"Yes, I just got a call from an old, dear friend of mine. Her husband’s got cancer pretty bad in his stomach. I’m going up to Sheffield for a week to take care of him while she visits her grandchildren in Edinburgh. I left some numbers for you in the kitchen just in case." Georgia smiled, going to give her a quick hug. Then, digging in her purse, she handed over a large set of keys. "Do you think you’ll be able to watch the house while I’m gone?"
"Sure."
"Good. Remember the cleaning crew comes next Tuesday. Ms. Quaken has a key to the back door so don’t worry about being here. Also…."
Hathor listened as Georgia rattled off her last minute instructions. Turning to the window, she saw a car come up the drive to pick up her aunt.
Georgia sighed. "I think that’s it. Take the car if you need to."
"I’ll probably just walk, but thanks." Hathor smiled, giving the old woman a hug. "Take care, and have as much fun as you can, save the circumstances."
Georgia picked up her bags. Hathor opened the door for her. Her aunt motioned to the driver as she sat her suitcases on the top steps. Then, turning to Hathor, she said, "Don’t wait for him to come to you. Go to him. Go to his club. Return the dress if you must have an excuse. But go. Don’t put it off. And if he’ll forgive you, bring him here to stay with you this week. I don’t mind."
"I don’t remember where the club is," Hathor admitted, dejected.
"Your feet do. Follow them. They’ll get you lost the same way." Georgia hugged her again. "It might take them longer, but they know."
With those quick words, she was gone. Hathor watched the car pull away, lifting her hand to wave at her aunt as the woman leaned a kiss out the window. Smiling, Hathor nodded with determination. "You’re right, Georgie. It is time I went to see him."
Chapter Six
The intermediate street lamps lined the roads of London’s back alleys, brightening the damp, dark night. Paved passageways turned into stone-lined walks. Wooden signs, boasting the numerous ancient crests and coat-of-arms from various family lines, hung before old houses and businesses. They were carved into banners and shields. Their lions, phoenixes and flowers looked so much of the past, each unique and beautifully different as they swayed proudly in the wind. Hathor studied each one as she passed but couldn’t tell them apart.
The flat faced buildings compacted together and boasted everything from tobacco clubs to small cafés to exotic restaurants and pubs. The busy streets faded into partially crowded neighborhoods, to completely abandoned alleyways. Most of the streets Hathor chose were too small for cars to pass through, twisting into an incredible maze of hidden lanes. Archways tilted overhead, some of them so dark and long that she could only see the light on the other side, as she made her way through the tunnel-like brick walks.
Letting her feet get lost as Georgia suggested, she refused to look at the street signs. Instead, she searched for any familiar bend that would take her to where she longed to go. Absently, she wandered. All of a sudden, she noticed a wrought iron street lamp in the middle of a tapering path. She vaguely remembered admiring it on the way to meet her aunt. Hurrying forward past the light, she saw a narrow alley and smiled. She had found it.
Hathor’s bold steps slowed, careful not to echo too loudly. She turned down the alley, stepping several yards into the darkness. Swallowing nervously, she glanced around. In warning, her fingers shook and the hairs on her neck stiffened. She didn’t recall the alleyway being so dark. The smile fell suspiciously from her features. Her feet stopped. Fearfully, she looked up. Stoic figures, outlined by city lights, crouched unchangingly above her like statues, except for the flapping of coats on the wind. She would have thought them gargoyles but for the fact that every time she squinted and blinked another one would appear to join the rest.
Hathor took a step back, inching deliberately the way she had come, careful not to draw attention to her presence. The statues didn’t move. She kept her eyes turned up.
One by one, Hathor could sense the silhouetted heads moving to follow her. Their eyes began to shine green and glinted dimly in the darkness. The thin probing dots of light held still like the afterglow of dead fireflies.
Turning, she darted as if to run, only to freeze when she saw a dark silhouette blocking her path. The street lamp threw the feminine curves into stark relief almost swallowing her limbs up with the intensity of the contrasting glare.
"What do you want?" Hathor shot, trying to sound brave. Her spine tingled with fear. Her flesh crawled with a miserable dread. Jolting in alarm, she thought she felt someone whisk by her neck. Her fingers curled, reaching automatically up to feel her skin. It was unharmed. Glancing around, she realized no one was near enough to have done it. "I have no money."
At that the figure in front of her laughed. The cold hard sound cackled in distinct merriment, causing the others above them to join in. Their sordid song filled the night, unafraid of who might listen. Hathor swallowed. Her breath came in heavy gulps. Some of the figures above her stood. Others simply shifted their weight.
When the woman in front of her didn’t answer, Hathor turned to venture down the alley the opposite way. The only sound was the hurried thud of her boots. Glancing up, her feet ground to an abrupt stop. She watched in amazement as one of the stationary figures above jumped from the towering height of the building. His long jacket fluttered behind him in the breeze. The fall should have killed him, but instead he landed with slow, exaggerated ease to stand before her. An eerie smile on his face, he nodded at her like a gentleman and blocked her path of escape.
Hathor stiffened in complete terror. The man’s eyes faded but remained green. Without seeming to take a step, he was before her. His head tilted, as he studied her with watchful purpose. His narrowing eyes again glittered with a demented shade from the pale depths of his face. His lips moved to utter words she couldn’t understand. The dark strands of his hair and the handsome lines of his face rang a chord deep inside of her, but she couldn’t readily place him. The man cocked his head to the other side, pressing his face close to hers. Then, angling back he walked around her in a swift movement, sniffing her neck as he flew past her back.
"Well?"
Hathor jolted as the voice came from directly behind her -- sharp and angry. She spun on her heels, moving to the side to look at the new interrogator. Her boots pattered once more on the hard brick sidewalk as she backed into a wall. Shrinking away from them, she dug her body into the stone. Only her shoes made noise. Only her breath fanned over the echoing distance.
The damp stone of the building soaked coldly into her back, moistening the white linen shirt she wore. She pressed hard into the wall, feeling to her sides with her hands for an escape. There was none -- no doors, no walkways. The female, who whispered past her ear, turned to keep her cornered against the building with her body. Seeing high pink bangs and trashy tank top, Hathor whimpered in disbelief, "Ginger?"
The man in front of her smiled in wonder, though his face held no mirth. His fingernails were long as he drew them thoughtfully past his face. Coldly, he asked Ginger, "How does she know you?"
"From the club. I told her," Ginger stated.
Ginger angled her head slightly acknowledging Hathor’s statement before again ignoring her. And then Hathor knew. The man to her side was also from the club. He had been with another man. Shaking his head, the man muttered grimly, "I can smell her human blood, but I can’t read her. It is as if she was already dead."
Hathor gasped, seeing a distinct pair of fangs under the curling of his lips. They paid no heed to the sounds escaping their captive’s throat. Vague memories from the first night she saw Servaes invaded her head. Glancing at Ginger, Hathor noticed the woman too had fangs. Seeing her inspection, Ginger spread her lips and seethed defiantly at her, barring the full length of her sharp teeth. She laughed when Hathor recoiled.
"You couldn’t read rat, Vincent," a third voice spat cryptically. A few above them chuckled at the jibe. Hathor turned
just in time to see the man land, having jumped from the building top. He didn’t break stride, continuing to walk as he touched the ground. Hathor’s eyes searched for cables along his waist and could see nothing. He too came forward to sniff at her. His eyes glowed brightly the same as the others--green and ominous. The mysterious orbs seemed to give off their own light. Surveying her as he would a fine steak, he licked his lips. Bitterly, he spat, "Nothing."
"Move over, Vincent, Lamar," still yet another voice. "Let me see her."
Lamar, her last inspector, frowned. "Vincent’s right. She can’t be read. I say we dispose of her at once."
"Let me have her. I’ll find out what she knows," Ginger offered with a cruel twist of her lips. "I don’t need power to get it out of her."
"No," Vincent protested. "We should take her to the elders. They should be allowed to study her. Maybe she holds some secret."
"Quit trying to win favors with the elders. You are too young to be chosen amongst them." This statement was from a being with light brown hair. The locks fell about his shoulders in perfect waves, trailing down his perfect back. His voice was thick with an unfamiliar accent, and he walked with authority, looking at his fellow vampires with unconcealed disdain. Instantly, Hathor detected the age on him. He was different from the others, older, more powerful, more deadly. When he talked, his speech sounded of the past blended with the smallest hint of the present. "Besides, none have seen the elders for years."
Instantly, Hathor knew this man was older than the rest. He too was beautiful, but his eyes held a dangerous light, deadly in its purpose. He came forward to examine her carefully, as the others had done.
No, Hathor thought, feeling a twist in her brain, a probing fog slipping around her. Not like the others.
"Yeah," Ginger muttered with a mocking snarl. "They’re just a scary story."
Hathor stood stiffly as several others came to look at her. All of them pale creatures with smooth flesh and flashing eyes. She kept her mouth shut, listening to their words in horror. Her arm tried to move, wishing to sweep through the insanity and brush them away like the wind. But her arm was pushed easily aside and the flesh that touched her was all too real in its cold dismissal.
Hathor would have thought herself deaf for all the noise those around her made. The alley filled with vampires, but was as silent as a resting stone. Only her heart thudded to make a dent into her hearing. That was until they spoke, and then she wished she couldn’t hear at all.
Vampires jumped from the rooftops like raindrops, falling easily around her until a large crowd of them gathered. A few argued and pushed amongst themselves. Some wanted to kill her. Others agreed with Vincent and wanted to bring her to the elders, though they weren’t sure where the elders were. Some simply snorted in disgust and backed away without comment.
Finally, the handsome one with wavy brown hair motioned his hand in exasperation. Instantaneously, their heads turned to him in silence. As if pondering his decision, he commanded darkly, "Begone. Go feed. There is naught special about her. She is a mortal, a simple meal."
Hathor jolted in surprise. Those behind him jumped into the air, traveling backwards, their arms wide spread. They leaped onto the rooftops only to disappear over the sides. Within seconds, the alley was clear except for Lamar, Vincent, Ginger and the enigmatic leader who commanded them.
"What should we do with her, Jirí?" Ginger inquired after a pause. "Whatever she is, it can’t be good for our kind."
"What do you want with me?" Hathor’s lips quivered. The sound was barely audible, but the four turned to her as if they had no problem hearing her speak. Her round eyes watched them cautiously. Dread unfurled in her limbs. She realized that before her was the living proof that vampires did exist. Her mind tried to reject the thought. If vampire’s existed, she had inadvertently fallen in love with one.
"Why did you come back here?" the one called Jirí asked, finally addressing the human woman before him. "What do you want with us?"
"Nothing. I’m lost," she answered weakly.
"She lies," spat Ginger angrily, surging forward. A single motion of Jirí’s hand stopped her. Without touching her, the old vampire held her at bay. Persistently, she growled, "Let me kill her."
"Silence," ordered Jirí in a soft murmur. He bent his fingers until only two were held up to Ginger. He didn’t bother to look at her. "If she is to die it will not be by your mouth. Begone."
Ginger’s lips snapped shut with a glare. A fierce growl leaving her lips, she bent her knees and jumped into the night sky, disappearing above them. Lamar stepped to the side to take her place blocking the pathway.
"No one gets lost here twice," said Jirí. "There is purpose in your visit. What do you seek?"
"I told you," said Hathor mustering her courage. She glared defiantly into the leader’s eyes, which seemed to amuse him. Her voice wavered, but she persevered, "I am lost. Now let me be on my way, sir."
A small chuckle was her only answer. Lamar and Vincent stood silently watching as Jirí leaned forward. His tapering fingers came up to touch Hathor’s warm face. Turning her to the side to carefully inspect her, he drew his long nails over her flesh. His eyes shifted and glowed as she had seen Servaes’ do. At the time she thought she imagined it. They seemed to be probing her, searching her for answers.
"What do you want with me?" she asked with a tremble.
"It depends on what you want with us, m’lady," Jirí responded, his words as smooth as silk. He lifted her chin to examine her neck. Satisfied that she hadn’t been bitten, he leisurely inquired, "Why did you come back here? Who invited you?"
"No one. I’m lost," she maintained, resistant to his powers. Inside, she cried for Servaes to come. She lifted her chin defiantly in the air and stiffened her lips. Jirí let his hand drop from her face. Her breath came in deep and even pants.
"I can sense that you lie, but your mind is blocked," Jirí said thoughtfully. The idea seemed to amuse him greatly. "Open your thoughts. Let me in. Then we shall see why you are here. I promise to release you if you are truly lost as you say. None of the others will harm you if I so command it of them."
"Go to hell," Hathor spat.
At her vehement declaration, they all laughed. Jirí paused. His nose wrinkled to sniff the air. Suddenly, he grabbed her again about her upper arms. With a supernatural force he lifted her off the ground. Floating a foot above the walkway, he pulled her back with him into the light. Her feet dangled in the air. Her hand reached to him unbidden, clasping at his elbow. She grasped the black shirt near his waist, trying to hold onto him. Her feet kicked. He held her effortlessly. His eyes trailed over her mouth, seeing the healing puncture marks Servaes left on her bottom lip. A slow grin curled on his features.
"No one you say," he chuckled. Slowly, he leaned his face to hers. He brushed her mouth in a soft kiss, pulling his lips over hers. Hathor’s throat worked violently. His lips were cold as they moved along her flesh. He took her breath into his lungs, feeling her energy inside of him. His lips parted with an uneasy slowness to carefully lick in-between the parting of her mouth. His wet tongue tasted of blood as it probed her.
Servaes! she thought in terror, unable to scream the word.
Quickly the vampire drew back to lick his lips. He heard the scream in her head the same moment he tasted Servaes on her. With a quick shove, he threw her from him. She crashed into the wall, falling to the ground in a heap. Landing on his feet, Jirí stated coolly, "Servaes. She is marked by Servaes. She is one of his indicia. It is why she is here."
"What would Servaes want with her?" Lamar inquired with a growl. "She should be dead! Keeping her alive risks all of us."
"You have no proof of that," Jirí stated.
Servaes! Please help me! Hathor cried silently, unable to speak. Her body ached and throbbed from where she collided with the brick wall. Her hands dug into the stone pavement. She could taste the blood from Jirí’s lips. She let the thick nectar drip with spit from her mouth t
o ooze onto her hard stone bed. She could smell the damp pathway beneath her face, scraping her chin when she tried to move. Blackness surrounded her, folding her within its velvet depths.
"But what of her mind?" Vincent pursued. "She knows too much about us. We can’t let her go."
"If Servaes has marked her, we can’t touch her. She belongs to him." Lamar leaned over to look at the woman, lifting her head from the ground. He bent to taste her lips with a rough kiss. He too tasted like blood. Hathor coughed and gagged. Dropping her head unceremoniously, Lamar was turned before her temple struck the ground. "She is his. The mark is pure."
Jirí watched and said nothing.
"She knows too much. We have to touch her." Vincent leaned over to lift her in the air by the back of her neck. Standing on the ground, he held her dangling body over him with one powerful arm. "We have to kill her. We have to protect ourselves. If we do not kill her, she could tell others about us. I will not relive the old days, being hunted in my sleep only to wake and find an annoying stake through my heart or some damned piece of meat trying to pin my toes together to keep me from rising."
"You whine like a human," Lamar laughed. "Are you really so scared of your lunch? Mayhap you should feed on cattle and leave the real meals to us that can handle them."
"Enough," Jirí commanded, growing weary. "Neither one of you has memory of the old days. It is early yet and I wouldst catch another meal soon."
"But," Lamar began.
"Although," Jirí interrupted, "Vincent is right about one thing. She knows too much. Servaes should have taken care of her the first night she stumbled into the club. I doubt this one human could cause us problems, but there is no reason to risk it. I will not have London ruined for us because of one mortal girl."
"Who will do it?" Vincent asked, smacking his lips. Still, his arm held her above him as if she were a feather.
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