by D O Thomas
August thirtieth, eighteen eighty-eight
I have no need to hide amongst the non-humans that dwell within the shadows of London. This city thrives on corruption, as do I, and when Seriph left, I thought my survival would depend on keeping myself hidden. He was wrong, the gentry of this foul city pay handsomely for the information I sell, and the elders of the nobility hide my identity while welcoming me as an equal, much like the wizards and witches that serve them. I have made enemies but none that would dare to challenge me. My foxes reach every alley in London; no secret can be kept from my ears. In the day I work as a much renowned medical practitioner and in the night, I am invited to the most glamorous get-togethers. Centuries spent hiding and running from acknowledgement; I ask myself why. If Seriph were here there would be no question, he would have put an end to my climb of this social ladder. I must say, I have felt odd of late. Yesterday I lost a few hours, and days before that, I found myself in a night-worker’s bed without the ability to recollect my actions. Even now my mind grows hazed, as if I were being pushed out by some other entity. This feeling reminds me of France, those soldiers, people I murdered without cause, yet over whom I felt no guilt. I did not place the blood on my hands. I’m glad Seriph brought me back to this city but he is gone now and for that I resent him. I do not remember how long I have known him but for as long as I have been alive, he has been there. Now I wander through this city alone, surrounded by people who only know the figment I have created; Oliver Holloway, the living myth. I have always preferred the name those revolutionaries gave me. La bête Noir, the black beast, much more fitting for what I am. I can see a future where I rule this city from behind the scenes like a proficient playwright. My pull grows as those who refuse to trust me age and expire. I am glad I kept this journal. It reminds me of how weak I was before Seriph left. The great Seriph Asmodeus, the prophet and visionary, the creator of a council of fools. In my hands that council would govern this city; instead they work to hide themselves from the human eye.
The page ended. Silence turned to the next one and the humming began again, but this time it came from that dark place in his mind. The shadow-fiend felt his grip on the journal tighten as his gaze became clear and inexorable. He didn’t read the next page, instead the page read him. He felt he could understand what Noir had meant about being pushed out by an entity, as the page held his focus and flooded his senses.
Flesh and bone, flesh and bone
One rots the other stays.
I cut the flesh to free the soul
Of this body that betrays.
No choice of mine, no choice of thine,
Thy fate I must protest.
Above, below, between, in tow,
Thy fate I do detest.
The throat that drips begins a path, the past dares not to tread.
The flesh, the bone, the heart, the soul.
Figments of the head.
Silence once again found himself in a state of shock after closing the journal. His mind felt fragile and his eyes grew weak. He returned the journal to its place in the corner of the room and lay in bed, hoping not to be drawn to the demonic pages of the journal again. Comfort was something Silence was not to find that night. He tossed and turned with his eyes closed tightly. Visions of the consensus, the room labelled wort-cunning, Ealing village, the U.A.K., Leo, Jaydon, Mie-mie, Kriss, Noir, Cid, Lawrez and Jasper, all flashed within his mind. Silence had bitten off a lot and felt he might choke. There was the feeling that his job was going to be more than just running errands. Jaydon’s fear, Mie-Mie’s prophecy, Leo’s training, they all pointed to something more. Silence struggled to think of an answer to the question that formed in his mind. He tossed and turned more and more until he finally passed out. His body finally stilled as he slept, but while his mind vacated the room, his shadow grew darker and stood over his dormant body, watching him.
Part III
What Happens in the Night
Chapter One
The night’s sky was as black as the smog that covered it. The full moon sat glowing with an ominous yellow aura in the starless void above a layer of frosted mist, struggling to lend its light to the London streets. The royal vampire brothers found themselves at an upmarket central London bar. The venue was alive, buzzing with the kind of people who had probably never looked at their bank accounts and worried. Even the bar staff looked as if a job was just a mere hobby to them, a way to remind themselves that money didn’t grow on a tree somewhere behind their parents’ homestead. Ashel sat at the marble-topped bar, paying strict attention to his watch, while Banhier scanned the bar for a bite to eat.
“Not a decent human being in sight,” snarled Banhier through his brandy glass.
Almost all of the patrons at the bar were in peak physical condition, due to their personal trainers and strict dieticians. Private health care ensured that their bodies showed no signs of deterioration from their excessive use of drugs, prescription or otherwise. For most vampires a healthy human was enough, but what Banhier was searching for was a good soul or at least a half decent one. A person’s soul affected the taste of their blood, much like grapes and wine, and this was due to the soul being held in the heart.
A bad soul would taste bland, like unseasoned chicken, and would leave a vampire wanting something more, whereas a good soul would taste sweet and satiate their thirst for a sufficient amount of time. Souls came in a vast variety, each different in their own way and forever changing as their host travelled through life. Most souls started off good and fell to slight corruptions, some were born evil and gave in to the good around them, but the best of souls, the pure ones, never changed and their taste was something of dreams.
“I don’t understand why you don’t just call the blonde from last night,” said Ashel, staring at the bar’s entrance.
“And say what? Hi, I’m at the bar that your best friend works at with my stalker brother?” scoffed the irritated Banhier.
“Stalker?”
“You crept into her house, after watching her for Satan knows how long.”
“I’m not stalking her.” Ashel felt offended. Although Banhier’s words were said in jest, the ring of truth echoed throughout their decibels.
“Brother, you’re waiting at a bar to casually bump into a girl you spent a few hours with, while terrorists threaten your kingdom. This is clearly the beginning of an obsession.”
“I told you, Wyll is taking care of it. Besides, terrorists never attack a king, they merely coax him into war. There’s no point in dwelling on the loss of a few estates when I have advisors that will do that for me.”
Angela walked through the steel-set glass doors of the bar, ready to work. To Ashel, time slowed, and darkness enveloped the bar. The only light was that around Angela as she passed the silent patrons. Banhier spoke, but his words failed to reach Ashel’s ears, twitching at the sound of Angela’s high heels clipping the floor tiles. The vampire king listened with envy to the steady thudding of Angela’s heartbeat. He took in the scent of her perfume with thoughts of the night before. He wished he could have a short life in the lap of this human woman, sharing the thrills of mortality. For the first time, Ashel understood why Wyll never turned his human lover. Human emotions, although they seemed to be in a perpetual state of fleeting flux, were strong, much stronger than those of a vampire. To take this gift given by the creators would be unjust, selfish even. He couldn’t turn her, it would diminish her purity, but would she accept his world? She had enjoyed his company the night before, but would she understand the unavoidable evil that he had to commit to ensure the survival of his kind? Hundreds of thousands of humans bled till their veins ran dry, just to sustain his immortality. Millions would yet lose their lives in mere centuries just to feed the nobility of his brood. How could a pure-hearted human accept that? Better yet, how could he hide it and live in the embrace of her love?
“I must tell her,” sighed Ashel.
“Did you hear a word I just said?” asked Banhier
.
“What? Oh… Excuse me, I wasn’t listening.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Banhier grew tired of Ashel’s nervous reproach, “What exactly must you tell the human?”
“Everything.”
“Even if she accepts the reality, how do you propose to keep her safe?”
“The zodiacs will allow me a human wife.”
“Yeah, and if you can’t convince her to marry you in three months, she either dies or loses her memories and joins the zodiac order.”
“Three months?”
“For a king, you know nothing about your people’s laws…”
“That’s a zodiac law. Those people have more laws than the arcane university.”
“You signed off on it, despite Wyll’s objections.”
“Well, it wasn’t a problem at the time. Falling for a human’s like falling for a wolf.”
“So, you like wolves now? Didn’t expect you to be a zoophile,” laughed Banhier.
Moments passed, and the brothers drank, enjoying the company of siblings, until Ashel began watching Angela pour a pint of Stella for a common millionaire undeserving of her service. At that time, every word Banhier uttered might as well have been directed at a brick wall.
“Will you just talk to her, please?” Banhier’s impatience grew with every second his brother spent ignoring him. “Why did you even bring me here?”
Banhier’s words fell on deaf ears. Ashel’s focus was unyielding, he was sure Angela was the one. He had been alive for millennia and never once had he felt this way for any earthly creature. No amount of liquor could intoxicate him like the scent of this pure-blooded woman. Angela drew closer, ready to serve the vampire king. Their eyes met and Ashel found himself flustered. He would have held his breath, if vampires could breathe, his cold dry hands would have been clammy, if vampires could sweat. Time slowed once more and Ashel found that he felt something no vampire had ever felt, thanks to their inability to be overcome by the body’s nervous system. He had no pounding heart, no rise in his body temperature, his hands didn’t tremble, and he had none of the other symptoms a human would endure. Nevertheless, Ashel felt anxious. She stood before him. He wasn’t ready. Angela smiled and placed one hand on the bar. The counter had been a barrier Ashel had depended on, but she broke through with ease.
“Have we met?” asked Angela, with the haze of confusion numbing her thought process.
Ashel froze like a squirrel caught in the wrong back yard.
What should I say? ‘Yes, we spent last night in each other’s embrace, but I had to wipe your memory due to the laws that hold our societies apart?’
Ashel’s mouth began to open but before his lips could part, Banhier took Angela’s hand and gained eye contact.
Angela’s eyes went dark as Banhier’s pupils constricted, and his irises flashed in mesmerising hues of green, blue, yellow and red.
“REMEMBER,” spoke the vampiric prince directly into the mind of the young model.
Angela closed her eyes for a second longer than a blink and opened them with clarity. As she faced Ashel, her heart skipped, she could remember everything clearly, his embrace, the feel of his lips, his cold but delicate touch. His words echoed in her mind.
“Why did you make me forget?” asked Angela.
“That was a strong one, brother. I’m surprised,” Banhier stood and let out a short giggle. “Looks like you’ve got some explaining to do. If you don’t mind, I’ll be heading home.” Banhier left the bar with the look of satisfaction only found on the face of a younger brother who had finally got even.
Chapter Two
The journey back to west London was a short one for Banhier. The older a vampire grew, the stronger it became; its strength, its speed, its vision, every sense a vampire had, became enhanced over time, and as one of the oldest vampires alive, Banhier could move at incomprehensible speeds. Unlike most vampires in his brood, Banhier didn’t live underground; instead, he lived in a very nice three-bedroom property close to Noir’s. Speeding down the busy west London road, the prince noticed Regulas, Noir and three men enter a graveyard that would usually have been locked up. Banhier’s nosey nature forced him to diverge from his path and follow the small group.
Noir, Regulas and the three men stopped half-way through the graveyard. Regulas looked annoyed, while Noir had a calm and careless demeanour.
“What’s the matter, Jimmy?” asked Noir in a very patronising tone.
“I don’t understand why you keep making me do this,” replied Regulas.
The others remained silent, pretending not to listen to their conversation. Noir dropped his careless tone and replaced it with a more serious one.
“If we want a future, things have to change.”
“We’re infiltrating an ancient order because of a warning you got from a friend.”
“He is from the future.”
“And he changed that future when he destroyed the time machine.”
“Do you not agree with the cause?”
“It’s not that. I just don’t think it’s going to work. The Piscean agents aren’t like the Knights of Leo. They’re not susceptible to change.”
“When am I ever wrong? Besides, I’ve brought something that should help. Just take me to them.”
Regulas continued on his path, followed by Noir and the three men. While the group travelled through the graveyard, Banhier crept behind them, silently darting between headstones. Near the back of the graveyard were five more men, two standing guard while the other three were kneeling upon the soft muddy ground, bound at the wrists and blindfolded. The group stopped in front of the kneeling men. The three men who entered the graveyard with Noir and Regulas joined the guards standing behind the captives. It was all but silent, apart from Noir’s heavy footsteps squelching in the bleak muddy field as he paced.
“I understand tying them up and forcing them to their knees but could someone explain why they are blindfolded?” asked Noir. One of the guards went to answer the question that wasn’t sufficiently rhetorical. As his mouth opened to form a word, Noir whispered, “Taceo,” and although the guard’s word was formed, its shape was transparent.
“He won’t be speaking for a while,” laughed Noir, while the guard panicked at the loss of his voice.
“What’s your problem with the blindfolds?” asked Regulas, whose amusement levels rose at the sight of the guard straining his voice box in the effort to make a sound.
“The first of you to tell me my name lives,” spoke Noir to the captives.
“Director Alrescha, Alpha Piscium,” yelled the frail captive kneeling closest to Regulas.
“Do they need blindfolds?” laughed Noir. “Tell me please, who’s the man standing with me?”
“Knight Commander Regulas, Alpha Leonis,” replied the calming captive, now sure his death had been avoided.
“I see your point…” Regulas waved a hand at the guards “Blindfolds off. They won’t live through this anyway.” Regulas’ tone was one of tedious monotony.
The blindfolds fell to the ground. Noir prepped a large syringe filled with a silvery grey liquid that sparkled oddly. He squirted a small amount out of the tip of the long thick needle and approached the first captive. The captive’s eyes watered as the needle slid into his neck.
“You’re going to feel a sharp pinch,” laughed Noir as he injected the serum.
The captive’s eyes closed, and he entered a trance. Noir leant by the captive’s ear and whispered some words of encouragement. The captive opened his eyes and slid his hands out of the rope that bound them.
Noir stepped away as the captive took a blade from out of his shoe and stood slowly. The guards readied their weapons but were ordered to desist by a wave of Regulas’ hand. The captive stood behind his peer, blade in hand and gave Noir a nod with teary eyes. Regulas wasn’t sure what was happening, but accepted Noir’s command. Noir replied with a nod and the captive rested his blade upon his peer’s jugular before whispering to him.
“We’re all already dead. But perhaps others may live… through our sacrifice,” and the captive’s blade slipped across his peer’s throat, opening a stream of blood in its wake. The third captive watched in shock as his fellow agent choked to death on his own blood. The captive walked over to Noir and handed him the blade.
“What was your name?” asked Noir.
“The name given was Algenib,” replied the captive.
“And the name taken?”
“Clifford.”
“And do you understand what we need from you, Clifford?”
“Yes.” Noir handed Clifford a syringe filled with the same liquid.
“Remember the words I gave you.”
Clifford took the syringe to the third captive’s neck and whispered in his ear, “Innocens eris a maledictione praeteritum.” The third captive entered the same trance and awoke with a new light in his eye.