The In Crowd: Vampire the Requiem - Fiction
Forgotten Lore - Issue 5
by Sam Handley
The envelope was neat, charcoal- coloured, and it arrived at the hotel’s front desk with black ink addressed to her name. Her legal name, the one she’d dreamt up and deed-polled especially for bank accounts and official papers. The one she kept quiet to avoid clashes between her semi-public persona and her vulnerable, human reality.
Sacha took the delivery from the receptionist, clutching it close until she reached the security of her locked room and tore into its contents.
Admit One Only (VIP Room)—-
15/05/2011, 20.00-22.00
The Circle Club.
She knew the venue by rumour. Just off Deansgate, a private members’ club mostly catering to media types - and vampires, though the two categories sometimes overlapped. A place that served to uphold the Masquerade, whilst remaining a safe house for those who still liked to see and be seen. As a hunter, the concept was a huge source of intrigue, but she’d had no reason to disturb the peace until now. How did they know which identity to find her with? Sacha was new in town, having made only one trip to Manchester prior to this one, and she was careful in keeping her secrets intact.
Turning the card over, she spied a telephone number in the bottom right-hand corner, and considered her options before dialing with the landline receiver on the bedside table.
“Circle Club.” The male’s accent was undeniably Mancunian, the tone fairly professional sounding.
“Hello, I received a - what is the word - unsolicited invitation to your VIP room. I wanted to check if it’s authentic. It was delivered to the Palace Hotel—-“
“Miss Deniaud?”
“...Yes.”
“Yes, that was meant for you and it’s authentic. Valid from 8PM until 10PM this evening.”
“Mmmhm,” she bit her lip, fiddling with the phone cord. “Is there a reason I received it?”
“I just take care of the guest list when it’s finalized, Miss. I’m not the one who approves the why and how... if you like, I can ask, but I’d need to—-“
“—-No, that’s fine. Thank you.” She hung up, already guessing that she wouldn’t get answers from a secretarial lackey. There was the small possibility that this could be a trap of some kind, though she had her doubts. Vampires, especially vampires in such an elaborate network, did not lure hunters to start fights on their home turf. Exceptions could be made for the beastlier specimens, but by and large the city dwellers were more sophisticated.
Her incentive to accept the invite was two-fold. Firstly, to catch a glimpse of the low-lit world of the blood-sucking elite, and secondly, to give them a few harsh words about their manner of getting in touch.
*****
8 o’clock arrived, and Sacha headed off in the direction of St. Ann’s Square in a dress short enough and strappy enough to fit with the crowd, albeit with a biker jacket thrown over the top. Flashing her card at the door, she was rewarded with only minimal scrutiny from the bouncer as he traded it for a VIP stamp just above her wrist.
Inside, the club was populated with a select few groups of people, nursing drinks: likely local celebrities. The music was at a medium volume, sultry lights reflecting off leather booths and glossy wooden floors.
The small cluster of young men and women guarding the border to the VIP room were, as far as she could tell, ghouls. Humans who had willingly offered themselves up as servants, fed regularly on vampiric blood: the stuff was supposedly addictive enough to make them stick around and do as they were ordered to. She only went so far as stating who she was, and the curtain was drawn back to reveal a reasonably sized hideaway, couches upholstered in the same slick, dark leather she’d noticed earlier.
There was only one man present, dressed in a formal style, a three-piece suit of burgundy pinstripe, and when he stood to greet her she could see he was at least six feet in height. His hair was blonde and smoothed back behind his ears, and he had a pair of cheekbones that could cut glass. “Mademoiselle Deniaud... bonsoir. Ah... c‘est gentil de votre part d’être venu.” A self-deprecating laugh, and when he spoke again it was with a lofty, upper-class English accent. ”...My French is extremely poor, I’m afraid.”
She had little care for his effort to communicate in her native language, unimpressed by niceties from someone who may be using them to mask their true intentions. “You sent me the invitation?”
“I did. My name is Matthew Rain,” he extended a hand, “perhaps you’ve heard about me.”
Her eyes cast upwards and downwards over him, rather dismissively, and she did not accept his handshake. “No.”
He gave a bitter smile in response to her rudeness. “Well, no matter, I suppose. Regardless, I assume my true nature is obvious enough.” Turning, reaching over to the table, he picked up a half-full glass of blood, idly swirling the syrupy liquid. He made to move towards one of the couches, gesturing out. “Would you like to take a seat?”
She dug into her jacket pocket for the crumpled envelope, thrusting it into his open palm.
“...I’d like to know where you got hold of this name.”
“My apologies. I would have had someone approach you directly, but this was more covert. I am an old business associate of Henri... he always spoke highly of you. I’m sure you were just a slip of a thing then, but I see you’ve come into your own...”
He was referring to her uncle Henri, her guardian following the suspicious car accident which caused the death of her parents. She was now old enough to take care of herself, and he’d recently been incarcerated for tax fraud. “My uncle is in prison. He only knows me as Sacha.”
A pause, and Rain’s lips slowly widened to reveal very white, mildly menacing teeth.
“...Yes. You’ll understand that we have other ways of learning these things.” He sipped from his glass, savouring the vitae before swallowing, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing at his mouth lightly in case of stains. When she folded her arms in agitation, he continued. “I need you to assassinate another vampire on my behalf.”
Purposeful murders were not what she was traditionally hired for. All of Sacha’s kills had been abstract and aimed at unlucky randoms, fuelled by the desire of the black market. Occasionally she wouldn’t be asked to kill at all, just obtain a magical artefact. “I’m sorry, that’s not really what I do.”
“And why not?” He questioned, beginning to circle, appearing to enjoy how her body grew more rigid as he passed behind her. “You clearly have the skills, the experience. I don’t need you to retrieve anything from the target, but that means less work and - hopefully - less mess. A simple beheading. Or fire, whichever you prefer.” Stopping face to face with her, he added, “The target has many more enemies than friends... I don’t anticipate an especially strong backlash. I am merely one in a dozen with a motive.”
“What happens if I’m caught?”
“Vampires do not like to get into quarrels with hunters, it never works out in our favour. Even if we do decide to fight one, a dead or injured hunter can inspire the wrath of many others, threatening us with exposure to the world. So, you might even say that my peers would be afraid of you.”
The jibe was hard to resist, and she was giddy on that self-importance as she tossed her head to one side. “Are you afraid of me?”
“Fear can be healthy. Don’t you think so?” He advanced a little into her personal space, near enough that the scent of blood in the glass was palpable. Sacha’s overconfidence did not match with the sudden change in her body language - she squared her shoulders, her head inching back ever so slightly in reflex. Rain seemed satisfied with this.
“I can offer a certain degree of protection, as well... I have a lot of influence in the city. You will carry out the kill at the vampire’s haven - his home - during the daylight hours in which he sleeps. That is all I am prepared to discuss at this juncture: I haven’t the time for details tonight. I can meet you at a later date, if you are interested.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Rain slipped a hand into his jacket, producing a cheque. It had been pre-written, with the name he had used to send the invitation, and a five-figure number. “Food for thought, then?”
Sacha blinked at the rectangle of paper, trying not to seem dazzled by the prospect of a client who was the very opposite of cheap. Keeping on top of her own affluence was a difficult task - in comparison to her former lap of luxury at home, she’d been living to a much lower standard during her first couple of years in the field.
“You seem surprised. Perhaps you’ve been undercharging for your work.” He held the cheque out for her to grip between her fingers, as though allowing her to absorb the truth of it.
Noting his triumph in winning her over, she suppressed her eagerness. “Well... I only take cash.”
“That can be arranged.” His blue eyes glistened with vindication and all the likely lies that his kind were prone towards.
Could a vampire be trusted? Never completely, but risks could be taken if they made grand offers such as this. Swiping the ballpoint pen that nestled in his breast pocket, she scribbled something onto the back of the cheque before shoving both pen and paper against his chest. “This is my number. And don’t use my other name again.”
Rain’s look of irritation was only fleeting: it faded into amusement, as if he were watching a child at harmless play. “Of course.” He grinned, icily.
“Have a pleasant evening, Miss Deniaud.”
