by H. M. Clarke
David turned to glance at the door indicated by the butler. It was beautiful, but it was obviously made from solid oak and David instinctively knew that the door would at least have a three point locking system. He turned back to ask the butler to announce him—after all, that is what butlers are supposed to do—only to see the man’s coattails disappearing through the door opposite.
David frowned. Why couldn’t this meeting happen at the office? Video conferencing was always good enough in the past. Seeing the Old Man on screen was enough to put the shivers into him, seeing him in the flesh might turn him into a quivering jelly and may very well ruin any good reputation that He may have of him.
David balled up his courage and approached the ornate door and gave it a light rap with his knuckles. For a moment there was silence
Then David heard a deep voice, though muffled, through the thickness of the door.
“Enter.”
David paused a moment before laying his hand on the brass handle of the door. The Old Man’s voice sounded much lighter over the video link. Pushing down on the handle, David went through the door.
The room was dark apart from the weak illumination produced from small wall lights, but the one thing that struck David was that it was very Red. Thick red curtains were drawn across the large front windows; the red walls warmed against the traditional gold-framed imagines of landscapes and nineteenth century horses. Dark wooden furniture was crammed around the room and intermingled among them were several high backed leather chesterfield chairs and to one side was a large tan leather three-seater chesterfield lounge.
“David, thank you for coming.”
The Irish burr made David’s eyes jerk to a large chesterfield armchair in the darkest corner of the room. A shape moved from the shadows of the chair and stepped out into the weak glare of one of the wall lights. The Old Man was dressed casually in dark trousers and a coarse patterned linen shirt worn open at the collar with a well-loved sports jacket thrown over it, a pair of white sneakers topped off his ensemble. David blinked twice at the sight of Ishmael not wearing a tailored suit. He had never seen the boss look so under dressed.
“Mister Rothe.”
“Please, David Wheeler. Call me Ishmael.” Ishmael gestured to a nearby chair. “Take a seat.”
David walked across the room and perched awkwardly on the edge of the chair. The shock of seeing a causal Ishmael Rothe in such a congenially good mood made David more uncomfortable than he already was. David could feel the Old Man’s eyes upon him as he glanced uneasily about the room. He tried not to squirm under Ishmael’s gaze. It made him feel like he was back at primary school again being glared at by stern Mrs. Duncalf. Even with his innards twisting in turmoil, David sat outwardly silent and still, waiting for the Old Man to speak.
“I suspect that you are wondering why I’ve called you here.”
David stopped his eye wandering around the room and focused himself on the man who still slouched comfortably in his chair. The over saturation of red in the room vividly reminded David of Ishmael Rothe’s particular magical Talent, one that was respected throughout The Order world-wide. The man is a Master of Fire Magic—an Ignis Mage, a rare Talent that David had never witnessed. In fact, being so close to a practitioner who could incinerate him with a thought made David very nervous.
Rothe sat staring at him, elbows resting on the arms of his chair, fingers steepled before him. A slight smile playing across his lips and its familiar resemblance struck a chord in David—Maybe the rumors were true… But brave though David was, he did not have the courage to ask the question that everyone in the office would like to know the answer to. David blinked rapidly to bring his thoughts back to order. It did not pay to lose one's attention while the Old Man was talking.
“Yes I am, Mister Rothe,” David moved slightly on his chair to be able to see the Old Man better.
“No need for the Mister, David. It makes me feel so old and since we will be meeting more often like this, I would like for us to be friends. Call me Ishmael,” Rothe said as he slipped from his chair and moved to the drinks cabinet.
“Would you like a drink?” Fine, slender fingers lifted a crystal decanter from the tray and began to pour the liquid into two matching glasses before David could answer yes. Rothe handed one of the glasses to David before sitting back into his chair.
David held the glass in his hand but did not drink from it. “Why am I here?”
Rothe leaned back in his chair with his legs stretched out before him and took a taste of his whiskey. “I am truly sorry for bringing you back to active duty.” David did not believe that for a second. “But Jack Havelock’s death has thrown me into a bit of a quandary. His team is depleted and leaderless and the others are no better.” Rothe moved forward in his chair and rested his elbow on his thighs, his whiskey glass cradled loosely in his hands.
“I am going to remake the teams and I would like you to lead one of them. To sweeten the deal, I will also let you chose your own team of five—I have an idea of who you might choose.”
David knew this was coming, after all, the Old Man had told him this yesterday when he arranged the meeting. But David did not know that the team he was choosing was going to be permanent. Christ, some of the people he is going to ask for are considered part of the Old Guard and might not take kindly to being overlooked as a team leader. David took a sip from his whiskey glass and let the liquor sit on his tongue for a moment while he gathered his thoughts. He knew which people he wanted but was unsure of the Old Man’s reaction to one of them.
“I want the brothers Lucien, Phil Summerby, Mark Rimmer and… Kaitlyn Winter.”
“Kaitlyn. Why Kaitlyn?” Rothe asked in clipped tones. His calm façade was now marred by a deep frown and his relaxed posture suddenly stiffened as if in rigor. Rothe’s gray eyes were the only things that moved, and David had to restrain himself from recoiling from their brightened gaze. He had been warned about this, but he owed it to Kaitlyn to try to give her a gig.
“Because I think she is ready and I would prefer Kaitlyn to have her virgin run where I can keep an eye on her, seeing as she does not have a specific ‘Talent’.” David kept his eyes on the Old Man and was glad that his voice remained steady as he spoke. But he must have said the right thing as Rothe’s body relaxed and he leaned back into his chair.
“A lifelong friendship can be a good thing to have with a new team member, and I know that you and Kaitlyn are that. But-.” With a lazy movement, Rothe placed his whiskey glass on his side table. “I wish to state right now that I have an interest in Kaitlyn Winter’s career as well as an interest in your own, and I would like to see her well mentored. That is why David, I have chosen you to be one of the new team leaders and you will report directly to me—not to Montrose. I have told Director Montrose that the other two teams will report directly to him but to leave you to operate on your own. I thought Kaitlyn Winter would be one of your choices.”
“Does that mean I have the team I want?”
Rothe stared at David over the rim of his whiskey glass. He gave a quick nod.
“Now that we have that sorted out, we can get down to the business at hand.”
CHAPTER
THREE
◆◆◆
Her spasmodic quivering subsided into a deep restful sleep as he rolled away from her with a feeling of disgust he could barley conceal. The smell of their lovemaking was overpowering, and his self-loathing rose like bile in his throat. The longer he lay, the more it rose to choke him.
Grabbing the sheet, he pushed himself out of the bed, leaving the woman’s now sleeping form naked to the night. Wrapping the cloth tightly around his waist, he walked to the bedroom window and, flinging the curtains roughly apart, stood gazing at the moonlit sky.
For a moment he closed his eyes and imagined the soft light that caressed the lines of his face was warm and fierce sunlight. Reveling in this fantasy, he moved his head through the moonshine, making sure his imagined sunlight
touched every part of it.
Soft moonlight threw back a reflection from the windowpane that closed eyes did not see. A handsome but pale face, striking black-lashed eyes that, when opened, were a dark emerald green. Long blonde hair framed this effect, and the blood spilling from the corner of his mouth made it one of horror.
A sleepy moan from behind brought him sharply back from his fantasy of sunlight. The woman on the bed gave him a cruel reminder of what he is.
He slumped angrily into a nearby chair and grabbed a loose corner of the sheet to wipe the blood from his lips. Looking at the dark stains on the cloth made him think again of the woman on the bed.
Rising from his chair, he walked to the bed again and studied her sleeping form in the moonlight. Her back was to him and he could see his puncture wounds at the base of her neck. They would be gone by the morning. Her face looked peaceful and content, though a little pale. Her breathing was steady and strong. She is taking the loss of half her blood well. She will be ill in the morning, but with rest would be fine.
Sighing, he went to the bathroom and soaked the blood out of the corner of the sheet with cold water. Ringing the water out of the corner, he then placed the sheet over her and tucked the quilt snugly around her. After placing a glass of water on her bedside table, he dressed and let himself out of her apartment.
Silence followed him as he walked down the street and the cool night breeze tugged at the folds of his gray full-length coat revealing black cloth beneath. The walk home would be long but, as his father always told him, walking soothes the soul. Taking that advice, Adam Rothe, Vampire, turned his feet for home.
Home was a small, two bedroom, second storey apartment with a nice view of the car park and a neighbor’s backyard. He arrived home an hour before dawn and slumped onto his brown leather lounge, curtains drawn to keep out the rising sun.
Four centuries of immortality had found him no solution for the remorse and self-loathing he felt tonight. Closing his eyes, he rubbed the tips of his fingers against the bridge of his nose. It was a characteristic gesture that had stayed with him since childhood, as he was once short-sighted. He now looked out of eyes with twenty/twenty vision.
Regret and a conscience were heavy things to carry when the bearer had centuries to accumulate his sins and misdeeds. Good works and actions will do nothing to keep the weight of his sins at bay. A weight that will inevitably crumble and bury him, his remaining shreds of humanity lost in the rubble.
The image of the women flowed in front of his mind’s eye and was then followed in quick succession by others until their silent cries overwhelmed him in a mixture of grief and remorse. Bending double as he sat, he cried a river of blood into his hands that had long cease praying to heaven.
◆◆◆
Adam awoke to a knock at the door. Instantly alert, he sat up on the couch in one fluid motion.
He glanced quickly at the garish green glare of the entertainment system that eerily lit the small lounge room, 10:00 pm, a day had passed already. He quickly went to the door.
Opening the door slightly to have a better look at his visitor, he flicked the outside light on. It was best to keep up the appearance of still being human.
Through the screen door stared back at Adam, the most beautiful face in the world.
It was one of Adam’s current living descendants, Kaitlyn Winter, who lived across the veranda in the flat opposite. Her face was lit with excitement and she carried a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bottle of Coca Cola in the other.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said, opening the screen door and pushing past Adam into the lounge room without waiting for a greeting. Adam watched her with a bewildered smile; the sight of Kaitlyn always bought a smile to his lips. She reminded him so much of his own daughter. The same dark brown hair, same gray eyes, same sloping nose. Looking at her made it hard for Adam to believe that his own Mary was four hundred years in the grave.
He knew that Kaitlyn would not be considered as beautiful, but she was to him because his own humanity would live on in her and her children.
Kaitlyn placed the bottles on the coffee table and gave Adam an excited hug as he closed the front door.
“Guess what,” she said when she released him.
Adam shook his head in mock amusement. “You know I don’t enjoy guessing games, but for you I will.”
“And?” Kaitlyn said.
“I think you may have won your art contest.”
Her elated expression deflated and a moment later turned into a suspicious glare.
“You knew, didn’t you,” she accused him. She made a mock slap at the side of his head that Adam ducked with ease.
“Honestly, I didn’t know,” he said to placate her as she stood glaring at him with her hands perched on her hips. “It was the only thing I could think of that would excite you so much.”
Kaitlyn glared at him a moment longer before hugging him again. “That’s okay. It’s good to see you feeling better.”
“I might not be if you keep choking me,” Adam gasped and Kaitlyn quickly released him, a worried frown suddenly replacing her joy.
“Here, sit down and give me those bottles,” Adam said, holding his hands out for the drinks. “I’ll pour us some drinks to celebrate.”
Adam went into his kitchen and bought out two wine glasses. He poured the dark red wine into one and the soft drink into the other. While he was in the kitchen Adam heard Kaitlyn say, “I’ve bought some movies to watch as well, you don’t mind do you? I know it’s late but I can’t sleep and I know you’re a night owl yourself.”
“No, that’s fine,” Adam replied. “As long as there’s no heavy duty, soppiness.” He picked up the glasses and joined Kaitlyn on the couch. Handing her the soft drink, he took a little sip from his wine before placing it on the coffee table. The wine tasted good on his tongue and he swished the liquid through his mouth before swallowing. The stuff will go straight through him, but the charade is needed. Adam was experienced enough to manage his intake.
“I would have thought that you might have gone out and celebrated with David,” he asked causally. He tried to not let the distaste he felt for David show in his voice. Adam had always hated dogs.
“No. Can’t. He’s busy working today,” Kaitlyn said as she curled up on the couch next to him and started to shuffle through the movies she had bought. “What do you want to watch first?”
“I’m not fussed, you can choose.”
Kaitlyn selected the movie on top of the pile and got up to place it into the player.
Adam then settled down to a night spent watching Hollywood romances and celebrating Kaitlyn’s win.
CHAPTER
FOUR
◆◆◆
Monday Morning.
Kaitlyn sighed as she started compiling the Data base code she had just finished writing. She sat back in her seat and glanced across at Chris who had his back to her, sorting papers and documents on his desk.
“You’ve got an error in your code.”
Kaitlyn jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice. She looked over her shoulder to see Mark Rimmer looking at her monitor with a small grin.
“How do you know? It hasn’t even finished compiling?”
“Watched you type it.” Mark parked himself on her desk and grinned again as the predicted error suddenly flashed up on her screen.
“Bugger.”
Kaitlyn could not keep the exasperation from her voice. This was the second time this morning it had failed.
“Told you so,” Mark leaned closer so that his lips were inches from Kaitlyn’s ear. “If you weren’t so busy ogling Chris, you might have noticed the mistake.”
Kaitlyn glared at Mark. “Why don’t you get on with your own work instead of butting into mine,” she said quietly with a smile to take the sting out of her words.
Mark’s blue eyes stared jauntily back at her from behind his glasses, as he pulled away and started to swing his legs back and forth like a child
. “Why don’t you ask him out?”
“You’re just as bad as Daf. I can’t ask him out. He doesn’t even look twice at me as it is,” Kaitlyn hissed as she quickly glanced back at Chris to make sure that he had not heard them.
“Well, if you don’t want to ask him, then ask me instead. You know I’ll say yes.” Mark sat staring at her with his cheeky grin and Kaitlyn found herself smiling back at him.
“What! And drag you away from communing with the AI, I could never do that,” Kaitlyn replied with mock seriousness.
“I’d leave her in a flash if you’d only ask…”
“I think Kaitlyn can do without being propositioned this early on a Monday.”
Mark slipped quickly from Kaitlyn’s desk and stood staring at his feet like a guilty schoolboy.
At the sound of the deep voice, Kaitlyn spun around in her chair and smiled up into the face of George Lucien.
“Morning George, how was your weekend?”
George Lucien was a tall man who had a habit of dressing entirely in black. David had once told Kaitlyn that George reminded him of his local vicar when he was in England, but she thought that he was polite and dignified. He also happened to be Chris’s twin brother.
“Very good, thank you.” George stepped aside as Mark chose this moment to make his getaway back to his desk.
“Good Morning George, what brings you to our part of the floor?” Kaitlyn stilled but did not turn. She could feel Chris’s presence behind her, but suddenly her insides began to churn and found that she could not think of anything intelligent to say—in fact, Kaitlyn found that she could not say anything at all.
“I was just reading today’s paper and saw our Kaitlyn here mentioned in the Arts section.” George slipped the folded newspaper from under his arm and shook it out to the page he had marked. Chris moved around to stand next to his brother to get a better view of the news article.
Kaitlyn felt the color drain from her face as Chris Lucien glanced up from the paper to stare at her.