Scott Mariani - Uprising

‘Shit, can he see us?’ Minto gaped.

‘He can’t see us,’ Alex said. ‘He’s just smart. He knows exactly how we think.’

‘You gotta love this guy,’ Slade muttered, and Minto jabbed him in the ribs.

Around the room, vampires exchanged nervous glances.

‘Is he kidding us?’

‘Does he look like he’s kidding?’

‘Quiet, people,’ Rumble commanded.

‘By now,’ Stone continued after a dramatic pause, ‘I’m sure you will all have become aware of the tragedy that has befallen the establishment in Italy where you manufacture your obscene poisons. And I am sure you have all been wondering whose hand it was that has struck you this blow. Look no further. It was I. I am now in possession of your loathsome stockpiles of drugs, and, I believe, some hundred thousand rounds of the ammunition that your treacherous Federation authorises you to use against your own kind.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘The disgrace that is VIA ends here. Know that I will destroy you. All of you. You are traitors to the vampire race, and your time is over.’

Joel had gone into the office early that morning to run a trace on the registration number of the McLaren F11. After more than an hour’s worth of triple and quadruple checking, he’d had to give up. There was no record of the car anywhere.

He was heading out of the door when the phone rang on his desk.

‘Joel, it’s Sam.’ Carter sounded serious. ‘Have you heard yet?’

‘Heard what?’

‘Then you haven’t. They found another body this morning, early. Oxford centre, right under the Bridge of Sighs. It was ex…it was like the other one.’

‘Exsanguinated?’

‘Dry as a witch’s tit. Poor bugger. Some postgrad maths boffin by the name of Mickey Thompson. First we thought he’d been chucked off the bridge. Broken glass everywhere. But there aren’t any lacerations on him, except for where his neck’s been ripped open. And if he’d fallen he’d have a few fractures. Just talked to Jack Briar. Zilch.

So maybe the crazy bastard who did this was the one who jumped off the bridge. Must have smashed himself up a bit. Nobody could take a leap like that and not get hurt.’

‘Any blood at the scene?’

‘Just the victim’s. We’re checking all the casualty departments now in case this nutter turned up there. Anyway, it’s official. We’re looking for a serial murderer, and a right maniac to boot. Thought I should fill you in.’

Joel grabbed a squad car and headed out to the JR. Dec Maddon was sitting glumly in the hospital foyer.

‘What happened to the sling?’ Joel asked, noticing it was gone.

‘Junked it.’

‘The doctor say that was okay to do?’

‘Fuck the doctor,’ Dec said. ‘I’ve got the name of the house. I kept thinking about those birds. Crows. That’s what made me remember. It’s Crow-something house, manor, something like that.’

‘Then let’s go.’

Joel let Dec sit with his work laptop as they drove. If Sam Carter could see me, he thought. Letting a kid on a drugs charge get his hands on the police databases.

‘Got it,’ Dec said triumphantly, tapping keys. ‘Crowmoor Hall. Just a couple of miles out of Henley.’

Joel nodded and put his foot down.

As the countryside flashed by, few words passed between them and there was no mention at all of vampires. But it was the things left unspoken that screamed out, filling the space around them as they drove, bonding them into a tenuous alliance. They were like two co-conspirators, each just as uneasy as the other. Joel focused on his driving, speeding the police car down the country lanes.

‘There’s where I crashed the VW,’ Dec said, pointing at the tight bend up ahead.

The verge was ploughed up, a fence flattened, and the trunk of a big sycamore tree badly scarred from the impact. ‘We’re close. Any minute now we should see the pub I passed. There it is. Everything looks different in the daytime.’

After a few more miles, the road narrowed into a twisty and winding lane, overhung with branches, slippery with decaying leaf matter. The high wall of the stately home seemed to go on forever, before the wrought iron gates eventually came into view.

‘There, see?’ Dec pointed up at the stone birds perched on the gateposts. Even in daylight, they looked sinister.

Joel was about to park up at the roadside when the gates suddenly whirred open to let them in. They looked at each other.

‘They’re expecting visitors?’ Dec said.

‘They’re obviously expecting someone.’ Joel drove the car through.

Dec was frowning as they headed up the gravel drive between the trees. ‘The vampires have to have someone working for them. They can’t come out during the day.’ He turned worriedly to Joel. ‘Can they?’

‘Let’s just take this one step at a time, Dec,’ Joel said. He noticed the kid was trembling.

The driveway straightened and widened out into a great circular forecourt. The grand house stood before them, all gothic towers and chimney stacks and angled roofs.

The stonework was mossy and stained dark in places; here and there was a broken window, damaged guttering, loose slates. The main entrance was built in classical style, with columns and a broad flight of steps leading up to the grand doorway. Leaves littered the steps, and the sculpted angels framing the entrance were pitted with age.

A tall, gaunt, bald-headed man stood at the top of the steps, watching the car closely as it pulled up and studying them with a curious and thoughtful expression.

‘Recognise him?’ Joel whispered as they got out.

Dec shook his head. ‘He is one scary bastard. Jesus Christ, look at his hands. The fucking size of them.’

‘Quiet. Leave the talking to me.’

The gaunt man came down the steps to meet them with a raised eyebrow and a ghost of a smile. Up close, he looked almost reptilian. His voice was dry and throaty.

‘Officers?’

Joel flashed his police card. ‘Detective Inspector Joel Solomon. This is Mr Maddon.’

‘My name is Seymour Finch. Personal assistant to Gabriel Stone. May I be of assistance?’

‘Yes. I wondered whether you’d be kind enough to help with a few queries regarding a reported incident here at Crowmoor Hall?’

Finch’s face cracked into a parched grin. ‘Certainly. What incident are you referring to? Have vandals been in the grounds?’

‘Could we talk inside?’ Joel said.

Finch led them into the marble-floored hall. Dec threw a look at Joel as if to say

‘this is definitely the place’.

‘I would appreciate some explanation, Inspector. I’m a very busy man.’

‘See that door there?’ Dec blurted out to Joel. ‘That leads to the ballroom.’

Joel silenced him with a glare.

‘Ballroom?’ Finch said.

‘Could we take a look?’ Joel asked him.

‘Why, certainly, officer.’ Finch walked slowly across the marble floor, grasped the bronze handles of the double doors and swung them open with a creak.

Inside was a huge conference room with a long, long table flanked by dozens of identical chairs. There was a whiteboard, a screen and projector, and a raised stage with a speaking podium and more chairs facing it in rows.

‘They’ve changed it,’ Dec said in response to Joel’s searching look. ‘It was all different. There was a dance floor there, and the rest of the room was full of old furniture and stuff.’ He pointed. ‘Those are the same. The paintings. Old portraits. I remember.’

‘The oak panels are seventeenth century,’ Finch said. ‘And the tapestries are very valuable. But I should like to know what this young man is talking about, and why you are taking up my time.’