Sophie Morgan (Book 1): Relative Strangers (A Modern Vampire Story) (25 page)

Christmas was a delight, full of mince pies and twinkling lights. Mum and I wore matching Christmas sweaters and went to the Christingle service at the church on Christmas Eve. Some of her friends came over for drinks and sausage rolls and we all laughed at recollections of the foolish things I'd done as a child. Charlie was quite the attention whore and made several new friends. Everyone took a part of him home with them, cat hair coating their trousers, then their car seat, then their sofas.

By the time we welcomed in the New Year, life was really back to normal, a kind of Bethesda regular. It's a state of belonging that you still get in places like Bethesda, those little valley towns and villages, still bucking the cartographers and denying their inclusion in the boundary lines of big towns and cities. We may only be a bus ride away from the big smoke, but we are fiercely loyal to our communities. We know everyone, and everyone knows us. I'd never missed it, but now I was back home, I couldn't imagine living anywhere else. Like I said, it felt normal.... It felt like I really belonged.

Switching off entirely from the past few months, I ceased trawling the newspapers and the internet in search of vampire attacks or bad omens. Perhaps it was cowardly to try and go on like normal, but what was the option? Richard had apparently moved on, I hadn't bumped into any more vampires and everyone around me seemed to be staying alive. All I knew was that I had to stay alive and sane, for me and for my Mum. No vampire attacks, new home sorted, new job role organised - normalcy.

I'm sure you can imagine my surprise then when, after a perfectly ordinary and lovely Christmas, I find a vampire in my kitchen in the middle of the night in my new pad. Not just that, Mickey had injected himself back into my life and it sounded like he was in trouble.

Richard felt considerably stronger these days. It had been many weeks since Sophie had stabbed him. Aside from the initial fever and a mild sense of panic over what he had signed up for, which Ferrers assured him was perfectly normal, the transition to being a vampire had been a good one. The gnawing feeling of resentment that he had harboured for life had gone. He continued to feel very little in the way of genuine emotion, but his new vampiric state ensured that he was no longer frustrated by it. Frustration had been replaced by complete ambivalence. The feeling that his life was somehow lacking, the perpetual waiting for the next adventure had left him.

He was living in the moment, and it had taken him to end his human life to do so without any form of expectation or disappointment. He had no regrets, especially as Ferrers had ensured that he had a never ending supply of blood, meaning he didn't have to kill.

It wasn't that he was entirely opposed to the concept of killing a person, in fact, it could offer a high he had yet to experience. But he hoped that if he did kill, that the feeling would be invigorating, miraculous even, that a wave of energy and excitement would wash over him. The thrill would be intoxicating and he'd want to do it again and again. That in itself was not a problem. What concerned Richard was what would happen if it didn't
feel like that. The disappointment would be overwhelming, a cruel joke which he would have to spend eternity being reminded of.

The blood coursing through his veins urged him to kill, but there was still a lingering sting of humanity that reminded him that indulgence could just lead to nothingness. Perhaps it would be better, at least for now, to relish the blood lust. Enjoy the burn and not the consummation.

For Ferrers, the prospect of killing garnered different feelings. He had killed so many people over the years, and he knew all too well that it could lead to an endless bloodbath, infinite bodies piling up like the fallout from a great battle. He loved it, he was good at it, but he also knew that it meant the risk of exposure.

Contact with the human world was therefore something which he preferred to keep to a minimum, and solely for the purpose of meeting his own purposes and agenda. He preferred not to waste time immersing himself in human activity when no reward could be gained. Humans were very much like children in his eyes, focused on short-term gains and obsessed with banality. Their incessant whining about the world, plus their refusal to take the opportunities presented before them, grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. He found that humans seemed to enjoy wallowing around in a never ending pit of despair and regret as if it was some personal badge of honour. It was tiresome.

His perspective was shared by many vampires, particularly the older generation. They had rejoiced in the rivers of blood they created. But that was how things used to be, back when the Old Ones, the original vampires, walked the earth. Ferrers was just about old enough to remember the death rattles of that era. Now, the survivors of the original five vampire families stayed in the shadows, nestled away from the world in their chateaus and high-tech compounds, protected by armies of lawyers and suits and big business.

Waging war wasn't how you secured and retained power these days. Now it was the stock market, banking, oil and technology. It was impressive both to vampires and to humans, or at least those who were privy to that element of vampire society. It wasn't surprising that many successful industrialists and entrepreneurs, from both species, chose to become affiliated with the "big five".

Vampires had gone legitimate. Richard was the type of vampire, or indeed human, who would excel in that type of environment. Not that he had any immediate desire to leave Ferrers. The bond to his sire was still great, partly due to his novice status and therefore being in need of guidance in accessing food, but also because of a genuine blood bond. It was a connection that was at its strongest immediately following conversion. Richard couldn't help but feel that there was something missing when Ferrers wasn't near him. In some ways, he liked the feeling. For the first time since he was a child, he felt connected to someone.

His feelings for Rachel were different, however. She also shared a blood bond with Ferrers. Some of his blood raced through her veins too, and Richard could sense it. He felt drawn to her, but ultimately, it wasn't as powerful. It was also mixed up with a cocktail of other hormones, which left him in a constant state of arousal. He felt like a teenager again, although this time rather than the girls flirting with him and messing him around, she was very clear with her demands. He couldn't imagine what she had been like when she was human.

In the month or so that he'd been resident in Ferrers' home, he'd spent his daylight hours reading the thousands of books in the manor's library. Many of the volumes were priceless and he wondered if they had been recent acquisitions or whether his maker had acquired them on publication. His maker gave little away about his age or background.

There were a surprising number of theological texts on the shelves, which Richard overlooked in his search for something to read, but he made a mental note to ask Ferrers about them if the right opportunity presented itself. He hadn't much considered the philosophical question of why they, that is vampires, existed and felt it was probably not wise to confuse the situation with such questions now. He wasn't sure that the answer even mattered.

When he had the library to himself, and Rachel was distracting herself in their bedroom with loud music and some poor animal she'd found nearby, he got on with some of the duties Ferrers had tasked him with. His main priority was to find out about Sophie. Why? He didn't know and he wasn't sure he cared; after all she had stabbed him. If Ferrers wanted her, he wasn't going to stand in his way; he had no feelings either way on the matter.

Despite having some impressive hardware, Ferrers had no interest in technology and used it reluctantly and only when necessary. He even continued to record his life in a leather bound journal, similar to the hundreds of volumes which occupied an entire wall of the library's shelves. It was an unspoken agreement that neither Richard nor Rachel was to open their pages or ask about their contents. He hadn't yet breached that understanding.

Richard had some basic knowledge about his neighbour, which provided a good starting point for his research. It hadn't taken him very long to find out where she went to school, who some of her friends were and even what music she liked. He telephoned their mutual neighbour, Roy, to let him know that he was going to be away on business for a while, but that he wanted to forward on a DVD to Sophie which he had borrowed. Roy was more than happy to provide him with a forwarding address for her; after all she left it so that her post could be sent on. So trusting, Richard thought.

While Richard had been busy exploiting modern resources to find out what had happened to Sophie, and to build up a picture of her background, Ferrers had been making his own discreet enquiries. The results were surprising and derived solely from one of his oldest friendships.

Ferrers had influential friends, although he had hidden himself away from most of them for the past few decades, preferring the seclusion of his childhood home. He had been living in his Elizabethan manor house, to the north of Warwick, since the sixteenth century. From time to time, he relocated or travelled to avoid any suspicion. After all, even the most dedicated believers will wonder why their business associate or employer doesn't age.

He had covered much of central Europe in his travels, which he preferred to Asia and the Americas, mainly due to the consistency of the climate. As a result, he had had varying degrees of contact with most of the large, established families in the area. When Richard had discovered that Sophie had recently spent some time in Belgium, thanks to some very unflattering photos posted on the internet by a friend of hers, Ferrers knew exactly whom to contact.

The opportunity to speak to
Margeaux Renard was a welcome one. They had first met in 1886 at the Moulin Rouge, Paris. The epitome of the demi-monde, she was vivacious, witty, charming and remarkably striking. Men drank her in like the champagne she plied them with, before feeding off them in the comfort of her private boudoir backstage.

As he sat in the audience, enjoying a welcome break from his duties as an Enforcer, he knew instantly what she was. Thankfully, he had not come for her, but was searching for a pair of young male vampires who were running amok in the Bohemian quarter, ripping apart prostitutes and anyone else who cared to get in their way. As prostitution was essentially regulated, tolerated within the privacy of brothels, nobody paid any attention to the missing and murdered, streetwalkers. They were considered the lowest of the low by just about everyone. Nobody cared, that is, but the elders of Paris' oldest vampire family. They enjoyed the power of salon society and cared little for the reprobates who threatened to unbalance it. Ferrers was working on a freelance basis for a family in Versailles, but had concluded his assignment and responded quickly to their call. They considered themselves fortunate; he was infamous for his discretion and speed in the resolution of such problems. The large fee he commanded was worth it.

Ferrers had knocked on Madame Renard's dressing room door and, once her initial fear of being tortured or executed had passed, they quickly struck up a machine gun conversation of jokes, retorts and amusing tales. In many ways polar opposites, they had been drawn to each other instantly. She was ambitious, intelligent and quick-witted; forced to be largely due to her early abandonment by her maker, a former artist who had seduced her, turned her and rakishly abandoned her.

Ferrers enjoyed her company for several months before finally moving on to undertake duties elsewhere. His role as an Enforcer was essentially a freelance one, providing services to anyone who could pay and in places where he was happy to spend time. After Paris, there had been Spain, Italy and finally Denmark.

Although he had never desired a family previously, he did enjoy her company, so he had occasionally visited Margeaux during the years that followed. It had been decades now since they had last met though - a few years before she had moved to Belgium, proclaiming herself the society queen of French-speaking Brussels, and creating a life of luxury for herself which she had always planned to get used to. He had never quite discovered how she managed to achieve it with such speed and grace, but he suspected that her long list of powerful, predominantly human, admirers had something to do with it.

"Madame will be with you shortly", the Butler advised him in overly elongated tones. Ferrers heard the clink of champagne glasses in the background.

"Bonsoir, Mon Cherie, comment ça va?"Her voice was bright, yet alluring.

"Bien, bien. Anglais?"

"Very well, I'm sure your French must be quite rusty given it's been so long since we last spoke," she laughed coquettishly. "It's been far too long my friend, when are you coming to see me? Or are you still set on pitching up in that backwater you call home? I don't know how you can be satisfied there. You really have squandered your potential these past years."

"I am content Ma Cherie. My business interests are certainly more varied these days, but they provide a reasonable income. At least my earnings aren't immoral, and I don't have to deal with humans any more than I need to. Besides, I like the quiet."

"Darling, Charles, you haven't changed at all. Oh, do come here, we'll have such fun. I'm throwing a party for one of the Ambassadors tonight, but we must make arrangements soon, I insist."

"Perhaps another time. Regrettably, my dear, I'm contacting you regarding business."

There was a long pause. When Madame Renard's spoke, it was now with hushed tones and with suspicion. The playful giggle in her voice had disappeared.

"If you're calling about the trouble in Antwerp, I had nothing to do with it. I have done what I can to clean up that mess up, but none of my coven was responsible for it. They stay with me, here. They do not travel around mugging tourists and killing children."

Madame Bernard had assumed Ferrers had taken up the mantle of an Enforcer again. Any hint of impropriety on the part of her or her vampires would mean certain interrogation, possibly death. He was relieved that he was no longer an Enforcer. If he were he'd have had to take action and although she was as much of a friend as a vampire could have, he would have done it nonetheless.

"
Margeaux, you currently have nothing to fear from me, but I do need to know what you're referring to. Perhaps I can help. I'm not proposing that you hire me to deal with any problems in your area, but I may be able to shed some light on the situation for you." She remained silent, listening to what he was saying before she committed to a response. "Over the years, there is very little I haven't seen. I'm not familiar with what you are alluding to, but I think it may be connected to a situation which has arisen here. A young woman that I've come into contact with one who I believe has spent some time in Antwerp recently knows about vampires. I don't know how, but it's troubling. I suspect that it's important somehow. Don't ask how, I just do. It's a feeling, a very strong feeling."

"Like the feeling when you know that someone you are torturing is lying?" She was referring to his enforcement days, a function which she understood but still felt somewhat uncomfortable with. When her maker had abandoned her, she could have easily turned into some wild, feral thing, feeding at will and being exterminated. As a result. Although she could be cruel when she needed to be, the fear of being taken, of torture, of slipping off the pedestal that she'd clawed her way to the top of, was still there floating around the back of her mind.