The Dark Heroine: Dinner with a Vampire

FOUR

Kaspar

‘Violet! Wake the hell up!’ Fabian said, bending over her limp body and slapping her cheek. He raised his hand to hit her again when her eyes flew open, water spewing from her mouth. I caught sight of the fleshy roof of her mouth and her teeth, fangless. Fabian sprung back, yanking his hand away. But I stepped forward, finishing the job for him. My hand came into contact with her skin with a satisfying crack and her cheek became a bloody red.

Fabian turned to me, his eyes becoming black. Kaspar, he growled in my mind.

I shrugged, pushing my dripping fringe from my forehead. ‘Just making sure,’ I replied, aloud. Her dress had become sheer and my eyes roamed over her body, wondering what I had done to have such a good specimen cross my path. Fabian pulled his jacket off and slung it around her shoulders as she sat up, his consciousness lingering around the edge of mine.

But she didn’t miss my gaze either. ‘Oh, Kaspar, my hero,’ she said between gasps of air, her voice thick with sarcasm.

‘And yes, you are the damsel in distress,’ I answered, equally sarcastic, pulling my soaking T-shirt up and over my head.

‘That’s all the thanks you’re getting, so I suggest you take it,’ she muttered, clearly thinking I wouldn’t notice her stealing a glance at my chest. I ignored her, shouting to Cain and the others to start heading back. Two of us should be able to handle a half-drowned human girl, even if she was a little feisty.

Fabian offered her a hand and she got to her feet, only to drop again, her eyes – such an unusual colour for a human – becoming unfocused. Fabian caught her and I stepped forward, sighing, resigned to the fact I would have to carry her. Her eyes slid back into focus and back out again as she squirmed and buried herself deeper in Fabian’s arms.

‘You take her,’ I said to him, figuring she would be less likely to kick up a fuss. He whispered a few words in her ear and picked her up. Sure enough, she was good as gold. I raised an eyebrow at him and he winked, his hand wrapping around the back of her bare knee. I turned away, stepping into the shadow of the trees.

Behind, I heard her question him about the squid. His reply was vague as he glossed over the details of where it had come from and who had given it to us.

Around us, the mist was lifting and the main grounds came back into view. I extended my mind, curious, and touched upon hers. Right away I was hit with a barrage of emotions, the first being fear and the second anger. Images of the water and her phobia of swimming blurred with those of Trafalgar Square, which floated again and again to the forefront of her mind like a stuck record player. Snapshots of her friends and family passed through too and one of an ageing man in his fifties caught my attention. I focused on it and then recoiled from her mind like I had been slapped.

I stopped and whipped around. ‘Girly, what is your surname?’

‘Lee,’ she said. ‘I already told—’

‘Who is your father?’ I demanded.

‘He’s a very powerful man,’ she retorted.

‘Quit with the damsel stuff, it really doesn’t suit you,’ I growled. ‘And besides, I would bet my inheritance that my daddy could beat the crap out of your daddy. But what is his name? What does he do?’

She raised her chin, triumphant. ‘Michael Lee and he is the Secretary of State for Defence.’

I exchanged a glance with Fabian who looked as though he might drop her.

‘Shit,’ I said.

‘You’ve done it this time, Kaspar,’ Fabian groaned in my direction, his eyes changing to become colourless, matching my own and betraying his worry. The girl stared openly; as soon as I met her gaze she looked away and I was glad that despite her sharp tongue, I retained power over her. ‘The King won’t like this,’ he added.

No, of course he won’t. Neither will the council. I said nothing and surged back towards the mansion, Fabian following at a slight distance as he fussed over her, adjusting her body in his arms so he wouldn’t hurt her.

The run allowed time for panic to set in. I was already on thin ground with the council, where a no-confidence vote against my position as heir was only ever a misdemeanour away. Bringing the daughter of a man so high up in government into our world, therefore breaching multiple treaties, was definitely in the sin category.

Why didn’t I just kill her?

When Fabian caught up I immediately grabbed her wrist and dragged her up the steps. She winced and trod lightly, and I briefly took in her battered feet. With a resigned sigh, I tugged harder.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, digging her heels in despite the obvious discomfort.

‘Getting out of this mess,’ I responded, relieved to see my sister, Lyla, waiting at the bottom of the staircase inside.

‘Do you think you could get out of this without slicing my wrist up?’

My stride was shorter than usual as I faltered slightly, struck by a sudden admiration at the ease with which she accepted our existence, mixed with irritation at her boldness. This girl just does not give up.

Lyla – more irritating than any sopping wet human girl could ever be – worked her features into a scowl, which was particularly effective on her usually doll-like face. She took Violet’s wrist without a word to her, instead focusing on me.

‘You really screwed up this time, little brother,’ she growled. Violet stared up at the other woman – who was almost a head taller and considerably slimmer – with utter awe. Lyla ignored it. She knew the effect she had on both sexes. Have fun with your fucking human war, she finished in my mind, sweeping upstairs with Michael Lee’s daughter in tow.

I wasn’t concerned about any war. I was highly unlikely to survive to see it, with the King’s wrath progressing across the entrance hall.

Fabian dropped to his knees in a very low bow, screwing his eyes shut and crossing his fingers at his sides. ‘Your Majesty.’

I straightened and clasped my hands behind my back, looking at anything but the hollow grey eyes piercing me. Pleading ignorance of her namesake wasn’t going to work, and so I accepted the brewing storm with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ‘Good morning, father. I brought breakfast.’

FIVE

Violet

‘Here,’ said the girl who introduced herself as Lyla. She smiled as we stopped by an open door about halfway down the corridor. She stepped through. I hesitated but, after a moment, followed her.

The room was huge. The wooden floor gleamed, although a large black rug covered most of it; on that rug a mahogany four-poster bed stood, deep indigo drapes falling to the floor. Black and purple voiles hung around French doors, boxed in by iron railings on the outside. Beside them were several arched windows with ledges just large enough to sit on.

I soaked it all in as Lyla began bustling about, pointing out different things, although I was only half-listening. ‘That’s the wardrobe – walk-in – over there. We’ll get you some stuff, but until then, you can have some of my clothes. I mean, you can’t be that much bigger than me. The bathroom is just across the hall.’ She frowned. ‘We thought you probably shouldn’t have an en-suite, but there’s a washbasin if you need it in the wardrobe,’ she added, brightening. She smiled again, but it faded as she turned back to me. ‘Don’t say much, do you?’

I stared at her. If she thinks I’m going to start having a friendly chat, she has another thing coming. Especially as I was beginning to feel quite sick: I wasn’t sure I had coughed up all of the water I had swallowed in the lake.

She shifted. ‘Well, you should get out of that dress, so I’ll leave you.’ She began to back away and then stopped. ‘I’ll get the servants to bring some food up to you too. You’re a veggie, right?’ she asked. My eyes widened even more. How can she know that?

I didn’t reply and after a while of just standing there, she headed towards the door. But just before she left, I spoke.

‘You don’t seem like a murderer,’ I blurted.

She laughed, like an adult who laughs at a child asking a stupid question. ‘That’s because I’m not.’ With that, she closed the door and left.

As soon as she had gone I dashed towards the wardrobe, diving in and finding the basin in a small room within the wardrobe, which was as large as my bedroom at home. I leaned over it, gagging a few times and wishing I could just throw up so the horrible lurching in my stomach would go away. Eventually, I did.

Splashing my face with water, I sipped a few drops from my cupped hand, holding them beneath the cold tap. My eyes never left the mirror but all I could see was Claude Pierre falling to the paving, dead, over and over again.

You shouldn’t dwell on that, the voice in my head said. Focus on your own survival.

It had a point and I wrenched my gaze away from the mirror, walking back into the wardrobe. A full change of clothing had been laid out for me and I flung it on, glad to take off the soaking and torn dress. The jeans were a little tight around the hips, digging into my skin and it took some effort to pull the T-shirt down over my breasts. But they were dry, so they would do.

When I went back out, a tray had been left on the bedside cabinet. On it was a plate of sandwiches cut into minute triangles, a rectangle of paper and a glass of water, which I drained in one swig. Picking up the paper, I left the sandwiches untouched. I unfolded it, revealing a note written in a sprawling and almost illegible script.

Violet,

You are free to roam the house whenever you please, but do not go into the grounds. If you come across my father, curtsey and address him as ‘Your Majesty’. I will do what I can if you need anything – just ask the servants to call me.

H.R.H Lyla

P.S. Murderers kill for pleasure. Vampires kill to survive.

I read it through twice more before crushing it into a ball and throwing it into the corner of the room. ‘Screw you,’ I muttered, walking over to the French doors. I tried the handle, fiddling about for a minute. It was locked. I guess they’re not taking any chances. Not that I would come out too healthy dropping from the first floor anyway.

I leaned my head against the cool window, smashing my palms against the glass, frustrated, feeling the huge barricades I had thrown up around myself beginning to crumble. I knew I could not be strong much longer and my eyes stung as tears started to prick them.

The hope I had maintained dissolved, replaced with an increasing sense of frustration as I realized I had no control of the situation.

I walked back and pulled the huge silken blanket from the bed, wrapping it around my shoulders as I curled up on the ledge of one of the windows, listening to the gentle tapping on the window as rain started to fall. It lulled me in my exhausted state. After a while, the drizzle became great sheets that battered the grounds, which in the sunlight had looked lavish, but just looked bleak and hostile now; or maybe that was because I now knew what stalked those grounds.

How cliché, I thought as the first claps of thunder sounded, shaking the window. A storm. I closed my eyes, holding the tears in as somewhere deep within the mansion a clock struck nine times.

I will not cry over a bunch of messed-up murderers. Never.

SIX

Violet

The rain still pummelled the glass when I woke up. It was dark outside and the blanket that I had pulled from the bed had slipped off my shoulders, piling in a heap on the floor. A few drops of water slid down my cheek as I prised it away from the window-pane, which I had steamed up with my breath. I slipped off the ledge and reached down to pick the blanket up. As my fingers closed around the silken sheet, there was a sharp jab in the underside of my wrist, like someone had thrust a needle into my arm. I dropped the blanket, hissing, and squeezed my wrist between my thumb and forefinger until the pain began to ease. My fingers twitched, leaving behind a dull ache, as though I had just had an injection. Clutching one arm to my chest, I inched over to the bed, patting the bedside table until I found the switch on the lamp. Flicking it on, I placed my wrist under the light.

Large welts coated my arms where Kaspar’s nails had dug in and a network of cuts and grazes extended all the way down both. My hand wandered to my neck. Vampires. It was surreal to think I was sat in a house full of them; it was all completely crazy.

Yet you can’t deny it, the voice said and I shook my head, trying to mask it with other thoughts.

A few drops of rain plummeted from the top of the window outside. I blinked. Drip, drip, drip. Behind my closed eyelids, I could see a stained body lying on the pavement.

No, I can’t deny it. I don’t want to deny it. If I do, that would mean a human had done that to another human. Vampires are monsters. Monsters do horrible things. Humans don’t.

The clock beside me read 5 o’clock in the morning. I rubbed my eyes, realizing this was the earliest I had been up in years and that it must be the next day, August 1st. One day. One day would be long enough for the police to find witnesses, set up a search party and start to find me. There was so much evidence. The friends I was with. My heels. The man who worked for my father had even seen me. Yet he had done nothing.

An uneasy feeling crept through my chest. What if he had known about vampires? Had he kept away because he knew he would put his own life at risk? It wasn’t too far a stretch to assume that people within the government would know about vampires – someone must know about them. If he knew and he didn’t do anything, does that mean they won’t come after me? I didn’t want to think about it. My father would come find me. My father wouldn’t abandon me, not even to vampires.

Or would he? said the voice in my head.

I glimpsed Lyla’s note, on the carpet. Picking it up, I read it through once more. She had mentioned being free to roam the house and I was desperate for a wash to get rid of the grime on my feet.

I dropped the note and darted towards the door, stuffing one of the sandwiches – dry and stale now – into my mouth. Pressing my ear flat to the door, I listened. It seemed to be silent outside, but the door was wooden and probably thick so that didn’t mean much. I took a deep breath and opened it, to find the corridor empty. A little way down on the opposite wall there was a door, which must lead to the bathroom that Lyla had mentioned. Opposite that, on the same wall as ‘my’ room, there was a set of double doors. They were panelled and would have blended in with the wall if they were not set back a little into an alcove. Two gas lamps hung on brackets, one either side, although they were not on, leaving the corridor to be lit by the natural light that was beginning to stream in from the window at the other end of the corridor. I edged down, tensed and ready to spring back into my room if I needed to.