Kindred (8 page)

He smiled at me then, a friendly smile laced with something else - a sadness. I tried to return the smile, but failed. Rick rubbed my arm, where the goose bumps had risen and one by one the Hapū began to stir and talk and laugh with one another. Life returned to normal, from the other plane of folklore fantasy.

My life, I felt, would never return to normal again.

Nosferatu
were of course the vampires, then what did Nero mean when he started to call us
Nos-
?

No matter how I tried to make sense of it all, I still came up blank. It had been great catching up with Celeste. Having a girl-to-girl talk and seeing the cubs play fighting after the Hangi was entertainment plus, but my thoughts the next day were completely consumed with Jerome's story. There was no denying what he had been trying to convey to me through that tale. The Taniwhas and hunters like me, had worked side by side at one time fighting the Nosferatu, the vampires. And there still existed a treaty or pact, that Jerome believed bound the Hapū to me, to this day.

But, despite my wayward musings on shape shifter legends, work called. I did my best to ignore the increasing uneasy feeling that life was changing and I was just along for the ride. Sometimes, I wondered just how much control I had left. Since moving to Auckland, so much of my life had been turned upside down. Michel was at the centre of that turmoil, that spiralling tornado of supernatural events, that was sucking me inexorably in. He represented not only the bad I now was exposed to, but also the reason why my life was fast becoming a mess.

And then, of course, I felt drawn to him in a way I had never felt to another before. Reconciling what he did to my pulse rate when near and what he represented to my day to day life was impossible. I chose, for now, to just ignore it and concentrate on work. Denial could be a wonderful thing.

I'm usually the second to arrive at the branch, after the manager. He gets there at the crack of dawn, but that suits me fine, I wouldn't be able to get in if he hadn't done the usual checks beforehand. Once the signal is set, you know the poster is facing the right way in the front window of the branch, you know it's safe to approach, he's not being held hostage by gun wielding robbers.

If my life outside of work was spiralling out of control, at least my days at work were pretty much the same. From when the front doors open, until close of banking business at five. I grab my float from the safe out back, count it and place it in my drawer. I log on, open up my float on screen and I'm good to go. I'm the branch's main business teller. The others do everything from opening accounts, average customer deposits and withdrawals and foreign currency exchange. Me, I just deal with the big guys.

Queen Street is the centre of business here in Auckland City and my branch is right in the thick of it. I'm pretty busy from the moment my sign says
Queue Here
until I tally up my float and store it back in the safe at the end of the day.

I like my job, there's something so familiar in counting coins and notes and adding up cheques. The only variant is the customer and I know all of them by name now. It's such an opposite from my night-time gig, I relish it. In the evening, I never know when the pull will happen, what I will face and how it will end. But at work, I know. I know exactly what will happen.

Apart from today.

I felt them before I saw them. It was sunny out, so I was a little confused to start with. But when they entered the sliding doors at the front of the branch and I could see they were dressed head to toe in thick black coats, sunglasses and hats, I knew they had taken the vampire version of
Slip, Slop, Slap
to the extreme. However, covering up so heavily is pretty much a no-no in a bank. You could only make it worse if you were wearing a ski mask.

I knew these guys weren't here for the money, though. Evil reeked from every pore. I almost choked on it, it was so strong and pervasive, seeping past the customers before me and slipping up my nose. I tried to breathe through my mouth, but then I could only taste it and that was ten times worse. It wasn't the evil of a human criminal however, these guys were on a whole other plane.

There were three of them. Two standing either side of the doors, like Mafioso bodyguards, backing up the boss. The boss was big, over six feet looking at the strips of colour on the door jam. He walked slowly towards the end of my queue, which thankfully wasn't very long. The thought of my customers getting in the way of this vamp was not a pleasant one. When he reached the end of the line he just stood there, patiently, like a normal customer waiting their turn. There was absolutely nothing normal about this. He'd taken his glasses and hat off, so I guess even bad guy vamps don't want to set security off and he just stared at me with a hungry look on his face.

In between dealing with those few customers in front of me, I took the opportunity to assess this new threat. He had a scar down his left cheek. It must have been made before he was turned, because an injury like that would have healed in a vamp, especially a vamp with
Sanguis Vitam
off the scale like this one. I'd guess 250 years old and a level two at least. He didn't try to hide it, he could see its discomfort on my skin by the look on my face and he was enjoying it.

Finally I finished with the last customers in front of me, frantically thinking if I could just put up the
Sorry, I'm Closed
sign and see if that worked. I don't carry any silver at work. No stake, no knives. It's just never occurred to me that I'd need it in broad daylight. Not here in Auckland. Even the Ghouls are well behaved under the direct light of the sun. But I guess I'd have to change that philosophy from now on.

He approached the counter in the usual vampire glide. His skin was pale white, the epitome of Hollywood vampire complexion. Vampires actually keep pretty much their skin colour from before they were turned, the only difference being a paler version when they haven't fed for some time. His hair hung over his forehead in a greasy hunk of black - another stereotype, not all vamps have dirty, scraggly hair - the contrast against his skin though was startling. He leaned on the counter, letting out a breath of stale, metallic smelling air and it took every ounce of my effort not to pull back and show my fear.

His voice was surprisingly musical, for such a big hulk of a guy. He casually said, “You're going to leave now. Tell your boss you're sick and have got to go home. Don't talk to anyone else, meet us right here, in front of the counter. And Hunter, don't bring silver.”

Just like that, no please or thank you. No we're gonna kill everyone if you don't comply. Just a simple statement of fact. He wasn't even trying to glaze me, but when the threat was made - and it was a threat, no two ways about it - I glanced at Tom & Jerry at the doors. One had his hand on a semi-automatic rifle under his coat and the other was glazing one of my colleagues, making her laugh out loud. I knew then what they'd do if I refused.

The threat was implicit. Don't comply and we'll mess with your bank. I looked around at the other tellers, at my supervisor at the back. The manager was shaking hands with his latest appointment and it dawned on me how many lives would be affected. There were over twenty customers in the branch too, all of them with wives or husbands, kids or loved ones. All of them important to someone else.

Me? I'm just one person. Sure my Mum and Dad would miss me, but that would be it. They'd survive, they've got the farm to keep them busy. I briefly flashed on Michel, but quelled that thought. I wasn't really that important to a Master Vampire, he'd find another obsession no doubt.

So, I nodded. Closed my till drawer, withdrew the key and walked back to my supervisor. It didn't take much convincing for her to let me go. I must have looked like shit. My mind was reeling for an escape plan, but it just kept coming up blank. Maybe, just maybe, they didn't mean me any harm and just wanted a quiet chat.

Yeah ri-ight.

By the time I made it to the front of the branch, where Tom, Jerry and Scar Face were waiting, my knees were knocking, my breath was hitched and my heartbeat was thundering in my veins. There was simply no way to hide that level of fear. The vamps would have been able to smell it a mile off. They didn't say anything though, just nodded to each other and walked me out of the bank and my daytime sanctuary, between them.

The hats and glasses were back on, but I noticed our side of the street was in shadow, so I guess that helped. A black van pulled up in front of the bank, typical bad guy get-away vehicle. No markings, dark windows, nothing distinctive. I noticed it was being driven by a human. I couldn't help thinking;
Huh? Team effort eh?

Tom got in the front, Jerry opened the sliding side door and Scar Face nudged me forward. There was nowhere to go, too many people on the footpath, too many innocents could get hurt and I'd never had to take on three vampires at once. And certainly none as powerful as this bunch. So, I just got in and sat on the bench seat in the rear.

Jerry sat on the bench seat in front, taking up most of its bulk and Scar Face squeezed in next to me at the back seat. I felt like a sardine in a can. If it wasn't for the
Sanguis Vitam
that rolled off them in menacing waves, I would have cracked a joke. My timings not always the best, but we live and learn.

No one said anything for the entire ride. They didn't blindfold me, they didn't threaten me, things were looking up. We left the CBD and headed towards Parnell, at the top of Parnell Rise we turned down a winding side street. Cars were parked on both sides of the narrow lane, so the driver took it easy, slowing the van to a crawl. Mustn't scratch the vamp's car.

Finally we pulled up in front of an old warehouse. Parnell's not known for its warehouses, it's more a trendy urban café style haunt. Older houses are made over to look old, but new. The warehouse was no exception. It was old, but freshly painted in modern colours. Huge pot plants out the front, on either side of the large roller garage door, had Cabbage Trees in them. They didn't make me feel tropical in the slightest.

The roller door did its thing, rolling up noisily and the van inched forward into a courtyard. The finality of that roller door closing behind us made all my hope disappear. I was stuck now, there was simply no escape.

Jerry jumped out and held the sliding door open Scar Face shuffled, wedged, and awkwardly squeezed his bulk out between the seats and the van walls, to stumble to his feet on the concrete floor of the courtyard. If this guy wasn't careful, he was going to make me laugh.

We walked across the covered courtyard to the front door of what was obviously the dwelling on the premises. As soon as the door opened, I doubled over in pain. Doors don't usually contain vampire power, they're a pretty flimsy wall when it comes to the supernatural pull or effect of
Sanguis Vitam
.

Obviously the vamp above us wanted to time things just right and make sure I knew he was there. Show off.

The power abated slightly, enough for Scar Face to grab my arm and hoist me forward up a thin staircase to what was bound to
not
be the Energiser Bunny despite the prickles of
Sanguis Vitam
that rolled across my skin. It was more than I had ever faced before. More than even Michel. I swallowed a lump in my throat.
Dear God, what did they want to do to me?

The vampire who owned all that unbelievably strong
Sanguis Vitam
was waiting in the room we entered and was tall and well dressed. His style was a combination of luxuriant casual, dripping an easy sexual appeal. Could I see the sexual appeal despite my now outright fear? Hell yes! He wanted me to, so I did.

He was wearing expensive jeans, which as you'd expect fitted him like a second skin. His chest was bare where his black shirt gaped open to his navel, showing an expanse of muscular skin, unblemished and in a honey gold colour you could almost lick when you looked at it. His eyes were green, an unexpected colour for a vampire. And his sandy blonde hair short, above the collar, another unexpected. Vampires usually had longer hair, a throw back to the good old days no doubt. They could cut it and regrow it, but for some reason it was their fashion faux pas.

“
Welcome, Lucinda Monk.”

Like everything else about him his voice dripped sex. It wrapped around me like a luxurious coat and sent shivers down my spine. I couldn't help feeling that this was going to be tedious, if our entire conversation was going to wreak havoc with my innocence. I felt an uninvited blush rise up my cheeks.

The power abated abruptly, as if he could read my mind.

“
Forgive me, I can't seem to help myself it would seem.” So similar to Michel, hadn't he said something like that?

“
Please take a seat, be comfortable.” When I hesitated he said, “I only wish to talk. For now.” The
for now
kind of ruined the reassurance he was going for.

I took a seat in a chair across from him, as far as humanly possible away from where he stood leaning back casually against the wall, legs crossed at his ankles, arms in his pockets. He was a poster boy for GQ Magazine, an absolute god. He was so gorgeous, but despite all that beauty, I wasn't fooled. He nodded to Scar Face, who turned and left with a quiet click of the door. I guess you don't need a bodyguard around a petite unarmed female when you're master of death.