by Tara Moss
‘Hi, Samantha. I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks. I was starting to get worried,’ I said.
She shrugged in response.
‘You’re not with the others?’
She bit her lip and stared at her toes. She wiggled them and then looped a bit of greasy blonde hair around a finger. ‘Athanasia doesn’t like me hanging out with her,’ she finally said.
‘Why would you even want to?’ I asked her.
‘She is, you know . . . my mum.’
I sighed and shook my head. ‘She’s not your mum, Samantha.’ We’d been through this before. I had that photo of her with her real mother in the drawer of my desk at work; a picture I couldn’t bring myself to toss away. It pained me that her mother could never know what had happened to her. I didn’t know if giving Samantha the picture would help matters. If she wandered off into greater New York to find her human mum, things could go very badly for all involved. No, it would not be wise to present this sad, Fledgling vampire with a photograph of her former life. It was better that she never saw her family again. When you became a bloodsucker all ties to your old, mortal, human life had to be severed. I had a lot to learn, but I did know that much.
‘Is Athanasia here?’ I asked, looking around suspiciously.
Samantha shook her head. ‘They said something about her needing to go to ground.’
‘The cemetery,’ Luke explained to me in a low voice. ‘To heal in the dark earth.’
Yuck.
‘And what about the others?’ I asked Samantha.
She shrugged weakly. ‘Probably out feeding.’
Double yuck.
‘What about you, Samantha? What have you been eating?’
‘Rats.’
I suppressed a gag. ‘Good,’ I managed.
Samantha looked around the lobby, and shifted her weight. She seemed not to focus on anything. ‘They say it makes you weak, but . . .’
‘No, it’s good,’ I assured her. ‘There’s nothing wrong with rats.’
In truth, I didn’t know if there was anything wrong with Sanguine eating rats, but it was a whole lot better than the alternative. I didn’t want her hunting prey in Central Park, or roaming the subways of New York picking off passengers. Samantha did look pretty awful though. She was hollow faced and wan. I’d never seen her look particularly well, mind you, on account of the fact that she’d been confused, abandoned and freshly undead when I’d first crossed her path. She hadn’t known if she was alive, or dead, and her cheekbones had been jutting out like knives. No one had taught her the basics. No one had told her she needed blood. Samantha had been nibbling the wooden railings of the third floor like a teething puppy before Celia came down with me, on my insistence, and helped feed her a couple of rats. I guess that had started her on the whole rodent diet.
(If Athanasia had been her mum, Child Protective Services would sure need a word with her.)
Lieutenant Luke watched Samantha cautiously. He knew we were friendly, or as friendly as you could be with someone who’d once tried to blindly rip your throat out, but her proximity to me clearly made him uneasy.
‘I heard you talking to someone,’ she said.
She could not see Luke. Spirits appear to very few of the living, and to even fewer of the undead. ‘Yes. I have a friend here, Samantha,’ I explained. ‘I think I’ve told you about him before?’
‘The dead soldier?’
I cringed.
‘Samantha, I was wondering if you could help me with something. Have you seen any secret passages in the mansion? Hidden corridors, that kind of thing?’
She shrugged.
‘Any skeletons . . . or coffins?’
Luke gave me a strange look.
Samantha nodded eagerly in reply. ‘Oh yes. Quite a few.’
I gasped. ‘Really? Where?’
‘I can show you.’ She seemed to perk up a little with the thought of being helpful.
We followed Samantha to the lift, and she pressed the round button for the second floor. When I explained that the architect of the building had conducted some odd experiments that may have involved human remains she seemed unfazed by the idea. That’s what death did to you, I supposed.
‘Maybe I should get something to, you know, take as a precaution,’ I said, a bit leery of wandering around level two, which was where Athanasia and her gang hung out. I’d always stayed away from that particular floor. ‘It might not be safe for me.’
‘Why?’ Samantha asked. ‘They’re not here.’
The lift began to ascend as Luke watched our exchange with his impressive jaw flexing tightly. In an instant he stepped sideways, straight out of the lift and was gone. My eyes grew wide and I opened my mouth to speak, but said nothing. Samantha did not notice his departure, nor did she seem to register my reaction. When we arrived on the second floor and the door slid open, Luke was already waiting for us. ‘I believe there are no Sanguine on this floor right now,’ he helpfully explained. ‘Except the one standing next to you.’ He tilted his chin down and gave Samantha a hard look. The young undead woman barely came up to his chest. He’d intervened once when I’d first met her. He hadn’t trusted her since. Or rather, he appeared never to trust Sanguine. Which, come to think of it, was fair enough.
I nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
The second floor landing was much as I imagined. I’d seen it plenty of times as the lift had passed. Cobwebs. Damaged wall sconces. Dust. There was a set of large double doors, not unlike those on Celia’s floor, except that these were scratched and unpainted. Samantha led us towards the doors, and when she hauled them open there was a screech of rusted hinges. I looked to Luke, saw his sober and concerned expression, and decided to follow Samantha anyway. We entered a large, dimly lit lounge room. The tall windows were boarded up from the inside with uneven sections of wood, effectively preventing sunlight from penetrating the space. A few gilded, Victorian-style couches were pushed up against the walls, along with an antique brass bed, loosely made up with dark, silky covers. I saw a few tall bottles on the ground – perhaps wine bottles – some were empty and had been kicked over. A full chandelier was sprawled out in the middle of the floor like a dusty crystal sculpture. The only source of light was a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. I noticed sections of the old, ornate, stained wallpaper had peeled back in ribbons over the years, as if a clawed animal had shredded it, leaving strips of the walls bare.
‘So, is this where you sleep?’ I asked.
‘No. Athanasia doesn’t like me hanging out with her. But she lets me come down here to work, which is cool.’
To work?
‘This way,’ Samantha said.
She led us down an unfurnished hallway and stopped at a doorway. I realised that we were exactly two floors below the entrance to my room in Celia’s penthouse. An uneasy chill formed in my stomach, and I had the feeling we might find something extraordinary beyond the door. I braced myself.
Oh boy.
Samantha turned the door handle.
Beyond the door was . . . a walk-in closet?
Racks of colourful designer clothes lined the walls from the floor to the ceiling. Shoes, boots and wooden trunks were lined up across the floor. Brightly coloured dresses and tops hung on coathangers. Jeans and leather pants were folded into stacks. Costume jewellery hung from hooks. Hats. Purses. Stilettos. Gloves.
What the . . .?
‘What is this, Samantha?’
‘Athanasia’s room,’ she replied, and I nearly choked. I studied her gloomy expression. She was not joking. Sanguine Samantha didn’t know how to joke, I suspected. ‘She sleeps in that one,’ she said and pointed near my feet.
I noticed the edge of a shiny wooden casket, and I took a little leap sideways.
‘And the others sleep in those three.’
What I had thought were trunks along the base of the walls were in fact coffins, partially camouflaged by the cascading wardrobe hanging above. I brought my hand to my mouth. I
was speechless and, for a moment, I didn’t move even to breathe. Despite all I’d seen since moving to Spektor I didn’t anticipate that Sanguine slept in actual coffins. I’d thought it was just a Hammer Horror fantasy, as far from reality as Peter Cushing’s crucifix-wielding Van Helsing and Christopher Lee’s prosthetic fangs. How stupid that I hadn’t even considered the possibility. These were not the remnants of Barrett’s experiments, this was the place where my nemesis slept. (And dressed herself, apparently.) And Samantha had led me straight to it.
‘Oh.’ I bit my lip. I shouldn’t be here.
‘She lets me come in here to shine her casket. And hang her clothes.’
There were more wardrobe changes in that room than you’d expect to see backstage at a theatre, and yet, Samantha, the girl who used to work at Pandora fashion magazine, was dressed in my increasingly shabby polyblend suit because she’d been stripped of her clothes when she was turned. All so that Athanasia and her harpies could add to their wardrobe.
Athanasia really is a total cow, I thought.
Luke moved close. ‘Sanguine often prefer to sleep fully covered by a lid so they are not more exposed,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Many choose to sleep in coffins, for tradition. The caskets are considered a sign of status.’
‘I see,’ I said aloud.
‘I don’t have a casket though,’ Samantha explained, as if I’d been responding to her. ‘I sleep on the floor upstairs.’
I felt deeply sorry for Samantha, on so many levels and in so many ways that I just didn’t know where to begin. ‘Would you like me to find you a coffin, Samantha?’ I found myself saying. ‘Would that be more comfortable?’
Where would I get a coffin from?
She shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess,’ she said, sounding pretty much like she didn’t care either way.
It seemed there was nothing quite like the ennui of a depressed young vampire.
I backed out of the bedroom until I was just beyond the door. ‘Where did you see the skeletons?’ I dared to ask.
‘What skeletons?’
I blinked. ‘Thanks for showing me the, uh, coffins.’ I looked at the clothes and then looked at Samantha. ‘Why don’t you just grab one of those outfits, Samantha? The Prada, maybe,’ I said, stepping forward and ripping a coat off the rack. ‘Or some of those pants?’ I pointed at a stack. ‘And some shoes. They don’t need all this stuff.’
‘I couldn’t do that!’ she exclaimed, completely shocked at the suggestion. ‘She’d kill me.’
‘She already did, Samantha. You’ve got to stop being Athanasia’s slave.’
Lieutenant Luke had been silent all this time, waiting close at my back. I felt him become suddenly alert, and I turned just in time to see him disappear through the wall of clothes, as only he was able to do. He was gone for at least a minute, and I nervously awaited his return. What was it now?
‘Samantha, you can’t let them treat you this way. It’s not right.’
I felt a coolness in the air as Luke’s spirit returned. ‘You have to go right now,’ he said, re-materialising at my side. He took my hand firmly in his. ‘Right now.’
‘Athanasia’s back?’ I whispered to him. ‘I thought she had to go to ground?’
‘No. It’s the others. And they’re not alone.’
My throat tightened. I backed out of the room.
Samantha seemed confused. ‘Do you want to look in her casket? It’s real nice. It’s lined and everything.’
‘Oh, no. Thanks, Samantha,’ I said. ‘Um, the girls are coming back. I should really go.’
‘Are they?’ she said lazily, and carefully hung the Prada coat back in its spot and dusted it off. ‘I guess I’d better go upstairs then. They don’t really like me hanging around.’
And I’m quite sure they won’t like me hanging around.
I turned and jogged back through the hallway and lounge room. We quickly reached the double doors, and when I opened them and looked across the landing I didn’t need Luke’s abilities to know that we were too late. The lift wasn’t waiting for us. It was already on its way down to the lobby. Or even back up.
Great.
I ran back inside and shut the double doors with a squeak. ‘Is there any other way out?’ I asked breathlessly. ‘Or a place I can hide? Where does that door lead?’ I pointed at a nearby door, a few steps down a short hallway. Would it lead to an antechamber? An escape?
Samantha shrugged. ‘Yeah, you could go in there,’ she said.
By now I could hear footsteps approaching. They were close. How could they be so close? I opened the door and leapt blindly into the room. Hopefully it led to one of Barrett’s secret passageways. ‘There’s no light. What is this place?’ I whispered.
Samantha shrugged and closed the door, and everything went dark.
I held my breath and listened. Beyond the dark, musty room where I hid I heard creaking double doors open. There were several sets of heeled footsteps, and a harsh, mirthless laughter that set me on edge.
‘Finished scrubbing the coffins?’ someone said in a mocking tone, presumably to Samantha.
The fanged supermodels.
I thought I recognised Blonde’s voice. I didn’t hear Samantha’s response. Perhaps she simply shrugged, as was her way. She’d really embraced the whole passive undead thing. How could she let them treat her like that? Hopefully they would soon pile back into their measly Miu Miu camouflaged coffins and get some rest. I wasn’t sure of the time, but if that awful trio were back, hopefully it was because they were packing it in for the night. Right?
Please?
The room I was in smelled stale and vaguely unpleasant. I couldn’t see much. Lieutenant Luke had joined me inside; I could see his blue eyes glowing faintly in the darkness a few feet away, watching me with concern. Thankfully he wasn’t the type to say ‘I told you so’, but I did feel a little foolish. I was sure Luke had seen this problem coming a mile away. I said nothing. Neither did he.
To the right of the door were the only other points of light, coming, it seemed, from small holes where rodents or water damage had eaten through the wall. I moved cautiously towards the light and kicked my foot into a box with a bang. I waited to see if anyone outside had heard, but their voices continued. I decided not to move further until my eyes adjusted properly. I was patient, and after a short wait I could begin to make out jumbled shapes, and more specific objects near the wall where the pinpricks of light filtered through. The place was packed with junk and there was hardly any floor space, from what I could tell. ‘It’s a closet, isn’t it?’ I lamented in a low voice. ‘She’s not led me to a hidden passageway. I’m in some kind of storage room.’
‘Yes. I’ve not been in here before,’ Luke said. After a moment he added, ‘This is where they keep the things they have found.’
‘Where Athanasia keeps things?’
‘Someone before her.’
He could no doubt see objects in the room much more clearly than I could. There were some benefits to being dead, I supposed.
‘Well, where would they have found this?’ I asked, holding up what appeared to be a bent trumpet. I felt frustrated. Surely there would have been a passageway I could have taken, had Samantha led the way in time. Now I was stuck in a glorified storage closet. ‘Oh, I can see them,’ I whispered. I pushed my face up to the wall until my right eyeball was positioned over a small hole, following the faint light from the bare bulb in the lounge room beyond. I had a good view of the lounge. ‘I guess I’ll wait till they are out of view, and then make for the lift,’ I reasoned aloud in a low voice. ‘What a disaster.’
‘There’s something in here,’ I heard Luke say in a voice that was strange and disconnected. I turned and looked at him, but I couldn’t make out his expression.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked the faintly glowing eyes.
‘Something . . .’ he said ominously.
The voices in the lounge room drew my attention back to the peephole. Blonde, Brunette and Redhead were
pestering Samantha, and now I saw that – just as Luke had said – they were not alone. They had a young, dark-haired man with them, possibly a fourth Sanguine. A Fledgling like the rest of them? So now I had to avoid four sets of fangs? Fantastic. The three women were dressed seductively and fashionably, as usual. Brunette wore a figure-hugging dress split to the thigh. Blonde wore fish-nets and a miniskirt that looked like it was made out of shiny plastic. Redhead wore tight leather pants and a corset. There was a lot of cleavage on display.
‘Bring us a bottle,’ Redhead demanded, and Samantha shuffled away to some unseen corner, and returned with what looked like liquor. Meanwhile, Blonde flicked a lighter over and over, as if in a trance.
‘Give me that,’ Brunette snapped, and grabbed the lighter. ‘You are dismissed,’ she told poor Samantha, who walked out of view, precisely in the direction I wished I had already headed. I figured she’d just wander out into the Spektor night, looking for her next rodent meal, or take the lift back to her empty lair upstairs on the third floor, to sit on the floor and stare into space.
Poor thing.
Brunette – who I began to suspect had designs on being the new group leader – had lit a six-pronged candelabra, and she slunk towards the man with it, swinging her hips.
Great. They were entertaining.
I could be stuck in this closet for hours.
Their guest was attractive, I noticed. He looked to be in his early twenties or late teens. He wore jeans and a heavy leather jacket and a scarf. The women were more scantily dressed, of course, as if they were experiencing a totally different season. And it was with that detail that it finally clicked. He wasn’t like them. He wasn’t a guest – he was a victim. I watched with a sinking feeling as the scene changed. I watched the predatory way the three model Sanguine began to move – like cats stalking their prey. The air itself seemed to shift. Their postures hunched forward slightly, and like creeping shadows they moved towards the man. He was clearly intoxicated but, even in that state, he seemed to sense the change around him. He stepped backwards and brought his hands up to his face. One foot hit the edge of the bed. Brunette pushed him with one slender, feminine arm. He fell back. Redhead pulled his coat down and Blonde began to undo his shirt. In seconds they had the man bare-chested. His skin was pale, but nowhere near as pale as Brunette’s toned, bloodless thigh as she leaned over him seductively.