by D O Thomas
“There is a god. There are two in fact, and although they did create everything on earth, we also evolved into the creatures we are today. Funny thing is we were originally created as an intelligent slave race to serve a race of beings known as elves.”
“Like the little pointed-ear things that make toys for Santa?”
“No, dear, that’s an image our king here created to defame his ex-slavers.”
Christopher blew his tea through a cautious smile. “The elves were a tall and slender people, who wielded untold abilities that the vampires and other supernatural races call sorcery. They ruled every continent on this earth, built and perfected every political system we struggle to maintain, and invented all the things we are so accustomed to.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything, from cars to the Internet existed in their time, but was powered by magic, a thing that is very real today. I’d say the only thing humans actually truly invented is social media,” laughed Christopher “That and maybe reality TV.”
“What happened to them?”
“The man that brought you here. He is directly responsible for the current state of the human world. He and his brother were perhaps the first of the vampires to be created. I’ve yet to meet a vampire that has seen the things they have.”
“Who made the vampires?”
“An elven king known as Loki.”
“Isn’t he a god?”
“To the humans of that time all the elves were as gods. Loki saw the humans as weak and in need of improvement.
He experimented on many humans, splicing their genes with animals and creatures that no longer exist today, and through his experiments he developed the means to create a being that could live for an eternity and had no use for food or water, a being that needed no oxygen and could regenerate from any damage caused to it. He named this being Nosferatu, the first of the vampires.
He discovered that the Nosferatu was completely dead inside, none of its organs functioned as a human’s did, except for its brain. It fed on human blood and had an insatiable blood lust.” Christopher paused to sip his tea.
“It could create new vampires through the draining and replacement of their blood and thus the elven king had created a stronger race of humans. Although one thing stunted his created race; the vampires sired by the Nosferatu had a surprising reaction to the light of the sun, because they would spontaneously combust. Seeing the Nosferatu as a failed experiment, Loki cast it aside. Many years later vampires became a plague on humanity and a problem for the elven monarchy. They began to kill every vampire found until they eventually put the Nosferatu to death.
Only a few vampires survived, one of them being the younger brother of the blood king, Banhier. At the time, Ashel was in the service of the elven emperor Odin.
He had learnt much about the elves, including the weaknesses in their domains, and in fear for his brother’s life, he agreed to help deconstruct the Elven Empire. I’ve not found much written about the conflict between the elves and the vampires, but from what I understand and from the evidence standing behind you, the vampires won.”
“There’s a lot for me to learn about the world,” said the astonished Angela.
“I think a lot of it is best left unknown.”
Chapter Six
Noir entered the back of a black cab. The driver was an Indian man in his early thirties, who spoke with a native English accent and had the style of a man who enjoyed the struggle of life in London. The driver greeted Noir as a good friend and handed him a packet of cigarettes.
“Thanks, Nil, I really need one. I could smoke the whole pack the way I feel right now,” said Noir, flipping the first cigarette upside down and placing it back in the pack.
“You got a destination? Or are we just going for a drive today?” asked Nil as he flicked through the playlists on his car stereo.
Noir lit a cigarette and exhaled a large cloud of smoke out of the window into the icy British air. “Let’s just drive around a while, there’s something eating at me today.”
The cab pulled off and crept along the damp and damaged west London road. Noir remained silent for a while, just watching the groups of drunkards on their way to fulfil their intoxicated fantasies as the white lights of the street’s Christmas decorations faded in and out of the car’s interior.
“What’s the matter then? You’re never this quiet,” asked the worried Nil.
Noir smiled. He felt comfortable in the back of the cab, like a puppy sitting in the embrace of its loving owner. He wasn’t sure what was going on, he had been feeling lost for some time and was unsure what the cause was, but the soft heated seats reminded him of times in the past when the open discussion of events had freed him from the shackles of his mind.
“I’ve been forgetting things, Nil. Not necessarily important things but things that I should know,” spoke Noir in his worried haze.
“Is it magic? Some kind of curse?”
“I’m not sure. It’s only just dawned on me. Yesterday I employed a man who is supposed to help change the outcome of the future, but I had forgotten everything prior to my meeting him. A friend of mine explained to me that the arrangements made between him and me were to be kept a secret, even to me. And my nephew asked me if the potion had worked, and when I asked what he meant, he just said, ‘good’, and walked away. I think I did this to myself.”
“Why would you do that?”
Noir lit a second cigarette, “I think I’m losing myself again.”
“You think it’s gonna be like back in the eighteen-hundreds?”
Noir didn’t answer, he just stared at the smouldering light of his cigarette and watched as the paper and tobacco slowly burnt away and turned to smoke.
He related to the rushing white smoke as it whirled and dissipated into the air. Thunder cracked and opened the sky. Down with a flash of lightning poured an onslaught of hailstones. They pelted the roof of the cab, making a soft but continuous thudding sound, like a mute infant in the middle of an obnoxious temper tantrum. The light in Noir’s eyes struggled to shine through the haze of his emotions. He flicked the wasted cigarette out of the cab’s window and pressed the button to close it. The sound of the hailstones became more muffled as the window closed.
“I fear it may be worse,” mumbled Noir as he broke his short-lived silence.
Noir continued the rest of his journey watching the storm that berated the passenger window until the cab carting him stopped outside a large manor house on a street filled with the rich and powerful. The information broker left the cab and walked to the front door of the house, ringing the bell. A few moments later it was answered by a well-groomed young man sporting a fresh tan from his early winter holiday. The man, who was wearing naught but a dressing gown, found himself in a state of fear and confusion upon laying eyes on Noir, whose face bore a look of angst and disgust.
“Mr Clements. Do you know why I am here?” asked Noir. Clements' eyes watered with the realisation of the impending outcome of Noir’s appearance.
“I guess you should come in, then,” replied the fearful Mr Clements.
Noir followed the worried man through his immaculate home, and the heated marble floors drew steam from Noir’s wet boots as he tracked mud through Mr Clements’ hall. The two made their way to an office, which was just as luxurious as the rest of the house. The carpet was a pure white that Noir would soon change. Mr Clements had an addiction to mahogany that reminded Noir of a certain wizard. The shadow broker stepped past Mr Clements and with a forceful push, he sent his large mahogany desk crashing against the left wall of the office, tearing the fibres of his once beautiful carpet. Noir gestured at the £1000 desk chair left spinning from his mighty display.
“Please, take a seat,” said Noir, with a stone cold and heartlessly frightening face.
Mr Clements did as was asked of him with the shivering heat of anxiety rising from the pit of his gut. The contents of the man’s desk had fallen to the floor; amongs
t the mess were sheets of paper, a laptop, a calculator, a stapler and a nine-millimetre handgun. Noir stepped over the laptop, landing a large muddy print on a piece of paper filled with numbers and pound signs. The information broker knelt down to inspect the small black pistol.
“You know, good people don't tend to hide guns under their desks,” stated Noir as he stood clutching the pistol. With Noir drawing closer, little tears of sweat began to trickle down Mr Clements' brow.
“Tell me, how long has it been since we last met?” asked Noir, readying the handgun.
“Almost twenty years, I believe,” replied Mr Clements.
“Do you remember the terms of the contract?” Noir placed the gun on the ground in front of the seated Mr Clements.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then why haven't you adhered to it?”
“I, I…” Mr. Clements’ eyes fell to the pistol lying on the ground.
“That was a rhetorical question. I gave you valuable information and from it you grew a fruitful stock portfolio. In exchange, you were to send me ten percent of your annual profits, and to use what you didn't need to do some good in this world. You paid your debt and for that I am grateful, but as for the other term, you have done nothing.”
“That's not true. I have been giving hundreds of thousands of pounds to charities since I made my fortune.”
“You gave to charities that pay their CEOs over half a million pounds each year, charities that charter private jets to fly film crews to exploit the starving families that they use to advertise their profitable scams. You only lined the pockets of tax-evading criminals. If this was unbeknown to you, I would strike it off as a failed attempt to do the right thing, but you did it to gain favour in the same circles that make this world the terrible, corrupt, despicable place it is.”
Noir allowed his anger to flow, the white in his eyes dulled, and his deep brown irises seemed to gain a kind of iridescent glow with hues of crimson and azure.
“I chose you because you were broken. I believed in you. I made you. Do you really think it was by chance that at your lowest, a man offered you salvation? You were humble, righteous even. But you fell to the corruption of power. The only real evil left in this world survives within mankind.”
Noir’s heated monologue had him pacing the room. Mr Clements noticed that the pistol was close enough for him to put an end to the life of his uninvited guest, and without hesitation he burst out of his chair, landing upon the ground, gun in hand, and as his eyes fixed on Noir, he pulled the trigger.
“Abstinere.” There was no sound. Only Noir’s voice echoed through Mr Clements’ mind.
“Apparere.” Noir stood before the shocked man, holding a dark metallic staff five-feet in length, its bottom consisting of a foot-long blade, black, curved and sharp enough to slice a hair from tip to root. The serrated spine of the blade led up to the pole of the staff, which had undecipherable inscriptions glowing in a vibrant yet nightmarish tone of violet, leading to a jagged blood-red coruscating ruby set atop the staff like a spear head. “Sit!” demanded the red-eyed Noir.
Mr Clements returned to his seat, whimpering with fear, his body shaking, his eyes filled with tears and his brow moist with nervous tension.
“I thought that perhaps a test of will would prove you to be remorseful.” Noir approached the cowering Mr Clements, “but it’s evident you have no regrets.” To Clements, it appeared that Noir towered over him as he came to a halt at the foot of his chair. “A man without regret shouldn’t fear death,” snarled the fury driven Noir.
“I... I have a family,” cried Mr Clements.
“Don’t worry, your assets will take care of your offspring and I’m sure that friendly man at your underappreciated wife’s gym will make a much better father than you.” Noir placed the ruby of his staff upon Mr Clements’ chest, and its point drew blood as it pierced through the man’s robe. “With this, I end the evil you invoke.” He closed his eyes and a steaming tear escaped from under each eyelid. “Aufero.”
Noir’s voice struck Mr Clements’ mind, he could feel his heart come to a halt, his entire chest became tight and his breath escaped him. At first his hands felt cold but in less than a second, his entire body became numb and with his final attempt to struggle a breath, Mr Clements let out a soft, throatful moan. Noir closed the empty eyes of the cold and lifeless man before him, let go of his staff, causing it to disappear, and raised his draping grey hood over his head.
He made his way out of the office, whispering an assortment of Latin words. Walking through the hall of Mr Clements’ manor, the shuffling sound of furniture could be heard from the office.
By the time Noir had reached the front door, his muddy footprints had disappeared from every marble tile he had just crossed. He opened the door but before leaving, he looked down the hall once more, this time with the eyes of a powerless animal.
“I truly am sorry, Mr Clements.”
Chapter Seven
Wyll, Geoffrey, and the wolves had all met in the main foyer of the blood bank. The foyer had been designed much like a dentist’s reception room, the walls painted in soft neutral tones, the sofas comfortable and expensive; Turtle had found them perfect for his three-am nap. The main desk contained the latest in Apple Mac technology and even though, behind the large double doors leading into the main hall of the blood bank lay fragrantly stale pools of blood from the burst containers, the foyer had an elegant and fresh aroma in the air. Wyll was standing showing the CCTV footage to Wilson, and the two intellectuals shared their amusement at the linguistically challenged dwarf. Donna, Felicity and Opie had been discussing the likelihood of the group actually finding the dwarven terrorist over the sound of Turtle’s obnoxious snoring, while Daryl and Geoffrey had been inspecting the air ducts.
“It seems like this duct is connected to a separate filtration system,” said Geoffrey.
“That explains the lavender smell,” said Darryl.
“Have you noticed?”
“Yeah.”
Darryl leapt into the open air-duct and began to crawl through it, and before long, the metallic pinging of his bony figure colliding with the edges of the thin duct stopped.
“Aagh, God, it reeks,” echoed Darryl’s voice through the air-duct. The pinging began again shortly, ending in a thud as Darryl dropped a thick matted glove from out of the duct’s opening. The glove wasn’t just worn, it looked as though it had been lived in. It had the kind of sharp solid texture that only a sock gets after a multitude of hours stuck around a large sweaty foot, trapped inside a badly made plastic shoe. To a human, the smell would have been unpleasant, but to the wolves in the room it was horrendous. The sourly rancid stench of the glove brought the chatting to a halt, with all the wolves covering their noses. The smell was so bad that, with Turtle’s snoring inhalation, it brought the lazy wolf back from the land of Nod.
“What on earth is that?” blurted the half-asleep wolf in a tone of terror only something tremendously disgusting can invoke.
The smell failed to reach Wyll, as his body lacked the necessary sensory system.
“What’s all the fuss about?” he questioned, lifting the heavily silted glove.
“Oh God, he’s touching it,” screeched Turtle.
“Would you please be quiet?” said Wilson, sternly.
“How exactly are you doing that?” asked Donna. Wyll laughed, “I’ll tell
you a secret. Vampires can’t breathe.” Wyll’s comment intrigued Wilson.
“But you can smell things, right?”
“Not involuntarily,” replied Wyll, “and from your reactions, I won’t be participating.” Donna scowled at the news. “That’s not fair.”
“So now that we have a way to track the dwarf, who’s volunteering?” asked Wyll.
“There’s only one tracker for the job,” laughed Geoffrey.
Darryl frowned at his leader’s comment, because he knew he was going to have to grow accustomed to the stench of the matted glove and follow
it to its disgusting owner.
“Give it here, then.” Darryl took the glove to his nose and took in a deep regrettable breath that was followed by a few cautionary gags. All the wolves bar Wilson fell into hysterics as the scruffy werewolf lowered the glove, revealing his bloodshot, tear-filled eyes.
“I hate you guys,” he sighed.
A while later, Wyll and the seven wolves had done all they could in the blood bank and had decided to make their way back to the estate. Mid-way through their trip, Felicity demanded that they stop for a nice greasy kebab. Geoffrey, of course, frowned at the thought, but the rest of the wolves agreed a good unbalanced meal was much needed. While the wolves enjoyed their grease-filled delicacies, Geoffrey and Wyll found a suitable place out of the rain around the back of the busy kebab shop to discuss their next move before the group departed.
“The dwarf’s stench should be easy enough to track, but it’s evident he didn’t work alone,” exclaimed Geoffrey.
Wyll sat on a staircase leading to a backstreet solicitor’s office, admiring the serious look on Geoffrey’s face. “I’m pretty sure we will find out more when we find the dwarf.”
“There’s so much we don’t know.”
“Why are you so worried? We did well today and I’m sure that together we will solve this little puzzle.”
Geoffrey felt confused at Wyll’s calm attitude towards the terrorist activity. “Do you really believe the wolves you hired will be able to thwart the attempts of this mysterious group?”
“I believe they will make things difficult for them. Most of all I trust that our blood banks will be much safer with guards that can patrol in the light of day.”
“These blood banks, how important are they?”
“As important as the human’s regular banks. They hold together our entire society. They’re the only sufficient source of nutrition since the hunting of humans was outlawed centuries ago, because of the very serious threat of extinction.”
“Human extinction?”