Shades - The Demise of Blake Beck

by Anders Rauff-Nielsen

  “John. This is not a matter between you and me. If the advice you are looking for is about what you must do, then there is only one advice I can give. You must tell Him or Bahij!”

  “Yes. That I know very well. However, it is not as strikingly clear from my perspective, as there are different ways to go about this. You are right that I could go to Him and reveal the fact that Dæth has caught on to his plans and will inevitably try to foil them.” She looked at him, nodding her head in agreement. “But seeing as I am not entitled to know of Bahij's discovery of the manuscript and how He intends to acquire it, it would be hard for me to justify making inquires with my sources into how much Dæth knows on the matter. That is, without revealing the fact that someone has spoken out of turn.” Looking at Teresa, the Earl could see a glimmer of panic in her eyes, as she knew very well who this someone was. “Now you know that I have no love for Bahij, but still I am a gentleman and I do not wish to bring harm to a friend of yours. And as for you, my feelings would not allow me to put you – unnecessarily, I might add – in the awkward position of having to explain why you disclosed this information to me.”

  “But what do you propose then, John?”

  “I would ask you to go to Bahij and tell him of my discoveries as if they were your own. He trusts you and knows full well that he disclosed the fact that he has discovered Flamel's manuscript to you himself. Then Bahij will enlighten Him, probably without reference to you, and the end is the same. The means, on the other hand, are not, and this way no one is embarrassed or that which is worse.”

  “Thank you, John! I know that I was in no position to disclose to you that which Bahij had secretly entrusted to me and put you in this awkward position. But even though I did, you are still a gentleman and seek to protect me, even though I am the one who stepped out of place.” She gave him the long kiss of a woman who had just been delivered from despair.

  “Do not be so hard on yourself, my dear. Had you not told me, I would not have known. Had I not known, He would not have been warned and that could have been a far less appealing scenario. The means might not be fully desirable, however the end seems to be.”

  VI

  Vincenzo had spent the last couple of nights in London preparing for the evening's auction. His soul had taken full control of the young girl’s body, which had proven to be in better shape than he had dared hope for. Bahij had done a great job picking her out, Vincenzo concluded after he checked up on Carrie's background. She had been in her first semester of studying economics at a London business school while still living with her parents in their Beckton town house. She was an only child and her recently retired parents were away for two months in the Caribbean. It was unlikely that anyone would really miss Carrie for a least a couple of weeks, which would be plenty of time for Vincenzo to build the story of Carrie’s voluntary disappearance from her old life. But first, there was a more important task at hand.

  Vincenzo roared down Battersea Park Road in his newly acquired 1965 Cadillac convertible, enjoying the feel and sheer power of the car. He grabbed one of the mixtapes left in the glove compartment by the previous owner and shoved it into the tape deck. Rock n' roll rhythms immediately shot from the speakers of the heavy metal monster that was piloted by a young brunette through the streets of London. Vincenzo smiled finding that he favored the electric guitar much more than the lute of his own time. One thing he had enjoyed over the last five hundred years was keeping up with the world – something most undead struggled with. Many of them struggled to such an extent that they would completely refrain from traveling into the world of the living as time passed. But not Vincenzo. If change was a liquid, it would be his favorite cocktail. He had witnessed the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, industrialization, two world wars and a cold one, and still he wanted more. He swerved and hit the gas to overtake an old Vauxhall with elderly lady behind the wheel.

  Although Vincenzo had only served Bahij for a few days, it had become clear to him why Bahij Khaleel served as right hand to Him. Bahij had shown just how well connected he was when he had provided Vincenzo with an identity and high clearance ID badge for Christie's Fine Art Storage Services, the location where the Flamel manuscript was housed until the auction. As Vincenzo roared through the streets high on three nights of feeding and the prospect of revenge, he felt as if nothing could stop him. Bahij had meticulously planned the con, and Vincenzo's orders were clear. According to Bahij, Dæth had managed to create a fake of the Flamel manuscript that he planned to sell to Vincenzo at a decoy auction while buying the real manuscript from the real auction for himself. Vincenzo thought switching the auctions rather than the manuscript was a great idea, but there was just one flaw. Someone somewhere knew about the plan and hadn't kept quiet, and it seemed that if Bahij began to dig, there was no limit to what he could uncover. Bahij's plan was simple. While Blake switched the auctions, Vincenzo was going to switch the manuscripts. “And he'll never see me coming,” Vincenzo thought to himself, looking down at his sleek female figure dressed in a stylish black pinstriped suit and white blouse. He slowed the car down as he turned down Ponton Road, which ran past office domiciles and warehouses, until the road made a sharp right turn. He drove slowly around the bend and along the railroad tracks that ran atop a red brick embankment as far as the eye could see. To his right, he saw the words “Christie's: Fine Art Auctioneers since 1766” written in thick foot-high letters adorning the massive building that stretched far down the street. It looked like a yellow brick cross between Fort Knox and a medieval castle to Vincenzo.

  Vincenzo pulled over and stopped the Cadillac, and as he pulled the keys from the ignition, the music stopped. He picked up his briefcase, which contained a number of old books and manuscripts in different bindings. Then he clipped the ID badge he had gotten from Bahij onto his lapel and strode across the street and back around the bend to the entrance. He took a few seconds in the parking lot to straighten his suit and go over his story in his mind. Then he opened the door and went into reception where he found a young woman sitting behind the reception counter.

  “Hello and welcome to Christie's Fine Art Storage Services. How may I help you?” she asked.

  “Hi. My name is Carrie Charlton and I am here to check a reference in one of the manuscripts being put up for auction tonight in King Street.”

  “Oh, OK. Could I see your ID badge, please?”

  “Of course,” Vincenzo said as he unclipped the ID badge and handed it to the woman with a smile. The receptionist wriggled her mouse and tapped the keyboard in front of her.

  “It seems to be cleared all the way up.”

  “It'd better be,” Vincenzo replied jestingly, sending Bahij a stray thought.

  “I can see that you're new to the firm. Is this your first time at the storage?” the receptionist asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Well then, let me show you the way down to the holding facilities. That's where the lots for tonight’s auction are being kept.” She looked over her shoulder to a nearby office where an elderly gentleman sat staring at his computer screen. “Excuse me,” she said before getting up and walking over to the office. “Ralf, I'm just going to pop down to the keep with Carrie out here. Be a darling and mind the desk for me.” Ralf replied with a nod and a grunt. “Come on, Carrie. Let's go.” The receptionist guided Vincenzo down the hallway, deeper into the windowless, high-security part of the complex. “Nice suit. I bet it cost a few bob?” she inquired as they walked down the hall.

  “Sorry?” Vincenzo said.

  “The suit. It looks like a million on you, so I just said that I'd bet that it had cost quite a bit.”

  “Thank you,” Vincenzo replied, seeking to avoid any further conversation by neglecting to return the compliment. This put a damper on the receptionist’s endeavors, and they walked in relative silence down the hallways into the heart of the complex. After a few minutes, the receptionist halted in front of a heavy fireproof door and entered a code on the security touch pad
next to the door.

  “Here you go. The guards in there will clear you through the rest of the way 'cause this is as high as my clearance goes,” the receptionist said with a smile.

  “Thank you, miss,” Vincenzo replied, repaying the courtesy. “I'll be back later on to oversee the loading of some of the items that will be going to the auction – in an hour or so, I guess. Do you have an exact time for the scheduled loading?”

  “Oh, I'll just check that for you and then give you a shout when you're on your way out.”

  “Thanks.” Vincenzo stepped through the doorway into the security gateway and shot a smile to the two uniformed guards who were courteous or well-trained enough to get off their seats when a lady entered the room.

  “Miss,” the older of the two men greeted Vincenzo.

  “Hi. I'm Carrie Charlton from King Street and I'm just here to go over a few of the lots for tonight’s auction. I'll be back again later on to oversee the loading.”

  “Sure thing, miss. Just let me have your badge and I'll give it a quick scan 'n see if we can let you in. Just have to make sure you're not a robber,” the younger guard said with a slight chuckle. Vincenzo handed him his ID badge, which was scanned before keypads were punched, screens were scrutinized and facial resemblance was checked. Then he handed the badge back to Vincenzo. “Looks fine. The lots for tonight’s auction are kept in vault 3b. It's just down the hall, and then the second hallway to the right.” He pointed to the only other way out of the security entrance, where a heavy steel door slid open revealing a maze of windowless hallways.

  “Thank you, sir,” Vincenzo said and left the two men with a warm smile as he walked into the inner sanctum of Christie's Fine Art Storage Services. He walked down the hall to vault 3b and punched in the code Bahij had given him. The door slid open, withdrawing into the adjacent wall. Inside the vault, he looked around for any security cameras and found one overlooking the room from high in the corner. He walked over to the stand that held the Flamel manuscript and took a good long look at it. Then he opened his briefcase and found the manuscript that was closest to the Flamel manuscript in size and looks – at least at a glance. With his back to the camera momentarily obscuring its view, he switched the Flamel manuscript for a near worthless binding of late 18th century music sheets and placed the Flamel manuscript in his briefcase. This would do to make sure that no one noticed any change on the security camera. By the time anyone would pick up the manuscript by hand, Vincenzo should have returned and replaced it once again with the immaculate fake produced by the CAC. Playing his part, Vincenzo looked over the manuscript as he had said he had come to do, and then he exited the vault, closing the door behind him. On his way out, he shot the guards a smile before he headed down to reception. As he walked past the young receptionist, Vincenzo caught her eye.

  “It's going to be at 8:45 p.m., Miss Charlton,” the receptionist called out as Vincenzo walked by.

  “Perfect. That will give me just enough time to pick up a few things on my way home. You're a dear.” As Vincenzo walked across the parking lot and around the bend to his car, he shuddered – as if to shake off the role of Carrie Charlton for a while. He cared very little for the niceties and small talk of the living and found it unnatural for the wolf to chat with the sheep. However, his talent for playing the part, which he had developed over hundreds of years, served him well and he knew this. Not only did it serve a higher cause, but it also provided him a way back to feeding fresh – and a way to get Blake Beck.

  VII

  Blake had returned to his new home in the Entrance while the creation of the forged Flamel manuscript was underway. He tried to get settled in, but found that he still struggled to wrap his head around the concept of being dead, yet still being asked to walk through life as Dæth's vicar. On the eve of the auction, Virgil arrived to guide Blake through his first reanimation. Blake had half expected a grand ritual with humming, chanting, verses and candlelight like on the night of his initiation. However, this time the ritual was more like an instruction and cordial send-off. The initiation ritual had, in fact, imbued Blake with the powers of Dæth that allowed him to travel into life by sheer force of will. As Blake lay down on his bed, Virgil explained to him how to dissipate his soul and focus on the receiving vessel – his own body – in the world of the living. Then he closed his eyes and did as Virgil had instructed, feeling his soul dissolve and float out of Shades.

  As his soul settled into his body, Blake heard the sound of muffled voices and he slowly opened his eyes. His body lay on its side with the knees pulled halfway to the chest. It remained in the position in which he had left it for the rigor mortis to set in – perched on the toilet in his New York City apartment. Blake stretched out his legs, feeling stiff and a little sore. He was wearing a white hospital gown and he found himself lying inside a man-sized metal tube on a thin mattress – which reminded him of the stasis capsules he had seen in sci-fi movies. A thin sheet of condensation covered the window that made up most of the capsule door, obscuring Blake's view of the world outside.

  “He's up!” said a man’s muffled voice. Seconds later, the capsule began to move, raising itself into a semi-upright position that forced Blake to stand on his feet. He felt his legs twitch, and as the capsule door opened, the blurred white shape outside was replaced by the figure of an elderly gentleman wearing a white lab coat, blue rubber gloves and a pair of thick spectacles. “Welcome back, Mr. Beck,” the man said in a distinct British accent, nearly causing Blake to expect an offer of tea and biscuits. Blake shook his head, trying to remove the dizziness of reanimation. “So this is your first time up. Well, welcome to CAC London's mobile lab. Or as we call it, the Hunt-mobile.” In case Blake had missed it, the man smiled to indicate that he had said something amusing, but Blake didn't bother to raise his cheeks. The man took Blake's hand, partly as a gesture of welcome and partly to help him out of the capsule.

  “My name is George Thompson and I will be overseeing both your reanimation and inanimation tonight.”

  “Nice to meet you, George.” Blake paused for a moment, straightening his gown. “Is it alright if I call you George?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “Well then, let's get down to business,” Blake said just before tripping over his own feet like a small child who has recently learned to walk. He would have fallen over if Mr. Thompson had not been there to support him.

  “Sir, might I suggest, since this is your first time in reanimation, that we just sit you down for a moment until you've settled in fully.”

  “That might be a good idea, George,” Blake said as he regained his balance and looked around. What seemed to be a small, tightly packed room now revealed itself to Blake as the inside of a truck trailer, which appeared to be staffed only by Mr. Thompson and a young blond woman in a lab coat. Mr. Thompson helped Blake to a seat at a table in the corner before sitting down himself.

  “Everything should be in order, sir. Our agents are setting up the surveillance as we speak, and the decoy auction has been staged. Every eventuality has been covered and every detail, from fake posters and fliers to CAC agents posing as prospective buyers, has been taken care of,” Mr. Thompson said with a self-satisfied smile before emptying a lukewarm cup of tea that had been given a helping of milk and sugar some time before Blake reanimated. “Judith! Be a dear and bring me another cup,” Mr. Thompson called out. Judith, the young CAC lab tech, turned her head. After sending Blake a warm smile, a frigid look crept over her face.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It is so nice to have these young people around. In this high tech day and age, it is almost impossible to run even a small CAC lab without assistants,” Mr. Thompson said, clearly unaware of the fact that he had, with a great lack of respect, just reduced a presumably brilliant young PhD to a mere gofer. Blake let it slide, but sent Judith an empathetic smile. “So all you need is to get dressed and have a quick look around, sir. Then I'm sure that you will find everything to be in order an
d on track.”

  “Thanks, George,” Blake replied. “One thing is missing though.”

  “I'm sorry, sir?” Mr. Thompson said in a slightly indignant tone of voice.

  “Where are my clothes?” Blake said with a smile.

  “Oh. . . I'm sure Judith will fetch them for you, sir.” Mr. Thompson looked to Judith and she nodded. “I hope you will excuse me while you get dressed. I just have to make sure that they are on schedule with the surveillance setup.”

  “Sure,” Blake said and got up, following Mr. Thompson's lead.

  “Right this way, sir,” Judith said to Blake and showed him to a small stall that provided him with a little privacy for him to put on his clothes. “Your clothes are set out for you. I thought a dark suit and black leather shoes would look good on you and fit the occasion.”

  “Thanks, Judith,” Blake said before he stepped into the stall to change. Judith returned to check the feed from the heat scans that were set up in the auction house foyer, which had just come online.

  “Please let me know if there is anything else you need, sir,” Judith called out.

  “There is one thing. The manuscript – do you have it here?” Blake asked as he buttoned his shirt.

  “Yes, it's right over here on Mr. Thompson's desk.”

  “Perfect. I'll just do a quick check of the auction house and then I'll be back to pick it up. I want to make sure that it gets to the right auction room myself.”

  “OK. I'll let Mr. Thompson know that then,” she said as Blake walked out of the dressing room wearing a sharp, stylish black suit.

  “How do I look?”

  “Very nice, sir.”

  “Thanks. I'll just head over to the auction house. What's the easiest way to get there? I mean, where are we parked?”