How Many Vampires Does It Take To.......

Vlad and the Count came to to find themselves bound together, back to back and firmly gagged, in the soft twilight filtering through the door frame. They had been propped up on the cold, tiled floor of the front hall.

Trying to talk just produced unintelligible grunts and squirming around, trying to move just resulted in them falling over sideways and Vlad bashing his head against the solid oak legs of a side table. Howling with frustration, Count Antonescu eventually took the matter in hand by using his vast height and bulk to stand up and walk into the kitchen, with Vlad strapped, like an infant in a pouch, on his back. The Count pondered between using a knife to try and cut them free or having a go at lighting one of the gas burners and trying to burn through the ropes. Whoever bound them was unfortunately very good at knots and had used good quality, sturdy rope. Even Vlad's weight being supported on his back and his flailing legs did nothing to loosen their bonds.

Help came from an unexpected source. The wine bottle that Mike Costello had been drinking from had somehow been knocked over and smashed on the kitchen table, leaving a sticky trail of red wine dripping down the table leg to form a glutinous pool on the floor. The Count gritted his teeth, leaned over the table and started sawing at one of the bonds against the jagged broken glass. It was a slow and painful process as he had no hand free to steady the glass, so kept cutting himself, and Vlad, who didn't seem to be enjoying being bound to his back and being leaned over sideways, kept kicking him.

Eventually the frayed threads of one of the ropes parted and Antonescu grimly carried on until enough ropes were severed and he could free his hands to deal with the rest. As the final rope parted he pulled the gag out of his mouth and let Vlad fall unceremoniously into the pool of wine on the kitchen floor.

'What did you do that for' choked Vlad as he pulled out his own gag and tried to stand up 'I'm covered in red wine now and will have to change!'

'Serves you right for kicking me so hard' returned Count Antonescu shortly.

'Look here Antonescu, I'm your Leader now, so you can't talk to me like that!' blustered Vlad.

'Then start acting like one and stop whining!' rumbled the Count 'And while you are at it, can you explain this?'

The Count pushed a crumpled piece of paper across the table to Vlad, who blushed as much as a vampire could when he realised it was Mike Costello's note.

'As my leader, you question my loyalty' asked Antonescu threateningly as he leaned over Vlad.

'No, no, you know I would never do that!' pleaded Vlad.

'But you were planning to meet with this human psychic, and listen to him talk of me being untrustworthy. Me an Antonescu; my family has served yours faithfully for seventeen generations!'

Vlad felt that things were getting out of hand.

'Look Count, I think we are getting side tracked here. Don't you think it is rather more important to work out how we ended up bound and unconscious on the hall floor and how Kingsteignton got away?'

'My loyalty has been questioned; nothing is more important!' growled back Antonescu stubbornly 'You were planning to meet with this human psychic, no? One who slurs the honour of an Antonescu?.'

'Look Count, please don't go all medieval on me! My head hurts, I can't think straight and I don't know how any of this happened to us! begged Vlad pleadingly.

The Count's eyes narrowed but his next comment was more conciliatory.

'We will have to work it out and try and get Kingsteignton back' he declared.

'Do we really want him back' asked Vlad a little nervously.

The Count glared at him again through narrowed eyes. 'He now has even more questions to answer, my Leader, was his behaviour just a ruse to lull us into a false sense of security or did he have help? What can you remember?'

Vlad felt that the Count's mocking tone was a little unnecessary, but decided that nothing was to be gained from winding him up even further.

'I remember nothing until I woke on the hall floor bound to you' he replied evenly ' Before that the last thing I can recall is that I was reading the note and saying goodbye to de Cazalrenoux. You don't think he did this, do you?

The Count snort derisively. 'A werewolf overcome two vampires, I don't think so! And why would he? The only thing he is interested in is his missing Clan member.'

'And women' retorted Vlad bitterly 'But I wasn't knocked on the head, so how were we overcome?'

Antonescu frowned. 'I do not know the answer to that either. You seem to value the information you get from this human psychic, so why don't we go and make this rendezvous with Mike Costello anyway? Maybe he can sense something for us? See what his real game is?'

'Well we'll be late and Mike wanted to see me alone' started Vlad fussily until he realised that Antonescu was now glaring at him in a particularly hostile way.

'Oh, all right then' he conceded 'I'll just change my trousers and let's hope the car starts; I haven't used it in six months'.

As they were leaving through the front door five minutes later, both the Vampires failed to notice the now empty gas canister that had rolled under the chaise longue where Kingsteignton had been laying.

Wasted Journeys

Roland was glad that he had decided to drive as he drove up to the next Bricklayer’s Arms in Putney. He had had no success in Fitzrovia, Poplar and the City and was beginning to believe that he had been set up. But why? Who would lead him on a wild goose chase all over town like this, and for what reason? He pushed the idea that someone wanted him out of his flat so that they could get at his Clan firmly to the back of his mind. He had called Malvolio and he and Proserpine were fine; having the usual arguments about getting homework done but fine. The block was an especially secure one and Malvolio would defend Proserpine with his life if he was required to.

Roland parked up and wandered through the entrance of the pub into its courtyard garden. Immediately Roland caught a familiar scent and stood smelling the air for a few seconds. His quest might well be over; the human Mike Costello had definitely been here. He could also scent the rank, stale odour of a vampire, but it didn’t seem to be Vladimirescu? He looked around, and could see no sign of Costello or Vlad. There were a couple of groups of hardy humans sitting at the scattered tables in the chilly spring air, but no vampire and no psychic.

He moved into the building and wandered around, even going upstairs and into the gents. The interior of the pub was empty of any identifying scents, except for a brief whiff of Costello at the bar.

‘That young man really should bathe more frequently’ thought Roland testily as he loped back down the stairs. He ignored the inviting looks thrown at him by a group of young women giggling at the bar, who had been attracted to his height, gleaming dark red hair and obviously expensive attire, and strode back into the courtyard. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself by obviously sniffing around, but meandered round the tables until he caught a stronger scent from an abandoned table in the corner.

The table had been fully cleared, but Costello and a vampire had definitely been sitting here. Frustrated that he must have missed the meeting, Roland could have howled but, as he was turning on his heel to leave, he spotted a rectangular white card underneath one of the chairs. He picked it up and turned it over. He scanned the card and his brow furrowed and his canines came sliding down over his bottom lip as he read the words

‘Lord Kingsteignton, 26 Clarence Crescent, Belgravia, London, SW1’

The fools! How had they let Kingsteignton get away? He had been a soiled, drivelling idiot when Roland had left Vladimirescu’s house. On the horns of a dilemma, Roland hurried back to his car. Did he return to Vlad’s house to see if he could find out what had happened to them or go to Kingsteignton’s house in Belgravia? Did he have time to do any more before he turned? He swore as he turned the key in the ignition and was promptly punished for not paying enough attention to what he was doing by backing into the car behind him, which would just happen to be a Porsche, with a resounding thump.

The Astonishment of Mike Costello

Mike Costello slammed his pint glass down on the table and consulted his watch for about the fifteenth time. Vlad had always had a hazy notion of time, but this time he was really taking the biscuit. He was short of cash, as usual, and had been relying on Vlad to get the drinks in. He sighed heavily and fished around in his pocket to see if he had enough money for another pint. His search produced a 50p, a 20p and a button. He really needed Vlad to show and get the round in.

He wasn't the nervous type, but for some reason this evening he just felt wired. It was about warm enough for him to sit at a table outside; Vlad didn't deal real well with the flashing lights on the one-armed bandits and felt more at home skulking in the shadows outside. But Costello felt spooked and was jumping at the slightest movement and the loud guffaws of laughter that suddenly floated out of the pub doors.

He had just started investigating the pockets on the front of his shirt to see if he still had a stray fag, when a hand fell heavily onto his shoulder and gave him the fright of his life. Shaking like a leaf and already chiding himself for being soft, he turned his head expecting to see Vlad standing there.

It wasn't Vlad he saw; but the tall elegantly dressed stranger looking down on him was definitely a vampire. It's vibration was just not human and Costello could feel the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. It felt as though all the air had been sucked out of the courtyard garden and that the vampire was standing in a vortex.

'I'm sorry to have startled you' said the stranger in a low, patrician drawl 'You are Michael Patrick Costello, are you not?'

'Depends who's asking' stuttered Costello getting shakily to his feet and backing away as best he could until his back was up against the courtyard wall.

The stranger put his hand into his breast pocket, withdrew a heavily embossed business card with a crest on it and presented it to him.

'Lord Kingsteington, at your service' said the vampire silkily as Costello took hold of the card with suddenly heavy, clumsy fingers.

'May I get you a drink?' the vampire continued 'Your glass appears to be empty and I myself am in need of refreshment'.

Costello gulped nervously as he was well aware of what constituted refreshment for a vampire; he was also shaken to the core at the vampire naming himself as Kingsteignton.

'Thanks' he managed to squeak 'Mine's a pint of bitter'.

'Wouldn't you rather sample some of the superb brandy that they serve in this establishment?' queried Kingsteignton clicking his fingers, and to Costello's total astonishment summoning one of the barstaff instantly to his side at the table.

'Two large brandies and a couple of those Cuban cigars' snapped Kingsteignton premptorily and the barman scurried off to do his bidding.

'Wouldn't you be more comfortable sitting' asked Kingsteignton courteously as he himself sank elegantly down onto one of the vacant seats.

Mike shuffled himself back into his seat, still clutching the business card. He found that he couldn't stop staring into the deep, dark pools that were Kingsteignton's eyes, it felt that he was being spun in a big, warm tub of melted caramel and he was drowning.....

Kingsteignton's laugh shattered the spell and Costello found himself snapping back into full reality.

'You may be a psychic, human, but you can be played just as easily as any of them. Did your friend Vladimirescu not warn you about the glamour of a vampire; about how we can seduce our prey into submission?'

Costello rubbed his eyes with his knuckles to clear them and looked cautiously back at the vampire.

'How do you know about me' he asked belligerently 'And why are you here instead of Vlad; I thought they had gone off to sort you out!'

'Two Romanian vampires and a werewolf? How you do underestimate me, my boy! Let us just say that young Vladimirescu has been regretfully detained this evening, which gives me the chance to spend some time with you and get to know you better'.

The barman came out of the pub and put a round silver tray with a decanter, two glasses, two cigars, a lighter and an ashtray on it down on the table.

Costello suddenly felt his ears buzzing. 'Whatever you do, do not drink from the decanter' came a firm, female voice in his head.

The Sun Finally Sets

Roland pulled himself together and started up the steps that led to the entrance to the apartment block. He would definitely have to take a shower now, before he popped in to say goodnight to Malvolio and Proserpine. It was just not vampire that he reeked of now; he knew that Malvolio would instantly pick up the scent that he had been aroused by a woman and the anger and resentment that followed it.

He stepped into the lift, making sure that he was not seen and thankfully let himself into his apartment. He flung open the wide glass doors that led out onto the terrace overlooking the Thames, and then went into the bathroom and turned the shower on to it's hottest setting.

He stood under the stinging hot needles of water for at least twenty minutes, trying to wash away all the grime and accumulated debris of his day. His mind was spinning; who should he trust, whose story should he believe. And always the alluring image of Eunice Batchworth was trying to push it's way to the front of his mind and into his awareness.

He turned off the jets and towelled himself down. After shrugging on a thick navy blue towelling robe, he padded back into his lounge to look over the pile of post he had brought in with him and listen to the messages promised by the winking light on the machine. He poured himself a glass of whisky from the decanter on the side and flung himself down on the sofa to go through the myriad envelopes. One in particular, caught his eye and he fished it out. The envelope was pink and was edged with lavender ribbon. It wafted a strong odour of attar of roses when he turned it over, and written on the back in lavender ink was the name and address of the sender:

Mlle Simone de Grandjean, 14 The Corniche, Monte Carlo.

Roland frowned. He had never heard of anyone by that name before, so how did they know his name and address? He was paranoid about the security of the Clan, and only trusted intimates knew addresses and phone numbers of Clan members.

He was about to rip the envelope open and, hopefully, solve the mystery when the phone rang and his answering machine whirred into action.

'De Cazalrenoux you are being played for a fool. The vampire is meeting his human psychic friend this evening at the Bricklayers Arms. Trust no-one!'

The message was delivered in a gruff, low tone, as though the speaker was talking through a scarf. Roland played back the message several times to see if he could gain more information about who had called. The number used was blocked, and Roland couldn't tell if the caller was male or female, what accent they spoke in, or even if the message had been pre-recorded.

Was the message for real or was he being set up? There were several Bricklayer's Arms in London, if he was to try and intercept the meeting he would probably have to do a mini pub-crawl!

He thought furiously for a few minutes and then decided that action was the best way forward. He sighed heavily and got on his feet to go into his bedroom and dress. As he looked out onto the terrace he could see the sun dipping down over the river in a fiery glow. He was due to turn tonight when the moon rose, so he needed to track Vladimirescu and his psychic chum down swiftly; he could not risk turning in a crowded London pub or on the street!

He had entirely forgotten about the scented pink envelope that had fallen back onto the sofa as he stood up; that now lay discarded on the black leather of the seat cushions.

Roland's Day Deteriorates

Roland entered the vampire's house warily, although his curiosity was piqued and he wanted to know what the inside of a vampire's lair looked like.

As the Count dumped Kingsteignton unceremoniously on a couch in the hall and Vladimirescu picked up some kind of note, began reading and then started muttering to himself, Roland roamed the rooms on the ground floor. All he could see was faded grandeur; peeling wallpaper, fading upholstery and several holes in the carpets. Even the kitchen cabinets and appliances looked like they had come out of a woman's journal of the 1930's. It was a far cry from his ultra-modern, luxurious flat overlooking the river at Shad Thames.

However, he could find no signs of a human male being currently in residence. His ultra-sensitive nose detected that a male in his late twenties, with not particularly good personal hygiene had been there but had left at least an hour ago. An overturned red wine bottle dribbling over the carpet, an emptied glass and a lot of bagel crumbs were further confirmation of the humans presence.

So Vladimirescu had not been lying about him being here, at least. Roland decided that there was no profit in him staying there if the psychic was long gone and returned to where Vlad still stood. He had crumpled the note in his hand and was looking thoughtful.

'Look Vladimirescu, there is no human here, so I am off. Some of us have work to do you know!'

'Oh' said Vlad vaguely 'Yes it seems his plans have changed. I will try and sort something out'.

'What was in that note he left you?' asked Roland curtly.

'Oh, the note wasn't from him; it was from the milkman asking that I pay his account' replied Vlad weakly.

'Don't take me for a fool, Vladimirescu! All I want is to know where my clan member is? Pretending to be as soft in the head as Kingsteignton, cuts no ice with me. Arrange a meeting with this human psychic of yours and let me know'.

Roland turned on his heel and strode out of the house, passing Count Antonescu, who was still trying to get Kingsteignton to lie on the couch, without acknowledgement.

He walked briskly out into the spring sunshine and hailed a cab to take him back to his flat.

What a total waste of an afternoon! He had learned nothing to his advantage and reeked of vampire! He would have a good, long shower when he got back and see if he had had any messages from Sue Fisher.

As he was paying off the cabbie at the main door of the block, he noticed a familiar figure come down the steps, unhook a soft mint green crash helmet from the handlebars of a scooter of the same colour, and start putting it over her glowing, titian curls.

Roland couldn't believe his eyes. What was Eunice Batchworth, that divine goddess of a young witch doing in his apartment block?

He loped over to where she was now climbing onto her scooter in a few strides.

'Hi Eunice! What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?' Roland asked a little breathlessly.

'Oh Roland, Hi. No I was over having a cup of tea with Malvolio and Proserpine. We were talking about what to do for Proserpine's birthday. As you know, it's only a few weeks away.'

'I didn't know that you knew Malvolio and Prosperpine?' he replied carefully.

'Yes, I've known them since Malvolio brought her to The Young Witches Association Christmas Party last year. I often drop by, or we all go out for pizza or something. Anyway, mustn't stop, have got heaps to do!'

With that, Eunice revved up her scooter and shot off down the road.

Roland leaned his hand against the nearest lamppost for support. Was his world really spinning totally out of control? Although he knew that there was no real reason why Malvolio should tell him who he saw and when, Roland had always believed that he knew roughly who his clan consorted with and why. Clan security was paramount and as alpha it was his job to ensure it. But Roland was honest enough to admit to himself that the real reason he felt so shaken was because a bolt of pure jealousy had shot through him the second that Eunice had mentioned Malvolio's name.

He had arrogantly assumed that the beautiful young witch has been seeking him out; and he didn't like the fact that she had been hanging out with his curly -haired, personable young beta one bit. In fact he was amazed at how little he liked it at all!