Thicker Than Blood

  Leonora scowled at him, then sighed and carried on. Alexandre felt bad for snapping, but he didn’t apologise. She would only glare at him if he did.

  He’d had a hard time adjusting to becoming a vampire. Last year, when he had awoken to this new century, his vampire family had still had the sleeping sickness. He had been alone and bewildered, trapped in a strange new era where nothing was familiar. Madison had been his only bright spot. She had made him laugh, had teased him out of his black humours and comforted him when it all became too much. With her help, he had almost reconciled himself to living for an eternity, but to live for an eternity without her would not be possible. A life without Maddy would be no life at all.

  For a moment, a choking panic gripped his chest. He sat down heavily in one of the armchairs and stared glassily at his knees. He felt as though he was sliding into the deepest blackest hole in the universe, deeper than the caverns in Cappadocia, deeper than the oceans, blacker than any moonless night. He tried to steady his breathing. As soon as night fell he would claw his way out of here and then nothing would prevent him from getting her back. Heaven help the people who had made him feel this way, for he would show them no mercy.

  Chapter Seven

  Cappadocia, 571 AD

  *

  She lay face down in the dirt. The dry red soil filled her nostrils and she tasted metal and chalk on her tongue. She felt it caked beneath her fingernails and baked into every pore of her dried-out body. How long had she been lying like this? Her eyelids scraped open a fraction, to snap back shut immediately against a sun that scorched. She daren't try to swallow for she knew her throat was beyond parched. It was a brittle dried-up cavern and to swallow was to invite a pain that she wasn't yet strong enough to bear. If only dark unconsciousness would consume her again; anything but this unyielding, cruel light.

  She tried to stop thinking, to go back to oblivion, but something fluttered and twittered deep inside. Something insisted that she face the pain and humiliation. That she draw on her pitiable reserve of strength and not give in to easy surrender – it was the voice of her mother, telling her to be strong. To survive.

  There was a single drop of moisture left in her body and Aelia could feel it slowly evaporating into the thirsty air. Was this the third day or the fourth? She wished never to see another, but now here was that thin, insistent voice again, telling her something completely different. Willing her to face the unfaceable. Get up, move, do something, it said. Don't give up. Death will not come quickly, you have time. Death is too busy to claim you this day. Life is yours for the taking if you want it. But you have to try.

  Lying here in the silent heat, she only wanted to block out everything. But the pain and the fear were oozing and seeping, slow and unrelenting through her clogged veins. Had she really been expelled from her home?

  They had covered her eyes with a cloth, taken her out of the village and left her in a place she did not know. There had been no familiar landmarks and no stream to quench her thirst. Only barren rock, dry red earth and hot sun. By day, she had been terrified that she would run into bandits, and by night, the thought of ghouls and demons had tormented her mind. But after a couple of days all alone, she prayed she might see someone, anyone who could help to find her way out of the unending wilderness. She walked until she could go no further. And now here she lay. Finished.

  ‘My dear, the vultures are circling. Are you getting up, or do you fancy yourself a banquet for the birds?’ Aelia heard a woman's raspy voice, as if in a dream. Yet, it was like no dream she’d had before.

  ‘My dear? Can you hear me?’

  She felt her shoulder being roughly prodded by something sharp and it hurt - a separate kind of hurt to the other overwhelming ache she felt throughout the rest of her body. She groaned.

  ‘Aahh, alive!’ The woman chuckled. ‘My lucky day. Come along, my dear, get up. You'll come with me. No need to thank me today, you can do that later.’

  Aelia turned her head and forced her eyes to open. She saw a dark shape looming and gradually a pale wrinkled face came into focus. The face wore a smile, but the smile was not kindly. It was … mocking. Aelia closed her eyes again.

  ‘Up, up. Get up,’ the woman said. ‘I saw you open your eyes. It’s no good pretending to be dead. Come on.’

  Aelia felt more sharp stabs of pain on her back and shoulder. She gasped and opened her eyes again. The woman was prodding her with a wooden cane.

  ‘Please stop,’ Aelia croaked. ‘You’re hurting me.’

  ‘Good, you can talk. Now get up, my dear, before I lose my patience.’

  Aelia didn’t know how she did it, but she managed to struggle to her knees and then to her feet. Her head throbbed and her throat felt as though it was being stabbed with tiny little needles as the thirst hit once again.

  ‘Water. Please.’

  ‘Come with me and I’ll see what I can do.’

  The old woman limped ahead, using her wooden cane to walk. Aelia staggered in her wake, almost wishing she’d stayed on the ground to let the earth take her.

  They walked for a good long while. The old woman did not offer to help her, nor did she even turn around to see how she was. But Aelia kept following regardless. Vegetation appeared around them. They passed by some low scrubby bushes and a couple of hunched trees. Clumps of plants dotted the ground and a sudden breeze cooled Aelia’s cheek for a blissful moment, before melting into the heat again.

  In the distance, Aelia saw a dark shimmering hill and as they drew nearer, it rose up as a steep, grey rock face. The woman walked right up to the jagged wall and side-stepped into it before disappearing from view as if by magic. Aelia followed, too tired to be puzzled. As she came closer, she saw there was a simple explanation - an outcrop in front of the rock face concealed a narrow gap. The old woman had entered a hidden cave. Aelia stopped for a second and then followed her inside, away from the relentless sun and into the cool gloom.

  It was a relief to be out of the sun’s glare, but Aelia felt so weak and thirsty, she barely registered her surroundings. All she saw was darkness and all she heard were their hushed slow footsteps. Suddenly, she felt a claw-like grip on her arm.

  ‘Sit here,’ the woman squawked at her. She pulled Aelia down onto a chair-like boulder and then shuffled off into the darkness.

  Aelia felt no curiosity; only the need to close her eyes and block out the knives of thirst in her throat. She was going to die here in the darkness. This was the end. Seconds later she felt a cold sting of water trickle down her lips and chin.

  ‘You’re no good to me dead,’ the woman cackled, pressing an earthenware cup into Aelia’s hands.

  Aelia ignored the woman’s words and concentrated on the cool liquid. Maybe she wasn’t going to die after all.

  Chapter Eight

  Present Day

  *

  Ben returned to the house at midday. Esther and Morris were already there, sitting in the kitchen sipping tea. None of them had seen anyone who might have been the deliverer of the mysterious note. Esther insisted that Ben eat something and then go to bed.

  ‘You’ll be needed later and you won’t be any good to anyone if you don’t get some rest. Don’t worry, I’ll go down and tell the others we’ve had no luck.’

  Ben glared at his empty bowl and dragged himself up the stairs to bed. He was exhausted, but it felt wrong sleeping while Maddy was missing. He crawled under the bed covers in his clothes and closed his eyes. He meant to lie there and think about what they should do. But sleep came for him straight away.

  The afternoon passed uneventfully and all Alexandre and the others could do was to wait for night to fall. Luckily it arrived shortly after 4.30pm and Alexandre was straight out of the door with the others close behind. Isobel was to stay at the house with Ben and Esther. Ben wouldn’t like it, but he was still asleep and they had all decided not to wake him.

  Alexandre took in a lungful of night air and headed over to his motorbike, a BMW S1000RR. Morris
had topped-up the fuel tank and parked it on the driveway ready to go. The caretaker was standing next to the bike and it looked like he wanted to speak to Alex. He really didn’t want to waste a single second chatting, so he nodded to Morris and made straight for his bike. But the caretaker started speaking.

  ‘I’ll ask around in town this evening. See if anyone’s seen her. You never know …’

  ‘Thanks, Morris. That would be great.’

  ‘I’ll speak to ‘em down at The Bell. If anything strange is happening round here, they’ll know about it.’ Morris was referring to his regular haunt, The Old Bell. Nowadays it was a luxury hotel, but it had once been a normal pub where Morris and his friends would sip a pint of bitter and have a chat. The décor and prices had changed dramatically over the last thirty years, but Morris and his cronies had carried on frequenting the place nonetheless.

  ‘Let me know how you get on,’ Alex said, not really listening to the caretaker and itching to be off. He didn’t want any undue police attention, so he wore his leathers and crash helmet like a good little human, jumped on his bike and sped off. The others would follow in Leonora’s silver Audi RS6 – comfortable but fast.

  As he rode, Alexandre tried not to think, but everything flashed through his mind at once. He ripped up the miles, avoiding the cop cars and speed cameras, taking the bike as fast as it would allow, weaving in and out of the traffic in a blur of shiny noise.

  During their last fateful meeting, Blythe had told him that his ancient vampire clients wanted him and the other ‘fledgling’ vampires dead. But why? Were they really that much of a threat? Was this why they were being summoned? To be killed? He would gladly give his own life for Madison’s, but he could not give up the lives of his siblings, or Freddie’s or Leonora’s.

  In less than an hour, he hit London and came to a halt outside the offices of Hamilton Blythe, in the affluent area of Marylebone. The others would have traffic to contend with. They could call him when they arrived, but he didn’t plan on waiting around. He would manage Blythe himself. They knew it was a risk going into his offices after the last time. But what choice did they have? They had still found no home address for that wily lawyer.

  Alexandre swung his long legs off the bike and removed his crash helmet. Then he flexed his fingers and combed them through his hair as he stared up at the huge building in front of him. The white mansion block was the epitome of respectability. No one would have guessed that beneath its traditional façade lay a state-of-the-art underground facility dedicated to reviving dormant vampires as well as destroying them. But Alexandre didn’t plan on going down there. All he needed to do was discover Winston Blythe’s address and he would find that easily enough, even if it meant coercing the information from someone.

  The offices were closed, but Alex didn’t have long to wonder what to do as, within a couple of minutes, the black painted front door swung open and two smartly-dressed women emerged. Alexandre slipped past them, like a cool breeze. One of the women shivered and frowned, but at that moment her colleague said something funny and she laughed, dismissing the shadow she thought she’d seen out of the corner of her eye.

  Once inside the building, Alexandre scanned each room, until he reached the fourth floor where the partners’ offices were situated. Once he had Blythe’s address he would be done here. And then he caught a familiar scent - an odour of fake respectability and greed that he remembered from before. Well, it was actually the odour of a certain cologne, but the smell conjured up the man – Blythe.

  A door lay ahead of him and beyond the door sat Winston Blythe. Alexandre had to get himself under control or he might just tear this man limb from limb before he had a chance to find out where Madison had been taken. He needed to extract every last piece of information out of the man and that would require a more-composed Alexandre than the one currently snarling in the wood-panelled hallway. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, sliding his fangs back behind his lips with great difficulty as he collected himself, preparing to deal with this traitorous snake.

  A few seconds later, he stood in front of a walnut desk staring at the lawyer.

  Winston Blythe was hand-writing a letter and hadn’t yet noticed Alexandre. The room was large and opulent, all polished wood, leather and glass - a gentleman’s office.

  ‘Writing another of your mysterious notes I see,’ Alexandre said softly.

  Blythe looked up, shocked for a second before hastily composing his features.

  ‘Alexandre, my boy. I’ve been expecting you. Do sit down won’t you.’

  ‘I prefer to stand and I am not ‘your boy’.’

  ‘Just a figure of speech. No offence meant I’m sure.’ Blythe set his pen down on the desk.

  ‘What game are you up to this time?’ Alexandre asked.

  ‘No game. I’m merely helping to move things along. After our last encounter, you surely can’t have thought that would be it. No, alas there are people far more powerful than you or I and they have deemed that things must be brought to a conclusion.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘Yes. Such as the question mark hanging over you and the other Marchwood Vampires. You are inconvenient, that’s all. You must go to Cappadocia and be accounted for.’

  ‘Accounted for. Why?’

  ‘It is not for me to know the reason why. I am but a humble servant in all this. A servant to carry out orders and document history.’

  ‘A servant?’ Alexandre gave a short laugh. ‘That is ridiculous! You may try to deny any responsibility, but you are more than a servant; you are a facilitator of evil. A parasite.’

  ‘That is a little harsh, but I can see why you might think that. Your view is limited. You look at the world through a sliver of glass instead of a wide-angled lens. Alexandre, you are a tiger cub nipping at the heels of kings. They do not like it. They do not care about your good heart or your lack of ambition. They will not take the risk. They know you have eternity to change your character from passive to aggressive. They want you dealt with now.’

  ‘But that is nonsense. I do not nip at anybody’s heels.’

  ‘Nonsense to you maybe, but it is the nature of things.’

  ‘Well then ‘things’ have to change.’

  ‘Things already have changed.’

  Alexandre opened his hands in a gesture asking for explanation.

  ‘My clients, my fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth century clients are tigers; they are kings. But they have recently discovered an Emperor.’

  ‘Stop talking in riddles. For a ‘servant’, you have too great a liking for the dramatic. Speak plainly for once.’

  ‘Very well.’ Blythe paused and Alexandre had to restrain himself from leaping across the desk and choking the words out of him. Eventually the solicitor continued. ‘Your Cappadocian vampire is awake. He is over two thousand years old, the most powerful being ever to walk this earth, and he demands obedience.’

  Alexandre went cold at the old man’s words. His worst fears had been realised – the Cappadocian was behind this.

  Blythe was still talking:

  ‘The kings have bent their knees to him. Now he is rounding up the princes.’

  Alexandre’s mouth hung open. He recalled the underground city where he had been turned, more than one hundred years earlier. He pictured the dead, kohl-rimmed eyes of this so-called emperor who had torn into his flesh and stripped him of his mortality. And then he remembered the opportunity he had missed earlier this year when he’d stumbled across the Cappadocian’s unconscious form, but had not the foresight to destroy him. Now it was too late. The creature had captured Madison. It held their happiness in the palm of its hand and was preparing to make a fist.

  Alexandre realised that Winston Blythe had not been lying when he said he was nothing more than a servant, that he had no real power or influence. The rage he felt towards Blythe was dissipating, turning into a creeping despair. The most Alexandre could hope for was that Blythe might know where Ma
ddy was being held.

  ‘Where is she?’ he whispered.

  ‘You know where she is, Alexandre.’

  And he realised he did know. He had known all along that she would be under the ground, deep in the belly of the Cappadocian earth. In the place he had prayed he need never return to. Coming to London had been a fruitless exercise. Madison was already out of his reach.

  ‘I should kill you for your part in this,’ Alexandre said without conviction.

  ‘But you won’t.’

  ‘No.’

  They appraised each other for a moment or two, a ticking clock the only sound in the room.

  ‘Do you even possess an opinion about what’s going on?’ Alexandre asked. He still couldn’t determine Blythe’s true character. Was he ambitious? Greedy? Weak? What was his true agenda?

  ‘I’m not paid to have an opinion. Let’s just say I enjoy being a part of this secret history. It thrills me.’

  ‘So, you are a voyeur.’

  ‘A documenter of important historical events,’ Blythe replied with a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘A coward.’

  ‘I like you, Alexandre, but you’re far too judgmental. You have the righteousness and arrogance of youth. Maybe I’ll seek out your company in a century or two.’

  Alexandre paused at Blythe’s last sentence. Could he really mean…

  ‘Don’t look so surprised, Alexandre. They have made me a promise.’

  ‘A promise?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You mean … to be turned?’

  Blythe nodded.

  Alexandre stared at Blythe for a moment and then he laughed. ‘If you believe that, you’re more of a fool than I thought. They will not turn you.’

  ‘I have their word, but more than that, I have a legally binding contract.’

  Alexandre laughed again. ‘You think the law means anything to an immortal? To a cold-blooded killer? Mr Blythe, even you do not respect the law.’

  ‘It does not matter what you believe. It is what I believe that counts and I believe they will keep their promise.’