Kevin no longer went by his given name. Ever since he and three friends had started the real vampire website.com they had taken on more suitable monikers. He had decided on Tarquin. Simon had become Constantine. Brian changed his name to Cyprian and Debbie, the only girl in the group, was now known as Cordelia.
They had written up a list of thirteen rules that applied to anyone who wanted to be a member of their house and, although no one had yet applied, Kevin/Tarquin insisted that all of the rules would be stringently adhered to.
Cyprian had complained, saying that most of the rules were either lame or were simply a differently worded repetition of the first three rules. But Tarquin had explained that any list to do with the arcane had to have thirteen points. I mean, like, it’s not as though vampires work on the decimal system, you know. He had told them. No self respecting Nosferatu would ever make a list of ten points. Or even twelve, I mean, really, what are they? Like bakers or something?
And anyway, most of the points were to do with how to dress. All of the members were in agreement that the most important thing about being a vampire fledgling, is the uber-cool dress sense. Firstly, black, black and more black. Secondly, piercings were cool, tattoos were cooler and it was imperative to wear loads of chunky jewelry featuring inverted crucifixes, the number 666 and Victorian looking amulets.
The four of them frequented a number of the better known Goth clubs and vampire hangouts in London. Places like “The Blood and Velvet” in Holloway Road or the “Being Boiled” in Notting Hill Gate.
But this was the first time that they had visited a lesser known club, situated off a cramped side street in Kings Cross. The club was known as “The Clinic”, and the moment that Tarquin and his friends had entered he knew that it was the real deal.
They had been checked in at the door, as entrance was by invitation only. Tarquin had garnered an invite the weekend before when a cool looking dude, dressed all in black with the palest skin imaginable, had approached him at the “Blood and Velvet” and asked if he would like to try a new club. He had assured Tarquin that this was the proper business. No role playing or pretending. Real vampires, real blood. Proper Nosferatu. And he had flattered Tarquin enormously, calling all the other Goths, Wanabees, Pretenders and Posers. Tarquin had accepted with alacrity and the dude had told him that he was welcome to bring some friends, as long as they were of a similar caliber.
And so here they were. All four of them had been seriously nervous before coming, knowing that this could be their break into the big time. The real McCoy, as it were. So Cyprian had contacted their usual dealer and purchased a couple of ounces of weed off him. He had told the Rasta about the club, boasting that they were now part of an elite, as opposed to the children that were merely playing at being familiars. And the Jamaican dealer had seemed impressed, asking many questions and then wishing Cyprian good luck.
They had smoked themselves into a more mellow state of mind and then left for the club, arriving relaxed and comfortable.
The place was large and well appointed. A bar ran the length of the one wall and a selection of low tables and wingback chairs were scattered about the room. Along the other wall, a row of curtained private booths stood in semi-darkness.
The music was a combination of jazz fusion and funk. No throbbing house beats or sticky modern pop. And the volume was low enough to enable one to have a decent conversation without shouting raucously into their ear.
The group of teenagers went to the bar and ordered vodka, straight up. They would have preferred something sweeter, an alchopop or a ‘something-and-coke’ but vodka was cool. And being cool was what it was all about.
No sooner had they received their drinks than a stunning young man came walking over to greet them.
‘Hi,’ he said with a smile, his fangs glinting slightly in the low light. ‘It’s good to see newcomers at the club. My name is Patrick.’
Tarquin introduced himself and the rest of the group. Patrick raised an eyebrow. ‘Tarquin? Cordelia? Oh, how deliciously Victorian’ he said. ‘Tell me, is this your first time at a real Nosferatu club?’
They all nodded, while at the same time trying to look cool and self assured.
‘And have you ever communed with one of us before?’
They shook their heads.
‘But we are keen to serve,’ assured Cordelia, desperate to garner the vampire’s approbation.
‘Ah, virgins,’ breathed Patrick with another fang revealing smile. ‘Well don’t be nervous,’ he assured. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you join me and a couple of my friends in one of the private booths. We can talk and...’ he paused for a second. ‘Drink.’
The four friends followed Patrick to one of the curtained booths that lined the wall. He pulled the curtain aside to reveal a surprisingly large area. A central table and two long couches. More than ample room for the four friends, plus Patrick and the two more vampires already sitting there.
The other vamps looked like a couple, a man similar in appearance to Patrick and a blonde woman with short cropped hair and a face straight out of Vogue magazine.
Patrick introduced the four newcomers and the female vampire chuckled, low and throaty. ‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Surely those aren’t you real names? Good god, where did you find them? Old Addams family movies?’ She stood up and held out her hand. ‘My name is Morticia and this here is Gomez.’ All three vamps laughed. ‘Not really,’ the blonde continued. ‘I’m Sally. This gentleman here is Toby.’
Tarquin took Sally’s hand and, as he did, she pulled him towards her, lifting his feet off the ground with her strength.
He slammed up against Sally’s body with an audible thump that took his breath away.
She sniffed his neck. ‘Mmm. Yummy,’ she purred as her fangs slid out over her bottom lip.
‘They’re virgins,’ informed Patrick as he motioned the other three friends to sit down on the sofas. Tarquin stayed standing, held upright by Sally’s iron grip.
‘So you kids want to get into the vampire scene? Asked Toby.
They nodded collectively, like a crew of bobble heads on a car dashboard.
‘Why?’ Enquired Patrick.
‘Well it’s just so, like uber-cool,’ answered Cordelia. ‘You all look so good and then there’s that everlasting life thing.’
‘And the sick clothes,’ added Cyprian.
‘I see,’ noted Toby. ‘So, tell me before we become really good friends. What are your real names?’
Cyprian looked embarrassed but Toby assured him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘A name is nothing and we wouldn’t want to start our relationship off with a lie, would we?’
‘I’m Brian,’ admitted the ex-Cyprian. ‘That’s Simon, Debbie and Tarquin is actually Kevin.’
‘See now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’
Brian smiled and nodded. ‘So now we’re friends?’ He asked hesitantly.
Patrick laughed in genuine amusement. ‘Oh please,’ he said as he leaned forward and grasped Brian by the throat.
‘You’re nothing more than meat. And why would we possibly want to fraternize with the food?’
Brian thrashed about but Patrick’s grip was stronger than steel. At the same time Sally bared her fangs and savagely bit into Kevin’s neck, throwing her head from side to side as she tore deeply into his jugular. Blood poured out, running over her lips and down her chest.
Debbie started to scream but it died in her throat as Toby jumped across the table and bit into her.
Simon turned to run but as he did, Toby grabbed his arm and bit his wrist. In desperation Simon pulled away and ripped the curtain aside. And then a massive explosion rocked the room. He saw a group of men running in through the broken door that had been blown off its hinges. They were all wielding automatic weapons.
Leading them was a tall blonde angel with a Japanese sword.
The room erupted in pandemonium as vampires attacked the interlopers, familiars ran screaming for cover and the angel strode forward, s
winging her sword like the very vision of the goddess of death herself. All about her, blood suckers were flung aside as she causally decapitated them, her sword weaving a gossamer pattern of light in the fetid atmosphere.
One of the men turned towards Simon who dropped to the floor as the man opened up with his automatic weapon.
Slugs buffeted the air above the teenager and he could hear them slamming into the vampires behind him.
And then she was there, stepping over him, her sword a flash of red and silver. He felt the warm vampire blood spray over his back as she dealt her cards of death once more.
Simon peered up to see another man with a sword. He was moving around the room, decapitating any vampire who was on the floor. The angel stepped back over him and looked down.
She held out her hand. ‘Get up.’
Simon took it and stood, his legs shaking with the aftermath of his absolute terror.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Your friends are dead.’ Simon turned to see that she had decapitated
Kevin, Debbie and Brian. Without warning he felt the bile rise in his throat and he bent over double as he threw up.
Tag walked over. ‘Yo, Em, why’s the boy chucking up?’ He asked.
She gestured towards the pile of mutilated bodies. ‘His friends.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, when you ride the tiger you don’t ever get off, cause that’s when he eats you. Serves them right for fraternizing with the monsters.’
‘Come on Tagareg,’ said Emily. ‘He’s young and stupid. Give him a break.’
Tag nodded. ‘Okay. Hey, boy,’ he said to Simon. ‘You all right?’
Simon nodded and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Tagareg jumped back. ‘Oh crap, man,’ ne exclaimed. ‘The boy’s been bit.’ He pointed at Simon’s wrist, the teeth marks blatantly apparent. ‘He’s gonna have to go, Em. And quick, before he turns.’
Simon turned to the blonde angel for support. ‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘It’s just a small bite. I’m sure that it’ll be fine.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. And Simon could see that she genuinely was.
The last thing that he saw was the silver arc of the sword descending on his neck.
Chapter 29