Dinner With a Vampire (27 page)

His heart leapt into his mouth.
Rumours about Violet Lee’s attack? Could the slayers know?
‘Rumours about what?’ The cloaked figure only gave him a second to answer, before kneeing him in the crotch again.

‘The S-Sage.’

The cloaked figure could see he was losing consciousness and shook him roughly.

‘What about the Sage?’

The man could barely speak and only managed to utter one word before he slumped onto the cloaked figure’s shoulder, out cold.

‘Prophecy.’

Frustrated, the cloaked figure reached down with one hand and plucked the stake from the other slayer’s chest, pinning the unconscious man through the chest to the tree, like a flyer to a lamppost. There was no point attempting to wake him and he wanted to take no chances when it came to leaving witnesses.

Leaving the corpses behind – other rogues would enjoy the feast – he set off back west, feeling as though he had achieved little.
Prophecy? What did he mean by that?
Athenea had hundreds of prophecies, whole archives dedicated to them, and rumours circulated about them constantly.
And how is it a mistake? How can Michael Lee use it as an excuse?

Either way, he knew he was not the person to make sense of it and took a running leap in the direction of Varnley.

My eyelids peeled themselves apart, and I blinked in the bright early morning light. My spine felt as though it had been wrenched apart with a hacksaw, and my neck had an unwelcome stiffness to the muscle. After blinking a few times I realized I was splayed across the floor, half-leaning against the bed, half-lying on the floor.

Groaning, I lifted myself up off the ground, using the bed as a support. Sinking onto the thick mattress I caught an unpleasant stink, like that of a sports kit gone unwashed for weeks.

Disgusted, I realized that I was the source of the stink – I was coated in sweat.

Then it hit me.
The dream.
In an instant, every memory came flooding back, different parts vying for attention. Most prominent of all was the thought
he’s coming.
Secondly, came the slayer’s foul reference to what they wanted to do to me, and with a shudder, I resolved to step into the arms of none other than my father when I got out of here. Allies to the government they might be, but good they were not.

Scrabbling up, I darted for the wardrobe and hurried to get dressed.

Someone – the Sage, whoever that is – has made a mistake and a mistake is what my father needs.

I inhaled, paused, and stared at the wooden floor of the corridor for a moment, allowing the tiny bead of hope I had buried deep in my chest to grow bigger and bigger, bursting as I contemplated the idea that I could be getting out of here soon.

And he’s coming here, to Varnley, to tell the King what I already know.

The house seemed hushed when I reached the stairs and I hovered on the top step, unnerved by the sound of the ticking clock – in fact it was the only sound, apart from my breathing which I noticed was speeding up.

The cloaked figure kills people,
I reminded myself with a shiver.
He doesn’t think twice about it either.
I’d lost count of the number of people he’d killed in my dreams.

I needed to find someone, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I couldn’t tell them I had dreams – in a way, I wanted to guard them: despite the horrors they showed me, the dreams offered me information I wasn’t getting from the Varns. Information like the fact that my father was still trying to find a way to get to me.

The click of a door closing snapped me from my thoughts. Kaspar had stepped from his father’s study, breaking out into a smirk when he noticed me. In my chest, the bubble of hope shrank. He had passed me before he spoke, turning and pointing in my direction.

‘Girly, almost forgot. Father wants to see you. He said wait in his study, he’ll be there in a minute.’

My eyes bulged. ‘See me? About what?’

He raised his arms at his side in an exaggerated shrug. ‘You tell me.’ With that he stuffed his hands into his pockets, carrying on towards the entrance hall.

I watched him go, feeling very sick all of a sudden. Behind me, the whitewashed, panelled doors to the King’s study looked ominous.
See me?
The King never requested to talk to me – we more ran into each other, normally when I really didn’t want to see him.

My stomach knotted. I couldn’t help but feel this might have something to do with the cloaked figure and I was tempted to scuttle away and hide in the basement kitchens.

No.
I wasn’t a coward, and besides, I was intrigued to know what the King had to say. Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the door.

I was greeted by a manservant, who bowed. ‘Please, Miss Lee, have a seat.’ He gestured towards a high-backed wooden chair placed in front the King’s generous-sized desk, today piled high with papers. I had heard the others mention he had a whole hoard of secretaries and assistants to help deal with the paperwork, but it still looked daunting.

‘His Majesty is currently engaged with business, but I will inform him that you are waiting. Please, enjoy the refreshments.’ He pointed towards a small side table, two separate jugs of water and blood placed beside several glasses and a plate of biscuits. He bowed again and disappeared through a door squeezed in-between two of the huge bookshelves that dominated the walls.

I gazed around, standing up to try one of the tempting looking biscuits, which filled the room with the smell of baking. The room was actually rather pleasant, the curtains thrown open, bathing the room in daylight and the occasional ray of sun as it edged from around the clouds – though not enough to burn.

Business.
With a strange thrill, I contemplated the possibility that right at that very moment, the cloaked figure could be talking with the King. But that would mean they would know that my father would come soon (I couldn’t face using the word ‘attack’). And if they were ready for him – it didn’t even bear thinking about.

I took a bite of the biscuit and almost spat it back out, it was so bitter. It was like eating over-spiced gingerbread with grapefruit and lemon thrown in. Reluctantly, I chewed, searching around the desk for a bin to place the rest in.

Instead, my eyes landed on a partly folded letter on the desk, tucked below today’s newspaper. But what really caught my attention was the signature at the bottom.

H.M. Queen Carmen.

My heart stopped. I placed the rest of my biscuit back on the plate, ignoring my voice who complained it was impolite to leave half-eaten food. Glancing back at the door, full of curiosity, I pinched a corner and slid it out, surprised at how thick and textured the paper was. I knew I should not read it and that the King could appear at any moment, yet I was unable to stop my eyes from moving from left to right.

Dear sweet Beryl,

First, I must ask how you and Joseph are? It truly has been far too long since we last met; I do believe I have not enjoyed the pleasure of your company since the turn of the new year, and that was months ago now. Therefore, you simply must come over for dinner soon! I’m sure the children would like to see Marie-Claire and Rose again, and I know last time we met that Jag found John to be good company.

And you know, my dear friend that I am a prying creature, so I must ask how Marie and John are? From what Kaspar and Jag tell me, they have been courting for a year and a half now. I must congratulate them and you on such a union. It is not often that humans so seamlessly become integrated with the Kingdom.

Enough of me asking of you; perhaps you would be relieved if I babbled on about Varnley. Other than the usual happenings, I can’t say I have much gossip to enrich your day with. Perhaps the only news worth reporting is the increasing appearance of Charity Faunder at the most unsociable hours. Whilst I am pleased Kaspar has come to his senses enough to move on from the vile von Hefner girls, I cannot help but feel that Charity is not suitable female company for him. I know I can’t stop him, for he is not a child any more, but his superficial inclinations when it comes to the opposite sex do not exactly speak of the maturity I know he possesses. I know you had similar problems with Rose. Sometimes I think the way we were raised was far more appropriate. But then what can we do about this ever-changing world?

What else? I was thinking of perhaps going back to Spain soon, to show the children where I grew up. I am considering commissioning Flohr for another painting of the family too. We haven’t had one done since Kaspar was young and I would really like one to include Cain and Thyme – now she is two years old I think we might be able to entice her to sit for long enough.

But that must wait until I return from Romania. It is just a day until I leave now, and the preparations do not seem to even be near to a conclusion. Vladimir has also been suggesting that I take Kaspar, but I refuse to entertain such an idea. The entourage is quite big enough and Kaspar’s quick temper is too like his father’s, which Pierre will not like. In truth, however, I do not want my son and heir to be placed in the path of danger, which there will doubtless be, although I have neglected to mention this particular reason to my husband.

Do write back and I will reply in haste as soon as I return.
(Perhaps I shall take up Lyla’s advice and start using email.) I
must go, for I still have strict instructions to leave Kaspar whilst I am away (you can imagine, I’m sure). All my love and greetings to your family.

Your friend,

H.M. Queen Carmen.

My lips parted as I gaped at the letter in my hands, which were trembling. I couldn’t quite comprehend that I was holding a letter – a letter never sent – written and held and folded by the Queen who I had heard so much about; the Queen whose death had torn the Varns apart.

Somewhere far away, the grandfather clock I always heard but never found struck nine and I came back around, realizing that the King could return any minute. Folding the letter back along the creases I slipped it under the newspaper, hoping he wouldn’t notice it had moved.

I lowered myself back into the chair, still feeling shaken – I had to grip the hard arms of the chair to stop my hands from trembling..

‘Good morning to you, Miss Lee.’

Hearing the King’s voice behind me, I sprang back up and bobbed into a curtsey, feeling like my cheeks were on fire, mainly from guilt after what I had just read.

‘Your Majesty.’

He strode around his desk, settling into his own chair and indicating I should sit too. I did, looking at anything but the King.

‘Miss Lee, in a few days time you will have been confined to Varnley for three months. In that time, you have been privy to many intimacies within my family and household, and, I hope, gained an insight into what life as a member of this Kingdom entails. Would you agree?’

I nodded. He shuffled his papers, shifting the newspaper and below it, the letter into a draw beside his chair.

‘I appreciate that your time here has been difficult and at times very upsetting, and that the choice presented to you is not ideal, but I must urge you to make a decision.’

I tightened my grip around the arms of the chair, feeling my fingers meet beneath each length of wood. He paused in his arranging, eyeing my hands.

‘Do not fret, Miss Lee, I do not mean now. But I feel it is my responsibility to inform you that you are at the centre of a growing political debate, both within the Kingdom, the United Kingdom and internationally, and that the only way to cool the situation is for you to willingly become one of us.’
No pressure.
‘I think it is also only fair to ensure that you are not entertaining any false ideas that your father or the British government will negotiate or fight for your freedom. In their eyes, your humanity is not a fair trade-off for the loss of life they would experience in return.’

I stood up so fast the blood drained from my head and stars appeared in front of my eyes. It took an enormous amount of willpower and a bitten tongue not to scream that he was lying.
My father
is
coming. He just needs an excuse. And by the sound of it, he’s got one.

‘Miss Lee?’

‘I thank you, Your Majesty, for your input. I’ll consider what you have said,’ I replied, speaking through gritted teeth before I curtsied and marched from the room. I went to slam the door behind me, but the manservant caught it with a grimace, softly closing it.

Outside, I slumped against the wall, breathing heavily.
What a liar! And if he thinks I’m going to turn because of politics, he can go and shove his choice up his—

Language,
my voice chided, interrupting before I could finish my line of thought.

I remained there until my breathing returned to normal and I was able to think more clearly, thankful that the dreams gave me an upper hand. It was just a waiting game now.

Grabbing the towel I rubbed it over my wet hair, shifting my weight from one foot to the other in a sort of dance whilst humming an Elvis tune. The King’s talk of the day before was forgotten and I had woken up in an unusually good mood, partly from an uninterrupted, dreamless sleep and partly because the hope I had maintained in my first few weeks as a hostage had reignited.

‘Girly, what the hell are you doing?’

Like a scared cat I sprang up and screeched, diving for the nearest something to cover myself up – I was only in my underwear.

Why didn’t I get dressed?
I mentally groaned. He chuckled, letting his eyes roam over my too-close-to-bare flesh.