Seeker (28 page)

Once it had finished gorging itself on the dead bodies, the mound of flesh slid off the black bags and began to roll towards the Fiat Punto, where the firemen were now cutting the driver free.

Draining the dead bodies was one thing, the measurable evidence hidden from immediate discovery, but to drain a body in front of people was a risk Frederick could not allow. As busy as they were, it wouldn't be long before the paramedics noticed the blood disappearing from the crashed car, and the driver himself.

Frederick had to act fast, draw the sack of flesh away from the devastation. Very few people stood on the bridge, most drawn to the better view afforded them by the cordon, but still he pulled back to the opposite side of the bridge and extended a single talon, with which he slit the skin of his right palm and shook the blood from the cut, letting the scent of upyr blood catch on the breeze. The shapeless mass stopped, and for a moment seemed uncertain on its course, before turning slowly towards where Frederick was casting droplets of blood into the air. Normal human blood was indeed a feast for an upyr in stage three, but there was no blood as intoxicating as that of another upyr. Just one reason why Red Source was so popular among the Initiates.

Now he had the attention of the thing that was to become Will, Frederick turned and began to jog away, certain that the mass of flesh would follow. Upyr blood was a good draw in itself, but within his veins were traces of the blood of the Ancient, and such a source of richness was something the fledgling could never hope to resist.

* * *

To get to a more secluded spot he had to circumnavigate Pier Hill and cut his way up through the nature reserve known as Never Never Land, the only carry over from the landowner's predilection for all things Peter Pan; once upon a time the amusement park was even named Peter Pan's Adventure Island, as if to punctuate the point. Once at the top of Pier Hill, Frederick cut around the Royals shopping mall and up the high street, all the while trailing blood which served to keep the sack of flesh following.

It was fortunate that his blood was more appetising than human blood, since even at near ten o'clock there were many people on the High Street. Some walking towards the nightclubs and pubs for one last crazy night out before the humdrum of the working week began again, while families headed up the high street towards the bus station, after enjoying a day out at the seaside. These families invariably contained at least one child who had managed to graze their skin at some point during the day, but the minor wound was nothing compared to the lure of Ancient-enriched blood. Just as well, Frederick thought, somewhat amused by the notion of the youngsters screaming while some unknown force attached itself to their knees and began draining them of blood. He could see it now; crazed parents getting more and more riled by the “acting out” of their child, no doubt simply too tired from a long day. How long would it take before the parents noticed the changing pallor of their children's skin?

Frederick carried on at a faster pace, before he was too tempted to find out.

Once he reached the top of the high street, he cut a right and emerged onto Chichester Road. People stood at the bus stops that lined the edge of the Victoria shopping centre. Frederick slowed down, not wishing to attract too much attention to himself. Once past the bus stops he entered the multi-story car park that stood behind the Victoria, and started up the twisting ramp. He gathered his speed, and within minutes he was on the roof.

From his vantage point he could see out across to Southend Victoria train station and the many buildings beyond, including the library, Civic Centre and police station. To the left of them was the Queensway roundabout, with exits leading back into town, and away towards London Road and Leigh, and to the right was the residential area of Southend itself, including several nearby tower blocks, all standing taller than the car park. Frederick knew that anybody looking out of their windows would get a good view of what was about to happen, but all they'd really see was one man acting very oddly in the deserted car park. Not exactly an unknown occurrence for Southend. He was quite safe from any intervention of well-meaning, or possibly nosy, locals.

The squelching alerted him to the arrival of the mass of flesh, and as it emerged into the floodlights he saw that it was looking even less like a mound of flesh and more like a man trapped inside a large skin-coloured plastic bag. The trapped analogy worked even more when he saw how the being within was trying to force his way out, but clearly didn't quite have the strength needed and, like a chick needing the assist of its mother to break the shell of its egg, it was clear that Willem needed a little more blood to give him the strength to break free.

Frederick lifted his torn hand high and, as a matador with his red cloak, he swished his hand around, the flying blood enticing the fledgling to attack. Before he had a chance to consider the foolishness of his plan, Frederick found himself beneath the sack of flesh and felt a sense of being pulled away.

He closed his eyes, giving in to the sensation, and his mind drifted back to the small Prussian province of Posen, where, in 1722 he was a young man of little means. He lived with his ailing mother, dreaming of becoming a member of the Order of the Black Eagle and serving the “Soldier King.” Such dreams were not to come about, however, since only days after his twenty-first birthday he met a visiting French woman, Gabrielle Maupassant. She was in Prussia selling works of art, while at the same time painting a portrait of King Frederick William I. In short order Gabrielle became enamoured with the young Frederick Holtzrichter, and he found himself subject to her seduction. A very willing subject at that, since he had never encountered a woman of such beauty before. She smuggled him into her chamber at the royal palace, and it was there that he lost both his virginity and his mortal life. It was also there that he discovered her true name; Celeste.

In his mind's eye he could see himself lying on her bed, having already been spent once. He looked down at his nakedness, watching the steady rise and fall of Celeste's head as she worked her mouth around his manhood. A sharp sting and he let out a gasp of ecstasy; it was as if a small sharp object had pierced his pleasure. He had never felt anything like it. His heartbeat fastened, the blood rushing to his hardness as it pulsated in her mouth…

His life ended there, being pulled down into Celeste, just as he was now being pulled up and out of his body by Willem. Once again his life was about to end; not the short mortal span he had endured for twenty-one years back in Posen, but the immortal life he had lived ever since. Willem's thirst was killing Frederick in the same way that Frederick had killed Willem two nights previously.

Panic gripped him; he could not die, he had a mission to complete. His role was too important!

With all the preternatural strength at his disposal Frederick extricated himself from the mass of flesh and cast it aside. He stood slowly, taking deep breaths, having never felt so weak. His clothes were ruined. Blood and pus covered his trousers and shoes, and his linen top was a mess of greens and reds, barely a hint of the white beneath. For once he was glad he'd left his leather jacket at home.

He looked over at the source of his mucky clothing. Now looking like a deflated balloon, the bag of flesh, torn and gashed open, spewing out more pus and excess blood, lay at the far end of the car park where Frederick had thrown it. He stepped closer, applying saliva to his hand wound, sealing it.

He stopped a few feet away, and watched as fingers ripped through the drying flesh. He waited until Willem worked his way free. Finally he stood there, the man Frederick wanted, in all his naked glory, unseen by anyone but another upyr. For a while longer Willem would continue to exist beyond the perception of humanity, while his new upyr body acclimatised to the world he had entered.

Frederick stood there in silence, taking in the sight before him. Despite the blood and puss that covered his body, Willem was exactly as Frederick remembered him from when he had stood in Frederick's bedroom, naked but for his boxer briefs, while he got changed into his suit for a night out at Zinc. Only this time there was no underwear to hide away the genitalia which now hung freely between his legs. Frederick smiled, certain that they were a bit more well-proportioned than had been hinted at in his bedroom. It was a fact that the first upyr body was a copy of the original mortal body, only with all perceived imperfections removed. In Will's case the only thing he considered imperfect about his body had been between his legs, but his subconscious had taken care of that while his new body had grown in the sack of flesh.

Frederick smiled. Typical human vanity.

Still, he looked forward to exploring this new body more later, but for now there were more important things to which he had to attended, like getting Willem back home.

Willem did not notice the attention. He was looking around wildly, his eyes unable to fix on any one thing. He looked up at the night sky and, as if in response to his confusion, the heavens opened up and the rain came crashing down. He closed his eyes, clearly enjoying the sensation of the water hitting his face. The downpour served to remove all the ick from his naked body, and once cleaned he reopened his eyes and looked directly at Frederick.

“Willem,” Frederick said, with a smile, and took a single step forward before stopping again. His smile dropped, once he noticed Willem's translucent eyes. That was wrong. For just over two hundred years upyr eyes had been transparent, the blood clearly flowing behind them, but only after the Second Death. An occasion Willem had yet to reach. His eyes should have been the same deep brown as before.

“You,” Willem said, his voice dry from lack of use. “You did this to me.” He looked down at his nakedness, and when he looked back up Frederick was stung by the hatred directed at him. “What did you do?”

“A favour. You were dying, I had to…”

“No.” Willem shook his head. “I…I cannot know this. It's too…” He grabbed his head and let out an almighty scream.

Frederick looked to his left. Several lights in the block of flats came on, the residents alerted by the piercing sound. Although not part of the tangible world yet, somehow the despair in Willem's soul managed to tear through.

“It's too much,” Willem was saying, “too much. I will
not
know this. Not now.”

“What?” Frederick drew in closer, reaching out for Willem, but with a force that surprised Fredrick, Willem flung him aside. Frederick crashed into the wall of the car park, and for a moment he remained there, his body crushed by the impact.

He was still much too weak from allowing Willem to feast on him. His mind was awash with confusion, not able to make sense of what was happening. So much about the Rebirth was wrong. Frederick looked up, but Willem was gone. Not able to stand, Frederick reached out with his mind; now Willem was out of the pontus the psychic connection should have been easy to establish.

But there was nothing. No trace of Willem at all.

* * *

He ran through the rain, barely noticing the water as it splashed down over his naked body. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. He just had to run away from what he knew, what he didn't want to know. His head was a maelstrom of thoughts.

Memories; faces of all the people he had known over his very long life, places he had been, things he had done. Terrible, terrible things. The memories brought with them intense feelings of love, respect, anger, hurt, hate and, strongest of all, pity. Centuries of feeling pity for those who touched his life, unwilling to challenge the status quo of their lives, never willing to stand up and say “no!” None knew true freedom but he. Freedom that was brutally stolen from him.

No!

He could not know any of this. And so he would not. He would close it all away. No one knew themselves as well as he did, no other could hope to understand their own minds as he understood his, and none had the control he did. Every little piece of himself, his history, everything that made him who he was. All of it would be sealed in a labyrinth of corridors, every memory slammed shut behind a door. Even his name would be vanquished.

“Excuse me.”

A voice broke through. He looked up and realised that somehow he was crouched against a sodden bush, the rain still hailing about him. How long had he been running? It seemed like only seconds, but somehow he knew it was longer, that he had traversed quite a distance in the rain.

He had to blink away the bright light that illuminated the garden in which he crouched, just to see who it was that was speaking.

A woman dressed in a raincoat and wellington boots. She was stepping closer, her dark red hair almost black from the rain. “Who are you?”

It was a simple question, and for a moment the answer scared him. He blinked, turning the final lock on that closed door, and then the feeling was gone.

“Well?” the woman asked.

He frowned. There was something familiar about this woman, like he knew her. It was as if he…as if he had to find her. That being in the garden, just the two of them, was right somehow. He stood up and moved towards her. She held her ground, looking him over strangely. There was no fear in her emerald eyes, only a look of…familiarity. He couldn't explain it, but they knew each other. Only…

“I…I don't know,” he said, vocalising the words that echoed throughout his mind. “Who am I?”

14.

Something was wrong with Frederick. Celeste had known this since yesterday when she had paid him a visit during their break from the “audiences.” He had been distracted, fobbing her off with a very transparent excuse about a translational problem in the prophecy. He had been studying the Book for over two hundred years with and without help; not for a second did Celeste believe he had made an error in translation.

She had scraped the edge of his mind, not enough for him to feel, but enough for her to realise that he was hiding something. Celeste did not dig any deeper, such an intrusive act was not her way. They had been together for the best part of three centuries and, other than when she had first encountered him in Posen, she had never needed to enter his mind to get information from him. She would not start now.

Celeste had to confess, though, at least to herself, she was sorely tempted. Even more so when the waves of confusion and hurt had struck her in her private chamber at the factory that night. Frederick was not particularly adept at mind trawling, but the blood bond between them only increased in strength over the years, and sometimes the intensity of Frederick's emotions transmitted themselves over great distances. This was one such case; miles separated the factory on Canvey Island from Frederick's apartment in Chalkwell, but she could feel his confusion as if he were standing right next to her. She had tried to contact him, but he had not responded. Troubled as she was, Celeste decided to leave it until the next day, when hopefully Frederick had slept on whatever was ailing him.

She was not one for sleep, after living seven hundred eighty plus years she had had more than enough sleep and chose to spend most of her time awake. Nights were traditionally the time for bogeymen and monsters; she remembered a time when her people were considered such, a time when the night was their domain. Those times were long gone now.

With the forming of the Three in 1788 she had made a conscious effort to put aside the darkness of tradition and set about civilising the upyr world, a development that had already began with the natural evolution from vampire to upyr. Decade by decade their old weaknesses faded, as more and more the human blood on which they lived turned them into almost perfect copies of the humans they once hid from, at least on an external level. Except for their eyes, which seemed to get more otherworldly as their bodies became more worldly.

Sophistication was no stranger to Celeste, she had been raised into a noble family as a human and that nobility was something she had clung to fiercely after she had been violated and turned into a vampire by that bastard Pierre; she had refused to become a monster like the rest of them, and in the twelfth century vampires were still every bit the monster myth insisted on. After the revolution of '88, she claimed the upyr as her own (although, the lay-upyr did not realise this, believing they were being ruled by the Three as a body), and bringing a level of civility to her people was something she had longed to do. With her new position of power, she had finally been able to do just that.

With no interest in sleep, she wandered the streets of Essex, wrapped up against the storm, secretly enjoying the wet and cold railing against her, free from her entourage of bodyguards, observing the sleeping world that was barely worthy of her people. There may have been Sekhites abroad in Essex but Celeste had not survived for 755 years as an upyr without learning how to handle herself. Theodor and Frederick worried for her safety, but their feelings for her clouded their reasoning; both tended to forget that she had lived a long life before she had found either of them. Only Erwyn seemed not to care.

She should probably attribute that to his cynicism, but she would rather believe it was because he understood her true power. A thorn in the side of many an upyr he might have been, but Erwyn knew to respect her position and would never question her. Other than Theodor she was the only upyr guaranteed to receive a level of obedience from Erwyn.

She was glad that the normal animosity between Erwyn and Frederick was being held in check. Things were drawing to a point, with great changes around the corner, and the Three and their most trusted advisor could not be seen to be in dispute. Already Julius was beginning to show his hand, as she had always known he was bound to do eventually, and they needed to be unified against the potential threat of the Brotherhood. Denouncing the Brotherhood in 1788 had been hard enough, the revolution had cost many lives on both sides, but the cost now would be much higher.

Rumours of discontent had already reached the ears of the Three; stories of upyr beginning to question their rulings, delving into the teachings of the Brotherhood, and it was only a matter of time before the upyr world would be in turmoil once again.

The Book of Sekhmet was clear; the Seeker would arrive and find that which he sought. What it did not say, however, was that as a result loyalties would be secured. Prophecy said the upyr world would be united, but Celeste felt sure that in fact her people would be torn apart by the fulfilment of the Seeker's role.

Still she wasn't sure what to do about it. She had always revered the Ancient and it went against every ounce of her being to consider he was wrong. So she did not. Prophecy could not be denied, but it could surely be controlled.

* * *

She returned to the factory several hours later, still troubled despite her meander through the Canvey marshland. The weather was beginning to settle, and with the sun came light grey clouds pushing aside their darker friends, signalling the start of what could be a glorious day. Celeste wished her mood was as glorious, but much was troubling her. However, she had determined that upon returning to the factory she would resume work on the official wedding portrait of Prince William and Kate Middleton. Not her most prestigious work; royalty really wasn't what it had been back in her day, but nonetheless she loved capturing these moments of history. She had done countless official portraits over the centuries, under various
allonyms
, and she always considered it a shame that she had missed out on doing the official portrait of Charles and Diana back in '81. Thus there was no way she would miss out on doing one for Diana's first born.

The audiences were few and far between today, which was just as well since she was in no mind to offer pearls of wisdom to her people, and was quite content to slip away into her painting. Even Lady Isobel would keep for another day.

Upon seeing Erwyn at the door of the factory, though, and the serious look on his face, she just knew that the day was not going to improve her mood one bit.

“Erwyn, a delight as ever,” she said. “To what do I owe the welcoming committee?”

“I've found out a few things about our little slain boy. Things I think both you and Theodor will need to hear.”

Celeste walked past him and he followed her into the factory. “Such things as?”

“His name, and more importantly his sister's name. Or rather his step-sister; one Maia Chenoweth.”

At this Celeste stopped. She turned to look at him, the cloud over her face now echoing the dense clouds being swept away by the sun. “Frederick's daughter,” she said softly.

* * *

Celeste was not happy by the big reveal, and the Three all agreed that such an incident was problematic at best, especially given the closeness of prophecy. Celeste wanted to know more, so Erwyn furnished her with everything he had found out from Rochelle.

The dead boy was Darrell Jenkins, son of Brian and Julie Jenkins. According to reports from Social Services both Darrell and his step-sister, the daughter of Julie from a previous relationship, were made wards of court twelve years ago after concerns were raised about their abusive home life. Brian Jenkins was remanded in custody after allegations of child and spousal abuse, and was now serving a thirty-year sentence. Maia Chenoweth, still using her mother's maiden name, left home three years ago after her eighteenth birthday and the annulment of her status as a ward of court. Darrell still remained a ward, though, and after his mother's suicide last year was sent to a children's home, with a view of potential fostering out. This never happened, and in December he went missing. Despite minor reports since, he hadn't been seen until his body was discovered in Southchurch Hall Gardens on Sunday morning.

Theodor made the obvious leap at this point of the story. Clearly Darrell had hooked up with his sister who, already a renowned hunter thanks to the inherited genes from her father, had taken it upon herself to teach her younger brother some survival skills. It seemed likely Darrell fancied himself as some kind of hunter, which was the only scenario Celeste would accept. She could not believe Frederick would kill an innocent boy. Erwyn wasn't sure he agreed with that conclusion; he was never convinced by Frederick's purity of heart.

“Is it conceivable that this was an accidental meeting?” Celeste asked over the lip of her wine glass. Erwyn knew she slept little, if at all, and wasn't surprised to see her drinking wine so early in the morning. He sniffed, fancying the soft aroma of raspberries with just a hint of cinnamon, the unmistakable scent of a ten-year-old Grenache Rouge.

For his own part drinking before twelve was a big no-no, unless it was blood. That was a drink he liked to start the day with. He turned to the cabinet to pour himself a glass, now that his stomach was rumbling at the thought. As he did he caught Theodor's response.

As ever with Theodor there were no words, just a general sense of what he meant. Being Theodor's fledgling Erwyn could pick up Theodor's thoughts with ease, although they never consisted of actual words. Real thoughts rarely did; words were merely sounds and reverberations exhaled from the voice box, and due to the everyday usage of them humans tended to think in words. Theodor had not uttered a single word since 1708 after his tongue was severed in a brutal act of vengeance, and even though he had occupied several host bodies since then he still refused to speak, penance for some perceived sin he had committed long before he had met Erwyn. There was much mystery surrounding Theodor's past, and even now after almost three centuries together Erwyn knew so little. Theodor's pre-upyr life was a closed book, one that only Celeste had read. All Erwyn knew was something bad had taken place, and after losing his tongue Theodor had chosen to never use words again. As such, Theodor's thoughts were no longer expressed with words, but rather images and feelings, so much more complex than any words could describe. But still amazingly easy to understand for people like Erwyn and Celeste who had been privy to Theodor's thoughts for three hundred years.

“I agree,” Erwyn said, turning back to Celeste and Theodor, his glass now full of A-Positive. “It doesn't seem too likely, does it? I reckon Maia sent him here, maybe as some kind of test, like.” He shrugged. “Maybe she's in the area, too.”

“Hmm.” Celeste sipped her wine, her thoughts her own. Erwyn watched for any sign that would give away what she was thinking. He looked at Theodor, but the German upyr shook his head. Even her own fledgling was closed off to her. A rare thing, although Erwyn wasn't entirely surprised. He never understood how both Theodor and Frederick could occupy the same place in Celeste's soul, but he did understand that at times there was conflict over this. Now was one such time. Finally she spoke. “We need to bring Frederick in. Theodor, I want you to go and get him.”

This did surprise Erwyn. He would have expected her to simply call him herself, after all Frederick would never ignore a summons from his eternal consort. He narrowed his eyes; things were not so green in paradise after all. Theodor nodded his agreement, and briefly Erwyn got a sense that he was not only agreeing to Celeste's command, but also with Erwyn's summation of the current state of play between Celeste and Frederick.

“Erwyn, do whatever needs to be done to find out if Maia is anywhere near Essex. We cannot afford to have a hunter running free at this time.” Celeste stood, and went to walk out of the room. She stopped at the door. “If she is in the area, put our people on the alert. She needs to be removed.”

Erwyn watched the door close behind Celeste. Up until now they had allowed Maia to go unchecked, by virtue of her parentage, despite the potential danger she represented. Clearly the rules had changed. He looked to Theodor, who sent him a thought.

Erwyn's eyebrows went up. So Frederick was hiding something from Celeste. Although he didn't say anything to Theodor, Erwyn was sure it had something to do with that Willem person. If so, Erwyn knew he would take great pleasure in exposing Frederick before Celeste. Even paradise could not last forever.

* * *

Whatever needs to be done
. Those were the words Celeste had used and Erwyn intended to follow them to the letter. It had been hours since and still there was no sign of Frederick. Theodor had gone to find him, but he was not home and since then, following repeated attempts by Celeste to contact him telepathically, there had been nothing. There was no doubt that Frederick had picked up Celeste's calls, but he was evidently ignoring them. Never before had Erwyn known anything like it; even when he'd been mysteriously called off to Moldavia in 1790 Frederick had still kept in contact with Celeste, and that was a mission of the utmost secrecy.

Erwyn smiled at the thought of Frederick going against Celeste. It was an angle he could surely use later, with a careful bit of prodding.

For his own part Erwyn had exhausted almost all official avenues and had learned that Maia was not in Essex, or anywhere close. He still had no idea where she was, but she was far enough away to not be an immediate problem. When he reported this to Celeste she would be content, and probably draw the same conclusion as he. Maia had used her brother, given him a head full of twisted ideas about the upyr and told him the biased story of Frederick's liaison with her mother twenty-one years ago. Thus turning Darrell into a weapon of vengeance, unleashing him on her unsuspecting father. It was a foolish thing to do, to send a human hunter after an upyr of Frederick's ability, and Maia must have known that. There was clearly more to it, and Erwyn wanted to know what.