The Children Of The Mist

by Jenny Brigalow

  He must have caught Morven looking for he picked up the jam jar. ‘Home-made plum jam. Made it myself. I’ve got an orchard in Hereford. There’s apples, pears and quince too.’

  Celeste looked over. ‘Oh, please Cracked-acus, don’t start banging on about your fruity ideas. You’ll give our cousin entirely the wrong idea.’ She looked at Morven. ‘Poor Cracked-acus, he’s a bit of a throwback, I’m afraid. A surgeon short of a scalpel, as we say.’

  Caractacus put the jam jar down softly onto the table and looked pointedly at his sister. ‘At least I don’t have MacGregor hair.’

  Celeste’s reaction was volcanic and to the point. Literally. In a movement so rapid that Morven’s eyes could scarcely follow, her cousin lifted a knife from her place setting and flicked it across the table. Morven’s breath caught in her throat, but she need not have worried. In slick style, Calix leant over the table and plucked the weapon neatly out of the air. He sat down and glared around the table. ‘Pack it in, you two. What the hell will our guest think?’

  To his credit, Caractacus looked sheepish. Not so Celeste, who snarled, her teeth bared.

  As to what Morven thought, well — it put a whole new slant on sibling rivalry. And, frankly, Celeste’s attitude was getting right up her nostrils. She looked around the table. ‘Who are the MacGregors?’ She knew she was being provocative — but what the hell. It was time Morven Smith took the initiative. There was silence. A bit of shuffling and shifting of bodies in seats. But that was okay, Morven had all night.

  It was Calix who finally picked up the gauntlet. ‘The MacGregors are an ancient Scottish clan. Once they were closely allied with the Campbells, but in the 1600s they betrayed us, turning against King and Country. Subsequently they were crushed. Their lands were seized and their name rightfully dishonoured. They became nothing more than a pack of thieves and vagrants. Today they are nothing. The only one of their kind of any note is Rob Roy MacGregor.’ He paused and glanced at a sulking Celeste. ‘In translation, Rob Roy simply means Red Robert. Due to the unfortunate colour of his hair. Of course, Rob Roy was not the Robin Hood hero portrayed in the movies. He was an ill-bred thug, whose birthright still remains questionable.’ Calix paused and stared across the table, as if at the past. He blinked and looked at Morven. ‘Ironically, the MacGregor motto is ‘Royal is my race’. Rather inappropriate. In fact, it is we Campbells who can legitimately lay claim to Royal blood.’

  Morven was fascinated. ‘So, what’s the Campbell motto then?’

  This time it was Caractacus who responded. ‘Do not forget.’

  ‘Forget what?’ said Morven. She looked curiously around the table, but not one pair of eyes seemed able to meet her own.

  The Mater interceded. She shrugged. ‘Nothing specific. Mainly, you know, not to forget our history. Our birthright.’

  Morven wasn’t convinced but let it go, for the woman’s words reminded her of her earlier determination to get some answers. She looked at The Mater. ‘Talking of birthrights, where are my parents?’

  The Mater slowly put down her knife and fork, picked up a snowy white napkin and dabbed delicately at her mouth. She managed to look at Morven. ‘My dear, I hardly know how to tell you…there seems to be no easy way, so I’ll just be blunt. Your parents are no longer with us. They are dead.’

  Dead. The word seemed to have no real meaning. Morven did not feel grief, just a sense of frustration. ‘Dead? Both of them? How? When?’

  Calix cleared his throat. ‘Morven, they were both assassinated shortly after your birth.’

  Morven stared at him. ‘Assassinated? By whom? How?’

  Calix looked across the table at his mother, as if seeking approval. She nodded a fraction. He cleared his throat again. ‘Radiation gun. And as to who — we’re not absolutely sure. We have many enemies. The powerful and wealthy always do.’

  Morven’s head was spinning. So much to formulate. Thoughts ricocheted around her head like billiard balls. Finally she managed to pick up a thread. ‘But why was I adopted out then? If you’re so rich and powerful?’

  ‘You weren’t,’ said The Mater, softly. ‘You were taken from us. We did not know where you were. But believe me, Morven, we never ceased searching. We rejoice that you sit at our table today.’

  Her words echoed true to Morven’s ears. But it seemed that the answers were incomplete. She felt exhausted but there was one more thing she had to ask. ‘How did you find me?’

  Caractacus laughed. ‘We got lucky! We’ve got people everywhere. When you were hospitalised word got back to us. We were on our way to you when you broke out.’

  Celeste looked up from her plate for the first time. ‘How did you escape? Exactly?’

  While her cousin’s expression was politely bland, there was something in Celeste’s tone that made Morven wary. She didn’t know why, but she felt a great reluctance to tell them anything about Zest. When she knew them better — perhaps. She shrugged. ‘I guess I’m just great at kicking butt. Maybe I got lucky, too.’ All of a sudden she didn’t want to be there. She felt claustrophobic. Restless. Her head felt like an overripe watermelon about to bust. And then she knew exactly what she needed. She stood up and pushed back her chair. The clock on the mantelpiece told her it was early evening, just on six o’clock.

  ‘Where are you going?’ said The Mater.

  Morven met her eyes steadily. ‘I’m going shopping. I gotta buy a board.’

  Chapter 38

  Not interested in any further conversation, Morven excused herself and headed up to her room. It was only as she picked up her bag that she remembered she had no idea where the nearest shops were. Damn. Maybe she’d just head out anyway.

  A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. Reluctantly she opened it. It was Calix.

  ‘Morven, I’m heading to the Edinburgh office. Wondered if you’d like a lift?’

  Morven decided she did. Minutes later she found herself in a black Lamborghini. Holy crap, Calix must be loaded. As the car cruised down the tight country lanes Morven admired the sleek leather interior, and wished Zest was with her. He’d spin out. The white world flew by, the cold an uncomfortable memory in the insulated interior. Thankfully Calix seemed utterly absorbed with the car, and Morven was spared the stress of polite conversation.

  As the kilometres ticked by Morven began to sift through her newly-found knowledge. If her parents were dead, where were they buried? Where were all their belongings? Was there a family album? Family heirlooms? Anything at all? Perhaps not after all these years. Which bought her back to her own beginning. Kidnapped, apparently. But by who? And why would they take her and then just give her away again? It was seriously strange. And then there was the radiation gun that killed her parents. What was that about? Which reminded her —

  ‘Excuse me Calix, but could I ask you something?’

  Calix nodded. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Well, I was wondering if it’s true, you know, that sunlight kills…vampyres.’ She had been going to say ‘us’ but it didn’t really ring true in her own ears as yet.

  Calix glanced at her. ‘Well, yes and no. Yes, in that too much exposure to UV is potentially lethal. But no, in that you won’t shrivel up and evaporate.’

  Well, that went a long way to explaining how her parents died. Nasty.

  They pulled onto a six-lane freeway and Calix shifted the gearstick up a notch. ‘Mortals,’ he said, ‘believe it, of course. Well, those who believe at all. Of course, it’s reinforced by our nocturnal habits. Once we Become, we’re hard-wired to sleep in the day. And we are well adapted to darkness. As you’ve probably discovered, darkness is no handicap. In fact, quite the opposite.’

  He subsided into silence. Morven mulled it all over. It was a relief to know she wasn’t going to get fried, crisped and dried in the sunshine. Although, she felt really guilty about all her bitchin’ over her mum’s stringent sunscreen campaign. Seems her mum had been right. Which was a bit irritating. But then a wave of homesickness swept over h
er. She felt dislocated. Like she’d inadvertently lost a limb. Once she got herself a board, she’d feel better. More like herself. Wouldn’t do to get home and find Zest out-skating her. That’d be the pits.

  The thought of her planned shopping jaunt brought her back to practicalities. She didn’t have any money. Only the traveller’s cheques. Would there be any banks open, so late? She turned anxiously to her cousin. ‘Calix, I just realised, I need to cash some cheques. Will there be a bank open?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. But don’t worry, if you come to the office first, I’ll change one for you out of petty cash.’

  That was good. And, she was a bit curious as to the nature of her cousin’s business. Well, she was now she’d seen the car. Whatever it was, it must be lucrative. ‘Calix,’ she said, ‘what did my parents do? You know, for a job. Oh, yes — and what were their names?’

  ‘Your mother’s name was Luci and your father was Cassius. Your father was a Macduff and your mother a Campbell. Your mother and my mother were sisters. Both your parents were in banking.’

  Banking. How lame. She’d hoped they’d been something awesome like assassins or arms dealers. Banking. Three-leggedly lame. Still, she could hardly say that, so she said nothing at all. The monotony of the freeway gave way to suburbia. As the car hummed through the suburban streets Morven was distracted by the novel sights and sounds. As the countryside receded, they finally entered the city. There were tall buildings, several stories high, but many looked old. Really old, and built of stone. Dominating all was the castle, softly lit upon the hill. The city was like Brisbane in that all cities have a sameness, but different. It swarmed like a hive. And there was something else, something that simmered on the periphery of Morven’s mind. As they passed along a narrow cobbled street Morven felt a wave of vertigo.

  Visions filled her head. Another time. But the same place. She looked behind her. An army marched toward her, kilts swinging in rhythm to the brisk bagpipes and drums. Rifles gleamed softly in the moonlight. Tall soldiers, pale and grim rode on black horses at the fore. The houses were dark, as if shuttered against the night. High in a garret of a large house, she peered through a small gap in the curtain. And looked up at the castle. Her eyes opened wide and her heart raced faster than a babbling brook. The black figure upon the castle tower was clearly silhouetted against the silver moon. Her hand shifted to the long blade strapped upon her thigh…and she waited.

  ‘Morven! Are you alright?’

  Morven’s eyes opened. The car had stopped, parked beside the curb of a large modern building. She looked at Calix. ‘I’m sorry. I keep getting these…I don’t know…hallucinations?’

  Calix nodded. ‘Don’t be alarmed. You’re not going crazy. They’re not hallucinations, they’re memories. Much of what we know is passed down from generation to generation. Thousands of years of history. Becoming unleashes a flood of knowledge and sometimes it pushes its way to the surface. It can be a bit disconcerting.’ He grinned. ‘Dead useful though. It means you can draw on the experience and knowhow of all of your ancestors. So, if your great, great, great grandmother was an ace with a long bow — you will be too. With a little practice, of course.’

  Relief flooded through Morven. ‘I can play the harp!’

  Calix laughed. ‘Cool. You’ll probably find they’ll ease off soon. Mind you, it can take decades to explore all your own potential. I still get the odd surprise. Found out I could ride a horse a few months ago!’

  Morven thought about the grim soldiers on the black horses. She secretly hoped it was a skill she’d acquired. Excitement fizzed through her as the implications hit her. Who knew what she was capable of? Her mind slipped back to the black bow in the castle. She itched to have a go.

  She was still immersed in her musings as she slid out of the car into the cold air.

  ‘Welcome to the bank, Morven.’

  Morven looked up at the large sign lit up in red on the glass and stone facade. And, suddenly — banking took on a whole new spin. She smiled at her cousin. ‘Why didn’t you say it was a blood bank?’

  As he unlocked the door, he grinned back. ‘What, and spoil the surprise?’

  It was warm inside. A security guard sat behind a wide console and greeted them politely. ‘Evening, Mr Campbell.’

  ‘Evening Jo, this is Miss Smith. You’ll probably be seeing a fair bit of her in the future.’

  Morven wasn’t quite sure about that, but said nothing. A blood bank. How delicious. Maybe she would pay the odd visit. They rode up a plush elevator for several floors.

  Calix took the opportunity to fill her in. ‘Blood banking is only one of our concerns but, as I’m sure you can appreciate, it is of prime importance. It gives us independence. And assures a quality product. Of course there are still a few of us who enjoy the traditional methods. But sadly, one must move with the times. We thrive because we are discreet.’

  The lift stopped, the doors pinged open and Morven followed Calix into a large office. So enthralled was she that she barely acknowledged the acre of wool carpet, the massive oak table and leather-clad chairs. Morven’s eyes followed her cousin as he crossed the room to the window, put his briefcase on a red cedar desk and settled himself into a chair.

  Morven followed and sat in one of three chairs opposite him. ‘Where does the blood come from? Is it human?’

  ‘About 50 percent. Forty percent is porcine. And the rest is synthetic.’

  ‘Where does the human blood come from? I mean — how do you get it?’

  ‘We procure it overseas. Asia, Indonesia, parts of Africa.’

  ‘And is it solely used for our own kind?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. We sell to hospitals and clinics worldwide. At an inflated price, of course. Very profitable business.’

  ‘It’s fascinating.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so. You’re going to need to learn a lot more.’

  Morven frowned. ‘Why?’

  Calix clasped his long fingers together and leant toward her. ‘Because, dear cousin Morven, when you turn 18 you inherit a quarter share in the company.’

  Morven could find no words.

  His eyes fixed on hers, his voice dropped to no more than a whisper. ‘Morven — very soon, you are going to be an extremely wealthy young vampyre.’

  Sound sifted through the double glazing. Morven looked out of the window down into the street below. People hurried, shoulders hunched against the cold, down the pavement. Cars moved slowly, drivers careful of the icy road. Music boomed from over the street, and somewhere a dog barked.

  And again, Morven felt that sickening sense of disconnection. She turned to Calix. Perhaps she caught him by surprise, for there was an expression on his handsome features that was both calculating and cold. A small ripple raced down her spine. And she wondered how she could ever have found any resemblance to her friend.

  She could never, in a thousand light years, be afraid of Zest.

  Chapter 39

  She turned swiftly, afraid she would betray her feelings and pulled her wallet from her bag. After some consideration she pulled out the equivalent of 300 pounds in traveller’s cheques. She briefly met his eyes. ‘Is 300 too much?’

  If Calix was disappointed by her lack of response, he did not betray it by even as little as a flicker of an eyelash. ‘No problem.’ He pulled open a drawer, extracted a bank box and unlocked it. He held out the funny paper notes to her.

  Morven placed the cheques on the desk and reached out for the notes. ‘Thanks,’ she said. Her fingers closed on the money, but Calix did not relinquish his hold.

  ‘Morven, be careful. The ground is treacherous out there.’

  She blinked. ‘Sure,’ she said.

  He let go then and leant back in his chair. ‘I’ll be here until about eleven. Here’s my number.’ He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket. And then leant over into a desk drawer and pulled out a map. Both he presented to her. ‘That should help. Phone me if you run into any problems.’ />
  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you later then.’

  ‘Don’t forget, we’re hunting tonight. That is — if you have the stomach for it.’

  It felt like a challenge. She dropped her purse into her backpack and looked him hard in the eye. ‘That would depend on what we’re hunting for.’

  He laughed softly. ‘Would it matter?’

  Morven didn’t answer. Wary.

  He shrugged. ‘How does deer sound? There’s a herd in the forest still fat enough for a feast.’

  ‘Sounds good. Well…thanks again.’ She shouldered her bag and headed back toward the elevator. She pressed the brass button and turned back to look at him. ‘Tell me, if I inherit a quarter share of the bank, who has the other share?’

  ‘I already own a quarter, as does Celeste. The other share belongs to your second cousin. You’ll probably meet him tomorrow. After your parents died, The Mater took control of your share until you come of age.’

  The doors sighed open and Morven stepped gratefully into the sanctuary of the lift. She could feel Calix watching silently until the doors closed. She sighed with relief. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to be alone.

  Out on the pavement she perused her map and shivered. First stop — clothes. The main street wasn’t far. She stepped out eagerly, keen to warm up. As she exhaled her breath fanned out in a fog in front of her. Pretty insane. But soon she became preoccupied with the new environment, assessing the lay of the land. There was some snow, but most of it had been cleared away. Tall stone buildings had tantalising wide stone steps. Better still, once she made it over the bridge and into Royal mile, the traffic ceased. There was a cornucopia of tempting ledges, flower beds, statues and cobble stones. She couldn’t wait to try out those cobbles. On the move she felt more relaxed. It took a while before she realised that she must be adjusting to Becoming. She no longer felt overwhelmed by the scents and sounds around her. It seemed she’d adjusted to the new norm. Also, she had a faint feeling of familiarity. As if she’d been there before. A long time ago. And of course, it was not impossible. Maybe her parents had pushed her down this very street when she was a baby. It was a good thought.