The Children Of The Mist (25 page)

The thought of her planned shopping jaunt brought her back to practicalities. She didn't have any money. Only the traveller's cheques. Would there be any banks open, so late? She turned anxiously to her cousin. ‘Calix, I just realised, I need to cash some cheques. Will there be a bank open?'

He shook his head. ‘No. But don't worry, if you come to the office first, I'll change one for you out of petty cash.'

That was good. And, she was a bit curious as to the nature of her cousin's business. Well, she
was
now she'd seen the car. Whatever it was, it must be lucrative. ‘Calix,' she said, ‘what did my parents do? You know, for a job. Oh, yes — and what were their names?'

‘Your mother's name was Luci and your father was Cassius. Your father was a Macduff and your mother a Campbell. Your mother and my mother were sisters. Both your parents were in banking.'

Banking. How lame. She'd hoped they'd been something awesome like assassins or arms dealers. Banking. Three-leggedly lame. Still, she could hardly say that, so she said nothing at all. The monotony of the freeway gave way to suburbia. As the car hummed through the suburban streets Morven was distracted by the novel sights and sounds. As the countryside receded, they finally entered the city. There were tall buildings, several stories high, but many looked old. Really old, and built of stone. Dominating all was the castle, softly lit upon the hill. The city was like Brisbane in that all cities have a sameness, but different. It swarmed like a hive. And there was something else, something that simmered on the periphery of Morven's mind. As they passed along a narrow cobbled street Morven felt a wave of vertigo.

Visions filled her head. Another time. But the same place. She looked behind her. An army marched toward her, kilts swinging in rhythm to the brisk bagpipes and drums. Rifles gleamed softly in the moonlight. Tall soldiers, pale and grim rode on black horses at the fore. The houses were dark, as if shuttered against the night. High in a garret of a large house, she peered through a small gap in the curtain. And looked up at the castle. Her eyes opened wide and her heart raced faster than a babbling brook. The black figure upon the castle tower was clearly silhouetted against the silver moon. Her hand shifted to the long blade strapped upon her thigh…and she waited.

‘Morven! Are you alright?'

Morven's eyes opened. The car had stopped, parked beside the curb of a large modern building. She looked at Calix. ‘I'm sorry. I keep getting these…I don't know…hallucinations?'

Calix nodded. ‘Don't be alarmed. You're not going crazy. They're not hallucinations, they're memories. Much of what we know is passed down from generation to generation. Thousands of years of history. Becoming unleashes a flood of knowledge and sometimes it pushes its way to the surface. It can be a bit disconcerting.' He grinned. ‘Dead useful though. It means you can draw on the experience and knowhow of all of your ancestors. So, if your great, great, great grandmother was an ace with a long bow — you will be too. With a little practice, of course.'

Relief flooded through Morven. ‘I can play the harp!'

Calix laughed. ‘Cool. You'll probably find they'll ease off soon. Mind you, it can take decades to explore all your own potential. I still get the odd surprise. Found out I could ride a horse a few months ago!'

Morven thought about the grim soldiers on the black horses. She secretly hoped it was a skill she'd acquired. Excitement fizzed through her as the implications hit her. Who knew what she was capable of? Her mind slipped back to the black bow in the castle. She itched to have a go.

She was still immersed in her musings as she slid out of the car into the cold air.

‘Welcome to the bank, Morven.'

Morven looked up at the large sign lit up in red on the glass and stone facade. And, suddenly — banking took on a whole new spin. She smiled at her cousin. ‘Why didn't you say it was a blood bank?'

As he unlocked the door, he grinned back. ‘What, and spoil the surprise?'

It was warm inside. A security guard sat behind a wide console and greeted them politely. ‘Evening, Mr Campbell.'

‘Evening Jo, this is Miss Smith. You'll probably be seeing a fair bit of her in the future.'

Morven wasn't quite sure about that, but said nothing. A blood bank. How delicious. Maybe she would pay the odd visit. They rode up a plush elevator for several floors.

Calix took the opportunity to fill her in. ‘Blood banking is only one of our concerns but, as I'm sure you can appreciate, it is of prime importance. It gives us independence. And assures a quality product. Of course there are still a few of us who enjoy the traditional methods. But sadly, one must move with the times. We thrive because we are discreet.'

The lift stopped, the doors pinged open and Morven followed Calix into a large office. So enthralled was she that she barely acknowledged the acre of wool carpet, the massive oak table and leather-clad chairs. Morven's eyes followed her cousin as he crossed the room to the window, put his briefcase on a red cedar desk and settled himself into a chair.

Morven followed and sat in one of three chairs opposite him. ‘Where does the blood come from? Is it human?'

‘About 50 percent. Forty percent is porcine. And the rest is synthetic.'

‘Where does the human blood come from? I mean — how do you get it?'

‘We procure it overseas. Asia, Indonesia, parts of Africa.'

‘And is it solely used for our own kind?'

He shook his head. ‘No. We sell to hospitals and clinics worldwide. At an inflated price, of course. Very profitable business.'

‘It's fascinating.'

‘I'm glad you think so. You're going to need to learn a lot more.'

Morven frowned. ‘Why?'

Calix clasped his long fingers together and leant toward her. ‘Because, dear cousin Morven, when you turn 18 you inherit a quarter share in the company.'

Morven could find no words.

His eyes fixed on hers, his voice dropped to no more than a whisper. ‘Morven — very soon, you are going to be an extremely wealthy young vampyre.'

Sound sifted through the double glazing. Morven looked out of the window down into the street below. People hurried, shoulders hunched against the cold, down the pavement. Cars moved slowly, drivers careful of the icy road. Music boomed from over the street, and somewhere a dog barked.

And again, Morven felt that sickening sense of disconnection. She turned to Calix. Perhaps she caught him by surprise, for there was an expression on his handsome features that was both calculating and cold. A small ripple raced down her spine. And she wondered how she could ever have found any resemblance to her friend.

She could never, in a thousand light years, be afraid of Zest.

She turned swiftly, afraid she would betray her feelings and pulled her wallet from her bag. After some consideration she pulled out the equivalent of 300 pounds in traveller's cheques. She briefly met his eyes. ‘Is 300 too much?'

If Calix was disappointed by her lack of response, he did not betray it by even as little as a flicker of an eyelash. ‘No problem.' He pulled open a drawer, extracted a bank box and unlocked it. He held out the funny paper notes to her.

Morven placed the cheques on the desk and reached out for the notes. ‘Thanks,' she said. Her fingers closed on the money, but Calix did not relinquish his hold.

‘Morven, be careful. The ground is treacherous out there.'

She blinked. ‘Sure,' she said.

He let go then and leant back in his chair. ‘I'll be here until about eleven. Here's my number.' He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket. And then leant over into a desk drawer and pulled out a map. Both he presented to her. ‘That should help. Phone me if you run into any problems.'

‘Thanks,' she said. ‘I'll see you later then.'

‘Don't forget, we're hunting tonight. That is — if you have the stomach for it.'

It felt like a challenge. She dropped her purse into her backpack and looked him hard in the eye. ‘That would depend on what we're hunting for.'

He laughed softly. ‘Would it matter?'

Morven didn't answer. Wary.

He shrugged. ‘How does deer sound? There's a herd in the forest still fat enough for a feast.'

‘Sounds good. Well…thanks again.' She shouldered her bag and headed back toward the elevator. She pressed the brass button and turned back to look at him. ‘Tell me, if I inherit a quarter share of the bank, who has the other share?'

‘I already own a quarter, as does Celeste. The other share belongs to your second cousin. You'll probably meet him tomorrow. After your parents died, The Mater took control of your share until you come of age.'

The doors sighed open and Morven stepped gratefully into the sanctuary of the lift. She could feel Calix watching silently until the doors closed. She sighed with relief. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to be alone.

Out on the pavement she perused her map and shivered. First stop — clothes. The main street wasn't far. She stepped out eagerly, keen to warm up. As she exhaled her breath fanned out in a fog in front of her. Pretty insane. But soon she became preoccupied with the new environment, assessing the lay of the land. There was some snow, but most of it had been cleared away. Tall stone buildings had tantalising wide stone steps. Better still, once she made it over the bridge and into Royal mile, the traffic ceased. There was a cornucopia of tempting ledges, flower beds, statues and cobble stones. She couldn't wait to try out those cobbles. On the move she felt more relaxed. It took a while before she realised that she must be adjusting to Becoming. She no longer felt overwhelmed by the scents and sounds around her. It seemed she'd adjusted to the new norm. Also, she had a faint feeling of familiarity. As if she'd been there before. A long time ago. And of course, it was not
impossible. Maybe her parents had pushed her down this very street when she was a baby. It was a good thought.

The shops were in full swing. Warm and light. Packed. Some of the names were familiar: Body Shop, and Sportsgirl. But others were strange. Boots (cool) and Marks and Spencer. Just as she thought she might have to ask for directions, she spotted a store. Route One. The window display was chock-a-block with boards. Stacked like dominos. It was a sight for sore eyes, as her mum would say.

Inside there were more. And more. A dizzying array of styles and brands. She drifted around happily, at home with the other riders. She picked out a pair of army pants, two long-sleeved skivvies, and a blue quilted jacket with a big hood lined with white faux fur. Her loneliness eased at the familiar sight of scruffy boys posing in baggy pants, downtrodden shoes and hoodies.

Next came a board. After endless, agonising speculation, she was torn between a Carver Flowmaster and a Dervish Sama. Just as she'd settled on the Dervish, something caught her eye. It was an ordinary board really, with wheels too big for her liking. But it was beautifully illustrated. A black and grey wolf's head. It was paid for and packaged before she really thought about what she was doing.

Rugged up in an extra layer, and the jacket, Morven almost felt warm. She'd not much money left, but she'd go and pick up a few undies at the Marks and Spencer store. With spare clothes stowed in her backpack, she dropped the board and kicked off. It was a wild sensation. Fierce vibrations scurried up her body as the wheels sang over the cobbled stones. A bit sick. Almost better than a massage. But — shit on a stick — it was good to be on wheels again. She cruised effortlessly, whipping around pedestrians and ignoring their dirty looks.

At the store she stopped and stepped through the door. Man, it was hot. She had to peel off her new coat. It didn't take long to track down the undies and select a six-pack. There was a massive cue at the checkout. Six deep. Morven was panting to get out of there before she died of boredom or heat stroke. The chick on the checkout was slower than a three-legged racehorse. Morven sighed and began to count men sporting beards. Six. Women with blue rinses. Three. Whinging kids. Four (and a half if you included the baby). And then she moved on to redheads. An amazing seven. Finally she made it to the till. Make that eight redheads. The chick had hair the colour of a carrot. Probably a MacGregor. Poor kid.

The carrot top ignored Morven and chewed gum like a dairy cow. ‘That'll be five pounds and 40 pee.'

Morven had to strangle down her amusement. She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a 10 pound note. As she passed it over she caught Carrot's eye. And the strangest sensation fizzled through her psyche. Green eyes. Vivid. Clear. Wide and suspicious. For a long moment the world seemed to slow. And stop.

And then the till pinged open and the girl thrust some money into Morven's unresisting hand. The jaws resumed their sullen masticating. She looked pointedly at the next customer. ‘Next, please.'

Morven was dismissed. For a minute she contemplated staying put. But the impatient shuffling and muttering of the queue forced her to walk away. With no better plan, Morven left the store. Outside she turned and peered back through the window. But she could no longer see the checkout. Could no longer see the girl with carrot hair and green eyes. Eyes that she'd seen before in another's face. A loved face. Zest's face.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but when she finally came back to reality, she was shivering. Snowflakes drifted softly onto her shoulders like dandruff and melted away. She gripped her board tightly and looked around. Perhaps she had just imagined the likeness. After all, Zest was never far from her thoughts. A bit of wishful thinking. And besides, he wasn't the only person in the world to have green eyes. But then she shook her head. No, it wasn't just the eyes. There was something else, she was sure. A spark of recognition, perhaps? Just for a fleeting second. Damn, it was cold. She pulled on her coat, and pulled up the hood. And then she became less certain. A glance at her watch told her it was half past eight. Time to have a look around.