New Order (3 page)

He does have an idea ‒ more than an idea. Michael told me that he got together all the Family seniors who are in London to tell them exactly who I was, how I’d ended up as a recruit and what I’d done as a result. Sympathy isn’t exactly Ursus’s thing, though. I prefer it that way: I’m not going to get anywhere by crying on his shoulder. He barks a lot at me for a reason; I do need to drink – I just don’t want to.

‘Fine,’ I grumble, stalking out with him at my heels. ‘You don’t need to come with me though,’ I tell him without bothering to turn round.

‘I wouldn’t want you to get lost on the way.’

I’d laugh but I had tried that a couple of weeks ago. I told Ursus I was going to drink, then somehow got caught up chatting to a few others along the way. He was not impressed when I almost collapsed a few hours later during his latest PowerPoint presentation.

I give in and let him catch up. We trail down the huge staircase and into the one room in the mansion that really gives me the heebie-jeebies. My feet freeze to the floor before I enter. It’s not a conscious act and I hate myself for it. Ursus nudges me in the small of my back and propels me forward. Matt is already there, his blond head curved round the neck of a pale-skinned woman. His minder is by his side, double checking that he doesn’t go too far with his guzzling. Unfortunately Matt doesn’t go anywhere these days without an experienced vampire by his side.

A red-headed guy bounces toward me. He looks impossibly young and my stomach turns. ‘You can have me!’ he says, with far more enthusiasm than should be allowed. He pulls down the collar of his T-shirt to expose his jugular. I shudder.

‘Actually,’ I mutter, ‘your wrist would be better.’ Most vampires go for the jugular; it’s nearer the heart so the blood tastes sweeter. It’s also much more convenient but I hate the intimacy of it. I eye my willing victim. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-two.’

I’m still suspicious. It’s not unheard of for teenagers looking for kicks to pretend to be older than they are so they can become vampettes. The Family is pretty good at sorting out the fake IDs but no system is perfect. ‘Are you sure?’

He blinks, suddenly nervous at my tone. ‘Yeah.’

Ursus lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘Connor is one of our regulars, Bo. He knows what he’s doing.’

I’m not about to give in so easily. ‘Why?’ I ask him, trying to ignore the faint outline of blue veins under his freckled skin. ‘Why do you do this?’

‘I want to.’ He shrugs and looks at me archly. ‘I don’t come here normally‒ I tend to hang around the vampire watering holes. They’re quite friendly and it’s a good way to meet people.’

I can think of easier ways to make friends. Connor is starting to realise I’m more scared than he is and his nerves are disappearing in favour of a bit of attitude. That’s better than fear, I guess.

‘Bo…’ Ursus warns.

‘Okay, okay,’ I snap. I glance at Connor as I bring his wrist to my mouth. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

A dreamy smile crosses his face. ‘I told you. I want to do it.’

The familiar ache rises in my teeth as my fangs elongate. Nell tells me repeatedly that it’s my gums which hurt as the tooth enamel shifts. I don’t care. The pain feels like it’s in my teeth so that’s what I’m going with. Maybe I should get someone to bring me some Bonjela, in case she’s right. I take a deep breath, push down the nausea rising up from the pit of my stomach then slowly and very, very carefully, sink my teeth into Connor’s flesh.

It’s the initial piercing of the skin that’s the worst. I’m not sure if it’s psychological or not but the sensation of ripping someone apart, even gently, always makes me feel ill. Once I find the vein, however, and the warm sweet blood fills my mouth, everything else starts to fade away. I can’t quite bring myself to suck; instead I just let the blood gush down my throat. It means I don’t drink as much as I probably should before the healing properties of my bloodguzzling saliva close up the wound but I get enough.

When Connor’s blood slows to a trickle, I pull away. I concentrate on not stepping backwards and throwing up. If this young bloke is going to offer himself as a vampette for my delectation then I’m not going to waste any of his precious blood. It would be insulting to him and – worse – Ursus would make me drink all over again. I breathe deeply, then paste on a smile. ‘Thank you, Connor.’

He opens his eyes. ‘That was great. You were very gentle.’

I scan his face. He seems to be telling the truth. I’ll never understand what drives people like him to wander off the street to donate blood to vampires but I have to respect his choice. I bob my head in acknowledgment then, slowly and without too many jerky movements, leave.

Michael is outside, standing next to two others. His head is inclined towards a female vampire who looks about twenty but who I know for a fact is closer to the ripe old age of ninety-five. She smiles briefly in my direction and departs. Then he turns to me.

‘This is Patrick Jones.’ He gestures at his remaining companion. I realise with surprise that he’s an Agathos daemon. ‘He’s a barrister who occasionally helps us out.’

I’m puzzled. I thought the Montserrat Family had in-house lawyers. I give Patrick a quick smile in greeting.

‘Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you,’ he says.

Michael stiffens, making me wonder what’s been said. My eyes narrow.

The lawyer hands me a card, shiny and embossed with gold letters:
Patrick Jones. Employment Law. Vampire Recruitment Law. Advocate with the Agathos courts.
There’s a phone number. ‘Thanks,’ I mutter, stuffing it in my back pocket.

Patrick bows in my direction then shakes Michael’s hand before going to speak to Ursus. I wonder why he’s here. There’s a lot going on in the underbelly of the Montserrat Family that we fledglings aren’t party to.

‘You’re looking, um, casual,’ I say, turning to Michael. He’s wearing a pair of jogging bottoms and a tight-fitting T-shirt in the midnight blue colour that signifies Montserrat. I try not to notice how well it clings to his body.

I receive a grin in return. ‘We’re going to do some exercise.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

‘It’ll help you work out some of that tension.’

‘I’m perfectly relaxed,’ I lie.

‘If you say so.’ He glances towards the large oak front doors. ‘The sun went down about an hour ago so we’re good to go.’

Michael walks out and I trail after him. I wish I was strong enough to go out during the day; I’m sure some sun would help me feel better. Unfortunately, I won’t be in a position to do that for at least another year and a half, maybe longer. The thought is incredibly depressing. Still, as soon as I’m outside in the brisk night air, I suck a deep breath far into my lungs. It’s good to be allowed out without having to keep looking over my shoulder, even if I’m under escort.

‘I hear you like feeling power between your thighs?’

I blink. ‘Er, what?’

Michael grins and gestures in front of him. Ursus’s gleaming motorbike sits at the edge of the road. I can’t help smiling.

‘Here,’ he says, throwing me a helmet.

I catch it and look down, frowning. Michael is already clambering on the bike.

‘Why don’t you have a helmet?’

‘Because I’m a stronger and older vampire whose skull won’t be bashed in if we crash,’ he replies patiently.

I open my mouth to retort, then think better of it and jam on the helmet. So far, I’ve yet to come across any advantages to being a bloodguzzler.

‘Can’t I drive?’

‘You don’t know where we’re going.’

I can’t argue with that. Maybe I should stop being so truculent. If I continue to bicker about every little thing, he may rescind my little bit of freedom. I need to be smarter and pick my battles.

I climb on behind him. It’s a long time since I’ve ridden pillion and being this close to the Lord of all the Montserrat vampires makes me nervous. Rather than putting my arms round his waist, I grab the handholds behind my hips. Michael tuts and pulls my hands around his middle. ‘Don’t play coy,’ he tells me, ‘it doesn’t suit you.’

Before I can reply, he guns the engine and takes off, accelerating down the long street with the large houses on one side and the leafy shadows of Hyde Park on the other. He’s a remarkably adept driver. It’s still fairly early and we’re in central London so there’s a fair amount of traffic but Michael weaves in and out of the cars with ease and speed. It turns out that Lord Montserrat is actually a bit of an adrenaline junkie. As I gain confidence in his skills, I relax against him and pay attention to where we’re going.

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…