He had worked in the capacity of Enforcer for several families over the years, although his last stint had been decades ago. He had a self-control and a ruthless determination which leant itself to the work, which usually involved exterminating the rogue vampire and dealing with any survivors. Centuries ago that would have meant killing the human too, now it was a case of retrospective envenomation if you could get there in time. It was a high-risk strategy, as you'd need to deliver sufficient venom to confuse the memory of an event which may have happened days or weeks before. Badly done, it could deliver enough venom to convert the victim into a vampire. This was an exceptional situation, however, vampires normally being made through the exchange of blood, a much more potent source of the vampire virus. A small amount of venom, administered involuntarily usually, would facilitate the healing of the bite, while a larger amount would act as a hypnotic, effectively wiping out their memory, anaesthetizing their body and brain; the older the vampire, the more potent the venom.

Creatures like Ferrers were, therefore, in high demand for enforcement work. It only required a small amount of his venom to confuse the victim, and his centuries of experience had taught him how to use it discreetly and wisely.

Sadly, Rachel had yet to fully realise her ability to control the administration of venom or her overwhelming lust for human blood. It had taken him quite by surprise when she had leapt across the back seat of the car and ripped out the throat of the man driving it. The middle-aged man had gone from been flattered by her attention, happily offering to give her and her “father” a lift home from his office to being her dinner and her first kill. She had been meant to have been observing Ferrers and his method of killing and healing with ease and discretion.

Regrettably, no amount of venom could have saved that salesman, and it was too late to have converted him into a vampire, not that he would have done so without his consent. Ferrers had tried that once before - saved a young man's life by feeding him his blood. The young man, Kasper, was his companion for a short time but had never forgiven him. He'd stayed with him for a year before he finally left; rejecting Ferrers and the life he wanted for him.

He often thought of Kasper and wondered if he was still "alive". Without feeding vampires go mad, and eventually die. Perhaps he had walked away to let starvation take its course. He'd never heard from him again and vowed he would never make another vampire without their explicit consent again. Not all vampires exercised his constraint, but then they didn't all have his skill at suppressing the memory of a rejected invitation either.

He had hoped that this girl would be Rachel's first successful, non-fatal feed without supervision. He couldn't watch over her all the time - that would make eternity quite tiresome. It wasn't that he minded humans being killed per se; he just didn't like the unwanted attention or the lengths he had to go to cover it up. Besides, Rachel didn't need to eat; she'd practically devoured the whole salesman a few of nights earlier, as well as the usual array of stray cats and dogs which he used to tide his newborns over with until they gained control of their cravings. She'd even fed from his housekeeper a few times after he'd taken his small weekly feed. Her desire to kill was in her blood, but indiscriminate feeding or killing would put them all at risk. She'd had to learn soon, and now was a good time as any.

More than that, however, this girl was different. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was if they had met; he knew her somehow. There was something familiar in the way she moved; in her smell; in the curve of her nose. A feeling scratching deep inside - a longing for her which wasn't sexual, not animal, but a need, a still, small voice of belonging. If he wasn't in such control of his emotions, it would have been confusing. He needed to find out more. He needed
her.

I rammed the deadbolts across my door, switched on all the lights so there wasn't a hint of a shadow, and checked the locks on every window. I collapsed onto the sofa, worn out and agitated, clutching a French cooks knife in one hand, and a hammer in the other. My breathing was fast and heavy. I didn’t care if I was on the first floor or not, I wasn’t going to take any chances when it came to vampires. Nothing was going to get in and kill me if I had anything to do with it.

If I hadn't been so terrified about going back outside I would have grabbed Charlie, got in my car and driven all the way to Wales right there and then. I'd have abandoned every piece of clothing, every memento, each scrap of my current life, in favour of having a chance at a longer one. As it stood, all I felt capable of doing was blocking the whole nightmare out. I suppressed the urge to ring my mother, ask her to make everything better. It was an impossible situation.

I wished I could have just lifted up the phone and called Mickey, but I’d come to realise deep down that it would be a waste of time. His phone was dead and he hadn’t replied to any of my calls or emails. He didn't give a shit anymore. This was my problem and mine alone, and I’d have to find a way to deal with it. I wondered if I should try calling the police, but I didn't even know what I'd say - that my neighbour bit me? That I think the guy upstairs is turning into a vampire? I was at a loss, trapped. I decided that I'd decide what to do in the morning. It wasn't exactly action, but it was all I had the energy for, that and just getting through the night.

There was no way that I was going to sleep that night, I was too agitated and too scared I'd be slaughtered during it. I spent most of it glued to the same spot on the sofa, clutching my weapons and staying alert with copious amounts of coffee whenever I felt I might drift off. I don’t even like coffee that much, but I was beginning to acquire the taste. I took it black so it wasn’t as filling and I could consume more. If I’d had caffeine tablets, I’d have taken those too, but my medicine cabinet was sadly lacking. All it contained was some antiseptic and painkillers – neither of which I needed to deal with my bite from Richard, it had more or less healed immediately; so tiny was it compared to the previous vampire bite I'd received. The grazes on the palms of my hand from the skirmish with the female vampire would take longer.

I jumped out of my skin every time I heard a noise - revellers returning from a night out, a car pulling up outside, my central heating thermostat signalling a drop in temperature. The long periods of silence between them were even worse.

I’m not sure what time I succumbed to sleep, but I woke up on the sofa just after 6.30am. I was angry at myself for dozing off, but relieved to be alive and in one piece. Saliva was on my chin, coffee had poured down my lap and Charlie was asleep on my chest. Wiping my face dry and nudging the sleeping cat from my body, I wiggled free and sat up. Rubbing my eyes to encourage the production of moisture, I was sure that sometimes getting a little sleep was worse than having no sleep at all.

I looked around the room, everything was in place and all my limbs were where they were meant to be. At least something was going in my favour. I switched on the TV and turned over to one of the twenty-four-hour news stations. It was focused on national news, nothing to report at a local level. I’d have to wait for a regional update on one of the mainstream channels.

Pulling back the curtains, I could see that it was getting light. The sky was mottled, ranging from mid-grey to a dirty white. A flock of birds, crows perhaps, flew over and their cries cackled, echoing in my ears. Charlie stood to attention, staring at them through the French doors, making the same bizarre clucking noise he always made when he saw a bird or other prey he thought ripe for hunting. It didn’t seem to bother him that we were one flight up and the birds even higher. It usually made me chuckle, but I was too exhausted to find it amusing.

Outside, the world below seemed quiet and normal. The small patch of lawn beneath my window was crisp with frost and the street was deserted. Beyond the wrought iron fence that surrounded the small residential development, cars huddled on the street, bumper to bumper as far as I could see.

I opened the doors and stepped out onto a small balcony. It was just about big enough to accommodate my feet and a couple of plant pots, which were now empty due to the time of year. I'd put some cheery-looking primroses in them during the summer, but now the soil was dried up and broken. It made me sad. Charlie joined me, but found it too cold and quickly returned to the warmth of the sofa.

In many respects, I had loved where I lived. My neighbours were friendly, albeit with one wanting to become a vampire. It was quiet and close to the city, but far enough that I felt I hadn’t abandoned my semi – rural roots. Now it was all ruined. I was glad to be leaving. Even without the vampire population, it would never the same again.

I was relieved it was a Sunday; I would never have made it through the work day. After a hot shower to try and wake me up, I made tea in the biggest pot I could find. My stomach was churning, but I didn’t have it in me to eat anything. I stared at the open fridge for a while, but nothing in there changed my mind. Shutting the door, I returned to the sofa, wrapped in two towels, one covering my body and one in a turban on my head.

It was proving difficult to get going. The shower had helped a little, but not by much. After my third mug of tea, I shuffled into my bedroom and threw on a tee shirt, baggy jeans and thick woollen socks. I picked up my heaviest boots and tucked them behind the front door in case I had to make a sudden exit at any time. It seemed pointless taking a dryer to my hair, so I let it hang loose and wet around my shoulders. It had grown about three inches in the last three months and looked glossy; perhaps I should get attacked by the supernatural more often I thought, it didn’t seem to be doing much in the way of physical harm.

Returning to the living room, I sat quietly and listened for the slightest sound from the apartment above me - any hint that Richard was still up there, that he hadn’t disappeared as I’d asked. I sat like that for a long time, taking the briefest of breaks to make myself a drink from the kitchen. Before I knew it, the sun was rising again and a whole day and night had passed. The nightmare had seemingly passed.

I was halfway through the door of the office, battling with the simultaneous removal of my coat and handbag, when Tracey pulled me to one side.

"I know you’re not meant to be seeing any more candidates," she blurted out hurriedly," but we’ve got a guy who insists on speaking to you. You’ve been personally recommended to him by a Mr Turner, you’d know who he meant apparently. He's been here a while but was happy to wait for you."

I was not in a good mood. It had taken me an age to get across town; I was tired, hungry and generally ratty. Tracy could see I wasn’t impressed, but nevertheless thrust the registration paperwork in my direction, pleading in her eyes. I eventually managed to shake off my coat and free up my hands to flick through the form in more detail.

I wasn’t surprised that she wanted to get this guy registered with us. He was a former company director who would land a whopping fee for whoever placed him. People like him were a rare commodity, and if the right company could be found, he’d be a good inroad to even more business. I usually dealt with the professional end of the market, but he was unusual even for me. I tried to think of contacts I had, in the companies which he'd listed in his resume, but drew a complete blank. I couldn’t recall any of them being called Turner and if it was someone at his kind of level, I'd have definitely remembered it.

"Okay, okay. Give me a minute and I’ll see him. Is he in an interview room?"

"Yep, sure is. I’ve put him in the middle one as it’s bigger. Thanks for this Soph, you’re a star. If I can get him placed before you move, I’ll take you out for a slap up meal, my treat."

I forced a smile.
That's if I live that long -my neighbour will probably have ripped out my throat by then.
As Tracy skipped back to her desk, I threw my bag and coat onto my chair, grabbed my notebook, pen and a cup of water from the cooler. Straightening out my blouse and skirt, I took a deep breath, composed myself and opened the door.

I knew who Mr Turner was as soon as I stepped into the room. I’d seen "R Turner" on the letter boxes in the lobby of my apartment building a hundred times or more. R Turner. Richard Turner. Richard.

My interviewee shot a smile at me, providing a brief glimpse of two discreet fangs as if to assure me that he was only displaying a snippet of what he could offer. His pupils were larger and darker than they should have been, but I could still detect a trace of steely blue around them.
Oh dear God, he's a bloody vampire.
I wondered if I should just turn my back, walk out and shut the door behind me, but I feared what he might do in retaliation. I stood still for a moment, my mouth suddenly drying out. Deciding that in this case discretion was definitely the better part of valour, I quietly pushed the door to a close. It made a gentle click as it completed its journey.

Confident that he had made himself clear, the vampire retracted his fangs and his pupils went back to a normal, human size. He had perfect dental work, piercing eyes and a fabulous suit; no wonder Tracy had been so excited, everything about his appearance screamed money.

I slipped into the chair across from him, protected by nothing more than the narrow desk, my pen and clipboard. He remained silent, watching me compose myself as he sat politely with his manicured hands placed on his crossed knee. He was so tall he couldn’t get them directly under the small table. He sat at an angle, his legs crossed to one side of the desk.

The vampire had signed the name "Charles Ferrers" in a flourish of black ink on the registration form. He must have brought his own pen, I thought as I looked at my standard issue black Biro.

He was tall, slender and impeccably dressed. He was at least six foot two and clothed in high quality, navy pinstripe. As he adjusted the cuffs of the jacket, I caught a flash of the yellow silk lining. On its own, it would have been gaudy, but against the dark quality cloth, it was chic. His attire was obviously made to measure, finished with a dazzling white shirt and mother of pearl cufflinks. The tie was silk too- a weave of steel grey and lemon stripes. I bet I could have seen my face reflected in his shoes if I’d have got close enough to look. It was difficult to judge his age, maybe late thirties or early forties. His colouring hinted at blonde although his hair had been cropped so short he was practically bald. It may have been red once. He oozed class and money.

When he spoke I recognised his voice instantly, it had been him who had managed to call that vampire bitch to heel. It was probably him who was responsible for turning Richard. He sat quietly as if waiting for me to speak.

"I thought you lot only could come out at night," I eventually asked.

"Oh my dear girl, that's really quite naive of you," he grinned. "We can, of course, come out in the daylight. In fact, I'm quite fond of it; you see so much more of the world that way. It would take a lot more than a few rays of sunshine to put me off coming to see you my dear, or in fact to kill me, if that's what you're wondering. It's not that we're weaker in daylight, or some other such nonsense which may be racing through your mind, and it’s not that we’re invulnerable at night. We're just about as vulnerable at any time of day. We don't sleep, we don't get drunk, and we don't expose ourselves to danger which we can't handle. No, it's not that we're not vulnerable at night; it’s just that you humans are more so. You practically put yourselves out there on a plate."

"Oh." Of course, why hadn’t I thought of that? Why hadn’t any of us? Being nocturnal doesn’t mean you can’t operate during the day, just that you function better at night. In their case, it was probably easier to function as a cold-hearted killer when people were asleep, drunk, alone, or in the dark, metaphorically and literally.

I felt stupid and I didn’t like the feeling. At least I was reasonably confident that he wasn’t going to pull me over the table and rip my throat out anytime soon. There were easily a dozen witnesses in the office and even more if you counted other businesses in the building and shoppers in the precinct outside. He looked out of place as it was, with his impeccably dressed appearance and cool confidence; he would be even more noticeable legging it up the high street with my blood all over him. I asked him what he wanted.

"Straight to the point... I like it," he remarked, placing his hands on the desk, the digits entwined. His index fingers formed a steeple, which he pointed at me for emphasis as he spoke. "I respect a person who can take charge of the situation, drill down to the key issues, right down to the heart of the matter, and grab it with their hands."

He smiled, which was unsettling. I didn’t respond.

"Very well," he continued," we can discard the niceties and get down to business if you wish."

"Yes, please." I tried to sound composed.

"I think it would be fair to say that you’ve placed us all in a very difficult situation Miss Morgan. I appreciate that you must find meeting our kind quite – unsettling. I’m sure you must feel exceedingly vulnerable and indeed, you should." He paused to let his words sink in. "But I think you’d agree that the most important thing now is how you proceed."