Blood

by Kay Williams

  It was made of three levels that extended up to the left the lowest was the entrance. The bar, complete with high stools and several tables made to sit between two and four. The second was up a few steps and had the larger tables and the third was a few steps above that which had enclosed booths lining the back wall they were broken by three doors that I had never been through.

  I had been surprised as it didn’t have a jukebox, or big screen televisions displaying sports or news, and had a very helpful sign above the bar that offered you two choices: you paid to sit quietly or you got out.

  I had paid and sat down. At the time it had felt like I had managed to find a place that was as depressing as I felt, which made me feel right at home. I had watched as the barman, who looked in his mid-thirties, drifted between the levels chatting to the few patrons. After five minutes or so the enchantments, though still doing their jobs, stopped bothering me and I actually enjoyed the tranquillity of the place.

  I wouldn’t have called myself a regular but if ever I needed some time out I came here. I switched off my phone, did a terrible job at working through a crossword puzzle and just enjoyed the fact that no-one I knew, not even Cornwall, would have the courage to defy the enchantments and come inside.

  As always I took a chair and a table towards the back and away from the bar and the door, where I was out of the way and attempted to unwind. It wasn't working today though, I kept thinking about Cornwall and it made the puzzle even more difficult than I usually found it.

  “Altitude.”

  I nearly flinched at the voice spoken over my shoulder. I looked up, the man was tall, fit and looked in his late forties with a soft patch of greying hair and intelligent brown eyes. I had learned not to judge anyone by their apparent age in this place, I was probably the only person here who looked twenty-eight and actually was twenty-eight.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Seven across. Altitude.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” I said, refocusing on my crossword puzzle.

  “Anthony Carson,” he introduced himself, extending his hand.

  I almost hesitated; Dependants sourced a meal by scent and touch. Both senses allowed them to taste the blood of nearby people, either in the air or through skin-to-skin contact. Since the Pause it was considered bad form for members of their Faction to source a meal and to take blood without consent, luckily there were plenty of Companionship and Blood Bars where intrepid souls could offer themselves up to their talents of Bespelling and their Bite; which turned pain into pleasure.

  It wasn’t something I had ever experienced first-hand but I had colleagues who had tried to explain the sensations only to fail before needing to go and get a glass of water and fan the heat from their cheeks.

  If I gave Carson my hand without the protection of gloves, though he would still be able to taste my blood in the air as a scent that I excluded like a perfume, he would have a deeper understanding of the texture and strength of my life source.

  I had been told once that for me it would be like being able to smell my favourite food cooking, to remember the texture in my mouth and the rush of serotonin the memories induced, but being denied the taste of it rather than old recalled information. A tasting wasn’t something I would actually feel or be aware of on any level and I doubted that I would be propositioned in this place, it wasn’t that kind of bar.

  “Hannah Roberts,” I introduced myself offering him my hand.

  We shook and his expression remained one of polite interest, I was either common fare taste-wise or he was adept at keeping his emotions to himself, I took my hand back and filled in the answer on my crossword while Carson slid into a chair.

  “I am very confused, Miss Roberts,” Carson said.

  “With what?” I asked.

  “Do the enchantments not bother you at all?”

  I put my pencil down, trying to think of the best way of describing it.

  “I am aware of them, but I don’t listen to them.”

  “Every ward and enchantment here is telling you that your life is in great peril by staying here, but you just ignore them?”

  “Is my life in danger here?”

  “No,” Carson admitted honestly. “But with magic that’s not the point.”

  “But you are making the mistake of assuming that if you tried anything I would be helpless,” I replied.

  Frankly with my telekinetic ‘shield’ up no-one would be capable of touching me, let alone attacking me, and that was if I chose to be passive, throwing him across the room and pinning him to the ceiling were also options.

  Carson frowned, sweeping his gaze over my loose clothes and the small, thin form concealed beneath and clearly decided I was not impressive, intimidating or capable, but then he did something I wasn't expecting; he leant back in his chair with a gracious little nod as if he believed me.

  He could have decided not to call what he thought was my bluff, he just as easily

  could have been humouring me. Instead perhaps it was his age that gave him the confidence to believe me, or maybe he had tasted something in me that hinted that I was capable of more than I looked.

  Whatever his reason it was refreshing and very attractive.

  Even so I had never been approached in Night Terrors before and I wondered if I had managed to outstay my welcome.

  “Look,” I offered. “If you would rather I wasn’t here, I can go.”

  “I never said that,” Carson protested, “I enjoy a good mystery,especially when they taste so…”

  “So?” I encouraged. I had never been in a position to be told how I tasted before and I found myself curious, I was also surprised by his adamant denial and found myself flattered after the awful dinner with Cornwall a few days before.

  Carson extended his hands and I gave mine up again, this time he cradled them for a long moment and with a concentrated frown as he tried to put words to something he understood as a scent, and as a taste with the instincts of a predator. His thumbs began almost absently brushing back and forth against my skin, the movement was soft, excluded a sense of comfort and security, and I had the sudden desire to move my chair closer to his.

  I had heard and been taught about a Bespelling but it was the first time I had felt the effects of it. The ability worked like hypnotic suggestion, soothing a person's fear and anxieties, pulling them into the Dependant's power so when they chose to Bite their victim only felt pleasure. After the Dependant had fed, they licked the puncture marks, and a healing agent in their saliva would close the wounds and stop any bruising or excess bleeding. They could then lifted the hold over the person that the Bespelling gave them allowing the person to walk away from the experience without suffering from the blood loss or any kind of pain.

  Depending on how deeply Bespelled a person was, it could also affect the accuracy of the memories they had of the experience, if they remembered it at all. The fact I could sense that Carson was doing it meant he was being very careful to show me his cards and give me the opportunity to pull away if I was uncomfortable or unnerved by his talent.

  “You are...Thick,” Carson managed eventually.

  “Charming,” I complained lightly.

  Carson’s smile was a gentle quirk of his lips.

  “It is a good thing. Thickness denotes a general good health that can be thinned or diluted by medication, potions or substance misuse.”

  I smiled back, more at Carson’s intrigued tone than his explanation, it was amazing how many people saw my size six flat figure and assumed that I was ill.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “You are rich, slightly nutty, but strong and potent.” Carson released his grip and I took my hands back.

  “So you enjoy rich food as well as good mysteries’?”

  “Most Eternals are fond of things that aren’t what they seem, Miss Roberts.”

  “Because they keep you engaged,” I guessed.

  “Exactly. Life, even a Dead or an Eternal one, should never be boring.”


  “Anything for a quiet one in my view.”

  “Which explains why you are in here rather than out on a Saturday night date.”

  I wasn’t out on a Saturday night date because I didn’t fancy another Sunday morning break up, it would have been too much on the heels of my mid-week disaster with Colin Matthews and the painful dinner with Cornwall and his friends that had followed.

  “I’m enjoying my crossword.”

  “You could have done that at home.”

  “And now I think you want me to leave again.”

  “You are being evasive.”

  “I was hoping you would see it as being mysterious.”

  “Maybe a change in subject then?” Carson chuckled.

  “Please.”

  “What do you do, Miss Roberts?”

  “For?”

  “You are going to make me specify?”

  As he seemed more amused than insulted I rolled my shoulders in a non-committal way.

  “The right question can lead to answers I’m being evasive with. I’m trying to keep you interested.”

  “You don’t have to try,” Carson seemed a little disappointed this time.

  “That’s new,” I offered. “A man not enamoured by a woman willing to preen for him.”

  “Age removes ego.”

  “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Greatly reduces the ego?”

  “Sounds a little more honest.”

  We smiled at each other and he moved his chair closer to the table, making himself a bit more comfortable in my space, while I answered his question.

  “I work for the Pre-Pause Society. Insurance and valuations, administration for the restoration technicians, displays for gallery and museum exhibits that sort of thing.”

  “You are interested in history?”

  “I’m interested in the things of history,” I replied. “Furniture, crockery, jewellery, toys. Not in history itself. What about you?”

  “Currently I work as a lawyer for the Dependant Council, but I have had many jobs over the years.”

  Before the Pause the Dependant Council had been little more than four of the oldest Earthling Dependants sitting at a coffee table sharing ideas with the Waking Night on how to provide better protection of the Nexus and the Portal Guardians on Earth. They actively worked at keeping Earthlings ignorant of Favlas and magic, now it had its own offices in Toronto was a multi-national corporation running banking, ID, and passport services for Dependants and Eternals on both sides of the Nexus. They were also well known for their generous donations to charities and educational programmes, but I had never really been interested in modern times or political parties and their aspirations.

  “What kind of jobs?”

  “I was a carpenter at one time. I have been a fencing instructor. More recently since the Pause it’s been helping Favlian Dependants adapt to life on Earth.”

  “I didn’t realise there was that much Dependant traffic coming across from Favlas.”

  “There isn’t,” the sudden mischief in Carson was contagious. “But don’t tell anyone I

  said so.”

  “Your secret is safe with me,” I smiled, I kept plenty of secrets of my own a few more wasn’t going to make any difference.

  Carson sat back in his chair, his expression a complicated mixture I wasn’t sure how to interpret.

  “It’s funny, but I think it is.”

  “You’ve lost me,” I confessed.

  “A lot of people say they’ll keep a secret but they either don’t intend to, or they forget they were ever trusted with sensitive information. When you said you would keep it, even though you said it in jest, you meant it.”

  “And that’s funny?”

  “It’s unusual.”

  “Is it attractive?”

  “It’s curious.”

  “That’s something,” I smiled managing to coax one from Carson.

  I gave myself a mental slap, what was I thinking attempting to flirt with a Dependant?

  Technically speaking the man across the table was highly contagious. Once infected the Dependant virus ate through the host's red blood cells destroying them inside out until the host died.

  Only a few hours later, this same virus reanimated the host body with the desire to replenish the blood, this bloodlust replaced any other physical or emotional need a person lived their life looking for. Dependants weren’t emotionless but they just didn’t have the same need for sex, love, family or companionship as everyone else did. Asking Carson if he felt I was attractive either physically, mentally or emotionally was ultimately pointless. My responses could keep his interest, so long as I could argue intelligently about a topic he was interested in, or if my responses fell outside of assumptions he made about me. But the only way I would be attractive to him would be in the taste of my blood, which he had already told me was strong and potent.

  “A person who can keep another’s secrets are usually adept at managing their own,” Carson commented.

  “That is true,” I replied.

  I wasn’t giving him mine in return though, he could fish all he wanted. Ageless Dependant or not, everyone always had the same immediate first reaction and I had long ago swore I would not be treated like a source of entertainment.

  “Yours can’t be so bad,” he argued.

  “It’s not bad because I am not inherently bad,” I replied.

  I was very sensible of the kind of power I could wield if I put my mind to it. Too bad it couldn’t be used to secure me that elusive second date. Not that I hadn’t had fun with it over the years, but only to cause gentle mischief; especially during Halloween, when moving things in a dark room laced with Spell sensitive charms that stopped magic users pulling pranks always managed to freak people out.

  “But it is powerful?” Carson frowned again.

  “Depends on how you define power,” I replied.

  “You are being evasive again,” Carson scowled.

  “I keep secrets, Mr Carson,” I said. “I don’t tell them.”

  “And you consider your reasons for sitting here rather than being out with living

  people a secret?”

  “More of a personal failure,” I corrected and because I was thankful he had abandoned the topic of my secrets, I told him the truth. “I had a date on Wednesday which I thought went well but he just wanted to be friends. In compensation, a friend took me to dinner, which turned out to be at quite an up-market place where a group of people he knew were also attending. We were invited to sit with them, when my friend began to steal food off my plate I hit him over the knuckles with a spoon, which his other friends didn’t find funny and he apologised for me later.”

  Carson’s expression had gone blank at some point during my short narrative, and he strangely had to shake his head as if to clear it when I was done.

  “I don’t quite know what to say,” he admitted.

  “Me either, which is why I am here, where no-one can find me, enjoying the quiet.”

  “He apologised for your behaviour? When it was his that was inappropriate?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope you hit him with something larger than a dessert spoon for that.”

  “I was tempted to run him over but I like my car without dents,” I smiled.

  “So what do you intend to do after your break from reality?” Carson chuckled softly.

  “Go home. Get a good night's sleep. Go to work in the morning.”

  “On a Sunday?” Carson shuddered in a melodramatic way.

  “The PPS is opening the new wing of the British Museum, I’m going in early to check inventory, make sure everything is displayed with things of the same era and it's all present and accounted for before being ushered out the back door when the important people arrive.”

  “You do all the work but don’t merit an invitation?” Carson laughed again.

  “I did merit an invitation but the part on it that said ‘plus one’ looked intimidating a
fter my failure in a dating sense so I said no thank you.”

  “And what do you intend to do for the holiday?”

  The Pause Festival had begun on the twentieth anniversary of the fateful day itself when things looked bleak for Earthlings and war between the two worlds had been considered inevitable. The week-long celebration had been thought up as a means to join all the cultures of the two worlds together with plays and dance, music and food, mystery and merriment.

  The Festival began on April 1st, with Fools Day and Nexus Observations before the week holiday followed. Most multi-national business shut down for the duration, others scheduled half days, or rotated their staff so everyone only did minimal hours. People held street parties, fairs travelled across the Nexus selling Favlian wares and circuses on Earth put on shows with acrobatics and magic in huge tents and outdoor-arenas.

  “This year I get all seven days off but I am on call. The PPS is running lots of activities and lectures at museums and educational centres.”

  “Starting with the exhibit in the British Museum,” Carson guessed.

  “Yep, but there are big events in Egypt, Israel and China. Is it true that the Dependant Council doesn’t get involved over the Festival much?”

  “We boycott it,” Carson agreed. “We remember the Pause, some of us had very up close and personal memories of flares and Portals and all the panic that went with it. We also remember that the Waking Night rather narrow-mindedly did nothing but try to pretend it wasn’t happening. If it hadn’t been for the efforts of some of the Guardians who broke their vows to try and stabilize the lines things could have been a lot worse in some of the metropolitan areas.”

  I suppressed a shudder at what could have been, almost a third of the Russian capital of Moscow had a Portal beneath it. The Guardians there had broken faith and vows with the Waking Night and instead of trying to close the Portal they had stabilized it allowing the Nexus to vent the power pulsing in its flares safely. If they hadn’t done so the Portal could have ruptured and swallowed Moscow only to drop it and anyone or thing caught in the pull of the Portal shattered and ruptured onto the Favlian coast of Olias.