Blood Shackles (Rebel Vampires Book 2)

by Rosemary A Johns

  ‘Mr Yates was down Bristol. Not me,’ you’d argued, even after I’d flayed my Soul raw. ‘Cain Company established, like, the broad strategy. But Mr Yates was on the ground. There were no casualties reported. In fact, there were higher efficiencies and productivity--’

  ‘Do you ever stop and listen to yourself? Whatever happened to the buck stops here?’

  ‘Na-ah, that’s not fair. You Blood Lifers are dangerous. And Mr Yates found a method to--’

  ‘Break us?’

  ‘Control you - on account of that was his frickin’ job. Not mine.’

  ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, princess.’

  Still, you let me go.

  And now I’m… No, not free. I’m not some daft muppet, giddy on the first piss poor sips of freedom. I’m still tracked. Maybe you know where I am right now. If you wanted, you could press a screen and M.C.’s punk crew could retrieve me in…what’s the boast? An hour?

  The thing is, that means I’m endangering the others. And it all comes down to family. I get that now. It’s everything the Blood Club tried to strip from us at Abona.

  Not home but love.

  Yet the bloody irony of it? In that hell, I’d found love of my own kind for the first time since I lost my own family - an uprooted and unwanted orphan school kid.

  I haven’t forgotten I’m only on loan. Just give me a bit more time to settle this fledgling family of mine, before I leave it for servitude again.

  I’ve set my family up in an abandoned 1930s council house; even as squats go, it’s not much cop. There’s a ratty sunken sofa, boarded up windows and stubs of candles in each room. I brought sleeping bags. It’s better than the overcrowded slave quarters.

  The others could go anywhere. Become the Blood Lifers they once were (at least as much as that’s possible with partially grown fangs). Yet something’s holding us together. Trauma. Family. And a promise about a girl.

  I won’t say where we are. Even that’s too great a risk. I imagine your sister and dad are tearing the world apart to find the escapees.

  Too bloody bad.

  Moses has led them to the Promised Land.

  Even if it does look suspiciously like a squat.

  JUNE 14

  My crimson ghost flew me on its twin-cylinders down the motorway to Bristol, as soon as I’d picked up supplies.

  Number one had been some threads: I’d remembered Donovan had been into Mod stuff, so I’d selected an indigo crushed velvet suit, but I’d had to take a stab at Hartford’s cool cat jazz style.

  Number two had been a pocket torch green laser - a dead nifty piece of kit.

  See when you’d reckoned I was obsessing over legalistic definitions of slavery - as if the Law would ever get us out of this - I’d actually been researching ways to disable my tracker (and before you throw a wobbly, that’s a no-go).

  Why?

  So I could mount a rescue on Abona House.

  I never forgot my family, not for one sodding second. Like a game of chess, however, I had to plan my moves.

  A few little porkies don’t obscure the greater truth. Or maybe I was right before: there’s no such thing as truth, only what we want.

  And I wanted to break into Abona, which made the Internet my best mate. There’s nothing you can’t learn, if you dig deep enough. So, I learnt I needed a green laser.

  When I reached the first CCTV camera, which was on the roof of the low stable block, I steadied myself. I was swamped by memories of the crack of the bullwhip and Hartford’s silent agony, as Sir tipped the boiling water. Then I lifted my laser; I directed it to the back of the CCTV’s light bulb, which created a super bright spot on the camera’s sensor. It was blinded. After a few seconds, the circuitry melted. The camera blinked off.

  I darted towards the house through the humid evening, knocking out each of the cameras as I went. I knew the fact they’d been tampered with, would be alerting the Enforcers to the presence of an intruder. Maybe even Sir would be watching, spider-like behind those banks of screens, as one by one they faded back to black.

  This was a snatch and grab operation, however, I’d be in and out for my family, before Sir knew what had hit him.

  I’d memorised the security codes, so breaking in to the slave quarters was easy. I’d discovered the codes the same day I’d read the messages between you and M.C. about your mum.

  Remember Florence and our non-date? I swear I wasn’t snoopin’: I was spying.

  The kitchen heaved with Blood Lifers.

  My stomach churned. I was starkers, so I could weave in and out, as anonymous as the other slaves. I kept my nut bowed, hoping I wouldn’t be recognised.

  Then I spotted Donovan. He was slumped by the industrial refrigerator, sorting out ranks of blood bags. He looked knackered. Thinner than when I’d left. I had a feeling I’d got here just in time.

  I slipped behind him, tapping his shoulder.

  Donovan didn’t look round. ‘Don’t bug me, I’m counting.’

  I tugged on Donovan’s hand this time.

  Irritated, he swiped at me, but when he caught sight of my mug, he yelped.

  I bundled Donovan out into the corridor, before he could draw any more curious glances. ‘Where’s Hartford?’

  ‘In our room. He’s…recovering. You’re blowing my mind, man… What happened? That skirt returned you?’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, mate. This is me doing something. You and Hartford are getting out of here. Right now. With me.’

  I made towards the bedrooms, but Donovan clutched my arm, hauling me back. ‘First you tell me how you’re gonna do that because it didn’t exactly work out last time. You don’t..? And I’m not riskin’ my baby.’

  ‘Fair enough. CCTV’s down, I’ve discovered the security codes and know the routes outta here. I’ve also arranged a place to lie low after and supplies. Good enough?’

  A slow grin spread over Donovan’s mush. ‘Right on.’

  We found Hartford sprawled on his stomach on a dirty mattress. His back had been carved into pretty patterns in shallow cuts by some sadistic john: yeah, dead exclusive the members of this Blood Club of yours. ‘Hey baby,’ Donovan whispered, ‘wake up.’

  Hartford weakly turned his nut towards us. When he saw me, however, he scrambled up and threw himself at me, clasping on limpet-like.

  Then I realised he was weeping.

  I prised Hartford back. ‘Hey, helmethead, what’s with the..?’

  ‘You’d got out, mac; you don’t need to act hard-boiled with me. Now Sir’s gonna--’

  ‘I’m not a slave here again, you nitwit; I’m the bloody superhero. And you’re getting out now too.’

  Hartford took an immediate step back, before glancing at Donovan, who nodded encouragingly and whispered, ‘It’s cool; we’ll be free.’

  I hadn’t expected the cold fury in Hartford’s gaze, as it swung to me. ‘Bull. We’’ll be crucified. Melted in the sun. And you? Poor little bunny, why did you ever come back to this joint, for crying out loud? Are you screwy? And don’t give me a line. Level with me.’

  ‘To keep a promise,’ I answered softly, ‘and save my family.’

  When Donovan gripped Hartford by the shoulders, I reckoned he’d find himself tossed across the room, but Hartford allowed it, trembling in shock and confusion. ‘Is this what you want your life to be? Forever?’ Donovan traced his fingers through the bloody swirls, which were carved on Hartford’s back. Hartford winced. ‘Let’s split, man. We can be together.’

  At last, Hartford nodded, hooking his arm around Donovan’s waist. Turning to me, however, he insisted, ‘Not without Ashanti.’

  ‘No deal. We have to go now or--’

  ‘Let’s ankle then. But we’re taking Ashanti.’

  Bloody. Hell.

  The Enforcers must’ve been alerted that the CCTV was down, and Hartford was right: if they caught us, being pegged out in the sun would be the least of our torments. ‘If we do that, I can’t guarantee to get u
s out…so bugger it all…why?’

  Hartford gave a small smile, as he limped to the door. ‘She’s family.’

  Christ in heaven, what could I say to that?

  Ashanti, however, wasn’t in the kitchens, bedrooms or the cellar. As we searched the warren of corridors with mounting desperation, it became obvious the CCTV alarm had been well and truly triggered: an Enforcer in stripy scarf or lacy knickers would shove past us, clutching cudgels or canes, as if they were on their way to being skinned alive. I’d drop behind Donovan and Hartford, and because the Enforcers were in such a tizzy, they wouldn’t notice me.

  That is, until Miss Guillotine dodger herself appeared.

  ‘You, mon Ganymede..?’

  Marie antoinette had bustled down the corridor in her silks, wringing her soft hands together. We’d fallen back, but this time antoinette had stopped. She’d assessed our little huddle suspiciously, before pushing Donovan aside, as if parting the Red Sea, to leave me in all my glory.

  I’d shrugged. ‘Alright, luv?’

  So now antoinette was staring at me, like I was a sodding ghost. I wondered (for one barmy moment), whether I could get that one to stick.

  ‘This….’ Antoinette struggled, before rallying, ‘…savours of evil and bloody deeds. A corruption of Monsieur’s noble lessons--’

  I snagged antoinette by the throat, slamming her into the wall. When she squeaked, Hartford laughed: I wished it was a sound I could hear every day. ‘See here’s the thing: I’ve never been one for lessons.’

  ‘Au contraire, Monsieur knows, silly boy. He will teach you…’

  ‘Her pocket.’ Donovan dived for antoinette’s ball gown, pulling out a tiny device, which was transmitting.

  Hartford paled.

  When antoinette smirked, I lowered my mug close to hers. ‘I know I should feel sorry for you.’ Antoinette’s smug smile died. ‘But I don’t.’ Then I nutted the bint. She crumpled in a pile of curls, blood and silk. ‘Right then, we’re scarpering. Now.’

  Hartford, however, grabbed my hand. ‘But Ashanti--’

  ‘We can’t help her. And if we stick around any longer, we won’t be able to help ourselves either.’

  ‘Vesper,’ Donovan suddenly exclaimed, ‘her courtyard. Ashanti’s in charge of feeding her.’

  ‘One last chance,’ Hartford begged. I felt a right bastard. ‘We’ll blow if she’s not there. Please?’

  I could’ve turned sodding cartwheels, when we dashed into the courtyard, and there were those black braids, bent over the crucified body of Vesper.

  Ashanti startled, when Hartford yanked her up. ‘We’ve gotta leave this joint. Light’s come to rescue us.’

  Ashanti, however, only assessed me coolly. ‘How! That obroni? From the first beginning he be a confusionist. Big palaver. How I trust him?’

  ‘Then trust me,’ Hartford pleaded.

  Ashanti gestured down at Vesper. ‘Look what big man--’

  ‘I thought you were a warrior?’ I raised my eyebrow.

  Ashanti bridled, her lip curling. ‘Challey, when we be free, I show you.’ Then her expression darkened. ‘But my alomo be with an American man. How we get her?’ The silence in the courtyard was broken only by Vesper’s raspy breathing. Slowly, Ashanti looked between the three of us. ‘Adjei!’ She stalked towards me; we didn’t have time to find out first-hand just how good a warrior she was. Hartford, however, stepped in front of me; the pressure from his slim hand was still enough on Ashanti’s much broader shoulder to stop her. ‘I won’t leave her.’

  ‘We’ll come back,’ Hartford twisted to me, with such naïve hope in his peepers it tore my heart bloody, ‘save her. Save everyone.’

  What was I all of a sudden? Sodding Spartacus?

  ‘You promise, boy?’ Ashanti demanded.

  I sighed, my mouth dry. ‘Yeah, I promise. Now let’s get a wiggle on or…’ A groan from behind me yanked the nail, which had been lodged sharp in my guts; I’d never forgotten my promise to Vesper. Ashanti watched me questioningly, as I stumbled to Vesper’s side. I fell to my knees next to what had once been her mush. Vesper was trying to focus on me with her half-blinded peepers; only the palest hazel remained flecked in her irises. I wrestled to rip out the damn nails in her wrists first, but they were lodged so deeply her muscles and ligaments pulled away fibrous in my hands. Vesper’s breathing became more rapid. ‘Sorry…sorry…’

  Cursing, I fought at the ones in Vesper’s ankles, but when there was the sudden snap of bone, I fell back horrified.

  Then I heard - soft but hoarse - with a distinct Catalan accent, ‘Kill me’.

  That was all. Hopeful and determined.

  When I met Vesper’s pain-wracked peeper’s, I found I couldn’t say anything.

  Instead, I nodded.

  I could feel the others behind me, watching. Then Ashanti’s hand was on my shoulder, squeezing.

  Taking a breath, I lightly clasped Vesper’s fingers. They curled into mine, before I fixed my other hand around what remained of her stringy neck. Christ in heaven it was hard but I kept smiling at her. I never broke eye contact - not once - as I choked the life from her.

  Strange, I’ve done in my fair share of Blood Lifers, but that one was different: it felt like a gift.

  I pushed myself up. ‘Right then, let’s--’

  ‘Look you, you’ve gone and broken my doll. I say you leeches want your chance in the sun, isn’t it?’ Sir, his arms crossed, was standing in the arched doorway to the courtyard. Hartford dropped to his knees, his puppet strings cut. But the rest of us? We remained bloody standing. If anything, Ashanti raised her nut higher. That made Sir’s mouth twist into a frown. When Sir’s scowl settled on me, it was as if he couldn’t decide between shock, outrage and delight. ‘My pretty little leech returns to me? What? Did my shadow miss me?’ Then his tone hardened. ‘Mr Cain will have you for the Estate now, see if he don’t. I can’t keep a Lieutenant by my side, who makes trouble.’

  ‘I don’t need you doing me no favours, mate.’

  There was only one expression on Sir’s mug now: fury. ‘Whore,’ he pointed at Hartford, who was still in kneel and trembling, ‘inside.’ Hartford began to rise but then sank down again. Frustrated, Sir stormed closer. ‘Inside, bitch.’ This time Hartford didn’t move. Sir pushed at his black-framed glasses, before glaring around at us significantly. ‘The Enforcers will be here any minute.’ Then Sir was suddenly all silk and sweetness, as he stroked Hartford’s slick of golden hair: he’d transformed into the bloke, who I’ll admit I’d come to need in those long months, when Sir had babied me to dependency. ‘Obey me now. And I’ll remember it.’ Oldest trick that is, attacking the weakest link. ‘You won’t be punished by the sun, I promise.’ When Hartford still didn’t budge, Sir’s caressing hand tightened, before he wrenched back Hartford’s nut.

  At once, Donovan and I dived for Sir.

  Electrifying fire burst through me, burning me up from the inside. I whined and dropped to the grass, rolling side to side. My back arched. My nails scrabbled at my own mush, as if I could scratch the pain out of me.

  Donovan was hovering over me, uncertain and freaking out, darting fearful glances at the device Sir was now holding because he’d never seen the tracker before.

  Through the grey fog of my own suffering, I realised it was Ashanti, who was stalking Sir.

  Sir was so into the floor show that he didn’t grasp he’d transformed into prey, until Ashanti was twisting his elbow back. Then the bone was breaking - crack.

  With a holler, Sir dropped the tracker.

  Ashanti kicked the wankering thing to Donovan, who jumped on it, smashing it into tiny shards of metal and plastic.

  At once, the searing burn stopped. How had those fragments held such power over me?

  Sir had backed against the courtyard wall, nursing his bent, limp arm.

  When Ashanti met my gaze, I nodded my thanks.

  Then Ashanti launched herself full fighter mode once again at Sir, clouting him
across the mug, which broke his front tooth and stained his gob red: at least the bugger partly learnt what it was like to be defanged.

  Sir didn’t flinch, beg or even fight back. I couldn’t suss out, however, why Ashanti was just standing there, as if she was hugging the bastard. Then I heard a strange gurgling noise and I knew - I bleeding knew - that somehow Sir had murdered her.

  Ashanti was Hartford’s family, which made her my family too; as tears pricked my peepers, at last I got that.

  Donovan tore to Ashanti, carrying her still body away from Sir, who was grinning manically around his crimson lips.

  When Sir spat out a fat globule of blood and shattered teeth, I realised dully that his hands were stained crimson as well. Then I spied the red-and-black handle of Sir’s shiv, which was stuck deep in Ashanti’s chest – through the heart.

  Of course Captain had trained these First Lifers in that weakness too.

  I struggled to crawl, my limbs still fizzing with damaged nerves, to where Donovan was tenderly laying out Ashanti. Over her corpse, Donovan looked at me, his cheeks wet.

  It was Alessandro all over again: another Blood Lifer shanked because of me.

  I turned when I heard Hartford slowly stand. All this time, he’d never risen from kneel. Hartford didn’t even look at Ashanti. Instead he advanced on Sir.

  Donovan made to rise to follow him, but I caught his arm and shook my nut. ‘Some things a bloke’s got to do on his own.’

  For the first time, Sir backed away, his remaining good hand, which was gory with Ashanti’s blood, pressed against the courtyard wall, until he was trapped in the corner. ‘Kneel,’ he blustered, ‘down.’ Sir could see in Hartford’s peepers at last, however, what he was. What he’d always been. And what Sir could never truly tame. It’d only ever been buried out of the need to protect Donovan: his own love used as a weapon against him. But now Hartford had been freed - he was a Long-lived. Sir had unleashed him. ‘Cupid…bad boy--’

  ‘My name is Hartford.’

  Hartford launched himself at Sir and in the hush of the courtyard, as Donovan and I grieved over the fallen body of Ashanti, he tore that bastard limb from bloody limb.