“Actually we’re not here to take part of your fine establishment.”
Fernando put on the airs that were instilled into him as the last heir of the Fidalgo de Sagres.
The Vampire frowned, confused. “Then why are you here?”
Bridget’s eyes widened. The idea of starting a conflict with the Vampires made her blood turn to ice. She was a lover, not a fighter. That she left to Fernando and the Angel. It was more than enough to hear the reports of violent clashes between the Chosen and the Vampires, but here they were woefully outnumbered.
What are you doing?
She Sent in a panic.
“Introducing ourselves to the Master,” Fernando answered them both, “And looking for the Angel to take him back home.”
The two guards lowered their crossed arms, their bored expressions turning hostile. One turned away, speaking into the air and holding his ear. It was then that Fernando noticed the covert communications device on him and realized he may have played his hand too soon. Keeping relaxed so as to appear nonchalant, Fernando scanned about for a possible ambush.
It did not take long to see an average sized man, dressed in black trousers and a black dress shirt, descending down the stairs to halt just before the guards. His short dark blonde hair stirred slightly in the soft breeze, highlighting his handsome features.
“Well, well, well, isn’t this a surprise,” stated the Vampire. “The Master and Mistress of the British Chosen here on this side of the Pond. Isn’t that against our mutual agreement?”
“You have the advantage, sir,” bristled Fernando.
“Yes, I do, don’t I?” The Vampire smiled smugly. “How’s the head? I understand the Thames is not fit for swimming anymore.”
“You!” hissed Fernando, his cool countenance broken. He felt Bridget’s hand on his, stilling him from pouncing.
“Ah, so you remember.” The Vampire flicked his gaze to the growing crowd. “Either get them inside or get rid of them.”
“Yes, Mr. Haskell,” answered the guard. He went over to the mortals, herding them away from the scene.
“Now that we have a modicum of privacy why are you here?” Mr. Haskell’s voice turned threatening.
“We’re looking for the Angel,” replied Bridget before Fernando could say something ignoble.
Anger emanated from the Vampire, his square jaw clenched and his eyes flashed. “The Angel is here? You sent your–”
“We didn’t send him,” snapped Fernando.
“So he’s snapped his leash,” sneered Mr. Haskell. The guards poised themselves for a fight. “I would have thought you’d have more control over your dog. Now you’re saying he’s here, where neither of you should be unless you wish this war to continue.”
“He’s not a dog.” Bridget’s voice grew louder as anger overrode fear.
“We’re here to take him back,” stated Fernando at the same time.
The Vampire smirked. “And you thought to come here, of all places? Well, he’s not here, and if he did show the incredible lack of intelligence to come here he wouldn’t be allowed to leave alive. Now, I’m generously offering you fourty-eight hours to leash your pet and drag it home. If you’re not on your way back to England, dog in tow or not, we
will
hunt you down and do to you what the Angel
did
to us. Have I made myself clear?”
Both Fernando and Bridget shook with bridled rage. “You do–”
“What?” The blond Vampire took a menacing step forward. “You are not in Europe and the Angel isn’t here. You are not in a position to threaten us though the reverse is true. The line is in the sand, Chosen, do not cross it again or you will wish that the Vampires had killed off every disgusting excuse of an immortal you hold dear when my Lady Bastia was still alive.”
Bridget and Fernando watched the Vampire turn around and head back into
The Veil
, the two guards closing ranks to block the Chosen from following. They did not need it to be spelled out clearer. Grabbing Bridget’s elbow, Fernando steered her away from the scene.
“Why that fucking bastard,” swore Bridget once they halted at the car. “How dare he!” Her body shook, her hands balled into fists. “The Angel is not a dog and to threaten us–” Bridget let out a roar and punched the red newspaper box, crushing it down to half its size. Broken glass tinkled to the concrete. “What the fuck are you laughing at?” She whirled around onto her Chosen, her anger reduced but not extinguished.
“Oh, nothing,” chuckled the Noble.
“Bullshit.” She crossed her arms. “You’re taking this all very well. I would have thought you’d be the one tearing up the street.”
“And why should I? You’re doing such a fine job yourself.” Fernando realized his error and caught her open hand before she could make contact with his face. Their eyes locked onto each other and he kissed her, sliding his tongue into her mouth for a moment before breaking apart. “Save it for the hotel.”
Bridget gazed up at Fernando, uncaring of what the passers-by thought, her fury rerouted to something more desirable. Using the key fob, Fernando opened her door and gave her a hand before he joined her in the BMW.
“You seen awfully calm,” she remarked, buckling herself in.
“I’m not,” growled the Noble as he inserted the key and turned. “I want that asshole dead. I want them all dead.”
The tires squealed as he tore out of the spot, sending other cars swerving to avoid an accident. Horns blared.
“But I can’t. Not on this side of the Atlantic,” fumed Fernando. “You heard him. We have fourty-eight hours and Dr. Bowen was wrong. Not to mention Mr. Haskell is not the Master Vampire.”
“He’s not?”
“No, but he’s high up enough for the guards to call him. Probably the Master’s right hand.” His tanned hands squeezed the steering wheel, indenting it.
“Where are we going?” asked Bridget, her blond brow rising at the sight of the damaged wheel.
“Hunting,” replied Fernando matter-of-factly. “I need to kill something before we go back to Dr. Bowen’s to wait for the Angel.”
“Kill?” Bridget’s jaw dropped. “We haven’t killed since mortal forensics—”
“I know.” Fernando darkly smiled. “If we can’t strike at them directly we can strike at them indirectly. Let’s see how they fare when cries of vampirism abound through the local newspapers.”
Bridget returned her Chosen’s smile as she settled into the leather bucket seat. New hunting grounds were always fun.
Brian stood in front of the large plate glass windows overlooking Queen Street. To either side and behind him patrons would occasionally glance at him before returning to their drinks and conversations. He could make out the gossip of what occurred just moments ago. Speculation abounded as to why the manager of
Beyond The Veil
would have to join the two guards in dealing with two foreigners, causing the club to be locked down until he returned. Brian ignored the prattle and the thumping music that came from the back room. Predatory blue-grey eyes stared across the street but it was not the goings on below that held his attention but rather the figure atop the roof opposite to the club. Brian allowed himself a small satisfactory smile before turning away from the scene.
Through the blood scented room Brian walked, making his way across the gyrating dance floor. Vampires danced with prey, nearly nude caged mortals seductively moved, enticing both Vampire and human alike, while the DJ perched on the stage lorded over all. The crowd parted as Brian passed through. They all knew who he was but it was the Vampires that knew he was more, much more. He was the Dominus’ right hand man. What none but he and Corbie knew was once, long before either was turned, Brian had been Corbie’s slave and lover. Though no longer either, Brian stayed with Corbie for the power and recognition it brought.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rose dancing with a new patron. It was a shame her turning of that boy did not work out, but Brian suspected something else happened to Rose’s first. It did not matter. If Rose was lucky she would have what she was looking for. Relief flooded through Brian. Everything he and Corbie worked towards would have been dashed to pieces had the two Chosen seen her. Luckily the fates willed it otherwise. Now it was a matter of planning and the information he brought Corbie would determine the next play in this elaborate game.
Brian made a mental note to replace the burnt out bulb as he exited the back door. It did not matter to him, but certain things were necessary when running a business that incorporated mortals. He walked down the thin dark hall until he stood beside the steep staircase descending to Corvus’ apartments and the units Brian, Rose and others kept so as to be close to their Dominus. The sound of his shoes clicking against the linoleum rang through the dead space only to confront the soft pounding coming from the club above until only Brian’s footsteps filled the air.
Down one flight of stairs, turn, and then down a second set of stairs, Brian followed the route to the end of the hall, past doors to other apartments. Brian could hear the feasting upon willing mortals through closed doors. Only one rule must be followed – do not kill. Killing mortals was frowned upon. Why destroy a good source of food when it can feed you for years and be glad for it? If a death occurred then the Vampire responsible had to properly dispose of the body. If a mortal was killed on premises then Brian had the enjoyable duty of staking the Vampire spread eagled onto the roof to await the rising sun.
Entering the Parlour’s audacious decorated confines, Brian’s blonde brow rose in surprise. In a high backed black leather recliner the Mayor of Toronto dozed, a satisfied and relaxed countenance making her appear much younger. Brian did not need to see the puncture marks to know his Dominus was entertaining. Dressed in business attire Brian knew where Corvus would feed from. No point creating scars where paparazzi can see.
He stepped to the door that led to Corbie’s white room and knocked.
“Come,” came the response.
Brian entered the white control room. Beyond was Corbie’s sleeping chamber, the door open. Lit by candles Brian could see the sleeping nude figure on the futon that served as his Dominus’s bed.
Corbie stepped out of the chamber patting a handkerchief to his mouth. “What is it, Brian?” He walked to his new white oak desk and sat down.
“I have some interesting news.” Brian crossed his arms over his muscular chest.
“And this needs to be brought to my attention now? Can’t you see I’m in negotiations?” Corbie swept his black hair from his face. “More clubs are required, ones to attract the elite so as to increase our control. Not all of us wish to dine on Goths alone.”
“No, definitely not,” drawled Brian.
Corbie steepled his fingers before pursed thin lips, surprised at the impertinent tone. “Spill it.”
“We had a couple of visitors tonight,” stated Brian.
“Who?” Corbie’s black brow rose in mild annoyance.
“Fernando de Sagres and his whore, Bridget.”
Corbie’s reaction to the news was more impressive than Brian expected. It was clear his Dominus had not expected the Master and Mistress of the British Chosen to break the tenuous treaty by crossing the Pond. Once the stunned shock wore off Corbie’s face darkened with constrained fury. His body trembling, the Dominus clenched his steepled hands into a single fist and closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead against the white knuckled grip.
“Did they say why they were here?” asked Corbie, his voice a strained whisper.
“They’re looking for the Angel to take him back to England,” stated Brian matter-of-factly.
“Did they mention the Priest?”
Brian shook his head. The corners of his mouth turned slightly down. The question of Notus’ whereabouts remained unsolved.
Corbie unclasped his hands and laid them flat on the table. “And you thought it best to deal with that rogue yourself rather than bringing the situation to my attention first?”