We whizz past shop fronts and streets packed with revellers out to enjoy the evening. The few times we pause at traffic lights, I realise that nearby pedestrians are shooting us curious looks. A few recognise Michael and point him out to their friends. One or two turn away in open disgust. I frown. Another drawback to being able to venture outside only when he’s with me is that I lose my anonymity. Fortunately, it’s not long before he pulls up outside a nondescript building about eight storeys high. He turns off the engine. I get off, freeing myself from the confines of the helmet, then I look around. The area is full of offices. I’m confused.
Without a word, Michael walks to one of the buildings and leaps upwards, his fingers grabbing the windowsill on the second floor. With no apparent effort, he brings up his feet then springs over four feet to the next sill. He continues upwards. I merely gape.
He’s almost at the top when I realise that I’m supposed to follow him. I lick my lips. Didn’t he just say something about not bashing in my skull? Falling twenty feet onto a hard pavement might have the same result. I’m determined not to appear weak, though. I focus on the first windowsill then I squeeze my eyes shut and jump.
I’m so surprised I make it that I almost let go and fall back down. Clinging on with my fingertips, I heave myself up and brace my arms against the walls surrounding the glass. The office inside is dark but I can still make out the desks and chairs. It reminds me abruptly of Dire Straits so, before I dwell too much on that thought, I jump quickly to the next window, copying Michael’s movements. The higher I go, the more confident I become and I’m at the second to last storey when I catch myself grinning. Okay, maybe this is kind of fun.
I’m about to leap up to the roof when something feels wrong. There’s an odd sound of cracking then, half a second later, my right foot falls and I slip. My stomach flies up to my heart as I scrabble for purchase and only just grab what remains of the crumbling stone edge with my left hand. My body swings slightly in the air and I curse. I dig my feet into the side of the building, willing myself to hang on, then swap hands so I can manoeuvre across to the window on the right-hand side instead. There’s a light inside and, throwing myself towards it before I lose my grip, I hope I don’t surprise some poor cleaner going about their night shift.
Fortunately the bricks on this side are better maintained and I pull myself back up. Inside the brightly lit office, a couple is sprawled across a desk. They stare at me, frozen in horror. The woman, who’s on top, is wearing nothing more than a lacy bra. When they shake themselves from their rabbit-in-headlights inaction and spring up to find their clothes to protect their modesty, I catch the glint of a wedding ring on the man’s finger. Old instincts die hard, and I check the woman’s hands as she scoops up her discarded blouse. Her fingers are bare. It would be pretty damn easy to be a private investigator spying on cheating spouses with these kind of Spiderman skills. I give them a friendly wave and push off from my toes to make the final jump. Then I’m on top of the flat roof, rolling onto my back, limbs akimbo and breathing hard.
Michael bends down. ‘Are you alright?’ There’s a distinct lack of concern in his voice.
‘Yes.’ I sit up. ‘I almost fell though. I didn’t notice you rushing to catch me.’
The corner of his mouth crooks upwards. ‘There’s a difference between taking foolhardy risks and challenging yourself to your limits so you learn.’
I clamber to my feet, irritated. ‘I wouldn’t learn much if I plummeted seven storeys to the ground.’
‘You weren’t going to do that.’
I wipe my palms across my thighs and eye him suspiciously. ‘I was following you step for step. You knew the bricks around that window weren’t sound. You did that deliberately.’ I can tell from the look in his eyes that I’m right.
He shrugs. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Exhausted! Scared! And bloody annoyed!’
He shakes his head. ‘No. How do you really feel?’
I pause. I’m covered in goosebumps. I didn’t realise that was possible for a vampire. My pulse is fast, but not frantic. I feel … alive. I stare at him dumbly, not answering his question. He grins. I give him the tiniest smile back and his grin widens.
‘The next part will be even more fun,’ he promises. He points north in the direction of the London skyline. ‘Do you see that flag?’
‘Huh?’ I draw my eyes away from the familiar silhouette of the Gherkin and scan round. Eventually I spot a flagpole. It’s so far away that I can’t make out what is draped from it. ‘Yes,’ I say slowly.
‘I’ll race you it. And because you’re just a little fledgling, I’ll give you a twenty-second head start.’
‘I can’t reach that!’
‘Eighteen seconds.’
Wanker. I focus on the next building. The gap doesn’t seem too wide‒ for freaking Superman.
‘Fifteen seconds.’
I snarl under my breath then start running. It takes me a few seconds to pick up speed then I’m at the edge of the roof. Without stopping, I keep my eyes on the next rooftop which, thankfully, is a few feet lower. I leap, sailing over the gap and letting out a loud gasp of relief when I register that I’m going to clear it easily. I land and my knees bend slightly but a fraction of a second later I’m moving forward again.
‘Ten seconds,’ he shouts from behind me. I ignore him. Handicap, my arse. I’ll beat him.
I sprint faster, staying on my toes. The next gap is both higher and wider but there’s a drainpipe on the side of the building which I jump over to and catch. I bounce up and keep running. The wind whips my face and I feel pure exhilaration. I knew vampires were stronger and faster but I’d never had any opportunity until now to test how much. I’m Usain Bolt, Michael Jordan and Nadia Comaneci all rolled into one. On steroids. I laugh aloud, the sound ripping away from me and into the dark sky. I’m…
Shit. Michael Montserrat passes me. I put my head down, willing myself to go even faster but his lithe form draws away and, no matter how much I push myself, he outpaces me. I don’t give up but it’s clear who’s going to win this race. My feet pound across various rooftops and I spring over various gaps as if I’m flying. When I finally reach the flagpole, however, he’s already leaning against it with his arms folded and his cheeks dimpled.
I bend double, gasping. I gave that everything I had and Lord sodding Montserrat looks as if he’s done nothing more than go for a short stroll.
‘Could have been worse, I suppose,’ he drawls.
I rest my palms on my thighs and cock my head up at him. ‘Piss off.’
He smirks. ‘Do you need some help? You look breathless. I understand it can be difficult for women to maintain their equilibrium around me.’
My mouth drops open. Did he really just say that? I straighten up, itching to give him a slap when, abruptly, there’s a loud scream from somewhere far below.
Michael’s eyes snap to mine. ‘Stay here,’ he grounds out, before vanishing over the edge of the building. I peer down after him. It’s a long drop but he manages it easily, reaching one lower rooftop by jumping down, then skimming down the sloping edges of several tiered skylights until he’s close enough to reach the ground in one knee-juddering leap. I see what appears to be the shape of a woman lying on the ground. As he kneels next to her, something – or rather someone – catches my eye on the street opposite. The person is running as fast as possible away from the fallen woman.
Keeping the fleeing figure in sight, I leap to the same rooftop that Michael did. Instead of following him down to the street, however, I sprint after the runner. He’s clearly no vampire and it’s not long before I’m keeping pace. He may be on the other side of the road but I can still make out his clothing – baggy jeans, flapping T-shirt and a scarf wound round his face as a makeshift disguise. As far as I can tell, he’s no more than a teenager.
He reaches the intersection and peels off to the right, away from me. I search for a way down, eventually spotting an awning jutting ou
t not too far away. Making sure it’s directly under me, I twist round and drop until only my fingers are curving round the edge of the roof. Then I let go. Unfortunately for me, the awning is not very sturdy and the material rips under my weight. I land painfully on the pavement and, when I try to get up, the awning’s thick fabric catches on one of the zips on my jacket. I heave myself upwards, pulling free. Tingles of pain are shooting through my legs although I do my best to ignore them. I’m moving more slowly now, but it’s not long before I catch sight of him again. He obviously thinks he’s free and clear because he slows to a walk. I smile humourlessly. Sucker. I force my legs to keep going. I’m barely five feet away when he turns his head. His eyes widen as he clocks me.
I bare my teeth. He tries to run but it’s already too late. I leap up in the air, grab his collar, I slam him against the wall and yank down his scarf. As I expect, he still has the acne pocks and spiteful eyes of someone barely old enough to drink beer.
‘Hello,’ I coo into his face.
He flinches. Michael, appearing out of nowhere, snarls in his direction.
‘How’s the woman?’ I ask.
‘Shaken but otherwise alive.’
‘Good.’ I keep my hands on the kid. ‘Now I’m really having some fucking fun.’
Chapter Three: Friends and Foes
We haul the mugger back to the alleyway where Michael left the woman, but she’s nowhere in sight. He frowns. ‘I told her to wait here so we could get her to a hospital to be checked over.’
‘And of course everyone always does what you tell them to,’ I mutter under my breath. Unfortunately, he hears every word.
‘Yes, they usually do. In fact, once upon a time I remember you telling me that you were going to be as good as gold and do what you were told, too.’
‘A lot has happened since then,’ I inform him coolly.
The kid squirms in my grip, apparently tired of the byplay between his captors. ‘No victim, no crime! You’ve gotta let me go!’
‘No chance, buster,’ I tell him.
Michael quirks an eyebrow in my direction. ‘“No chance, buster?” Have missed your calling as an actor in a Hollywood B-movie?’
I wink at him, flipping back my hair.
‘Do you feel lucky, punk?’ Michael says to the kid with an affected American accent.
I can’t help myself. I shake my prisoner. ‘Well?’ I ask. ‘Do ya?’
The kid looks from Michael to me, baffled. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you two?’
Michael tuts. ‘The youth of today.’
I shake him again. ‘And don’t swear.’
‘You did,’ he flips back.
‘Yeah? Who do you think is in charge right now?’ For good measure, I allow my fangs to grow ever so slightly and lick my lips very deliberately.
The kid grows pale and there’s the stench of urine. I look down to see a growing patch of wet across the groin of his jeans. Maybe I should feel sorry for him. But I don’t.
Michael takes the kid’s arm and throws me a set of keys. ‘You get your wish,’ he says. ‘You can drive. Get the bike and meet me at the nearest police station. I think it’s…’
‘Two blocks down on the right.’
He stares at me impassively. ‘Sometimes there’s more to you than meets the eye.’
I give him a little curtsey in return then, without waiting to see his reaction, I start jogging in the direction of the parked bike. My legs are still killing me but I’m damned if I’m going to let the pain show. By the time I reach the police station, Michael is already inside and the kid is being cuffed.
‘Did he take anything from the victim?’ a uniformed copper asks, directing his question at Michael.
‘Didn’t take nuthin’,’ the kid mutters.
A look passes between us. The policeman starts patting him down and pulls out a small lump of hash from one pocket. He raises an eyebrow at the boy.
‘S’not mine,’ he sniffs.
‘Right. You’re just holding it for a friend, are you? Well, you can think about that in one of our cells for a few hours and then we’ll have another chat.’ He marches him towards a keypad-locked door. As if by magic, it opens and a plain-clothed copper wanders out, giving a curious glance in our direction. Suddenly he stops in his tracks as if he’s forgotten something and heads back inside.
‘You can’t do this!’ the struggling mugger yells. ‘I’ve got rights!’
I roll my eyes and am about to turn away when I catch sight of something. ‘Wait!’
They pause. I lift the edge of the kid’s T-shirt. He stiffens. ‘This is harassment! She can’t do that!’
I ignore him, staring instead at the object sticking up from the back pocket of the jeans which hang precariously halfway down his arse. I’m not surprised the policeman missed it, but I’m baffled as to what it means.
‘Isn’t that…?’ Michael asks.
I nod distractedly. It’s a bright green feather, the same as the one the woman in Fingertips and Frolics made me buy. I pull it out and hold it up. The kid twists his head round. When he sees me grasping it between my thumb and finger, its garish colour enhanced by the harsh lighting, his face blanches.
‘This is what you stole, isn’t it?’
The policeman takes the feather from me and gives me a warning glare, no doubt for touching the suspect. I’m too preoccupied by the feather to pay much attention.
‘Why?’ I round on the boy, demanding answers. ‘Why did you take this?’
He hawks up phlegm and spits in my direction. Fortunately for him, my reflexes are improving by the day and I dodge. Annoyed with himself for missing, he looks away from me and fixes on the policeman. ‘Wanna lawyer.’
The policeman shrugs at me. ‘Thanks for your help. We’ll be in touch later about a statement.’
‘But…’
Michael places a hand under my elbow. ‘You’re welcome,’ he says firmly. Then he guides me out. Pissed off, I yank my arm away and stalk sullenly back to the street.
Once we’re outside, I scowl up at him. ‘You’re Lord Montserrat. You could have used your influence to find out what that thing was and why he bloody well nicked it from that woman.’
‘He knew who I was. You need to learn the art of diplomacy,’ he chides. ‘It can be a much more satisfactory way to gain information. We have to come back here in the next day or two to give a statement. By that time the police will have questioned him, according to human laws, and will have more useful details to tell us. You interrogating him in the middle of the police station is not going to gain us any favours.’ His voice softens. ‘We have to be careful how we approach the police. We’re vampires, Bo.’
As if I could forget. My good humour entirely gone, I walk back to the bike. Before Michael can say any more, I shove the helmet back on my head and start the engine. I wait for him to demand driving privileges but he gets on behind me. I feel the pressure of his arms round my waist and briefly close my eyes. Then I rev up and we veer off into the inky night.
* * *
I sleep badly and my limbs feel as if they’re made from lead, but the next day I force myself to rise when the sun is still high in the sky. Of course, I can’t see it from my windowless bedroom but I instinctively know it’s daytime without padding downstairs to the glass-topped, UV-protected atrium. I’m also used to waking early – or late - it depends how you look at it. When we arrived back from the police station, I mumbled something to Michael about being tired and came straight up to my room. I was aware of his gaze following me but I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. He’s tried hard to make me see at least the physical benefits of vampiredom and it was starting to work – which more than slightly terrifies me. The conclusion to our night, however, brought me crashing back to earth. I’m still a fucking vampire and there’s still nothing I can do about it.
The rest of my floor is quiet; no doubt everyone else is taking the sensible option for a fledgling and staying asleep during the day. I take a
cold shower to rouse myself, then towel off and get dressed. Usually at this time, I pace around the mansion from room to room, aimlessly walking until my fellow fledglings wake up and I have something to do. It’s not like I have a job; until we can stand the sun we remain under training, which means endless PowerPoints on all manner of vampiric details and a range of physical workouts. After last night’s activities, I realise how gentle those workouts are.
A week or two ago, Nell came across me when I was already on my third circuit. She said I looked like a polar bear trapped in a zoo, pacing endlessly up and down its enclosure. Her words didn’t help. For once I don’t want to play out my caged-animal routine so I stay where I am and find my own feather on the shelf of my sparse belongings. No matter how closely I examine it, I can’t see anything to suggest it’s more than a goddamn feather.
I give up and turn on my phone. After texting O’Shea to get his arse to Fingertips and Frolics and call me as soon as he arrives, I call Rogu3. Using our long-established code, I let it ring twice before hanging up. The third time, he answers.
‘Yes?’ The caution in his voice is evident.
‘Hi.’
There’s a moment of silence. It fills the line and expands, making me feel even more uncomfortable.
‘Rogu3?’ I prompt.
‘I’m not sure we should do this now, Bo.’
‘I might have guessed that you’d track me and realise what happened.’
‘You’re a vampire.’ It’s not a question.
As much as I’d like to evade his statement, I owe him more than that. ‘Yes.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m still me though.’
‘Do you drink blood?’
I realise to my alarm that my eyes are welling up and, frustrated, I rub them hard with the edge of my sleeve. ‘I have to. I’m trying to find a cure…’
‘There is none.’
He’s so matter of fact that it hurts. I clench my teeth. ‘How are things with you?’
‘Okay, I guess. My maths teacher is making me take my GCSE exam early.’