The hotel room wasn't quite what he was used to but then again, calling it a hotel was being generous, no matter what the sign above the pub's rear entrance said. The paisley winceyette sheets and clouded plastic glasses didn't scream luxury, but it served its purposes.
The few rooms above the bar weren't occupied by anyone but him. It was quiet and in Bethesda. He'd be close to Julie. He was reasonably certain that she lived in the address he had uncovered during his investigations. Of course, she could have moved, but he had looked up her name in the telephone directory online and a J Morgan had been listed. It was the same address as on company papers for Morgan Properties and Retail that were filed with Companies House, the government department that administered limited company paperwork. He'd had to pay to download the report of last year's paperwork, but it was worth it. It had been a major component in his research, confirming that Julie and her daughter Sophie were directors in the property management company. A search of the addresses listed in their portfolio verified that they still owned the shops that Julie had described to him many years before.
Of course, there was a possibility that she had recently moved, but he had to start somewhere. If he watched the house for long enough, he might get a sighting of her. He could have followed her home from the shop to be certain, but that was a last resort, it might be too obvious. The pub was but a short walk to what he hoped was still her family home. He'd leave the car that he’d hired and watch her quietly from a distance. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he'd see the girl - Sophie Morgan. She was listed on the company paperwork at the same address, but that meant nothing. He had officially lived at his family home when he was a student, but had still rented a small room near the University during term time.
Beyond watching Julie and hoping to find out more of Sophie, he hadn't given much thought to what he would actually do. He had considered just knocking on Julie's door, but that was too bold. It might terrify her. For all he knew she could be living with someone. She might know about vampires and hate him. Sophie clearly knew about vampires now. Maybe she would try to kill him. He'd have to defend himself. Executing his daughter and alienating Julie was not what he wanted to achieve at all - far from it.
Kasper collapsed on the soft, worn mattress and held his head in his hands. What to do? What to do? He decided that the only thing he could do was get up and go out. He'd come all this way to find out if he had a daughter. Find out he would.
Kasper stood, lifted the holdall he'd brought with him and threw it on the bed. He unpacked the bag - it didn't take long, he travelled light. Nonetheless, the dark holdall held almost everything that he could possibly need- a few sweaters, dark t-shirts, jeans, underwear, a leather journal bound shut with a string, packed full of notes about Julie, and a state of the art laptop from which he uploaded and downloaded his photographs from a cloud drive as and when he needed to. The digital age had made it much easier to maintain his collection of work. He had scanned what photographs he could and archived what he couldn't in a deposit box in a bank in Copenhagen.
He rummaged in the bag for the laptop charger, connected it to a port on the back of the machine and plugged it in to charge. He pulled the sweater over his head, pushed down his dark jeans, stepped out and then slid off his fitted black shorts. The avocado bathroom suite beckoned him. The small en-suite wasn't much bigger than the shower cubicle he needed to use, and the tiny toilet which he didn't need. Once he'd finished his ablutions, Kasper sat on the edge of the bed in the single rough towel that was provided and watched the sunset welcome the evening darkness through the dusty windows.
Hunger crept up on him like a wave again, and he considered going down to the bar to grab a bite to eat. The landlady, all teeth and tits, had taken a shine to him when he checked in. She'd be an easy mark but the bar was getting busy and it would be difficult to be discreet. He could hear the sound of customers gathering below him. He would have to wait, perhaps go for a walk, and aim to find something or someone to tide him over. He'd need to feed before he went to Julie's.
He didn't know how long it would take to find the right victim, the right place, but the quiet streets and leafy lanes of Bethesda might prove advantageous.
Kasper pulled on his black jeans, dark sweater and black leather boots. He combed his hair back from his face and dropped the loop of his camera strap around his neck, immediately removing it, deciding that it might hinder him in a hunt or make him more conspicuous. He would be quicker and quieter without it.
Reluctant to draw attention to himself, Kasper opted for the window as his preferred mode of exit, rather than manoeuvring through the crowds at the bar. He pushed the wooden frame open and silently climbed outside, down the overgrown trellis and onto the gravel below. He landed with a soft crunch, disturbing the stillness of the evening. The silence of the world outside the pub was overwhelmingly comforting. It helped to calm his mind and focus on the business ahead. First, feeding. Second, Julie.
The issue of where and what to eat was quickly resolved as he left the gravelled car park to the rear of the pub, and walked through the small wooded area at the bottom and into a large, but deserted area of parkland. Two teenagers reclined in tracksuit bottoms and zip-up tops on the dewy grass drinking cheap cider from a large plastic bottle.
"I'm going for a piss,” one slurred to the other staggering to his feet and winding an uncertain path into a copse of trees. His companion glugged back another swig of alcohol and absent-mindedly said something which even Kasper couldn't understand; he doubted it was even proper English, incoherent as it was. They were around fourteen and Kasper wondered if it was peculiar, Welsh slang.
"You shouldn't be out so late,” Kasper observed in remarkably good English. The boy squinted at the dark figure before him, his vision blurry. The world was spinning.
Kasper moved in. The boy didn't have a chance. The vampire sank his teeth into the lad's neck and drank. Eventually, the youth became still, weak from blood loss and shock. It didn't take long. Once he'd consumed enough to fill his hunger, Kasper relaxed his grip on the boy, allowing his head to fall back into the gentle cradle of one hand, and wiping away the residue of blood from the wound with the thumb of his other hand. He brought the digit to his lips and licked the red streak decorating it away.
He'd consumed more than he usually would in one feed, but with the flight from Brussels and his preoccupation with Julie he hadn't fed for almost two days. He could comfortably survive for days without feeding, but he preferred to feed little and often to ensure he just took what was needed, and maintained the veneer of discretion which had allowed him to move among humans without detection; that was until he hooked up with those idiots of course. They always took everything too far, including making inquiries about Sophie for him. He'd wanted them to use a little intimidation, but no, they'd ended up killing someone - that, along with the massacre of the young family in Antwerp had firmly hit a nail in the coffin of their association.
The boy in the tracksuit groaned, although his eyes remained shut and his body limp. Kasper laid him carefully on the ground. The boy felt heavy. Kasper felt a twinge of something like guilt, but increasingly he found it hard to discern what his emotions, or rather, the series of physical and mental ticks which he associated with feelings, were telling him. As the years went by he could sense himself becoming more detached - in fact, it wasn't a sense of anything; it was more an intellectual analysis of the situation.
Kasper closed his eyes and focussed on what his body was telling him. Things were changing, expanding, swelling - thanks to the blood rushing through this body, rather than the alcohol he'd inadvertently consumed. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation for a few seconds. Then he shook the feeling away and normal self-control resumed, his fangs retracting and his pupils contracting. Seeing that the boy was still breathing and somewhere close to consciousness, he crept away silently through the trees and into the woods, which signalled the end of the park. He crossed the school playing field
that backed on to it and joined the footpath that ran alongside the main road through Bethesda.
In the distance, he heard the distant voice of a shadowy figure. "For fuck's sake mate, have you drunk all the bastard cider?"
Kasper didn't hear any screams when the boy reached his friend's comatose body; he deduced that all was sufficiently well. The boy wouldn't have bled out; the venom had had adequate time to heal the wound which was good. He didn't want any hassle.
The smell of Schezuan chicken and chilli beef permeated the kitchen and, like Pavlov's dog, I salivated. Mickey and I had made good use of the afternoon and the early evening - deep conversation, analysis and consideration of our vampire problems gave away to caresses, admonitions and a nap which was probably a little too long to be considered such.
My skin tingled as I watched Mickey scooping food carefully from foil trays to plates. He was humming a tune I didn't recognise, jigging away quietly to himself. He seemed happy and I was glad.
I hoped I'd still feel pleased when I got off the phone. The dial tone ended abruptly and my mother's voice pulled me from my stupor.
"Hi... Mum... It's me." I hadn't rehearsed what I was going to say, but the beads of sweat forming between my shoulder blades and across my hairline told me that I probably should have.
"Hello, lovely girl, how are you? Still coming for lunch tomorrow - I'm doing your favourite!" She meant beef and it was my favourite, although only when cooked in the inexplicably moist way my mother achieved, but I never could, despite using her technique a million times.
"Err, that's actually why I was calling. I meant to call you earlier but time ran away with me and it's been a bit manic."
"Manic?" Alarm bells were chiming in my mother's voice. Why did I have to say manic? It sounded too much like panic to my mother and panic meant trouble.
I decided to ignore her question and carry on talking in the hope that if I just kept spewing words at her everything would be okay.
"It's just that I didn't know how long he'd be staying and what with one thing and another I thought it might be a good idea for me to say I'm not coming rather than mess you about and not show up at the last minute, and, as it turns out, he will be going tomorrow, so we'll be pretty busy for most of the day, you know packing up, getting to the airport, all that type of stuff." I came to a grinding halt when I ran out of steam, feeling relieved and triumphant.
"So who is he?"
In the middle of my tirade, I'd completely omitted the fact that Mickey had arrived on my doorstep. I replied in what I hoped was a conciliatory, but casual tone.
"Well, you'll never guess, I never expected it, but Mickey is here. Do you remember Mickey? It was a surprise I can tell you, but lovely to see him. Sorry I didn't mention it, he's not long got here." Mum was silent. "He looked me up as he was in the area."
I hoped that answered the unspoken question about what sort of man just turns up on your front step without a word of warning, and what the hell does he want anyway?
Mum didn't reply. The three second silence felt like three hours. Eventually, I cracked. "I know, it's mad isn't it! But he had to come over here and he thought he'd call in while he was in the area."
"Why?" she asked suspiciously after a much longer pause than before.
"Because he was in the area."
"No. Why is he in the ‘area’?" I could sense the speech marks and suspicion around the word "area". In the background, I heard a yelp as Mickey dropped a dollop of steaming sweet and sour sauce on his bare foot. It resembled molten lava. Charlie meandered up and licked it off his toes before Mickey had the opportunity to reach for the kitchen towel. I lost focus - Mum pulled me back in with an acerbic but grave-sounding "Well?"
"Job interview! He had a job interview."
Mickey glared at me perplexed, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. I mouthed an apology at him.
"Did he now?" It wasn't a question. "So when will he go back tomorrow?"
"The flight is around eight so I'll be taking him to the airport at tea time."
"Then bring him to lunch."
The receiver clicked and the line went dead.
"Oh balls!" Turning, I flashed a smile at Mickey and pretended that everything was fine. He handed me a plate piled high with food and gave me a crooked, understanding smile. The moment was broken by Charlie vomiting up a chunk of pineapple on the kitchen doormat.
4
"Why on earth are we going after her?" Rachel was acting like a spoiled child. Her conversion to vampirism had brought out the worst in her.
Intellectually, the former solicitor was frustrated at her inability to focus, including on practicing law for what would be her single and final client, her maker Charles Ferrers. Ferrers had revealed himself to her when she needed him most, when she had little more than months to live and an unpopulated bucket list.
Rachel understood that the key to her survival was to create an illusion of humanity. It would prevent her true nature being detected. She also needed to ensure she had a living; even vampires had expenses and there was no guarantee that Ferrers would be her benefactor forever. Her time under his wing might be cut short if she failed to be of use to him.
Nevertheless, emotionally and instinctively she cared little for anything other than the opportunity to indulge her craving for blood and her new lease of life. Her frustration at her cancer diagnosis had had been replaced by bloodlust, a desire to tear and rip flesh. Her admirable work ethic had subsided to be replaced by a previously inexperienced abandon. Every second was a rollercoaster of emotions, usually leading to churlishness when she didn't get her own way.
Most of this was the result of vampirism. Some of it was a rage at the person she had previously been - demure, hardworking, sensible. Rachel had given up a life for a career, postponing everything until there wasn't a future to postpone it to. Doing the right thing hadn't done her any favours; she wouldn't make that mistake again. Life was to be experienced. Potential was to be achieved. Goodbye pathetic wallflower, she'd told herself, this time life is for pleasure.
Rachel detested Sophie Morgan for many reasons, not least because Sophie reminded her of her former self. She hoped that Ferrers’ interest in her would diminish soon as well. She was pathetic and ordinary and boring and Rachel wanted to kill her.
Rachel sat sullenly on the bed. She was slowly learning to regain control of her moods and desires. Ferrers had gone to great lengths to teach her restraint - after all, his curing of her cancer, via his gift of eternal life, wasn't entirely altruistic. Rachel was a good lawyer. He would have been disappointed to lose her. Besides, it was a long time since he had had a companion and he was also a little lonely. Eternity is a long time on your own and it behoved any vampire to ensure that he at least had the occasional company of others.
Richard, Ferrers other new protégé, sat on the edge of the bed next to Rachel. She'd been ranting about Sophie for almost ten minutes. He placed his cold, lifeless fingers on her leg and slowly walked them up her thigh, circling the pink flesh at the top until she moaned. He didn't care about Sophie; he didn't want to talk about her. He felt nothing about her or for her. He wanted Rachel, and he wanted her to shut up. Her petulance was her least endearing quality; it was tiresome. He preferred it when she was dynamic, feeding, aggressive, abandoned.
He had no idea why Ferrers was interested in Sophie Morgan either and he didn't much care. He used to live in the flat above Sophie and she was one of the most awkward, ordinary women he'd ever met. She was a girl more than a woman.
Perhaps Ferrers was planning to kill her, or turn her, he mused, as he circled Rachel's pleasure point with his index finger. Richard wondered what it would be like to kill Sophie and if he would enjoy it as much as he thought he might. I probably should want to kill her, he told himself. Sophie had stabbed him after all.
Vengeance, however, was a human emotion and he had little truck with them. Indeed, he had felt little genuine emotion when he was a human; he saw n
o reason why he should entertain them now. He couldn't decide if he was even capable of such a reaction.
Once the final groan informed him that he had satisfied Rachel, Richard silently left the room, leaving her to her munch on one of the small birds she kept in a pretty cream metalwork case on the nightstand. They would go out to eat properly later on, with Ferrers.
Kasper strolled unnoticed down the street lined with houses and double-parked cars. It would be a short walk to what he hoped was Julie's house. It hadn't taken much digging to find an address for "J Morgan". Hopefully, it was her. Otherwise he would have to monitor her movements from the shop and follow her. He didn't like the idea of stalking her. He didn't want to frighten her. He wondered if she'd ever married and changed her name.
He processed his surroundings as he walked through the peculiarly rural suburb of Bethesda. He wasn't sure he had ever been anywhere quite like it. It had the distinct characteristics of a rural community - the tiny churchyard, the small stone-built pub, the distinct smell of cut grass and the unmistakable stillness of a place where little happens and everyone is more or less content with that. Yet it also had rows of tiny houses packed together, two or three crammed into the space he would expect one to be in the open spaces he was used to. There was also the unmistakable cocktail of sea air, sulphur and steel shavings on the northerly breeze which hinted at the industrial history of nearby Bethel and its proximity to the murky coastline.
Sophie Morgan (Book 2): Death in the Family Page 5