Guildhall Guardian: Thamesian #1 (Thamesians) (16 page)

A necklace of fangs.

It was a macabre show.

Pieces of furniture from all across the UK, from vampirical Lords of course.

Isolde made an offer for a collections of photographs. She didn't win.

Clearly,Roydon's supposed good were far above the other artifacts.

And then the ceiling lights extinguished.

The big glass box glowed from inside. Roydon immediately tensed up.

I wanted to close my eyes.

  "This is a special piece from one of Camberwell College's graduate, made from raw material..." said Mrs. Salisbury from her now dark reading desk.

A shrieking, shrill cry erupted coming from the box.

  "One of the oldest vampirical relic known in the Western world, staked and chemically treated, neon lighted. This is called...The Singing Vampire." the auctioneer went on, her voice slightly trembling..

The body was thrashing against the glass, speared by light rays, some sort of experimental art horror, the Vampire's shrieked, tossed and turned in its box. It never came close to escape the box, too much at the mercy of laserlight.

I buried my face in Roydon's shoulder.

A rumor of indignation, or admiration, I wasn't quite sure spread into the room like running water.

  "The starting price is 10000 pounds. Bear in mind that this an original creation from our award-winning student, John Harker, who wishes to thanks Mr Roydon Thamesian for the gift of some precious material. I remind you that Mr Thamesian is selling later in the auction."

This moment I knew chaos would ensue.

The vampire in the box was a Lancaster.

*

  Roydon's mind cracked open. Watching this pathetical attempt at Art feeding off one of his masters he should have kept safe was the end of his sanity.

The dam broke under the insurmountable flow of memories.  His past was being forced into his body again.

He was caught in a devastating trance, walking back into the streets of 1430, staggering from the grief. His life destroyed to the core. His wife and young son lying with the others over a heap of mortal remains.

Roydon Thamesian had been reduced to a crawling wretch.

He would rot with them, he wished he could rot like them. 

Benedict had torn him apart from their bodies.

He remembered then the great fever parching his body. He had been brought back from madness once already.

The Lancasters visiting his room, worried about the Guildhall's future.

Future. He had sworn not to live one more day and there he was in the year two thousand and thirteen.

*

  This was Roydon Thamesian gone wrong. I could see it in his eyes.

The light was back, but something inside him had snapped. My ears were still ringing from the Singing Vampire. It was skin deep now, I would never, never forget it.

I couldn't quite remember the last sales and the closing of the auction.

I grasped Roydon had an offer for his Vampires but nothing mattered anymore since he wore the mask of defeat on his face. Brand was aghast.

I didn"t wanted to think it but it might as well have been the end.

I, Gioia di Terzi, the oblivious mortal, I knew nothing about these kinds of things.

  I knew nothing.

Maybe I had thought of it like a scavenger hunt, fooling around with the sexiest hybrid alive, hanging out in London.

I couldn't measure the cataclysm on my human scale.

*

Roydon walked straight to Mrs. Salisbury who was putting her notes in her bag.

  "Where is he?" he asked.

  "Who...are you speaking about Mr Thamesian?" she difficulty blurted out.

Mediocre auctioneer, utterly unable to stand her ground, she was pitiful.

He wanted to shake the answer out of her.

  "John bloody Harker."

    "I'm not sure...Well I know he'll be glad to meet you after all. I've seen him before the auction. He said he would be painting in one of the Art rooms. Don't forget to get back to me for the details of your sale..." she breathed out.

Brand stood in his way to the exit.

  "Roydon, this is a human student. He must have been trapped with this. He can't be your attacker."

  "Maybe he isn't human. Maybe he worked with a Hunter. I'll kill him anyway for dragging me in the shit."

  "Please Roydon, he wants you to get him, isn't that a tiny bit suspicious?" asked Gioia, softly.

  "Oh I will get him allright. Brand take Ms. Perdue back home and Gioia to the hotel. I'll be extremely quick."

*

  Nooo! I wouldn't let him act like this and go where his enemy wanted him. Of course he was one of the most powerful hybrids around here. But no.

  "It won't be necessary Brand. I'm staying."

I glimpsed the tiniest bit of discomfort in Isolde Perdue pretty grey eyes.  She wanted out, surely.

  "Come on, Roydon Thamesian" she said finally "Two hybrids, a witch and a...lively girl-next door against an Art student? Guess who wins?"

So I had been entirely wrong about her.

I liked this sassy bitch witch in spite of all her contrived bull.

  "So what now, we search the art rooms and stumble across the villain?" I asked.

  "Yes" said Roydon.

*

  He was at full speed and soon only Brand could have followed him.

  "You two go ahead, I stay with the human" said Isolde.

Roydon looked at her funnily.  Brand said ''Come on, I trust her."

  "I certainly don't."

  "We're losing time."

  "Brand if something goes askew I'll have you and the witch in a remake of the death of Romeo and Juliet."

They ran to Camberwell College's building, prowling the fairly empty corridors.

  "This way" said Brand.

Art rooms. Space of free expression for artists in the making.  But not on this day.

For the first time in his abnormally long life, he had come to hate art.

And it couldn't remain like that, therefore he would kill the artist.

Roydon knew he had lost all balance. He was well aware of it. It was even worse and maybe that was true madness, knowing but being unable to keep it away.

A young man stood against the door. Waiting.

  "Mr Thamesian, I'm glad to finally meet you" he said.

Just a lad. Nothing more.

Brand looked puzzled.

  "What's all this about?" asked Roydon.

John Harker smiled dreamily.

  "That's the beauty of it. Art has no meaning. It has all meanings."

    "You"re not alone. It can't be."

    "
He was alone. He was unheeded, happy, and near to the wild heart of life.
It's from James Joyce, quite nice isn't it? Did you like my Singing Vampire?"

  "Completely lunatic." muttered Brand.

Roydon caught him by the throat.

  "Go on' said John's choked voice ''You know you want to kill me, take my life and my blood.  What is time without intensity, Mr Thamesian? You were meant to drink life out of people like me."

Roydon could see the complete surrender on the young guy face.

  "Who made you do this?" he asked.

  "To make art out of the undead sculpting would have been perfect but I suck at it. I wanted to make a masterpiece. By the way this wasn't your Vampire in the box. This one was even older, it was an honour to make use of it."

He let go of the boy.

Roydon reeked from the disease. The thirst.  He was hallucinating.

The eldest Lancaster had bared his arm and sliced himself open from wrist to elbow.

  "Drink Roydon Thamesian. And after that you'll swear to become our Guardian. You shall never be weak again. Drink."

He had sucked the bitter blood like a babe suckled milk from his mother.

It happened so very fast.

John Harker razored one side of his neck open and offered it to him.

  "And I have a just price to pay for that creation."

It was forbidden. He had no fangs. He plunged his mouth in the open artery, drinking from the bloodflow.

Brand leaped on him too late.

He saw again the day which had restarted his life. The Guildhall Guardian, only one condition.

Never drink blood again.

Always remain on the Lancasters's leash.

He drank and drank and drank.

Brand used of all his strength to remove him from John Harker's body.

He saw the signs flash everywhere on the art room walls.

Neon signs. Modern Art all the way again. 

 
Hello again Mr Thamesian

  I hope you enjoyed drinking my gifted artist

Brand was dragging him out and the colourful messages flashed everywhere around them, like stains on the corridors and windows.

   I know I have been rude to hide like that

  But don't worry Mr Thamesian

  All I wish for you and your Guild is agony

  It's only the beginning

It flashed twice again.

 
It's only the beginning

  It's only the beginning

Roydon cut his tongue on his new fangs.

Brand had to momentarily let go of him. He went on his knees before Camberwell College building.

 
I didn't understand.

Surely I had fainted. Isolde Perdue stood above me, her rasping voice slightly concerned '"Come on get up, Gioia, is that your name?"

Oh yes I remembered now. Roydon Thamesian falling on the pavement. Brand told Isolde to bring me back to St Pancras. I couldn"t stand the shock.

Roydon Thamesian's downfall.

"Okay I'll help you gather your things.''sighed the witch.

I had to go back to work, to my real life, yes that was it. It seemed that Roydon and I had collapsed almost at the same time. Lovers synchronicity maybe. Or pure chance.

Brand sat on the edge of my bed.

"I'll come with you in the train, Gioia, don't worry." he said nicely.

And when Brand was nice it meant nothing but trouble.

"I want to see Roydon." I said.

After all I still didn't know what had happened inside Camberwell College' s art room.

"Listen, my brother can't speak at the moment. He had broken some rules. I took him to my club. I have never seen him like this."

"Rules?"

Isolde Perdue began packing for me, in a febrile, inefficient manner which betrayed the fact that she never did so for herself.

  "Roydon has drunk blood."

  "He is a vampire."

  "No. He had a bargain with the Lancasters. They turned people into hybrids, Roydon is the bidding man, but they didn't want one thing: men more powerful than them, they wanted vassals. They knew they couldn't trust anyone, even us. We have no fangs, we don't drink."

  "But now..." I said

"Now Roydon is an equal to the full blood vampires."

*

Did I tell you how much I love Mrs Pickle?

When I shown up on the porch and begged her to open the door in tears, she let me hug her, ramble in Italian and pretend she was my mother.

She must be persuaded I was dumped.

Brand had left me at the train station, smoking one last half cigarette, sunglasses on even at night.  I didn't know what to say to him.

I said ''I think I'll quit my job and go back to my country."

It was just so to speak. I didn't find the strength to ask about Roydon. Brand had texted back and forth all the train's ride. All the Medieval Quarter was in a crappy place now.

"This could lead to upheaval" had said Brand in the hotel room.

Roydon is fanged.

Brand kissed my hand.

"Isolde said you might have some potential. I agree, don't waste yourself away Gioia di Terzi."

  I did barely nothing to find resolution the next few days. I didn"t quit my job. I did work extra hours.

I didn't call my mother to announce my return.

I didn't.

Three days. I knew I had to check. It was crazy, I had never believed about this instinct crap like you can feel someone trying to reach you, until then.

Because I wanted to believe.

His email came with a form application for a job in town, in the gallery near the University.

Scoundrel,

You can do better. Quit. But don't really leave.