Chapters
Octavia sat on a barstool, legs crossed under her white dress and arms crossed across her chest. She was waiting for someone, though there was no way to know whether he would be there that night. She hoped he would. Then she could kill him and move on.
There were one hundred twenty two people in the place that night, well within the one hundred forty mandated by London’s fire code. Ninety one were on the dance floor. None of them were named Packing Tape, and therefore Octavia ignored them with flat eyes, even if she had counted them. Extroverts. Most of them were under the influence of alcohol, some under the influence of other things. Octavia’s jaw tightened. If she could somehow close her ears, she’d block out the awful music. It had a beat, but few other redeeming qualities.
Her eyes kept moving in the dim light, comparing faces to the picture she’d memorized. Her back was to the bar, though she was careful to keep from pinching her straight dark hair. There was a pink and fruity liquid in the glass cradled in her hands. Someone had bought it for her, and she’d only taken one sip. She barely noticed the chill of the ice on her skin.
She’d been there for about half an hour when a man came through the door. He wore sunglasses that looked expensive, and not at all subtle. Even still, he fit the physical description: a former office assistant recently acquainted with nightlife and spending money. He was scrawny, balding, and tacky. Octavia stared for a second, deciding that he was who she was looking for. She got up, straightened her dress, and set her glass on the bar.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw someone approach. She didn’t take the time to look at him. He started edging in front of her to get her attention. “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
“Out of my way.” She pushed past him, not sparing a glance.
“Bitch.”
Sticks and stones , Octavia thought. By tomorrow, he probably wouldn’t remember her, but if she went back there and made a big deal out of it, he surely would.
Packing Tape had taken a seat at a table near the back. There were several women hanging around as if they knew him well; apparently his reputation had built that quickly, or he was unwise enough to keep coming back to the same place. Though perhaps he was smarter than he appeared by sitting near the fire door, the exit sign above glowing along with the dance floor lights.
Octavia saw an opening at the table. She was apparently the only one who noticed the smell hanging around Packing Tape. Grimacing internally, for more than one reason, she slid into the seat beside him, shoving aside one of his female companions. He looked up in surprise. She forced a smile. “Hi there.”
“Hello.” He smiled back, eyes seeming glazed. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Honey Pot. What’s yours?”
If he found anything strange about the name she used, he didn’t show it. “I’m Pack.”
“I like that.” She watched him put his hand on her knee. The fingernails were a little ragged and the skin was room temperature.
“Are you here with anyone tonight?” His hand started to slide up.
“Just a friend of mine.” She felt something shift as his fingers touched the gun hidden under the hem of her dress.
Before Octavia realized she was made, he’d already knocked her off her chair and upended the table on top of her. Drinks and girls scattered everywhere. People screamed. Someone tripped over Octavia, a high heel dragging over her forehead.
Octavia threw the table off with one arm and got up, tasting blood. She realized she was also bleeding from a scratch near her hairline.
Packing Tape was not in sight as she got up, but the fire door was open. People had scattered away, and Octavia took the opportunity to dash out the exit. As it turned out, it opened into a dark alley.
The door slammed behind her on its automatic closer. A car a short distance away suddenly shot out of its parking space and barrelled away. Octavia realized that it had the same numberplate she’d memorized.
Her slender fingers grabbed for the gun, a slick little Kahr semiautomatic. She raised it, even though a snap shot at night through the back window of a fleeing car with blood dripping into her eyes was not exactly a sure thing.
As the gun came level, she hesitated an extra half second, counting the meters of distance and subtly adjusting to make sure her aim was true before squeezing the trigger. The pop of the pistol and the distant shatter of glass preceded the driver slumping in his seat and the car grinding to a halt against the wall of the alley.
Octavia ran forward on her high heels, gun held low but ready. She was afraid that the hollow point bullets might have been mangled by the glass window, but Packing Tape was clearly deceased with a bullet in his brain, so she decided it didn’t matter.
Putting the gun away, Octavia straightened her dress and tried to brush her dark bangs down over the blood on her face. Hopefully the club music was loud enough to conceal the noise of the shot. Either way, she didn’t plan to be around when the body was discovered.
She took stock of herself as she left the scene, feeling the scrape her teeth had made on the inside of her lips. In the heat of the moment, she hadn’t been able to keep a cool head and control herself. Getting crushed under a table didn’t help.
At the corner, a blue Volkswagen Scirocco pulled up. Octavia smoothly got into the passenger seat and it moved away again.
The driver was a woman a few inches shorter than Octavia. From her blue hair to her Chuck Taylors, plus the leather skirt, white t-shirt and sunglasses with pink plastic frames in between, she was pretty much Octavia’s polar opposite.
She glanced at Octavia as the car pulled away. “What happened to your head?” Her voice was decidedly not British, and even then somewhat lacking in anything resembling enunciation.
Octavia finished buckling her seatbelt and touched the rapidly scabbing injury. The blood was already dry, though the car did have a set of aftermarket seat covers as insurance if that hadn’t happened to be the case. “When he knocked the table over, someone wearing high heels stepped on me.”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Vinyl, I don’t think my blood is nothing!”
“Well, what do you want to do? Call up the boss and say, ‘Hey, it’s Itchy and Scratchy-’”
“Itchy ?” Octavia stared at her.
“Yeah, you know, Itchy and Scratchy from The Simpsons ?”
“I understand the reference, I was actually born in this recent century. Just why would I be called Itchy? You’re the one that turns into a furry animal, if anything it would be you.”
“It doesn’t have to be specific, it’s just the name of us collectively,” said Vinyl. “We can be like Hall and Oates, Simon and Garfunkel, or Beethoven and Mozart.”
“I’m fairly sure no one ever referred to Beethoven and Mozart collectively.”
“How do you know? You never met them.”
“Neither did you!”
“So? Anyway, we call him up and say, ‘Hey, it’s Itchy and Scratchy, we think some girl might have gotten a little vampire blood on the bottom of her shoe. If she licks it or something it might turn her into a ghoul, but would anyone really notice in a shitty club neighborhood like Brixton?’”
“I don’t see how you can be so cavalier about this,” Octavia grumbled.
“If I worried about things, I would’ve worried myself to death already.”
Octavia crossed her arms and smoldered in the passenger seat.
Vinyl turned her head. “Have you been drinking?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Yeah, I would notice.” Vinyl sniffed the air. “There’s still something. Did someone hand you a drink? Like maybe a Cosmopolitan?”
“Yes, actually.”
Vinyl nodded and smiled, turning back to the road.
“We’re switching, by the way. You’re bait next time,” Octavia told her.
“Oh really?” Vinyl’s eyebrows raised over the top of her pink sunglasses. “I thought you wanted to do it.”
“Perhaps, if Mr. Fancypants actually gives us something related to what I wanted to do.”
Vinyl tipped a hand up. “They’re all dirtbags.”
“But why did we go after a zombie drug dealer tonight? What does that have to do with me?”
Vinyl shrugged expressively, unhindered by a seatbelt. “We’re getting paid either way.”
“It’s not about the money!” Octavia protested. “You’re missing my point!”
“If I worried about things, I would’ve worried myself to death already.”
Octavia collapsed back into her seat. Vinyl ignored her, tapping the steering wheel lightly as she drove.
They turned onto a quiet street of terraced houses, the walls of each touching the neighbors. Their car was the only one not parked and dark at the curb. Vinyl pulled up at a stoop indistinguishable from any other. Octavia got out and closed the door without a parting word.
The car was gone by the time she had the front door unlocked. Octavia stepped inside, relocked the door, and turned off her cell phone.
A dusty cello stood against the wall. It was one of the few things actually in the place. Otherwise, she had a bed and that was about it.
Octavia hadn’t thought much about what she would do after her current employment. Lately, she’d tried not thinking very far in the future.
She took the gun out of its thin leg holster and transferred it to her purse. After taking her shoes off, she brushed her hair back off her forehead and delicately washed off the caked blood by feel in the kitchen sink. She briefly wondered what effect it would have on the downstream ecosystem of the sewer, but brushed it off. It was dried and dead, anyway.
She didn’t think about what that said about the rest of her body, either.
The skin under where the blood had been was unblemished as if never injured. Octavia straightened up, letting her wet hair fall limply. She could have just showered, but somehow that didn’t seem the proper place for blood. Strange how picky she was about it.
She opened a drawer and took out a dental-quality file. She opened her mouth and, by feel, began grinding down her canine teeth.
Getting hit in the face with a table had temporarily shattered her self-control. She’d instinctively gone defensive. Unconsciously, her teeth had grown back to a publicly unacceptable size.
She was done filing them down minutes later. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to do it, and probably wouldn’t be the last.
Octavia headed for the bathroom, removing her dress. She was just working on the undergarments when tires screeched outside and a horn blared.
She was at the front window in an instant, clutching the dress to her chest and peering around the curtain. Outside, Vinyl hopped out of her car and cupped her hand to her mouth. “Tavi! Come on, we got a job!”
So soon? Now? Octavia hesitated, but then turned for her closet. If nothing else, she would go to keep the neighbors from complaining about noise at all hours of the night.
Octavia grabbed the first slacks, shoes, and blouse she saw (khaki, trainers, and blue, respectively) and headed for the door again with her purse. Vinyl saw her come out and got back in the car.
Resuming her place in the passenger seat, Octavia said, “What is it?”
“It’s big,” said Vinyl. She grinned.
“Yes, but what is it?” Octavia asked grumpily, putting on her seatbelt as the car zoomed away.
“You’re going to love it.”
“Vinyl, I am not in the mood for suspense.”
Vinyl grinned, her pink sunglasses glinting in the streetlights. “We found the overly-sensitive vampire gardener.”
Octavia gaped at her for a moment before turning to face the road ahead. “Take me there, right now .”
It would be fair to say that Octavia was an introvert. Her two favorite musics were cello, or quiet. Her idea of a large group was a quartet. She’d had a boyfriend once, but he’d run off with the marching band and she’d never seen him again.
When it came to university holidays, she was first out the door to leave. And so it was one Christmas. She was back home with her parents.
Octavia’s father, Silver Suture, was a doctor. Her mother, Practice Pizzicato, played the violin. Octavia took a bit of her appearance from each of them. Family was more than skin deep, though. With her parents, Octavia was, in all manners of the word, home. They loved her, and she them.
Until they were eaten by vampires, anyway. Christmas Eve had been going so well, too.
As an only child, the duty of chores always fell to Octavia. As an inversion of the norm, her parents occasionally had to tell her to get out of her room and stop practicing her instrument. Octavia was helping set the table for dinner when a knock came on the door. In the hall, she heard her father answer.
“I wonder who that could be, carolers?” speculated her mother. They both paused to listen, though the conversation was difficult to discern. It was clearly not singing, though.
The voices seemed to escalate. Octavia clearly heard someone exclaim “You did what to the peonies!?”
She heard her father’s voice, low and placating, long practiced from bedside conversations. It didn’t seem to be helping, however.
A worried look slid across her mother’s face. She wiped her hands and started towards the door. Just then, however, Octavia’s father entered the room - through the wall.
Octavia’s mouth opened to scream in surprise, but that hardly seemed necessary and wouldn’t help the situation. At any rate, her breath caught in her throat as three men came in - through the door this time.
“I mean, not what I would have done, but it works,” said one, surveying the damage, hands on his hips.
“He insulted your garden. I know you put a lot of work into that,” said another, flexing his hands and looking down at where Octavia’s father moaned and moved feebly.
“Plus, just look at this feast,” said the third.
Octavia’s eyes snapped to the table. It wasn’t even completely set. The food was all still in the kitchen.
“I mean, I guess they have seen our faces,” said the second one.
The first gestured to Octavia’s father. “Well, I believe you’ve called dibs.”
“I don’t know,” said the second, his eyes shifting to Octavia. “Now that we’re here, I wouldn’t mind having the - the daughter, I take it?”
“Don’t be crude,” said the first. “You didn’t have to say that in front of her. She could have died without knowing what was going to happen to her corpse.”
Octavia’s eyes had been pinballing back and forth, just barely keeping track of the conversation and still not quite grasping the magnitude of the situation. Her mother apparently did, though, grabbing up a knife from the table.
She didn’t even manage to lift it, though, before one of them broke her arm in a shower of bone shards and spray of blood. Octavia hadn’t even seen him move; one moment he was standing still and the next he had ripped off her mother’s forearm. She screamed and fell back, blood spraying from severed arteries.
Impossibly, things started to happen even faster. Octavia turned to run, aiming for the door to the kitchen. She’d taken one step before a face appeared out of the corner of her eye. The next instant, she was off her feet, flying sideways into the china cabinet and bouncing off it.
She ended up on the floor, nose resting on the varnished boards. She had time to blink once before the cabinet crashed down across her back, broken glass, plates, and splintered wood showering down.
Someone grabbed her under the chin and yanked her up like a piece of tape off a roll. Her neck might as well be broken with as little control as she had over her body. Maybe it was. She felt the impact of her back on the wall, though it didn’t really hurt by comparison to everything else that already did.
Octavia’s feet dangled off the floor, her head twisted back by the vice grip under her chin. She sensed rather than saw someone lean close. And then her throat was torn out.
It was strange what she experienced through the pain and horror. She could clearly see the ceiling. Perhaps because it was the only thing she was physically able to look at, it seemed strangely lucid and detailed. There was also what she heard.
“Look, he fell on a chair leg. Nice big hole right here.”
“Oh, I guess I don’t need the daughter, then.”
Whoever had ahold of Octavia let go and she fell in more of a pile than a heap. She was facedown, and couldn’t summon any strength to move beyond letting gravity take its course.
She managed to blink. The floor was going out of focus, despite it being right there. A soft white noise seemed to be closing in on her ears. Blood began to pool on the floor at the corner of her vision.
She blinked again. She felt alone.
Her eyes closed for a while longer than a blink. Octavia wasn’t sure exactly how long. From her perspective, not much seemed to have changed.
“Es-tu vivante?” said a voice.
It took Octavia a moment to process that. French? Oh God, I’ve gone to Hell.
Nevertheless, her moan was response enough. A hand took her shoulder and she was rolled over.
A pale woman wearing a frown and too much makeup was crouched over her. Seeing Octavia’s eyes come into focus, the woman cast her gaze down over the rest of Octavia’s body and pursed her lips as if annoyed. She abruptly let go of Octavia, letting her head thud against the floor, and stood up.
The woman, whoever she was, pulled out a cell phone and walked out of the room. Octavia slowly rolled over, getting her hands on the floor and managing to get up to all fours.
That seemed to be going okay, so she slowly stood, hand on the wall for balance. Her body hurt. Her skin felt stiff in places, as if something had dried there. Her clothes were ruined with stains and rips. Her mouth seemed curiously swollen.
The mirror in the hall didn’t work. That seemed odd, but Octavia was more focused on matters at hand. Namely, who was this stranger that was currently standing in the foyer and having an argument with her mobile in heavily accented English?
“I ‘ave not been ‘out and about!’ I was just in ze neighborhood! Yes, I know what zis means! Stop talking like I do not undzerstand! Yes, it was a new family. No, I don’t-”
She turned, hearing Octavia’s steps in the debris that littered the floor. “What iz your name?”
“Octavia Melody.”
The woman went back to the phone. “No, I don’t know zis Octavia Melody.” She paused, and then spat, “‘My problem!?’ This iz not finders keepers!”
She grumbled and violently clicked the phone off, turning on Octavia. “Well, zat is zat.”
“What is?” Octavia couldn’t help but ask.
“You are a vampire and somehow also my responsibility.” The woman rolled her eyes theatrically.
“Beg your pardon?” Octavia blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t…” She shook her head. “Wait, who are you? Why are you in my house?” she demanded.
“My name is Fleur,” said the woman. “I was in ze neighborhood.”
“That does not excuse just walking in! I have half a mind to call-”
Fleur slapped her.
Octavia reeled, her hand going to her cheek.
Fleur pointed at her. “You, vampire.” She pointed to herself. “Me, annoyed.”
Octavia shook her head. “Vampire ?”
“Zet’s rip ze bandage off quickly, yes?” Fleur took Octavia’s hand and pulled her back into the kitchen despite Octavia’s reluctance. Grabbing one of Octavia’s mother’s prized stainless steel cooking pots, Fleur thrust it into Octavia’s hands.
The curved, polished surface distorted Octavia’s reflection, making her appear wider than she was. It was still more than adequate to show the blood caked all the way down her neck and chest. She shuddered to think how it would appear if she’d worn something with a lower neckline.
What took Octavia’s attention away from that, however, was the realization that her eyes had changed color. They were purpleish. As an eye color it was a bit unnatural but she supposed it wasn’t bad. Well, perhaps if the exact shade didn’t draw comparisons to the color of a bruise.
But then Octavia realized she’d been neglecting the surefire check for what the stranger had been telling her. She lifted her lip, and there they were. Fabulously clean, wickedly sharp, and completely, utterly wrong .
She hid them behind her lip, but then her tongue found them and when she made a face in revulsion her lip lifted again and the cycle repeated. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they weren’t so sparkling white as if newly grown, which, she supposed, they were. Free tooth-whitening aside, Octavia decided that she needed to take a moment, reset, and properly think this out.
“I need tea,” she said in a tiny voice.
She dropped the stainless steel pot on the stained floor and robotically moved towards the electric kettle. Fleur stopped her. “You can’t. Your stomach iz not for tea anymore.”
“Bugger off,” Octavia slapped her hand away. “I’m going to have some tea.”
She did. It didn’t go well.
Octavia had never thrown up tea in her life. Honestly, that unsettled her more than anything else. Though, not having liquid hurt her as it came out her nose was a plus. She wasn’t sure if her pain tolerance had gone up or if she just didn’t need to breathe anymore.
“Come on,” said Fleur, gingerly touching Octavia where she wasn’t stained with blood or tea or vomited tea. “I know a place you can go.”
“But what about this?” Octavia demanded, gesturing to the kitchen and two bodies. “This has to be reported.”
“To who?” Fleur asked. “Ze police? They wouldn’t believe you. And if they did, what do you think would happen?”
A variety of scenarios ran through Octavia’s head, most of them ending with her being dissected somewhere by government scientists curious about the discovery of vampires. “But how is there supposed to be justice, then?”
“You could always...track zem down and kill zem,” suggested Fleur.
Octavia thought about it. If she couldn’t report her parents’ murders, then it seemed logical that there would be no reports filed if she killed another vampire. With recent developments, it wasn’t as if she had anything more important to be doing. “You know, you might have a point there.”
She turned and looked over the kitchen, belatedly and dismayedly realizing she shouldn’t have. “But what I am to do about all this?”
“Well, I would burn it and collect ze insurance payout,” suggested Fleur.
Octavia knew that she should care more about everything that had just happened. She should be more emotionally distraught about the death of her parents and the subsequent knowledge that justice was up to her personally.
But Octavia, it must be said, was not a people person. And, as she contemplated her path ahead, she realized she wasn’t a vampires vampire, either. Whoever was responsible for this would die by her own hand. Octavia wouldn’t enjoy it, but she would take the satisfaction of a job well done. As she should.
And then perhaps she could figure out what she was going to do with the rest of her life, however long that might turn out to be. One thing at a time, just as Octavia had always done.
She turned and picked up a bottle of scotch from the demolished liquor cabinet. It flashed into fire on the burner of the stove and she splashed it around the room.
“Are you okay?” Fleur asked.
Octavia stared at her. “No.”
“Well, I did not think you would be-”
“Then why did you ask?”
Fleur made a sound of annoyance. “You seemed so...distant? I was just checking that you did not in fact turn into a ghoul.”
“A what?”
Fleur waved her hand. “Do not worry about zit, that is advanced vampire things. Now come along.”
The two of them went down the front steps as the fire blazed up inside. The difference in temperature outside was noticeable, though Octavia wasn’t sure if she was physically numb as well as emotionally, or if the frosty weather just didn’t affect her anymore. She paused to look back at the house for a moment and then followed Fleur to her car.
The drive was quiet. Octavia realized she couldn’t see either of them in the rearview mirror, and quickly averted her eyes. Fleur tried to occasionally engage in conversation, but got only one- or no-word responses from Octavia and eventually stopped trying.
“You may sleep on ze couch,” said Fleur when they reached her apartment. “I will take you to meet someone who may help you tomorrow.”
Octavia stood in the front room examining the shiny trinkets that decorated the place. At first glance she couldn’t tell how many of them were real and collected or simply bought from the pound shop down at the corner. The light was off, so it was hard to tell. Though, the fact that she could see at all in the dark seemed more important.
She heard glasses clinking in the kitchen and realized she was thirsty. However, upon entering the room, Octavia stopped short. Fleur was taking blood out of the refrigerator.
Fleur handed what appeared to be a standard medical-grade bag of blood to Octavia. “Sorry, I only have ze type O.”
Octavia studied it. “This is expired.”
Fleur looked hurt. “It iz not that expired it. It tastes fine.”
“Does it?”
Fleur gestured to a couple of crystal glasses and opened her own blood bag, pouring it in.
Octavia was torn as she looked at the bag. On the one hand, drinking directly from the bag seemed barbarian. On the other, she could easily envision getting blood on her upper lip if she drank it from the glass. She opted for the bag, which had a convenient tube. That also helped her keep it down and out of her line of sight.
If she was a vampire now, which strong evidence supported, then there was likely not much choice in drinking or not. At least she still had a say in how it was served.
Fleur lifted her glass, awkwardly realizing that Octavia was not using hers. She still did her best toast, glass-to-bag. “To your new life.”
Octavia could have said many things. Instead, she just drank. Cold blood tasted, well, salty and thick. It could have been leftover black pudding, if Octavia was the kind of savage that ate leftovers without warming them up first.
To her surprise, she looked across and saw Fleur’s eyes changing color. They became dark purple, like Octavia had seen on her own face earlier, and gradually grew redder, like some kind of gruesome fuel gauge filling up.
The thought struck Octavia that the same thing was probably happening to her.
She looked around for a reflective surface but didn’t see one. Why did stainless steel apparently work but glass or mirrors didn’t? Surely it wasn’t the iron, like in blood. Though that didn’t make any less sense than anything else that had happened this evening.
Fleur finished drinking. “I’ll have to get you some of ze AB negative to try. C’est magnifique !”
“Is it, or do you just like it because it’s the rarest?” said Octavia.
Fleur put her hand on her hip. “Why are you so strange? Most people turn into emotional wreckages when they learn they are vampires. You just insult me.”
“Perhaps you can understand,” said Octavia, “I watched my parents murdered minutes ago, burned down my own childhood home, and now some Frog thinks I’m being insulting.”
The remark was undeserved, and definitely unladylike, but for those stated reasons, Octavia was having a little trouble keeping a lid on her emotions tonight. Getting turned into a vampire could affect the stiffness of one’s upper lip.
After “dinner” Octavia did feel better, which disgusted her. At least she still had brooding. Fleur let her use the shower, though probably only because she wouldn’t let Octavia sleep on the couch without cleaning up first.
As the water washed the dried blood away, Octavia stared at the wall, unseeing. She reviewed each facet of the evening in agonizing detail, torturing herself, but fueling the emotion she needed to stay her course.
Whoever they were, they were going to die. Octavia had no training, and honestly now stood a better-than-ever chance of herself dying in a ditch somewhere, but even the prospect of going back to her music studies now sounded sour. She’d already made up her mind.
It wouldn’t bring her parents back. It wouldn’t bring her house back, or her cello, or any of her other belongings. Octavia took a deep breath, catching slightly in her chest. Alone. Hadn’t she always wanted to be left alone? She’d never appreciated what she had. Her parents, her routine old life, it was all gone. Forever.
She looked down, still seeing blood dripping away even after several minutes of being in the shower. Her fingers traced it upwards, realizing it was leaking out of the corners of her eyes.
“Mother of-”
“That is so fucked up,” said Vinyl, when Octavia told her the story much later, after they had been introduced. “The only reason you’re here now, the only reason they didn’t take the time to drain you completely, was that they decided to stop and fuck your-”
She shook her head. “Worst Christmas ever.”
Octavia glared at her.
It was nearly sunrise when Vinyl’s hatchback pulled up in front of a Victorian in Twickenham. Without a word, the two of them got out and went up the front steps.
The door was unlocked, and they walked in, past the kitchen and sitting room to a back office. The furnishings were sophisticated, as if recently renovated, and in Octavia’s mind, a travesty to kill off history.
Seated at a glass desk with a flashy computer on it was a man with a carefully trimmed moustache. He wore a lightweight microphone headset, and also a suit, unwrinkled despite the appearance of the man having been up all night. Gunfire sounds came from the computer every time he clicked the mouse.
His eyes flicked to Vinyl and Octavia before going back to the computer. “I apologize, fellows, but I am out of time for playing with you.”
One long burst of gunfire later, and he took off the headset and stood up. Fleur came into the room and stood quietly behind the corner of the desk while the man addressed the visitors. “Glad to see the two of you. Ms. Melody, I have something that may strike your interest.”
“Did you find them, Mr. Fancypants?” she asked. “The vampires who killed my parents?”
“I found one of them who was there,” he said.
Octavia started to speak, to demand the information, but Fancypants held up a hand. “You know me, I’m all in favor of hunting down animals like this, but I must caution you what will happen when you embark on this path.”
“Are you joking?” Octavia asked. “This is exactly what I’ve been waiting for you to give me!”
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“After all the low-life scum you’ve had me kill, yes, I think I’m ready to finally get some closure.”
He tilted his head and studied her critically. “And then what?”
Octavia paused. “What do you mean?”
“What will you do after you get your closure?”
“I don’t see that it’s any business of yours,” Octavia said. “Though I hadn’t thought about it.”
“How long have you been a vampire?” he asked.
“Six hundred twenty two days.”
Vinyl snickered and Octavia shot her a look. She turned back to Fancypants. “Why?”
“Do you think that was enough time?” he asked. “You’ve had a goal. This is what you’ve been working towards. Did you ever think about what you wanted to do once it was achieved?”
“As I said, I don’t see that it’s any business of yours.”
Fancypants nodded. “Right then. There’s a werewolf named Bypass Pavement that lives up in Hemel Hempstead. Kill him.”
“What...what happened to…” Octavia glanced at Vinyl, who shrugged, looking just as confused.
“Young lady, in my considerable experience, these revenge stories rarely end well. You still need time to tailor your own terms.”
“Come on, dude,” broke in Vinyl. “She’s twenty three years old, real-world. Six hundred twenty two days is a long time for her.”
“I would appreciate it if both of you would stop treating me like a child,” Octavia said, teeth practically clenched.
Fleur smirked. The other two were better at hiding their reactions. Octavia felt her protest was justified, though growing realization told her that perhaps it had been ill-advised in the presence of the other, more experienced people in the room. Very much more experienced.
Octavia knew Vinyl’s approximate birthdate. Fleur wouldn’t admit her own age, but from context Octavia had determined it was “old.” Fancypants was...well, Octavia didn’t know very much about the man, but had noticed both of the other two deferred to him respectfully.
She let out a long breath through clenched teeth. “What’s this werewolf in Hemel Hempstead done?”
“He’s a bit of a murderer and an eater,” said Fancypants, smoothly letting the former topic drop.
Fleur handed over a slip of paper with the target’s address and a magazine of .380 ammunition for Octavia’s pistol. Silver bullets.
That was that, and Octavia and Vinyl left the house. The sun had just broken over the horizon and upon returning to the car, Octavia took her sunglasses out of her purse. They were a pair of square-aviators, and she inspected them briefly for cleanliness before putting them on. She also took her handgun out and reloaded it.
There was an unlabeled bottle of pills in her purse and she took one without anything to wash it down. It was good she’d put on the sunglasses first because her eyes involuntarily widened. She didn’t know what was in the pills, but they never failed to turn a vampire into a morning person.
Ready now, Octavia faced forward and put on her seatbelt. “Let’s get this done before I need sunscreen.”
Vinyl put on a horrible imitation of her accent. “Wot, a spot ‘o sun ‘ere in old Blighty?”
Octavia threw a flat look at her.
“But seriously,” said Vinyl, “Are you okay? That was rough back there. I totally didn’t expect that.”
Octavia sighed. “I suppose I can reluctantly see Fancypants’ point, as much as it infuriates me, but where does he get off dictating how I run my life?”
Vinyl glanced at the address of the target. “Well, let’s go end this guy’s and then we can work it out.”
She started the car and off they went. Hemel Hempstead was located to the northwest, a bit of a jaunt and outside the London ring road.
Octavia stared out the window as they drove, turning over in her mind what she had learned that morning. Even she herself didn’t know the exact details of what had happened to her parents, being that it was happening to her at the same time. It was possible that one or even two of the vampires had not killed her parents at all, though they were still guilty by cheerfully condoning it.
Despite having another target, she couldn’t keep her mind from wandering to Christmas Eve. At least being in a bad mood helped get her in the right frame of mind for what lay ahead.
They pulled up at the address. It was some shoddy-looking apartments. At this time of morning, there were likely to be many people around, getting ready for the day. It would be better to follow Bypass Pavement for a bit and establish his routine before moving in.
“Or we could catch him asleep,” said Vinyl. “That would be super easy.”
“Or extremely difficult.” Octavia may have been comparatively young, but she’d seen a lot during her time in this business.
“You could turn into a bat and go up to his window to see if he’s home.”
Octavia rolled her eyes. “The joke’s wearing thin. I’ve never encountered a situation when I thought turning into a bat would be a good solution. Plus, bats can’t hover. How would I look into a window?”
“You could swoop by or something.” Vinyl gestured with her hands.
“And what exactly do you know about swooping?”
Vinyl shrugged. “Anyway, it’s my turn, so I’ll play it my way.” Vinyl found a place to park and the two of them headed up.
At the door, Vinyl stepped back to watch for anyone coming. Octavia took out her picks. She was by far the better cracker out of the two of them, deft fingers and keen hearing applying to more than just playing the cello. The door was open in ten seconds and the two of them went in.
Vinyl took the lead, shoulders loose and moving cautiously. Octavia kept her hand on her gun, hidden inside her purse.
Both of them smelled human blood in the kitchen. Vinyl opened the refrigerator. There was a torso inside, the rest of the parts messily separated.
Not that they needed confirmation of Bypass Pavement’s activities - Fancypants had never been wrong - but it did help. The two of them moved on, stepping lightly, clearing the apartment front to back without a sound.
The bedroom was last, and there he was. Bypass Pavement must have been two meters tall, his feet hanging off the end of the mattress. They needn’t have been quiet, either, as any sound was easily masked by his snoring.
“Well, let’s do this,” Vinyl remarked. She drew back her hand, fingers sprouting hair and shortening into claws, and yanked the sheet off with the other.
Her strike to his throat was a good one, but even a mortal wound didn’t kill instantly. His eyes snapped open and he jerked upright, reactively seizing Vinyl by the front of her shirt and throwing her clear across the room where she went halfway through the wall.
He struggled out of bed and to his full height, head near the ceiling. It looked like he was going through a partial transformation of his own, or trying to. Octavia took a step back and pulled out her palm-sized pistol.
Fortunately, that was about when blood loss caught up with him and he fell at her feet, the room shaking like an earthquake. Then, silence, as he lay facedown and motionless.
“Ugh, shit,” groaned Vinyl, extricating herself from where she’d been embedded in the wall. She straightened up and worked a kink out of her back before crouching to pick up her pink sunglasses. They were plastic and unbroken after the trauma.
She dusted them off and put them back on her face before doing a quick check of the rest of her body. There was blood on her fingers, not hers, though she had shifted them back after the partial transformation.
Vinyl grabbed the corpse by the hair, lifting the head for inspection. “Okay, he only got a little fuzz going, nothing anyone is going to notice. I really didn't want to shave this guy to make him look human. We’re good.”
“Come along, then,” said Octavia. “The neighbors will wonder about the noise.”
“Just a sec.” Vinyl stretched, audibly cracking her neck. She put out her arms and rotated them, wiggling her fingers.
“I get it, you’re not as young as you used to be,” Octavia deadpanned.
“But am I still cute?” Vinyl put her hands beneath her chin, pointed ears poking up through her hair as she did her best impression of puppy eyes.
Though, it probably would have worked better if she’d taken off her sunglasses.
Octavia sighed, because other than the dead man, the spreading pool of blood, and the hole in the wall, it likely would have been a cute scene.
The two of them headed for the door. However, just as they got there, Vinyl’s hand reaching for the knob, she came up short, nostrils flaring.
Octavia caught her body language and the two of them backed away from the door just as someone knocked on it.
Of course, they didn't answer. The knock came again.
It was only when someone started jiggling the knob and muttering that Octavia glanced sharply at Vinyl, a silent question in her eyes.
Vinyl gestured at the door, miming fangs with her fingers. Octavia put her hand on the other weapon in her purse.
“Hey, Bypass,” a male voice called. “You’re supposed to do your sleeping at night. Come on, get up. I’m thirsty.”
With no response from inside, this time he hammered on the door. “Hey! You know the deal, you eat ‘em, I squeeze ‘em.”
Vampires had to get their sustenance somehow. Partnering with a man-eating werewolf was at best distasteful, though technically better than doing his own murders.
While Octavia only drank medical discards and felt some moral superiority about it, she was not the police. An association with a murderer wasn’t the same as guilt. In fact, technically, when one got down to it, Octavia was a murderer too.
But she would have been able to control her reaction had the unexpected visitor not said exactly the wrong thing. “Come on, don’t make me go get some live blood. I’m still dealing with the fallout after the last time that happened. You remember that house, right? ‘Course, they deserved it because of what they did to my flowerbed.”
Vinyl was already turning her head towards Octavia but wasn’t quick enough to stop her as she took a step forward and punched straight through the door with a strength that belied her delicate fingers. Her hand closed on someone’s throat on the other side and she yanked him into the apartment, breaking the rest of the door in the process.
He ended up on the floor, Octavia’s knees on his chest, her hand still squeezing his throat. Her other hand held a polished wooden stake above his heart.
“Oh,” he said, looking at her face. It wasn’t nearly an appropriate response, but perfectly understandable for someone who had just realized the depth of the excrement into which he had just landed.
“I’m going to kill you,” Octavia said, though even as she said it the statement sounded melodramatic.
“Well, you were the one who remodeled the garden and cut down my favourite tree!” he said, bouncing back.
Octavia blinked. “You murdered my family!”
“Wait, what? No I didn’t. That would be crazy.”
“You’re a murdering vampire!”
He held out his hands and indicated her fangs, which had popped out of their own accord. “Bit of a hypocrite. Look, it's not like I kill innocent homeowners for minor trifles.”
“But you were there,” Vinyl broke in with a reasonable tone of voice. “So you can see where this is coming from.”
“Okay, finally something we can agree on.” He nodded as best as he was able. “Yes, I was somewhat upset that you had remodeled. I used to live in that house, you see. I put a lot of work into the landscaping. But I wasn’t the one who gave your dad the heave-ho or dismembered your mum.”
Be that as it may, it didn’t change Octavia’s posture even as he shifted uncomfortably under her. “Who did? Who were the other two?”
He held up a finger. “Ah, but I’m all about self preservation here. You let me go first and I’ll tell you.”
“You tell me or I’ll kill you,” was Octavia’s counter-offer.
“But how do I know you won’t just kill me anyway?” He raised an eyebrow.
Octavia twirled the stake in her fingers and broke his nose with the blunt end.
“Ow! Son of a-”
Vinyl’s head turned at some subtle signal. She spun in place and took a few steps towards the door, putting herself between it and the scene with Octavia and the gardener. A second later, an elderly woman walked by and came up short.
“Sorry, ma’am, this apartment is closed for renovation. There’s some unpleasant filth in here,” said Vinyl.
The lady took a long look through the door and then hurried on her way.
“Shit,” said Vinyl. She turned back around. “Wrap it up.”
“Well, it seems you aren’t in a position to bargain-” he began.
In disagreement, Octavia slammed the stake down, the sharpened wood sliding between his ribs and into his heart. The man spasmed and gurgled, blood rising to his lips.
There wasn’t time to say something witty. Octavia wiped the stake on his shirt, stood up, and left the apartment with Vinyl.
Not a moment too soon, either. They could hear sirens in the distance.
Getting into the car, Vinyl paused, her hands on the wheel. “Did you notice that he had six fingers on each hand?”
“I noticed. It didn’t seem as important at the time, relatively speaking.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not going to say he was innocent, but I personally would have been a little more lenient. Who knows, maybe he actually would have given up his friends.”
Octavia put on her seatbelt and stared forward. “Fancypants found him, I’m sure he can find the others.”
Vinyl tilted her head. “There is that. Weird how we just randomly ran into him, though, after Fancy said you weren’t ready. I know there are only so many bloodsuckers in London, but that was one of the biggest coincidences I’ve ever seen.”
Octavia agreed, but firstly, “Must you slur?”
“Must you be so sensitive about it?” Vinyl started the car and put it into gear. “There’s tons of names you can call me and I wouldn’t mind. Who decides what’s racist, anyway?”
“I know you were born in a simpler time, but at the very least can I personally ask you not to say things like that?”
Vinyl tipped her hand. “That’s why I like you, Tavi, I can usually count on you to be predictable and boring, when you aren’t killing people.”
“I like being predictable and boring. I wish I could be more predictable and boring.”
“That’s part of why I dye.” Vinyl ran her fingers through her hair. “I know you don’t want to be the one standing out in a crowd.”
Octavia looked at her, surprised. “Thank you.”
Vinyl changed the subject, turning towards Twickenham. “Let’s go find out what Fancypants isn’t telling us.”
Octavia sat with her legs crossed on the couch in Fleur’s place. It was the late afternoon of Boxing Day. She still wore the same clothes from Christmas Eve. They had been laundered, but that didn’t get out all the bloodstains, it just made them not so obvious.
Fleur seemed happy to be rid of her. In terms of company to spend Christmas with, Octavia would have preferred to be alone.
There was a knock on the door and Octavia got up to answer it. The caller was a boy, appearing no older than fourteen, and thin.
He smiled good naturedly even as a horrid chemical smell hit Octavia’s nose. “Hello, you must be Octavia.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, consciously avoiding raising her hand to pinch her nose shut. They shook hands and something about his grip didn’t seem quite healthy, even as his fingernails appeared newly manicured. Still, she thought his smile seemed genuine, even if it was framed by rheumy eyes.
“There you are, Pip,” said Fleur, coming into the room.
“Happy Christmas,” he greeted. “Mr. Fancypants asked me to assist Ms. Melody in getting back on her feet.”
“Who is he?” Octavia asked.
“He’s a local figure,” Pip explained. “He has his own spiel; I’ll let him tell it when you meet him. For now, you would probably like to go shopping.”
“I would,” Octavia allowed. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have any way of paying.”
“Don’t worry about it,” said Pip. “We’ve all been there. Not all of us are savages.”
Octavia glanced at Fleur, who stood with her arms crossed, clearly wanting Octavia out of her place. Two days was apparently too long, even on Christmas.
“Thank you, Pip, that’s very generous,” said Octavia. She went out the door with him. The sun was just setting as they left the building. Despite the lack of quality rest on Fleur’s couch, Octavia felt wide awake.
Pip pointed a finger up to the sky. “You’ll want to get some sunscreen. UV isn’t good for vampires as you may well imagine.”
“Well, I never liked the beach,” Octavia commented. “Or, really, going outside at all.”
At the curb was a green Jaguar XE. Pip said, “Why don’t you drive?”
“Oh, it’s a lovely car, but I don’t have a license,” Octavia admitted. Sure, it would help her be an introvert even more if she didn’t have to ride the tube, but it never seemed a priority.
“No time like the present to learn, then.”
At his suggestion, Octavia nervously sat behind the wheel. Of course, she’d seen other people drive, and with Pip’s patient instruction she was able to get the car moving. She’d always had excellent hand-eye coordination, which even still seemed to have gotten a boost lately.
“I hope you don’t mind that I heard,” said Pip as Octavia navigated the quiet street. “About your parents. My condolences.”
Octavia nodded, but remained silent. What could she say?
“But what was done to you is unfortunately done. Now, you should get a handle on some of the finer points of vampirism,” Pip went on. “This shopping expedition can also serve as a bit of a lesson. I’m no professor, but I have a reasonable understanding of the condition and can offer you some advice.”
“Are you a vampire?” Octavia asked. She didn’t like to assume. In addition, Pip seemed so much different than Fleur.
“No, I’m a zombie.”
Despite herself being a vampire, despite Pip’s pleasant demeanor, Octavia involuntarily jerked away. The car nearly hit a parked lorry before she straightened it out.
Pip smoothly transitioned to an explanation. “I think you’ll find most of the ‘movie monsters’ around here fit only part of the stereotypes. Myself, for example. I’m cold as a stone and don’t register any vitals, but other than that I’m an upstanding citizen. Bacteria don’t like zombies, so we don’t rot, but deterioration is still a problem. I, and any zombie with the smarts, has gotten preserved.”
That explained the smell.
Pip went on. “It’s not a perpetual existence like a vampire or a werewolf, one of the living , living dead. Zombies don’t heal. I have to do maintenance.”
“That sounds dreadful,” commented Octavia.
“Well, the eating brains part of it is the most unsavory,” Pip admitted. “However, zombies have a unique ability to gain experience and skills from the brains they eat. I’ve never been a vampire, but I picked up a few things along the way.”
Octavia looked at him sharply. “You’ve eaten a vampire’s brain?” She was surprised at her own clannishness.
“I didn’t kill him. Plus, you know what they say: a brain is a terrible thing to waste,” said Pip, unabashed. “Not to mention, he knew how to play the guitar.”
“Do you play?” Octavia asked, happy to change the subject.
“I’ve picked up a few things here and there,” Pip allowed. “Not my passion, though. What about you?”
“I’m - rather, I was - in music school. Cello.”
“I think there’s a music shop in the shopping center, though you may be seeking something a bit nicer than factory-made.”
“I don’t have the money.”
“There are a lot of limitations you’re about to bypass,” Pip advised. “Maybe even money.”
At the shopping center, Pip taught her how to park. Entering the fray with holiday shoppers was more nerve-wracking, though. There were so many sights, sounds, even smells, and all of them constantly bombarded Octavia’s senses. Not to mention feeling like a single slip of her lips would give her away. Octavia kept her jaw clenched, giving her teeth no chance to be exposed.
She distracted herself with her turned-up senses. Pip answered her questions about enhanced perception. Naturally, it came with being a vampire. Of course, she was stronger and faster now, too. The movie monster tropes were holding.
“What are ghouls?” she asked, remembering something Fleur had said.
“A human who’s consumed a vampire’s blood. They’re a bit subdued and subservient. If you’ve read Dracula , you can compare the character of Renfield.”
“Vampires can do that? Control people?”
“Most can only handle one, if that,” said Pip. “Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. You’ll find that vampires are all different. The condition seems to affect people certain ways, as if it’s a virus with different strains. That’s a theory, anyway. It’s not exactly a science. Sometimes it even leads to small mutations. For example, I know a fellow with dewclaws. I’ve heard of a few others, though.”
They spent some time in a clothing shop. Octavia got a new outfit and a few other changes of clothes. Pip paid with a credit card, telling her not to worry about it.
They passed a store selling incredibly belated and appropriately discounted Halloween stock. “I can’t turn into a bat, can I?” Octavia blurted.
Pip smiled, part of the reason she was already so willing to engage him. He knew her secret, she knew his, and somehow that managed to push away barriers to conversation as well as Octavia’s personal hangups.
“No, you can’t turn into a bat,” he replied.
“Pity,” Octavia remarked. “Being able to fly would at least make up for a small fraction of the unpleasantness. Honestly, though, just some tea would be better.”
“Would you like to talk about it?” Pip asked quietly.
Octavia paused, but then shook her head. “No.”
Changing the subject, she said, “Perhaps I should get Fleur a Christmas present. She did let me sleep on her couch.”
“Did she get you anything?” Pip asked.
“AB negative.”
Octavia asked Pip nicely to buy a shiny object from a shop window. It would go nicely with the rest of Fleur’s baubles.
After getting Octavia some toiletries, including sunscreen, Pip suggested that they meet Fancypants. Following directions, she carefully drove to his house.
The place was clearly old but appeared to be in the middle of a renovation. A shame to kill the history, Octavia thought. Still, the new construction did appear to be in excellent taste.
Despite the dust, Fancypants was dressed neat as a pin and wore an immaculately groomed moustache. He smiled pleasantly as he greeted Octavia. His hand was warm.
Pip left them alone and Fancypants invited her to sit in one of the plush leather armchairs in his office. Octavia began by thanking him.
“We all need a bit of help from time to time,” he said. “I find it much better for the community if new vampires aren’t forced to figure things out for themselves.”
“Thank you,” said Octavia. “I wish there was some way to repay you. I suppose I must present myself to the police and insurance company and attempt to make claims to what is left of my parents’ estate.”
“I have an excellent lawyer,” Fancypants volunteered. “Even still, that could take a long time. If you are interested, I would like to offer you employment. It comes with living arrangements and sustenance.”
A place to stay? More importantly, blood? That could definitely be difficult to get on her own. “What sort of work is it?” Octavia asked.
“First, let me tell you a little about myself so you can understand my philosophy,” said Fancypants. “I enjoy a good challenge.”
He picked up a rubber band from his desk and idly toyed with it in his hands as he spoke. “Life needs a purpose. Not necessarily something that changes the world, but something to keep us fulfilled. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Octavia nodded. She tried not to think about how, until recently, she’d played the cello.
“Setting a goal and achieving it bring me satisfaction, and the more difficult the better. I enjoy the hunt. And who presents the greatest challenge but our fellow man? I do appreciate the convenience video games have brought us, but not all pursuits can be measured with that.”
Octavia noticed his tone shift and some instinct twinged in the back of her mind.
“I have many goals. On the short term, I think I will kill this fly.” Fancypants snapped the rubber band he was holding and, sure enough, knocked a lazy housefly right out of the air. “On the long term, I need something much more substantial. A challenge.
“I have decided to kill evil.”
“What, all of it?” Octavia blurted.
Fancypants nodded. “It’s a very long term goal with many phases, as you may imagine. I must admit, progress so far is modest. At the moment, I’m currently eliminating criminals one by one in the London area, though I have extensive designs for expansion.”
Octavia’s fingers gripped her knees until they hurt. What had she gotten herself into?
“However, I am only one man,” Fancypants said. “It’s a bit less fulfilling but much more efficient to captain an enterprise, if you will, rather than taking the business personally.”
“And you want me to-”
“In return for my assistance, I would ask you to perform certain tasks,” Fancypants said.
“Killing people?”
“Perhaps.”
“Vampires?”
“Perhaps.”
“Where do I sign?”
Fancypants blinked. Octavia’s response was clearly more direct than he expected. However, he was nothing if not smooth. Without more than a token pause, he replied, “There is no contract. I’m not the Devil, after all. I merely expect courtesy and discretion.”
“As long as you help me find the vampires who killed my parents.”
Fancypants nodded. “That may be a tall order. It may take quite a long time. But I will. You have my word.”
“And I want to know what they did,” said Octavia. “I’m not just going to go kill someone merely because you said so.”
“That is fair,” he conceded.
There was a chime and Fancypants got up, going to the computer sitting on his desk. “Excellent, the aid package for Africa is on its way.”
Seeing Octavia’s questioning look, he added, “I have a small side project in ending hunger.”
“I would think that if you’re so focused on killing things, wouldn’t it be more efficient not to send aid?” said Octavia.
Fancypants waved his hand. “That’s not sporting. It’s also not about the kill, nor the trophy, rather the hunt.”
“Is that why you’ve killed the history of this beautiful house?”
Fancypants smiled, but kept the course of the conversation. “People are easy to kill. Hunger, evil? Those are challenges.”
“I think I’d rather keep it simple for now,” Octavia replied.
Fancypants walked over and she stood up. “Well, Ms. Melody, I believe I can accommodate that.”
They shook hands again. Fancypants said, “Before you go, I would like to recommend someone to show you around, at least at first.”
“I would be grateful.”
“Maybe you’ll even make a friend.”
What was this tripe about making friends? She was here to kill people.
Octavia and Vinyl pulled up in front of Fancypants’ house. Octavia had rarely seen it in stark daylight. She was starting to feel some fatigue from being up so long in the daylight.
Fancypants was in his office and stood up as they came in. Octavia opened her mouth to speak, but he was quicker. “Ladies, you’re just in time for lunch.”
“Oh really?” Vinyl’s eyebrows went up.
“I was just up to the moors and harvested a few rather nice pheasant.” He escorted them to the kitchen.
“Can this wait just a moment?” Octavia said. “We really must talk.”
Fancypants indicated a saucepan atop the stove. “I anticipated that you would be hungry as well, Ms. Melody.”
He was an excellent chef and Octavia visited his house during mealtime seldom enough that blood a la Fancy was a rare treat.
But this really was more important. “By chance, we ran into the gardener.”
“Oh really?” Fancypants’ brows furrowed. “Yes, I suppose that is rather attention-grabbing. What happened?”
They told him the story, ending with, well, the end.
“His name was Dirty Trowel,” said Fancypants. “It’s rather an amazing coincidence that met him. It would have been better if you had been able to interrogate him, or at least let him live long enough for me to do so.”
“Sorry,” Octavia muttered. It was part sarcasm, part genuine regret. Delaying the satisfaction just a little could have given them so much more information.
“So what do you make of him having six fingers on each hand?” Vinyl said.
“Random mutations among vampires are not unheard of,” said Fancypants. “Though that’s a new one for me.”
“So do you have another one?” Octavia asked. “Now that we’ve dealt with one of the three that killed my parents.”
“No,” said Fancypants. He tipped his head, looking at her. “How do you feel?”
Octavia blinked, only just now pausing to think about it. “Honestly...I’m surprised that I’m not more emotional. Granted, I have no proof that - what was his name, Dirty Trowel? - actually killed anyone.”
“He did,” said Fancypants, “though I know what you meant. I have no evidence he did anything beyond observing the night your parents died.”
“Maybe it’ll be different with the others,” said Octavia. “Maybe I simply haven’t had enough time to process it. But as for now...I don’t really feel different now that it’s done.”
“Does that mean you’ll give her the next guy as soon as you find him?” Vinyl asked.
“We’ll see,” said Fancypants. “Now, I believe lunch is getting cold.”
The table was already set and Fancypants served them. While the three of them ate (and drank), he detailed the next target.
“Prissy Petunia is the wealthy socialite type. I’ve prioritized other vampires over her for a while, but when she killed her chief competitor on the dog show circuit, well, that’s when I decided she was irredeemable.”
“Can we see to her tomorrow?” Octavia asked. “I haven’t slept.”
“Tomorrow happens to be the dog show,” said Fancypants. “I daresay there would be far too many people to attempt anything.”
“It could be good for checking her out,” said Vinyl. “How do you want to do it, Tavi? It’s your turn.”
Octavia nodded. “Let’s go to the dog show.”
The next morning, they two of them were down at the ExCeL center, an exhibition hall in Custom House, eastern London. They sat in Vinyl’s car in the car park and watched people - and dogs - enter the building.
Prissy Petunia didn’t look like Cruella de Vil, though she had most of the outfit down. She was with her poodle. Octavia noticed two men who were clearly with her following along behind.
The group of them went into a separate entrance from spectators. Watching the flow of the crowd, it soon became apparent that it must be where contestants went in.
“I have an idea,” said Octavia.
“Does it have anything to do with me being on a leash?” Vinyl asked. “Because I brought it.”
Octavia stared at her. “Have you ever competed in a dog show before?”
“It can’t be too hard, right? Dogs do it.”
“Okay,” said Octavia. She paused. “Why do you have a leash?”
Vinyl was already busy stripping down and used the distraction of pulling her shirt up over her face to avoid replying. Octavia begrudgingly kept a lookout as her partner got naked in the driver’s seat.
The collar and leash were in the glove box, and Octavia fitted them once Vinyl was fully finished changing. Fifty kilos made for a petite woman but a large canine and the car suddenly seemed more crowded than before.
They got out. Octavia closed and locked the car, pocketing the keys, and led Vinyl towards the event center. Vinyl put on a huge, dopey grin, her tongue hanging out, and her ears gone floppy. Otherwise, she might have looked like a wild animal. A wolf did not make for a very convincing dog even if she was perfectly white with bright eyes.
There was a registration desk at the door. Day-of entries were limited to amateur classes of show, but that did not matter for their purpose here today.
The grandmotherly woman at the desk leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. “What breed is that?”
“I’m really not sure what she is,”Octavia replied.
“What's her name?”
Octavia glanced down at Vinyl. They should have thought of this beforehand. She said the first thing that came to mind. “Poochie.”
That was the last bit of information needed to complete the registration. Octavia paid the entry fee and received the completed form. She walked into the building, her werewolf on a leash.
The event center was a series of large, warehouse-like open spaces that were hired out depending on the size of the event. One of the smaller ones near the back had been set up into grooming areas where competitors could wait until called. It was a little like a locker room and a little like a salon. Octavia walked through until they found Prissy. With all the dogs around, there was enough sound and smell to mask any chance that Prissy would realize what Octavia and Vinyl were.
Octavia, for her part, did like dogs, though she had never, and likely would never, own one. If nothing else, dogs were much more pleasant on the eyes than gore and bloodshed.
She and Vinyl waited just within sight of Prissy, observing. She was constantly on her cell phone or giving orders to the two men with her. Both of them looked young and fit, wearing matching clothing. As Octavia watched, however, something troubled her about them. Their movements were almost too coordinated as they groomed Prissy’s poodle. Neither one of them displayed so much as a trace of emotion as they went about their business.
“Ghouls, do you think?” Octavia asked quietly.
Vinyl’s ears flicked in what might have been a gesture of agreement.
Around them, people and dogs came and went. There were several categories in the show. The form category was all about how certain breeds looked to judges. The obstacle course competition was purely based on speed and agility. Vinyl, being a first entry of indeterminate breed, could only compete in the open-contest class of the obstacle course.
Fortunately, that was towards the end of the show and the two of them had plenty of time to observe Prissy. Fancypants had given them her home address, so it wouldn’t be difficult to find her later.
Despite not lifting a finger to help groom her dog, Prissy was the one to walk the poodle out. From a TV on the wall, Octavia watched the show live. Prissy had at least as much poise as the professionally trained dog walking in front of the judges.
The obstacle course was not shown ahead of time, so none of the competitors could plan for it. Octavia was considering just skipping the competition, but her name was called and it would have been more awkward to refuse.
The two of them walked out of the hallway and into the arena. The competition ring had been set up with stadium seating that was nearly packed. It must have been thousands of people. Octavia kept her eyes down and trusted that Vinyl knew where to go.
The obstacle course contained a few barrels to crawl through, boxes to jump, and poles to weave between. It was likely that Vinyl was the largest competitor by far. Looking at some of the obstacles, Octavia wondered if she would even fit.
“We aren’t here to prove anything,” Octavia said as she knelt to remove the leash.
Vinyl panted and grinned.
“Don’t look at me like that, this was your idea.”
Octavia coiled the leash in her hand and straightened up. The official holding the starting whistle stared at her, having apparently heard the whole thing. “Are you ready?”
“We are,” Octavia acknowledged.
She said it, but still wasn’t really anticipating what would happen when the whistle tweeted. Vinyl was off like a shot, leaving Octavia standing at the starting line.
Octavia quickly raced after her, by which point Vinyl had already dove into the obstacles. In fact, she seemed to be handling it just fine without any guidance, leaning into turns, toenails scrabbling on the carpeted floor.
A wave of cheers rose up from the crowd as Vinyl finished the course and crossed the line to stop the clock. Octavia glanced up, briefly noting that the time had gone to the top of the board, but was more concerned about getting off the field.
Vinyl pranced back to the grooming area. “You didn’t need to draw attention to us like that,” said Octavia. They went back to where they had waited. Vinyl sat down and licked down a couple of spots of fur that had gotten mussed during the exercise. She was still panting.
“Must you lick yourself in public?” Octavia said.
An event official stopped by. “This is Poochie, right? Stick around after the event. If you win, we’re going to have all the winners take a photo together.”
When he was gone, Octavia conceded to Vinyl, “All right, I suppose that could allow us to get close to Prissy. Assuming all of us win, of course.”
The winners of the form category were announced on the TV. Prissy and her poodle won best of breed. Not surprising, as she had killed her chief competitor, after all.
Despite Vinyl’s performance, Octavia was still mildly surprised when her name was called for awards. She and Vinyl went back out and were made to stand on a podium in front of the crowd.
The official presenting the trophy gushed over them. “And out of nowhere, we have a mixed-breed, quite a large one, with a first-time trainer taking the fastest time. How does it feel to win?” He held the microphone in Octavia’s face.
“Good,” she said
“So this is Poochie?” he went on, taking a knee to scratch Vinyl’s ears. “Tell us a little about her.”
“She likes, er...food and...electronic music,” Octavia managed. The crowd laughed.
Octavia accepted the trophy, which was small and plastic, but was still engraved with First Place . The award was one of the last presented in the show and soon the two of them were called to appear in the group picture.
Vampires didn’t show up in film cameras, but digital had changed things. There was usually sufficient iron in the wiring and circuits to form an image.
As various people and dogs were jockeying for position in the frame, Vinyl took the opportunity to wind her way through various pairs of legs to get closer to Prissy and her dog.
The photos were snapped. The crowd of winners began to disperse. Octavia tugged Vinyl away.
She headed for a small coffee shop located in the main concourse of the event center. Octavia didn’t drink coffee, but a paper cup with a plastic lid bought her a few minutes to sit and wait, letting the departing spectators clear out and hopefully reduce the crowd in the car park.
Vinyl would have lapped up the coffee, but Octavia thought they’d already drawn enough attention to themselves today.
Leaving the event center, Octavia slipped her sunglasses on. She took a careful look around as they approached the car. She opened the passenger door, but was surprised when Vinyl hopped in. Octavia corrected her. “No, you have to drive. I don’t have a licence, you remember.”
Vinyl cocked her head.
Octavia put her hands on her hips. “Yes, I’m well aware that we cheated on a dog show, but that’s quite a bit different than a moving violation.”
Vinyl’s body stretched back into the seat as her limbs lengthened and lost their fur. She ended with a sigh and flexed her hands. “Man, Tavi, you’re totally cool with assassinations but the prospect of driving without a license, ooh, can’t do that.”
Vinyl unbuckled the collar from around her neck and took the trophy from Octavia’s hands. She held it up. “Cool, this’ll look great on the mantle.”
Octavia wanted to protest, just on principle, but, well, it hadn’t been her running the course.
“Put some clothes on,” she said. “Then, let’s go see where Prissy lives.”
“I think she might not go there right away,” said Vinyl as she got dressed. “When I got close, I saw her dog had the address of a kennel on her collar tag. I can’t think of any reason for that unless Prissy leaves her dog there between shows. She did seem like the kind of person who wouldn’t allow a dog in her house.”
“It’s another thing to check,” Octavia agreed.
Vinyl ran a hand through her hair. “Do I have time to redye? You know how it comes out when I change.”
Octavia sighed. “I suppose you’ve earned it.”
Vinyl grinned and got up out of the passenger seat, now fully dressed. She reached up and patted Octavia’s head. “Good girl.”
Octavia had gotten a flat of her own, a bed, and a few changes of clothes. Considering the circumstances, things could have been worse. She could have been the only survivor of a massacre and living on the streets.
It was afternoon on New Year’s Eve. Not that the holiday ever meant very much to Octavia. If anything, it was far and away overshadowed by today being her one week anniversary as a vampire. But who was counting?
Her. Octavia was meticulous by nature, and one did not easily forget what had happened only seven days ago.
There was no chair in the flat. Octavia sat on the edge of her bed. The lights were off, but darkness just wasn’t a problem anymore. There might have been a metaphor in there about her soul, but she instead turned her thoughts to the new cello in her hands. It was a fine instrument and a good replacement for the one she had lost in the fire. The problem was her.
She had no trouble tuning it. There was no issue with the bow or strings. It just didn’t feel right. It didn’t sound like it should.
Some of that could have been due to the setting. Octavia had never played here before and the room was far from acoustically ideal. Her ears were more sensitive now and maybe that threw off her perception.
But she couldn’t shake a creeping sensation that playing cello was somehow frivolous. It had been her life’s passion up to that point. Did she suddenly abandon it in favor of stamping out evil in the world?
Mr. Fancypants had said he would help her find her parents’ killers. She’d agreed to do whatever she had to do in order to make that happen, effectively signing up to join his little crusade.
The damnable thing was, it wasn’t nearly so serious and personal to him. He’d even told her he treated it like a game.
Octavia put the cello down. Perhaps another time, when she was feeling up to it. If someone had to take this seriously, then it had to be her, and she would have to put it before music.
There was a knock on the door. Fancypants had asked Octavia to be expecting a visitor. She got up and went to the front room, carefully checking through the peephole.
Outside was a woman in casual clothes who sported bright blue hair and a matching pair of blue sunglasses. She smiled and waved, apparently aware that Octavia was standing just on the other side of the door.
It would have been impolite not to open up. Octavia unlocked the door, squinting in the sunlight.
“Hey,” said her visitor, sticking out a hand. “Fancy sent me.”
She looked like she could have been a university student on holiday. Her speech was definitely not local. Perhaps an American, Octavia thought.
Octavia shook politely. “Would you like to come in?”
The woman looked past her into the barren flat. “If it’s all right with you, we could go somewhere. Fancy had a job for us.”
“Oh really?” Butterflies suddenly fluttered in Octavia’s chest. Was this the beginning?
“Yeah, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Octavia hesitated, but she couldn’t really say no. She retrieved her purse and sunglasses.
They went outside, towards a car at the curb.
“So you’re the new vampire. Octavia, right?”
Octavia looked around hurriedly for eavesdroppers. “Yes,” she confirmed, in a much quieter tone. “And you are?”
“I’m a werewolf. I’m two hundred four years old, I think. I go by Vinyl Scratch, though I’ve been thinking about changing that up recently. It’s getting a couple decades out of date. These days I’m more into dubstep.”
“Are...are you joking?” said Octavia. “Two hundred years of experience and you listen to that !?”
“No, I don’t. I make it.” Vinyl grinned.
Octavia realized that she’d skipped the important part of that conversation. Vinyl was a werewolf. Well, not that it really mattered. Octavia was a vampire. Pip was a zombie. How incredibly disorienting for this to be a common topic of conversation.
“So you’re a...musician,” Octavia said.
Vinyl laughed. “I could practically hear the air quotes on that.”
“Forgive me if I have somewhat different standards. I play the cello.”
“That’s cool, I guess, but it went out of style when they invented brass. Brass went out with amplifiers. And computers killed those. I’m just planning for the future.”
They got into the car. Octavia buckled up. She noticed that Vinyl didn’t.
“So the job,” said Vinyl. “Fancy wanted you to start out with something simple. There’s this guy named Pretzel Puller. He works at the mall. His shift ends soon, so we’ll follow him and find a good opportunity to kill him.”
“What did he do?” Octavia asked.
Vinyl looked at her. “I don’t know. Why?”
“That was was what I told Mr. Fancypants. I wanted to know what these people did to deserve what they get.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Call him, I guess.”
“Is this safe to talk about this?” Octavia asked, taking out her phone. “Doesn’t the government monitor for these kinds of things?”
“If I worried about things, I would’ve worried myself to death already.”
Octavia dialed and Fancypants answered.
“Sir, I’m with Ms. Scratch. I had a question for you. I was wondering about...ah, this fellow,” she said. “What did he do?”
“A triple murder over some owed money,” Fancypants replied.
“It could have been a crime of passion,” Octavia speculated.
“Well, he also stormed out of anger management classes two weeks ago and borrowed some more money from a different loan shark.”
“You consider things he might do in addition to what he’s done?”
“No, I’m afraid that’s your job,” said Fancypants. “I would appreciate if you took care of this. However, you remember you aren’t under any contract.”
Octavia considered it. “Thank you. That answers my questions.”
He bid her goodbye and they hung up as Vinyl turned into the shopping center parking lot. She glanced over. “While you were talking, I noticed your teeth look weird.”
Octavia stared at her. “I’m a vampire.”
They got out of the car and headed for the building. “No, I mean, you didn’t file them down right.”
“I didn’t exactly have a mirror,” Octavia grumbled. She’d learned how to selectively control her body’s healing. This allowed her to file down her canines so they didn’t look like obvious fangs. She could feel with her tongue that she may have gone overboard - her canines were even flatter than usual.
“Here, let me take care of it,” said Vinyl, pulling her into a restroom. She checked to make sure they were alone and then made a fist. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”
“What? No!” Octavia took a step back, covering her mouth with her hands.
“Come on, teeth grow from the roots. It’s way easier to just knock ‘em out and grow replacements than trying to keep growing them enough to file back into the right shape.”
“I think I’d rather do that.”
“Do you have a file on you?”
Octavia’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t we...buy one? Surely there’s a store here that sells them.”
Vinyl cocked an eyebrow over her blue sunglasses. “Really?”
Octavia let out a sigh and braced herself. “Just get it over with.” She tipped her head back and closed her eyes.
Vinyl didn’t hesitate and nearly knocked Octavia right off her feet. She stumbled back, coughing blood and teeth into her hands. The punch had knocked out five. It hurt even more just to look at them.
“Got a little straggler there,” said Vinyl. She forcibly reached into Octavia’s mouth and yanked it out, Octavia’s right canine. She added it to the small, bloody pile in Octavia’s hands.
“Okay, I’ll tell you when to stop,” said Vinyl. Disgusted though she was, Octavia did her best to carefully discern which tooth was which and began to feel them refilling the sockets in her gums. She saved the canines for last and Vinyl coached her to stop at the appropriate length.
Octavia threw the handful of teeth in the garbage can, but thought better. “Wait, is that a biohazard?”
“After it dries, it isn’t. You’re fine.”
Octavia wasn’t completely fine with it, considering what her blood could do to a person, but took Vinyl’s word for it. She turned to the sink to wash. She couldn’t see herself in the mirror, but Vinyl pointed out the blood all over her lips and chin.
After cleaning up and washing her hands with soap, Octavia felt back to normal. Well, no, back to vampire-normal. It wasn’t as if things would ever be actually normal again.
That put her in a sufficiently bad mood to feel a little better about stalking Pretzel Puller.
He worked at one of the little snack stands that dotted shopping centers. Considering his employment, Octavia wasn’t sure about his ability to pay back a loan. She and Vinyl walked by, getting a look at him. As she watched, he ate something out of the display and wiped his fingers on his apron.
“Is he not a vampire?” Octavia asked.
“I think he’s just a vanilla human,” said Vinyl.
“Why would Mr. Fancypants send us after a human? Isn’t this a matter for the police, then?”
“You can justify it however you want.” Vinyl shrugged. “At the very least, killing him sure saves taxpayer money.”
“Are you a taxpayer?” Octavia asked.
“Well, ‘Vinyl Scratch’ is. Like I said, I have to update my ID eventually. I wasn’t born here.”
“Don’t tell me, that makes you the American werewolf in London?”
Vinyl laughed. “No, actually, I just learned to talk American. I ended up watching a lot of TV from the states last century. I’m actually a gen-u-ine Transylvanian werewolf.”
Octavia frowned. “I thought vampires came from Transylvania.”
“Yeah, pop culture really does a number on these things.” Vinyl shuddered. “Like Twilight .”
“Oh God,” Octavia blurted, raising her hands to her face. “People are going to think that’s how vampires actually are.”
Vinyl patted her back sympathetically.
They waited around until Pretzel Puller left work at six. He had his own car and the two of them followed him.
“So how do you want to do this?” Vinyl asked. “Oh right, I was supposed to get you a gun.”
“A gun?” said Octavia. “How am I supposed to get licenses for that?”
Vinyl cracked up. “You’re about to kill your first person and you’re worried about proper paperwork for a pistol? Man, Tavi, you are an absolute riot!”
“My name is Octavia.”
“You don’t get to choose your own nickname.”
“I choose not to have a nickname.”
“Too bad, we’re friends now.”
Octavia turned to look at her. “We are?”
Vinyl nodded. “Yeah, totally. Two-woman wolfpack.”
Octavia still wasn’t sure she was onboard with the friendship idea, but Vinyl had the damnable ability to keep the dialogue moving, forcing her to address the most ridiculous part of the conversation. “Do we have to be a wolfpack?”
“If you’d prefer, we can be whatever they call a group of bats.”
Vinyl reached across Octavia and popped the glove box. There was a small silver and black handgun inside.
“I don’t know how to use it,” said Octavia, keeping her hands back.
“It’s pretty easy, just point and shoot. We’ll have to get some actual practice in later.”
“It seems so...inelegant.”
“I mean, you can rip him apart with your bare hands if you want. Or, I think I have a machete in the back.”
As with many things that evening, Octavia gritted her teeth and got on with it. The gun fit well enough inside her purse.
They saw Pretzel Puller stop outside a block of apartment buildings and unlock his exterior door.
“There you go,” said Vinyl, pulling to the curb. “The easiest way would probably be just knock on his door and shoot him when he answers.”
“What if someone sees?”
“It’s dark.”
“What if…” Octavia tried to think of another argument.
Instead, Vinyl supplied one. “What if you don’t?”
Octavia paused. A murderer would go on living.
She got out of the car.
Walking up to the door, she put her hand on the gun. It still felt strange in her hand. Just point and shoot?
She knocked. There came the sound of feet moving on the floor. “Who is it?” asked a cautious voice.
“Mr. Puller, I’d like to have a word,” she said.
“Who are you?”
Octavia hesitated for what seemed far too long before replying, “Vinyl Scratch.”
“Am I supposed to know you?”
This was not what was supposed to happen at all. Octavia quickly began to think of backup plans. Could she shoot him through the door? Would the bullets do that?
“No, you don’t know me, but I have something you want,” she tried.
“What is it?”
“I can’t just tell you out here in the street,” she protested.
He paused, but then unlocked the door and opened it. Octavia raised the pistol.
She should have expected him to move. What person wouldn’t when faced with a gun? Her finger was on the trigger, but she hesitated, unsure of the shot as he jumped back, trying for the cover of the doorframe.
What she didn’t expect was for him to pull a gun of his own. In hindsight, it made sense that a murderer would have a gun. But that came too late to stop her from being on the business end of it.
He fired twice, nearly point blank into Octavia’s torso. She’d reflexively jerked away, but her legs collapsed and she went to the ground right there on the stoop, half inside the door.
All she felt was shock. A second passed and Octavia realized all the breath had been knocked from her lungs. Her back was folded in a place it shouldn’t, and her legs didn’t respond to commands. She feebly raised her arms, trying to move.
Pretzel Puller poked his head around the door. Seeing she was down, he lowered his gun and took a step closer.
“Who the fuck-” he began.
Octavia grabbed him by the front of the shirt and yanked him towards her. It may have been instinct, it may have been coincidence, but her mouth was already open and tore into his neck as she pulled him down.
He got half a scream off, and then stopped struggling.
Even as she drank his blood, Octavia had time to realize the situation. Vampires were made from bites, if the subject didn’t die. She used both hands to bend his neck, fingers and teeth digging until her fangs scraped vertebrae. That was probably dead enough.
Fresh blood tasted different. Could it have been the oxygen content? Or was there some drug in his system? Octavia pushed the limp body off her and looked down. Her entire front was covered in blood, and some of it was hers.
Her stomach made an unpleasant gurgle and regurgitated two bullets out of the wounds in her abdomen. She realized she was in pain, but it began to fade away. Octavia slowly got up, still shaky as the nerves in her spine rebuilt themselves. She picked up her gun off the floor and as an afterthought also the two deformed bullets lying in the pool of blood.
Vinyl had the car running and waiting as Octavia stumbled back. The whole encounter had taken less than thirty seconds, and even in a rough neighborhood that was long enough for someone to call the police.
Octavia took stock as they drove away. The snack had undoubtedly helped, but she was still feeling shock more than anything else.
But first, accountability. “I’m sorry I’m getting blood in your car.”
“It’s all good,” said Vinyl. “It happens often enough that I got those waterproof seat covers that they sell.”
She glanced in the mirrors. “We’re clear. Pretzel was living beyond his means, but good thing that didn’t include his apartment. Cops in this neighborhood are as rare as Italian vampires.”
“Why are Italian vampires rare?” Octavia managed.
“It was a joke about garlic.”
“Oh, right.”
They arrived back at Octavia’s place. By then, she was more than able to tend to herself, though Vinyl followed her in.
“Are you going to be all right?” Vinyl asked.
“I believe so.”
“I’ll just wait here until you finish showering, if that’s cool.”
Octavia didn’t see the point, but a shower was more important at the moment than an argument. It took only a few minutes to clean up, and her mind cleared as well.
She thought about the evening so far. There it was, the first step towards her intended revenge. Perhaps not a direct one, and she didn’t know how long the journey would take, but progress was progress. Hopefully it wouldn’t keep costing her outfits. Her clothes tonight were a total writeoff.
She stepped out of the shower, hearing the front door close. “Hey, I changed out the seat cover,” called Vinyl. “It’s New Year’s. We should go out again.”
“I’d rather stay home. I’ve neglected my cello practice.” Octavia began to get dressed.
“Or we could do that. I’ll listen to you play.”
Octavia shook her head. “I really just want to be alone right now.”
“I’m not an expert or anything, but...I don’t think you do. You really want to have all those thoughts about what you did tonight catching up to you?”
“What does it matter to you?”
Vinyl shrugged. “I’m just trying to be a good friend.”
“I never asked you to be my friend.”
“Well then, do me a favor. Wolves are social creatures. I don’t do well alone.”
“You aren’t a wolf, you’re a person.”
“Thanks, Tavi, that means a lot.”
Octavia shook her head and sighed. “I really hope you can understand that things have been very difficult for me this last week. I’ve lost everything and everyone, and also I’m a movie monster. Just a short while ago, I killed someone and drank their blood. All I want to do is stay in and have a bloody cuppa.” She spread her arms. “But I’m a vampire! God, I miss tea.”
"So why not have a, uh, bloody cuppa?"
“What?”
“Vampires can have things besides blood as long as blood is still the majority ingredient.”
Octavia eyed her. “All right, fine, let’s go out.”
The two of them walked along Victoria Embankment where the Thames bent north. The London Eye ferris wheel was just across the water, fully lit up in the night. Big Ben was distantly visible.
Tourists were everywhere tonight. Not only were they within walking distance of most major attractions in London, but the fireworks would be starting soon.
Octavia walked beside Vinyl, a warm cup of blood tea in her hands. One could not buy blood tea. She had to supply the blood herself, but that was a minor inconvenience.
All in all, she decided, the day had definitely turned around.
Vinyl paused at a vendor booth that was selling knicknacks for the holidays. She grabbed up a pair of sunglasses that looked exactly like her old ones but pink.
“What do you think?” she asked Octavia, modeling them.
“They look obnoxious.”
“Probably.” Vinyl bought them.
They walked on. Now that Octavia had her tea, her thoughts turned back to the cello. Could she really get that bit of normality back?
“I might want to call it an early night,” she said. “I meant what I said earlier about neglecting my playing.”
“Sure, I’m down for however you want to hang out.”
Octavia looked at her. “You really are trying very hard to be my friend.”
Vinyl grinned, genuine emotion visible even behind the pink sunglasses. She glanced up. “Hey, look, the fireworks are starting.”
Octavia sat on Vinyl’s couch. Much of the house was white and neo-. Neo-what Octavia wasn’t exactly sure, but whichever architectural or design term that could be used to describe the place, it probably contained that prefix.
Vinyl was in the bathroom redying her hair blue. As Octavia waited, she took a look around. The dog show trophy was on the mantle. Sound and mixing equipment took up most of the living room. The walls were adorned with tasteful sound-damping. The place was more orderly than one might expect from Vinyl. She probably had a cleaner. She could afford it. Two hundred years of interest in the bank was no small sum.
Though she’d also invested well. The house was in Dalston, a place that had recently gentrified and sent the property value skyrocketing. It was within walking distance of two tube stations and a couple of shopping centers.
While it wasn’t the kind of house where Octavia would live, she did find herself thinking about spending some of the money she had to upgrade from her flat. Her parents’ home insurance, life insurance, and assets made for a considerable sum, not to mention what she’d made in nearly two years working for Mr. Fancypants.
But no. Househunting would distract her. And so Octavia stayed in the small, unadorned flat. Though, she couldn’t help but draw uncomfortable comparisons to a lair.
Vinyl came out, wearing a towel around her shoulders as her hair dried. “You think Prissy is going to have security?”
Octavia considered the vampire they’d followed at the dog show. “I somehow doubt bodyguards, but she might keep her ghouls close.”
“We can circle in, maybe do a drive-by of the house and then go in on foot.”
They got going. While Vinyl drove, Octavia pulled up a satellite image of the house on her phone. While Fancypants had considerable assets, he did not own a personal spy satellite. Commercial maps from the internet were fine.
The house looked considerable enough. There wasn’t a lot of coverage of trees or bushes around it, either. They would have to find a way to get in, and then find their way through to Prissy.
Or they would have, if the house had not been dark when they pulled up.
“Maybe she’s just out for a drink,” suggested Vinyl.
“She’s quite wealthy, perhaps she has more than one house,” said Octavia.
“Well, it doesn’t look like she’s home. What do you want to do?”
Octavia considered it. “You said her dog had a tag from a kennel. I wonder if it’s possible that they have records of their customers? Perhaps her information is in there.”
“Worth a shot.” Vinyl drove them to the kennel, remembering the address from the tag.
It was closed for the night. The two of them canvassed the place. Security appeared light. After all, a kennel was mostly worried about break outs .
Vinyl went around back and found the alarm wiring. After a few minutes, she had it disabled. When she gave the all clear, Octavia picked open the door.
The job was fairly straightforward. The computer terminal at the reception desk wasn’t even password protected. Octavia stood watch while Vinyl dug into the records.
The two of them were being cautious, and Octavia didn’t hear a peep from the back room, though she could sense the animals there. Best not to disturb them. At least animals didn’t have any specific reaction to vampires or werewolves. Curiosity, if nothing else.
It raised an interesting question of evolution. Domestic pets had come up alongside people. Perhaps vampirism and lycanthropy had evolved to not trigger animal instincts.
But Octavia was no cryptobiologist. In fact, were it not for this job, she wouldn’t have to deal with squishy things at all.
“Oh shit,” Vinyl muttered, she leaned closer to the computer, her face bathed in the pale light.
Octavia turned. “What is it?”
Vinyl looked up. “You’re going to want to see this.” She turned the monitor so Octavia could read.
Customer: Prissy Petunia
“What !?” Octavia crossed the room, staring at the words on the screen.
“So…do you believe in coincidences?” Vinyl asked.
Octavia closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath, carefully moderating her hopes. “It seems too fantastic to be coincidence, but…it could be. It could be a different Dirty Trowel. But we should talk to Mr. Fancypants. I’m sure he could tell us for sure.”
Octavia sent him the information while Vinyl put the office back the way it was. They locked up the building and by the time they got back to the car, Fancypants had replied. It was indeed the same Dirty Trowel. Fancypants hadn’t yet been able to piece together how he and Prissy knew each other, but that might come together with more research.
Or, they could just go ask Prissy. Getting her phone number from the kennel records had allowed Fancypants to track her mobile. He sent them the address.
Octavia frowned as she read it. “That’s near the university.”
“I wonder if she’s trying to pick up some more guys to enthrall,” Vinyl speculated. “Not that I feel any great duty to drunken kids, but after seeing how she treated poor Pookie I’m all for going to cock block her.”
“She’s a woman.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Twat stop.”
Octavia knew the neighborhood around the university well enough to find the address Fancypants had given them. It was a large communal house with shared rent paid by a dozen students. And tonight, dozens more appeared to have joined in for a party. Every light was on and music blared out into the street. Considering that this was hardly the only student house on the block, nobody seemed to mind.
Octavia looked around as they got out of the car, spotting people everywhere having a good time. Just two years ago, this was her life as a student. Well, not that she would have been drinking at a house party, but the nostalgia was still there. Her old school buildings were just a few blocks away.
No matter what Prissy intended tonight, how dare she come here to prey on the unsuspecting. It wasn’t even a great place to hunt people. Cheap beer flavor and the surprisingly effective defense mechanism of a popped collar made it an imperfect place for vampires.
“You want to wait out here?” said Vinyl.
Pulled from her own thoughts, Octavia glanced at her.
Vinyl went on. “In case she recognizes you from the dog show?”
“Oh, right.” Octavia nodded, composing herself. “I’ll find a quiet place in the side street.”
They turned to go about their business, but were intercepted by a drunk student coming out of the house. “Oh hey, are you ladies here for the party?”
Octavia would have turned up her nose even if he didn’t reek of alcohol. “We aren’t interested.”
“Oh. Ooh .” He winked and pointed finger guns at them. “Got it. You know, you two make a cute couple.”
Vinyl burst out laughing.
Octavia snapped at him, “Us? Are you delusional? We’re constantly at each other’s throats. The very first day we met, she knocked out my teeth.”
“Yeah, man, good times.” Vinyl took off her sunglasses to wipe her eyes, still chuckling.
He took a step closer, grinning. “So if you two need to be kept apart, I'll be in the middle.”
Vinyl finished laughing and put her sunglasses on. “Okay, you get points for creativity there but it’s a wash because you should have read the room and not pushed it. Like the lady said, we’re not interested.”
“Well you don't have to be a cunt about it.”
“Oh yeah?” Vinyl growled, suddenly aggressive. She took a step forward. “Get lost before I knock out your teeth.”
“Fuck. Crazy bitch.” He walked away. Staggered, more like.
“My knight in shining armor,” Octavia deadpanned.
Vinyl grinned. “Thanks, Tavi. I am technically a crazy bitch.”
She turned and started into the house. “Ugh, do they honestly think this is music?” Octavia heard her say. She saw Vinyl head for where it was loudest. Octavia heard her calling, “Don’t worry, I’m a DJ and I’m here to help. Step away from the MacBook.”
The music changed, though, Octavia thought, not for the better. She took up position in the darkened yard of a neighboring house, staying out of sight of any windows.
A few minutes later, she got a text message from Vinyl. She’s here .
Presuming Vinyl would follow with more information about Prissy when she had it, Octavia waited.
Needless to say, she would have rather been anywhere else, doing anything else. Anything was better than waiting. What did Prissy know about Dirty Trowel? Did she know any of the rest of the vampires who killed Octavia’s parents? Could the only person that stood between Octavia and them be just a few meters away?
Vinyl texted She’s coming out now w/ asshole.
Octavia turned her head, catching sight of Prissy on the arm of the same drunk that had approached earlier. It seemed like she was supporting him as much as anything else.
“Wait here, I’ll get my car,” she said.
He did, though standing up straight seemed to be a challenge. He fished out a packet of cigarettes and managed to light one while he waited. Octavia maneuvered to follow Prissy, keeping to the shadows.
Octavia put her hand into her purse for the stake she carried, but reconsidered. They needed Prissy alive. She closed in as Prissy walked a short distance down the sidewalk, holding out her hand to click the keyless entry on her car.
Moving silently, Octavia took advantage of position and reached from behind, catching Prissy’s arm by the elbow. Her other hand grabbed the wrist and yanked the forearm backwards, hyperextending the joint with a crack.
Prissy might have been surprised, but she instantly reacted with a counterattack, swinging her other arm in a looping arc for Octavia’s head as her fangs came out. Octavia stepped inside, aiming a punch for Prissy’s throat that she blocked by lowering her head and deflecting it downwards. The force of the blow knocked them apart. Octavia fell against the car.
Prissy took a step back and lifted her leg, high heel jutting forward. Octavia just barely avoided her kick that dented the car door. Octavia grabbed her leg and raised a fist to smash down on the knee, but Prissy pulled her leg back, setting Octavia off balance.
She rotated out from under Prissy’s raised good arm and aimed a punch at Prissy’s ribs that Prissy blocked with her already broken arm. Regaining her footing, Octavia put her fists up, leaning into the fight. Prissy backed up, kicking again with short jabs to keep Octavia back.
Only seconds had passed, but they didn’t have all night. Octavia swung at her head, knowing Prissy would block, and then grabbed Prissy’s good wrist as it came up. Prissy spun in place, curling her arm back and forcing Octavia to go along for the ride if she wanted to keep ahold.
The momentum carried Octavia back towards the car and Prissy raised her leg again, getting an extra kick of force into Octavia’s back. It was too much and she lost her grip of Prissy’s wrist, but not without drawing blood with her fingernails.
She hit the car and pushed off, just barely avoiding Prissy’s fist which broke the window. Octavia raised her arm to take advantage of Prissy’s position, intending to bash her head against the doorframe, but Prissy actually leaned forward into the broken window and kicked backwards, a blow that caught Octavia in the gut and lifted her straight off her feet.
She whirled as Octavia came down and hammered a punch into her stomach again before Octavia could even hit the ground.
There wouldn’t have been time to breathe if Octavia even could. As Prissy came down to her on the ground, she managed to get her hand up and grab Prissy by the neck, diverting the force of her attack into a hard pitch that threw Prissy into the car again.
Octavia was back on her feet in an instant and charged. Prissy ducked out of the way. Seeing an opportunity, though, Octavia bent her knees and kicked off the car, rolling herself in midair and coming back down on Prissy fist first. She hammered Prissy’s face into the pavement with her full weight.
Octavia took a step back, but Prissy had gone limp, her nose and face flat against the tarmac. Octavia took stock of herself. Clothing torn, flesh bruised, minor bones broken, dental modification required. Wasting no further time, she grabbed Prissy by the torso and threw her over her shoulder.
She turned to see the drunk student staring at her, the cigarette having fallen out of his mouth as he stared with huge eyes.
Octavia shot him a look. “No one will believe you.”
She stalked past him, carrying Prissy towards Vinyl’s car.
After learning about Prissy’s connections, Fancypants had suggested that Octavia and Vinyl bring her in, to “the old house,” his estate up in Berkshire. It was quiet there. It was a good place for interrogation.
While Octavia was more than willing to deal violence to defend herself, she sat tense and uncomfortable listening to the screams from the other room. Fancypants could have made a game out of it, trying alternate methods to get Prissy to talk, but her qualms aside, Octavia would rather get the information sooner rather than later.
She looked around, passing the time. The house was old, very old. Fancypants had apparently decided not to kill history here, however, and the room looked the part. Octavia adjusted her position on the hard furniture. A small, cooking-size fire was lit in the hearth. Above the mantle was a vintage rifle.
Vinyl seemed relaxed, sitting across from Octavia. She’d already cleaned out her car. The rear seats folded down under the hatchback to create a small cargo area where Octavia had kept Prissy creatively pacified for the ride to Berkshire.
Fleur completed the triangle, wearing a severe look and seeming ready to snap, for some reason. Octavia wasn’t sure why she was here.
The screaming tapered off. After a few minutes, a door opened and closed. Shortly thereafter, Fancypants entered the room. He was covered head to toe in blood, but seemed to be in good spirits.
He picked up a waiting towel and began to clean off, talking as he did so. “Dirty Trowel was a friend of a friend of Prissy’s. She hired him to do her gardening and sometimes dogwalking.”
“Did she know anything else about him?” Octavia asked.
“She had a few names that we can pursue. I suppose there’s no point in concealing them from you now. She was aware of what happened to your parents, Ms. Melody. Multiple murders are still rare even among vampires. Most understand that it’s no way to live if they want to remain incognito.”
Octavia waited while he finished wiping his face off in order to give her his full attention.
“The other two who were with Dirty Trowel that night are named Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop.”
Octavia frowned. Several seconds passed as she tried to dredge up a memory. “Wait…”
She turned to Fleur. “You know Carousel Brass!”
Fleur’s face went blank with surprise. “How did you-”
Octavia was on her feet, advancing towards Fleur. “All those shiny knicknacks you have, Carousel Brass made at least a few of them, I remember seeing his name on a maker’s mark. And some were even signed To Fleur !”
“Calm down,” said Fancypants mildly.
“She knew!” Octavia shouted. “All this time, she’s known about them!”
“That’s not quite correct,” said Fancypants. “Fleur, if you would…”
Though Octavia’s outburst had rattled her, Fleur composed herself. “You know Dirty Trowel used to live in your house before you moved in, I imagine zat is why he and his cronies were distraught about ze changes to ze garden. I had thought he still lived there, which is why I was in your neighborhood zat night. I...must admit I had planned some petty revenge. Ze two of us had a falling out.”
“What were you planning to do?” Octavia said.
“I was-” Fleur, paused, shook her head, and went on. “I was planning to egg ze house, okay?
“But if you knew all this time-” Octavia began.
“We didn’t,” said Fancypants. “Dirty Trowel and his friends had far more enemies than Fleur. Any of them could have been looking for him, made the same mistake, and decided to kill your family anyway. We only became sure later.”
“Well, where does Carousel Brass fit in?” Octavia asked.
“As a friend of Dirty Trowel’s,” Fleur replied. “He’s a jeweler, and Dirty Trowel attempted to buy my favor with commissions from him.”
“So where are Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop now?” Octavia asked.
“I didn’t know zem well,” Fleur replied.
“Surely a jeweler has a shop.”
“I invite you to look into it,” said Fancypants. He crossed to the mantle and picked up the old rifle. “I will be going after Prissy now.”
Octavia wanted to express surprise that he had just let her go, but this was Fancypants, always about the hunt.
“I picked this up only recently,” said Fancypants, showing off the rifle. “It’s an 1868 Pontificio. Only a single shot, but chambered in 12.7 x 45mm, similar to the American .50-70. It’s the only type of rifle ever manufactured specifically for the Vatican.”
“Nice,” said Vinyl. “Does that make it work better against unholy monsters?”
“Oh no, I just enjoyed tracking down such a rare piece. Also, it can put a fist-sized hole in something.” Fancypants smiled. “Well, I’m off.” He walked out the door into the night.
“How long do you think?” Vinyl asked. “I bet he kills her inside of five minutes.”
“Don’t we have something more important to be doing?” Octavia said.
As the morning sun began to creep past the curtains, Vinyl woke up and got out of bed as soon as possible. She hadn’t slept in a bed quite as vintage as this one in...well, since it was that vintage. Fancypants had really gone overboard in not changing this particular old house. It was like he was trying to kill her comfortable sleep.
She picked up her pink sunglasses from the bedside table and put them on. She’d slept in her clothes.
Downstairs, Fancypants sat with a cup of tea and the morning newspaper, immaculate suit in place. His rifle was back in place over the mantle. Vinyl stretched and sat down at the table. “Do we have anything new on Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop?”
“No.” Fancypants folded the newspaper. “I have a few sources to consult. Perhaps there will be something soon.” He glanced at the ceiling. “Ms. Melody doesn’t usually sleep this late, does she?”
“No, she’s pretty punctual in the mornings, even for a vampire.”
A long second passed. They looked at each other.
“I’ll go check,” said Vinyl, getting up.
She made her way back up the stairs to the bedroom Octavia had gone to the previous night. Quietly opening the latch, she peered inside.
The bed was made. Octavia was nowhere to be seen. Furthermore, her scent didn’t linger. Either she was long gone, or had never even slept in the bed.
Frowning, Vinyl closed the door. That was the correct room, right? Surely Octavia hadn’t switched. Vinyl walked across the hallway and opened the next door.
Fleur jerked upright in bed, hair a mess. She blinked at Vinyl. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m looking for Octavia.”
“Well, she iz not here,” Fleur grumpily pointed out.
“Yeah, I see that. I wonder where she went.”
Vinyl closed the door and went back downstairs. “I can’t find her.”
Fancypants tilted his head in thought. “How interesting.”
Vinyl pulled out her mobile and dialed Octavia. The phone rang, but there was no answer.
Fancypants pulled up a track for Octavia’s mobile. She was in London.
Fleur had come downstairs and joined them by this point, wearing a robe and fuzzy slippers. Her hair and makeup were still not done, but she wanted breakfast first. She sipped blood as she watched them work.
“Octavia’s missing,” Vinyl said. “We’re trying to figure out why she’s gone to London.”
“London?” said Fleur absently. She leaned over Fancypants’ shoulder to look at the tracking map on the screen of his mobile.
“I’ll give Pip a ring and see if he can find her,” said Fancypants.
Fleur straightened up. “I will also make some calls.”
“I’ll get going that way.” Vinyl went out to her car.
She drove quickly, but not recklessly. Octavia must have gone to London on her own initiative, so at the moment there was no indication that she might be in danger. It still made little sense that she would take off without telling anyone.
Though, Octavia was a grown woman, she could do as she pleased. Still, the strangeness of the situation was overwhelming. Vinyl had gotten to know Octavia well over the nearly two years they had worked together. This was completely out of character for her.
Still,Vinyl wasn’t worried. Yet.
Vinyl tried calling Octavia again once she got inside the ring road, but this time the phone didn’t even buzz, just going straight to voicemail.
She followed the location of Octavia’s mobile to an apartment building. It looked like a nice place. Vinyl found a spot to park and walked into the building.
The GPS signal wasn’t perfectly accurate. Where in the building could Octavia be? Vinyl glanced at the tenant roster near the door and did a double take. Fleur’s name was on the list.
Vinyl jogged up the stairs, brain working. Had Octavia come here to look at the knicknacks she had described the previous evening? Why come alone?
She reached the floor and oriented herself, heading towards Fleur’s flat. Before she reached the door, she smelled blood.
The door was unlocked. Vinyl tensed as she opened it, not knowing what she would find.
The place was wrecked. Furniture was broken. The knicknacks were scattered everywhere. As Vinyl stepped into the room, she saw a body lying on the floor behind the couch. It was a man, and there was a large puncture wound over his heart. His blood was everywhere.
“Fleur’s going to be pissed,” remarked Vinyl to no one in particular.
She stopped by the body’s feet. Who could this be? Why was he here?
Vinyl found Octavia’s phone, crushed and lost under the upturned couch. She also found a Fabergé-type jeweled egg. Vinyl picked it up. There was an inscription on the bottom.
Fleur dis Lee, l'amour de ma vie Created by master jeweler Carousel Brass
Interesting, but nothing that she didn’t already know.
She heard footsteps and Pip came in.
“Fancy called me,” he explained. “I hear Octavia’s gone missing.”
Vinyl stepped back and gestured him forward. “This is what we’ve got so far.”
“I think I recognize this man.” Pip tipped his head, putting his fingers to his chin. “Let me see, Sauerkraut Hoagie, was it? That’s right, I think he worked for Bismark Danish back in the day.”
“Well, we both know what happened to Bismark Danish,” Vinyl commented. “So what’s this guy been doing since then?”
Pip shrugged. “I might be able to do some asking around.”
Vinyl shared with him what she knew about Carousel Brass and Mutton Chop. Pip said he would keep his eyes open.
The two of them locked up Fleur’s flat and parted company. Vinyl went out to her car and got behind the wheel. She called Fancy and Fleur on conference to tell them what had happened.
“She did what !?” Fleur screeched.
“Killed a Nazi vampire in your front room, yes.”
“One wonders what he was doing there,” Fancypants observed mildly.
“Well, if Carousel Brass is a jeweler, it make sense that he works with gold,” speculated Vinyl. “Nazis stereotypically had a lot of it.”
“I think zat is a bit of a stretch,” Fleur observed.
“I mean, I’m just saying. Hell, I stole a lot of gold on the eastern front, and I was one of the good guys,” Vinyl pointed out. “And anyway, can you think of any other reason a Nazi vampire was in your place at the same time as Octavia?”
Fleur could not.
“If either of you think of anything, let me know,” said Vinyl as the conversation came to a close. “I don’t know how long this is going to take, though. Fancy, can you cover my gigs if this takes a while?”
“I shall give it my best attempt,” he promised.
“Great. I’m going to go kick through the bushes and see who falls out.”
Vinyl visited Octavia’s place, but she wasn’t there. She went by Fancy’s place, but Octavia wasn’t there either.
Out of possibilities, Vinyl went down to a dingy bar down in Richmond. Naturally, when one was searching for Nazis, the most German neighborhood in town was a natural place to start.
It was not a pub nor a tavern nor a club nor an alehouse. It was a bar, and not even a decent one. Words mean things, and this meant it was dark inside, and dirty, and a place more suited for drinking than socializing. Vinyl’s nose picked out more smells than even she could easily discern. Looking around, it might have once been a nice place, and despite years of decay, still obviously German, though it was the kind of place where lederhosen were implied, but not actually worn.
She sat down at the bar and said, “Newcastle.”
They had it, of course. This was still Britain.
The bartender eyed Vinyl as he set down the beer in front of her, but didn’t comment.
For her part, Vinyl was hoping luck would come her way. Clearly, someone knew something was afoot - why else was Sauerkraut Hoagie at Fleur’s place other than to apparently try to intercept Octavia? Maybe they would take a swing at her, too.
While she waited, however, she drank her beer and pondered where Octavia might be now. What had made her go to Fleur’s place unannounced? What had she discovered there and where had that taken her?
Vinyl had learned a few things in her time. One was patience. There was nothing to be done if there simply wasn’t any evidence. She’d also learned that the older people got, the more predictable they were. Maybe that was part of why she appreciated Octavia, but it was also part of the reason she’d reinvented herself every few decades. Some interpreted Vinyl’s attitude as being vapid. Though, her philosophy about not worrying about things held true.
If she could just stop worrying about Octavia.
She was still preoccupied with that thought when she detected someone approach. She smirked into the beer as she lifted it again. People got predictable as they got older.
There was no point in pretending she didn’t know she had company. Finishing the beer, she spun the barstool around.
A statuesque blonde woman stood there, hands on hips. Her piercing expression was not at all enhanced by the dirndl she wore. It wasn’t Oktoberfest, and as Vinyl had already noted, nobody else was wearing traditional German garb.
Despite the outfit, her hair was loose and over her shoulders instead of in any kind of pigtails. Otherwise, her makeup and accessories were perfect. Vinyl did her the favor of getting to the point. “So, Frieda, what’s Sauerkraut Hoagie been up to?”
“We do our best to run a respectable establishment here.” Frieda’s expression didn’t change.
“I never said he was one of yours. I just figured you might know. He’s dead, if that makes a difference.”
That finally provoked a reaction. Frieda’s carefully manicured eyebrows went up. “What happened?”
“Not sure. I think Octavia Melody killed him.”
“Who?”
Vinyl gestured. “About this tall. Brunette. Stick up her ass.”
“Oh. Your pet.”
Vinyl burst out laughing. “That’s a good one.”
“I didn’t even tell a joke.”
“No, but you implied it. The dog has a pet girl ! Classic.”
Frieda went back to looking annoyed. “So why are you here?”
“I can’t find Octavia so I thought I’d dig up some clues. Who was Sauerkraut working for?”
“I don’t recall anyone specific. I think he was freelance.”
“Hmm.” Vinyl considered it. “That makes things more difficult. So who would hire a sour Kraut? Please tell me it has something to do with Nazi gold.”
“He wouldn’t have been doing this kind of work if he was rich,” Frieda pointed out.
“You never know. A lot of us get paid pretty well but still get our rocks off howling at the moon every so often.”
“Laying it on a bit thick with the werewolf business, aren’t you?”
“If I was laying it on thick, I would also be wearing a Wolfmother t-shirt and ordering rare steaks. And it’s not like I would mind if you did the same. I totally love the cookies you elves make in a hollow tree.”
Frieda glared at her, even as her ears twitched under her hair.
“So anyway,” said Vinyl, “Unless you have some way of tracking down either Octavia or whoever might be after her, I guess I’ll just have to sniff around.”
Vinyl left a five pound note on the bar and walked out. The conversation hadn’t gotten her anywhere, but she was still confident that something would turn up.
Deciding to try a different track, she went across town to a little pub. She thought about what Octavia would say about drinking before lunch, not to mention driving while intoxicated. It made her smile.
A bar had a certain implication. A pub had quite another. While they certainly still served beer, it was more about the food and the atmosphere.
“What’s your fare?” asked the publican.
“The mutton,” said Vinyl. “Actual mutton.”
He tipped his hand and a waitress went into the kitchen.
“Hey Jack, who’s your supplier?” Vinyl asked him.
“You know that’s a trade secret.” Jack’s smile got a little thinner, but didn’t go away.
Vinyl glanced around at the couple other customers in for lunch. She knew a few of them. She turned back to Jack. “You’re in the service industry. Maybe you know a thing or two about home delivery.”
“News travels fast,” Jack acknowledged.
“So do you know where I could get an Octavia Melody?”
“No,” Jack said simply. “Though I do hope she’s all right. If you happen to see her, tell her we’ve just gotten a lovely new black tea in from China.”
Vinyl opened her mouth and then shook her head. “I can’t tell if you were laying anything between the lines that time. Look, I think someone sent Nazis to kill my best friend and you know how I feel about both of those things.”
The order of lamb came out and the waitress put it on the table in front of Vinyl.
“So anyway,” Vinyl concluded, “I’d really like to know anything you can tell me.”
“What, so you’ll tell Fancypants?” said a voice. Vinyl turned to meet the eyes of the speaker, who was sitting at a nearby table.
He went on. “I don’t know how you can work for someone like that.”
“This isn’t about him,” said Vinyl.
“Oh really? So you have no issues with him committing mass murder?”
A couple other people around the room began to mutter.
“I don’t really worry about things like that,” said Vinyl. “And maybe you wouldn’t either if you had nothing to worry about.”
“Well, it’s a good thing Ms. Melody is still young and stupid enough to be following him blindly. Maybe someone has decided to take matters into their own hands, just like Fancypants.”
“No, that’s been tried before,” said Vinyl. “Fancy is a good judge of people. He saw it coming. He solved the issue. Believe it or not, non-violently.
“You know, deep down Octavia is a pacifist, too. She doesn’t want to have to do this. If she were here, with what you just said, she wouldn’t have responded. It would have bothered her. She would question herself. She would have lowered her head, dropped her eyes, and done that introvert turtle-going-into-its-shell thing. She wouldn’t have done anything about what you said.
“But if she were here, I would have.”
Vinyl turned back to her lunch and ate silently. There was no one to converse with. It sounded like there wasn’t much conversation in the rest of the room, either.
She hadn’t always been Vinyl Scratch the DJ partygirl. A chameleon of a different color was still the same lizard. It was amazing how short some people’s memories were.
When she was done, she settled the bill with Jack. He passed her an extra slip of paper along with the receipt, but said nothing.
Vinyl waited until she was back at her car to read the note. It was the name of a jewelry shop. It wasn’t difficult to look the place up and she got going.
The small shop was closed, despite being the middle of the day and having quite a lot of high end merchandise. Looking in the window, Vinyl noted that nothing carried a tag. If you have to ask …
Vinyl did not ask. She went around back and hammered on the nondescript door she found there. No one answered.
So, she chunked a loose rock through the front window and drove away.
It occurred to her that someone might have been watching the shop and she might have been followed. But she wasn’t worried.
Parking for the tube wasn’t easy to find, but Vinyl slotted her car into a space and paid the toll. She grabbed a duffel bag from the back of the car and headed to the underground. She’d found some rather excellent places that were just out of public view. One just had to lead the unsuspecting there.
It wouldn’t be the first time she had ambushed Nazis.
She went through an unmarked door which led to unpainted concrete walls, pipes, and wires. Down a maintenance hall from the main station concourse, Vinyl set down her duffel, took off her sunglasses, and pulled out a machete. She leaned against the wall, safely out of sight around a corner.
It was almost too easy. As a pair of people approached, Vinyl visualized their footsteps and came out of hiding swinging. Her blade lopped an arm off the first man and sliced downward across the kneecap of the second. She followed up with a spinning kick that caught one forehead and one ear, the soles of her trainers scraping across skin.
Of course, this would have been fine if they hadn’t been armed as well, in a manner of speaking, anyway. The one who still had two pulled a gun while Vinyl was still winding up for another swing and shot her point blank in the stomach, the muzzle blast singeing her shirt even as the bullet slammed into her.
Vinyl’s breath hitched and her body locked up, falling backwards as if hit with a shotgun blast. Her stomach gushed blood, and also smoke. She convulsed, hands grabbing at her wound. Pulling silver bullets out was Octavia’s job. Her deft fingers were some of the most gentle Vinyl had ever experienced. Well, by comparison to all the other times she’d been shot with silver bullets.
The Nazi vampires took a second to regroup while Vinyl was down. They shouldn’t have even taken that long, though, because she managed to tear the bullet out even as it burned her fingers. She threw it away, and then, she changed.
Werewolves were effectively just very specialized shapeshifters. Granted, there were some other perks too, but it basically boiled down to being able to manipulate themselves between human and wolf. And a werewolf with a lot of practice could get creative.
Hands for dexterity, claws for bloodletting, feet for stability, ruff for protection, teeth for tearing, tail for balance. Vinyl’s favorite. Bones in her jaws, blood on her tongue, screams in her ears.
A stake to the heart was a good way to kill a vampire. Beheading was another. A machete would have done the job cleaner, but Vinyl’s maw was just fine. She got ahold of a throat and shook head. Blood, the gun, meat - flew everywhere.
It was not torture, it didn’t last long enough.
The other one tried to pry her off and she crushed his wrist between her teeth before turning back to the other, who was already lying limply but not quite vivisected. She climbed on top of his body, chomping at the neck and digging a hole in his chest with her claws.
A kick caught her under the ribs, but she quickly reversed and snapped at the new target.
The one with the missing arm was now missing a leg below the knee too. He fell backwards as Vinyl abandoned the other vampire. He was spread thinly enough already.
“Stop,” her remaining target panted, leaving a slime trail of blood across the floor as he backed into the wall.
It was funny what people said at times like this. “Stop” was a common one, or “no.” Sometimes atheists would find religion. Sometimes they would cry for mother. Nazis never called for Hitler, though.
“Where is she?” Vinyl asked, human vocal cords still working behind her jaws, blood gurgling out of her mouth.
“P-probably went to find Mutton.”
Not Carousel? No biggie.
“Where?”
“The plant in SilvertownOH G-”
When she was sure they were both dead, Vinyl changed back. She pulled both bodies through another door and dumped them on the train tracks.
She toweled off and got redressed from the duffel. It was always a good idea to have a change of clothes in this business. Stowing everything back in the bag, she put her sunglasses back on and left the station.
Vinyl looked up a few things on her phone and got back in the car. There was a meat packing plant in Silvertown, not too far from where the event center where the dog show had taken place. The building was right on the river and probably processed all kinds of edible creatures.
However, when Vinyl arrived, it was on fire. This seemed like a good indication that she was in the correct place.
Avoiding the responding emergency services, she drove around, scouting for potential exit points from the burning building away from the public.
That was how she found Octavia.
Vinyl stopped the car and got out, hurrying over. Octavia’s clothes were ripped and bloodstained. She sat head down, with her back to the low security wall that ran around the perimeter of the plant.
She lifted her face at the sound of Vinyl’s approach. Bloody tears dripped from her eyes, though her expression changed as she saw who it was.
Octavia sniffed and blinked, straightening her back and doing her best to appear composed. That wasn’t going to happen, not with everything she had gotten stained by, but Vinyl pretended not to notice.
“Hey,” said Vinyl softly. She touched Octavia’s shoulder.
Octavia leaned into her, and began to cry again.
Octavia sat in the bedroom at Fancypants’ old house. She couldn’t sleep. Something was bothering her. What it was, however, wasn’t clear.
She had gone to bed, but couldn’t fall asleep. She got up. She felt like she should go somewhere. She got dressed and made the bed.
By the time she was finished, she still hadn’t decided that it was nothing. Even if she still hadn’t decided it was something , Octavia had to go. A strange restlessness had fallen on her body. She knew she should stay. Something told her she had to go.
She should have left a note or something, but decided not to trouble anyone if her feeling did indeed turn out to be baseless. However, as her feet took her all the way into town and to the train station, she realized perhaps she should have. Well, she still had her phone.
There was something wrong, Octavia thought as she rode the train south through the night. It frustrated her that she couldn’t name it. She just maintained a vague sense of unease. The others, with much more experience, had apparently not noticed so it must be unique to her.
So what was wrong with her?
She got off the train in London as the sun was coming up. Octavia searched for her sunglasses but realized she must have left them in Vinyl’s car. Her gun and her stake were in her purse, though. She also found the bottle of wakeup pills and took one.
Now that she was back in London, now what? Should she go to her flat? No, that would accomplish nothing, why come all this way? As she glanced up at the buildings outside the station, lit by the light of dawn, Octavia’s mind drifted to the knicknacks at Fleur’s place. Octavia’s argument the previous night regarding where Fleur had gotten them had not held water. But it wouldn’t hurt anything to take another look.
It didn’t occur to her what Fleur might think until Octavia was already picking the lock on her door. Even then, she didn’t stop.
Her phone rang. Octavia paused, and then decided she would rather not take any more time than she needed crouched in the hallway with the lockpicks. The phone had stopped ringing by the time she was inside, however.
Octavia glanced at it. The call had come from Vinyl. She must have realized Octavia was gone. Was she worried? Her finger hovered over the callback button, but she held off. Better to search the apartment first, so if she found something, she wouldn’t need to make a second call. It should only take a few minutes.
Octavia inspected the shiny baubles that decorated Fleur’s front room. She found the ones that she’d seen before, those made by Carousel Brass. Again, she felt like she was missing something, but couldn’t figure out what it might be.
Someone suddenly jiggled the doorknob. Octavia spun in place, the trinket in one hand, her phone in the other. The door opened and a man barged in, not looking surprised to see her.
The fog in Octavia’s mind lifted as if by magic. Her hands were already moving, dropping what she was holding and grabbing for weapons.
He crashed into her and both of them went to the floor. Octavia got her knees up and kicked him into the couch, which rolled over and knocked a swath of knicknacks off their perches.
He rolled, getting to his knees, and Octavia leaped at him. His arm caught her across the chest and diverted her attack, but he wasn’t stable enough to stay upright. The two of them landed in a heap, Octavia fighting to stay on top.
Her arm came up, stake in hand. His eyes bugged out as he saw it and he grabbed for her wrist. With both his arms occupied, Octavia delicately flicked the stake to her other hand and drove it home, piercing between his ribs and into his heart.
He expired right there. Octavia pulled the stake out and got up, sighing. She looked around. “Fleur will not be happy about this.”
She looked back down at the body. Who could this man be?
Going through his pockets, she discovered a phone. When she pressed the power button, a GPS program came up, showing a route that ended at Fleur’s place. Backtracking, she discovered his apparent starting place.
Her own phone was destroyed under the couch. There was no landline in the flat. Somehow, it didn’t seem particularly ideal to use this man’s phone to make a call. If he was after her, who knew who might be after him ?
That still didn’t explain who he was or why he was here. She would have to find some other way to get the word out. In the meantime, she borrowed a packet of blood from Fleur’s fridge and downed it. Considering everything else that had happened to the apartment, that seemed like something Fleur would be most likely to understand. Octavia didn’t even take one of the good ones.
Finished, Octavia got going. She used the dead vampire’s phone to backtrack his route. Stepping out of the building, she squinted in the light and quickly made for the nearest tube station.
She sat on the train, looking around the compartment at her fellow passengers. Some of them stared back. Octavia wondered if she had something on her face, but obviously there was no easy way to check it.
Getting off at a close station, she made her way back to street level and checked the phone in her hand. She was only a few blocks away.
She looked up, spotting an open, grassy park behind a fence. It was a fair. Well, not a proper one, but there was a merry go round and a few other attractions set up in the park. It appeared that it had been there for a while.
Octavia rarely ventured into this part of the city, but she vaguely remembered hearing about this place. It was supposed to be historical. She’d never enjoyed things like circuses, so she’d never visited it before. And if vampires were hanging out at places such as this, then perhaps Octavia had been right to stay away.
The phone wasn’t accurate enough to pinpoint where the man had begun his journey to Fleur’s place. The open merry go round with its carved horses and polished brass seemed unlikely. One of the buildings, then? There was a restroom, a snack shop with a delivery truck next to it, and a larger building with a sign that read Fun House and Fine Jewelry .
It was then that Octavia’s blood ran cold, for want of a better metaphor. She recognized the man coming out of the fun house. She may not have known his name, but he had been there on Christmas Eve.
She couldn’t help her stare, and he caught her eye. The two of them faced each other from perhaps twenty meters. He was dressed in slacks with a checkered vest and wore a gold pocket watch on a heavy chain. Considering her options, Octavia decided that this was probably Carousel Brass.
He turned and slipped back inside the fun house. Octavia was after him like a bullet.
Bursting through the front door, her eyes adjusted to the dim light. She saw a display of intricate jewelry near the front counter. There was no one there, only a curtain that led deeper into the building. She threw it open. The hallway beyond appeared deserted and Octavia charged down it.
About halfway along she crashed into an unseen wall, nose bursting open like a fountain as her face caught the worst of it. Octavia fell backwards amid a rain of silvery shards of glass. A mirror - she hadn’t seen it.
Blood dripped on Octavia’s front and arms as she rolled over and got up. A fun house, this was going to be terrible.
Spotting the hidden corner she would have detected had she possessed a reflection, she cautiously eased around it, leading with one hand and keeping her stake in the other.
She tried to look for patterns in the floor or ceiling that could help judge her position relative to the walls. With her attention diverted, she didn’t see the attack until it was too late.
A polished sabre that Octavia did see her reflection in flashed out of the darkness and slashed across her torso. Her back arched away involuntarily, opening the wound. A torrent of blood - likely what she had just drank - came pouring out, along with her intestines.
Octavia went to her knees, one hand fighting to put her guts back in, the other still clutching the stake. Carousel Brass walked out of the maze, his weapon bloody and held casually in one hand.
Octavia defended herself from the floor, but knew he had far superior reach with his blade. However, as he raised it, his mobile rang.
Carousel sighed and rolled his eyes. He answered. “What?”
Octavia faintly heard a man’s voice on the other end. “Vinyl Scratch just tried to break into the shop downtown. ”
Carousel considered it and then replied, “I’m on my way. Don’t do anything until I get there.”
He ended the call and put the phone away. He sneered down his nose at Octavia. “Your lucky day. Don’t worry, I can find you again.”
He turned on his heel and disappeared between mirrors.
Octavia desperately poked her innards back into place as her skin resealed across her stomach. Time was ticking away, time to follow him. She stood up, swaying from blood loss. She doubted Carousel was still in the building, but felt her way through the mirrors anyway until she was sure.
What had his call been about? Vinyl breaking in? Was she looking for Octavia? If so, where?
Back in the front room, Octavia searched for anything that might give her a clue. There was nothing in the cash register, money included. The counter had been swept clean of anything. She picked up the scratch pad and quickly ran the edge of the pencil across it, but the only depressions revealed, transferred from the sheet above, had nothing of interest.
Octavia’s teeth clenched, knowing that Carousel was likely out of her grasp by now. Frustrated, she pushed open the door and walked out into the day, squinting.
Her eyes fell on the truck parked near the snack shop. As she watched, it pulled away, having completed its delivery.
The side of the truck was painted with Mutton Chop’s Chopped Mutton & Meats.
Without making a conscious decision, Octavia sprinted for the truck, catching up just as it turned onto the street. She leapt aboard the step at the rear, hanging onto the rear door latch with her fingertips. Did the whole fair belong to Carousel? Did that make Mutton Chop, his associate, a natural choice for supplier? Either way, a piece of luck. Octavia considered the situation as she hitched a ride.
It made sense that a vampire would own a meat company. Octavia frowned. Though that didn’t explain why Mutton Chop’s other friend, Dirty Trowel, had been out seeking human blood.
To be fair, Octavia didn’t like animal blood either, feeling lethargic when she’d tried that diet. She couldn’t afford to be weak, though, and expired medical blood would otherwise just be thrown away.
She hung on as the truck drove for quite a while. Octavia casually tried to wave off other drivers, as casually as one could when sneaking a ride on the back of a truck through a busy city.
She saw the Thames and a couple of other landmarks. It seemed like they were somewhere near Custom House, possibly the industrial park between the airport and river.
The truck rolled through a gate, past a low wall that apparently surrounded the packing plant. A gate guard did a double take, stepping into the street in the wake of the truck and staring at Octavia with a blank look. Realization caught up to him and he dove back into the guard shack to call for help.
Octavia dropped off the truck and ran. There were barges at the river and a large industrial building housing the meat processing. She angled for the nearest door.
The hall she entered occupied most of the building. Octavia was momentarily disoriented by the huge space. It was surprisingly clean and a heavy smell of raw meat and disinfectant hung in the air.
There were people around, most of them in aprons and sterile gear. Octavia, not knowing who or what she was looking for, decided it was best to stay out of sight.
More calmly than she felt, she headed for where the processing machinery was thickest. Seconds later, though, a piercing alarm began to wail.
Most of the workers in sight seemed to react with confusion. Apparently this wasn’t a common occurrence. Octavia continued on as if she belonged there, but the siren was suddenly replaced with a PA announcement. “Intruder alert! Be on the lookout for a young woman.”
The voice started to list off Octavia’s physical description, but she was already running for cover. There was a chained-off staircase nearby. She vaulted the chain and ran up the steps. It led to a metal framework of catwalks that surrounded the room up near the ceiling.
Looking around frantically for a place to hide, or at least a place to put distance between herself and potential pursuers, Octavia spotted an enclosed area on the far side of the building. There were a few windows and it might have been an office. If she was going to find information on Mutton Chop anywhere, it would be there.
She pulled her pistol and shot out the nearest light. It was quite large, industrial style, and Octavia started to run, putting bullets in lights ahead of her. This had the effect of shrouding her in darkness, but also, based on the screams from below, it cleared out the workers.
She came to the end of the catwalk and vaulted over the side, hooking an arm around its supporting leg and landing on the floor. She pushed open the door of the office.
It was still industrial, but at least had a tile floor and ceiling tiles. There was an empty chair behind a desk, still spinning from recently being vacated by someone’s bottom. Perhaps they’d cleared out when the shooting began. She glanced around, spotting several filing cabinets.
She was tempted to check them for any possible information, but now that shots were fired, the police were probably on their way. She had to move fast. Octavia crossed the office and went through the door at the back of the room.
The hallway on the other side was back to industrial, full concrete. Octavia glanced side to side. Her nose picked up the smell of blood. Not unusual in a place like this...except it was human.
She traded her gun for her stake and cautiously made her way down the hall. The smell got stronger and the hallway ended at a heavily secured door. There were two deadbolts, and the door itself was thick steel set in concrete.
Octavia got to work. Her mind was focused, and she balanced speed with stealth. There was no telling what might be on the other side.
Her deft fingers picked their way through the unfamiliar locks. Octavia stood up, gripping her stake, and yanked the door open.
The seal must have been good, because the wave of air that came out at the door’s opening was absolutely saturated with blood. In fact, that much described the room beyond. It was relatively small compared to the whole building, but still contained some processing equipment and a few workers.
Only to Octavia’s horror, none of them wore protective equipment, all were doused in blood, and most were chained to their posts. Stepping into the room, it took her a moment to recognize the plastic explosive wired in blocks around the room and fused to blow inwards. They were wrapped in shiny silver balls and slivers of wood, shrapnel to kill anything.
Heads were turning as Octavia walked in. She realized not everyone was fully human-appearing. Some appeared to be werewolves partly through a change, badly deteriorated zombies, or vampires with unsightly mutations. Dirty Trowel had been lucky to merely have a few extra fingers.
And then Octavia stopped cold, staring. Her breath caught. Her hand dropped the stake as she took an unconscious step forward.
Her parents, barely recognizable, were chained size by side on the human meat processing line. Unbelievably, Silver Suture and Practice Pizzicato were here.
Octavia’s mouth dropped open as she walked forward, words she didn’t consciously say coming out. “What...mum, dad-how?”
It seemed that both of them were in a fog. They turned to her voice, eyes seeming not to see. Octavia’s gaze feel upon what had happened to them and her stomach turned in horror, a blessing that it had been emptied earlier.
Octavia’s mother had healed from her injuries, but not even close to properly. Her forearm, sundered right in front of Octavia’s eyes on Christmas Eve, had grown back in a rough, scaly skin that more resembled tree bark. The same substance began at her hips and extended down her legs, thickening as it went until her feet looked more like the base of trees. She could only move in short, slow steps.
Octavia’s father looked much the same as he had except for one glaring addition. His stomach was grotesquely distended, probably adding a few stone to his weight without affecting any other part of his body.
Octavia felt sick, and rightly so, but she still crossed the room. There was still no reaction from her parents. That somehow cut her worse than what had happened to them.
“It’s...Octavia,” she tried, attempting to keep the desperation out of her voice.
Her name inspired the biggest change in expression so far, which still wasn’t much. Her father’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Her mother slowly repeated “Octavia…?”
“I’m going to get you out of here.” Octavia knelt to the chains around their ankles. Her mother’s were cutting in as a product of her thickened legs. How long had they been here? The whole time? How had they even survived?
The chains were welded in place, no locks to pick. The next weakest link would be breaking her parents’ ankles. Octavia’s stomach turned once again, but she could see no other way to get them out quickly. She would have to find a tool or something.
A quiet murmur went around the room. Octavia looked up. A man she took to be Mutton Chop stood in the doorway. He was the third vampire from Christmas Eve.
Thoughts of escape, reminders that the police were on their way, flitted out of Octavia’s mind. Without another instant of hesitation, she launched herself across the room. Mutton Chop had probably not been surprised to find her there. Carousel had probably warned him and the sirens were hard to miss. However, he definitely wasn’t expecting a full-on assault from her.
If she’d encountered him somewhere else, Octavia probably would have used more caution. That was in her nature. But upon learning moments ago what had really become of her family, it was as if something had snapped. Mutton Chop probably didn’t even realize the amount of rage that had exploded inside her. There were too many sins to mention, too many things to take revenge over. Nothing but hate, no room for thought.
He raised his arms defensively, but her hands were already closing around his throat. As her thumbs began to press into his larynx, his arms came up between hers. There was a flash of something and suddenly she lost her grip.
He grabbed her by the front of the shirt and threw her to the side. Octavia managed to hook her foot around his waist and pulled him off balance. She crashed into the wall, ripping down some of the explosives.
She tried to unwrap the bundle of C4 and get up. Something seemed to be wrong with her hands. Looking down, she saw deep cuts on her wrists, tendons severed. Her head came up, to where Mutton Chop was just picking himself up off the floor. Bony protrusions that ran the length of the outside of his forearms poked out of tattered sleeves. It was as if he had built-in blades growing out of him.
Octavia had ignored her stake, left lying in the middle of the floor, in her rush to attack. Not that she could use it now, with most of her fingers out of commission. The bundle of wires and plastic explosive was the only thing in her hands.
The C4 putty squished between her fingers, allowed her to get a grip, even if she could barely grasp things. She got to her feet and started forward, holding the mass of wires in front of her.
“We really should have killed Fancypants when we had the chance,” said Mutton. “Barring that, we shouldn’t have let you live. He really made you his little project.”
Octavia charged again. Mutton slashed at her, but she managed to duck most of his strike, only losing a little cloth off her shirt. She twisted, throwing probing attacks at him, trying to wrap her improvised garotte around any part of his body she could reach.
Octavia couldn’t always control her emotions, but she never lost her calculation. Even with her mind clouded by white-hot fury, she kept looking for openings. She was going to destroy Mutton Chop for what he had done. Not just kill, that was far too passive a word.
As focused as she was on his arm blades, she wasn’t able to correct fast enough when he lashed out with a kick. It caught her in the gut and knocked her over the production line. She landed on someone and rolled to the floor.
Blinking at the ceiling, she realized her parents were standing over her.
“Are you all right?” her father asked.
“Octavia, what happened?” asked her mother. Both of them appeared honestly concerned, showing actual emotion.
A shadow fell over them. Mutton seized both her parents around their necks, his strength easily matching their feeble struggling. The blades on his arms rested dangerously close to their throats.
Octavia was up again, but Mutton warned her off. His threat at her parents’ throats was clear enough, but he added, “Come any closer and they die. Back off, girly. You don’t have any options here.”
Octavia’s eyes calculated the distance and what she would have to do. She flexed her fingers, wondering how much she had healed, if she could count on them. There was no time to find out.
She jumped for his head this time, her arms sliding over her parents as she tried to grapple Mutton’s face. Her parents both fell to the floor, Octavia replacing them inside Mutton’s arms. She felt scratches on her sides from his blades, but he wasn’t in a position to bring any strength to bear.
He took a step back, fighting to keep her away from his eyes. He raised his hands, and she switched her target to them, wrapping the mass of wires around.
Seized with the initiative, Octavia kneed him in the stomach to bend him over and then brought her weight down on his arms, slamming them down on the meat production line. The force coming down on the machinery shattered his bone blades, the bones in his forearms, and brought a scream out.
She grabbed the back of his head and drove it forward into the same edge, pulverizing his nose and teeth. One of the repairing tendons in Octavia’s wrists snapped audibly, but the job was done.
While he was down, Octavia turned back to her parents. They both appeared fully aware now, eyes wide and seeming to see for the first time.
“Octavia!” Her mother raised her hand to Octavia’s face, but her eyes went to her own abomination of a hand and she drew back.
Octavia wrapped her into a full-bodied hug, not caring. She partially disengaged to pull in her father and the three of them stood there for a moment. The relief, the newfound emotion flowed through her. The hardest part was remembering not to hug too hard.
“What happened?” Octavia whispered. “How are you alive?”
“I don’t remember...it’s like waking up,” her father replied.
Octavia pulled back, just enough to look into their eyes. “Did they do this? Keep you like this just to have you work here?”
“Dear, what about you ?” her mother asked.
What about her? A shot of panic went through Octavia. What would they think about what she was doing? What she had become?
“I…” she began.
“We can worry about it later,” said her father.
Her mother nodded. “What matters is that you’re here. We’re together again.”
That was it, wasn’t it? Octavia blinked hard. “I love you both.”
They hugged her back.
“I need to go find something to get you free,” she said, reluctantly disengaging.
Octavia glanced down at Mutton, who was beginning to move feebly.
“We’ll keep him here,” said her father. He kicked Mutton in the ribs. So did her mother.
Octavia glanced back at her parents, unable to keep a smile off her face despite everything that had happened. Just the sight of them, even as they were, made her more emotional than she had been since, well, since she’d seen them last.
Their fingers slipped apart as Octavia backed towards the door. She had to find something to cut or break the chain. She turned and headed back out of the room, pace quickening. She had no idea where she would even find tools.
The explosion caught her completely by surprise, the flash of light, heat, and wind knocking her off her feet. A shard of wood glanced off Octavia’s temple, skinning her to the bone.
She felt blood trickling out of her ears, but her hearing had gone. It took a second to get her bearings. All light was gone, though that was more the fact that the bulbs had been destroyed than anything wrong with her eyes.
She got up, stumbling back into the room. It was filled with acrid smoke. Small drops fell on her from above and Octavia realized that it was blood.
Everyone who had been in the room, and every dead human they had been processing, had been completely shredded by the specialized explosives.
Octavia fell to her knees, splashing in blood. She crawled forward, her mind completely blank. There was no word for the emotion, because there was none. It went beyond anything she had ever felt before, so big that she couldn’t even process it. The enormous tip of an iceberg with further unimaginable, unknown depths.
Her hands and knees soaked in blood, Octavia crawled to where she had last seen her parents. They were nothing more than outlines now, suggestions of bodies. It looked like their hands were intertwined.
What was left of Mutton Chop was also nearby. They’d held him here, one last thing they’d done for Octavia.
“Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” may have been true, but Octavia wasn’t sure she could overcome losing people so important to her twice . It felt as if a widening pit of despair had opened in her stomach.
Where was her stake? Could she use anything else? Could she throw herself from a high place? Could she just die right here and now to keep from feeling this any longer?
The sunlight. If she could get outside, eventually she would burn. Octavia didn’t consider how long, or who might see her in the meantime. Sun was bad for her because she was a vampire.
She got up, swaying and moved down the hallway, leaving bloody footprints behind. She pushed open a door and was hit in the face by the sun. She just closed her eyes and kept walking.
Sound had started to come back. Faint sirens, maybe even a helicopter. Octavia didn’t stop walking.
When she stumbled the first time, she almost didn’t get up. But it wasn’t as if the pain could be any worse. She kept going.
The second time, though, was just outside the meat plant compound and Octavia didn’t care anymore. She rolled over, getting out of the street so she wouldn’t be seen.
It hurt worse than any injury Octavia had received in the last two years of bloodshed. Why was this so much harder the second time? Why was she so much more emotional now?
Octavia realized she was crying and wasn’t surprised in the least. She let the blood leaking from her eyes run down across her cheeks. It didn’t matter anymore.
Her existence prior to today, was, at least, stable. How could that be possible? How could she have been able to function after what had happened? How could she hope to now?
Octavia had never been close to anyone. Truthfully, even though the love was there, she hadn’t really been close to her parents, either. She was solitary. She always had been. Staying singular had kept her from getting emotionally invested.
Octavia stared at the ground between her legs, watching drops of blood fall into a pool. What was the biggest change in her life since Christmas Eve? How had she survived?
She lifted her face at the sound of footsteps. Bloody tears dripped from her eyes, though her expression changed as she saw who it was.
Octavia sniffed and blinked, straightening her back and doing her best to appear composed. That wasn’t going to happen, not with everything she had gotten stained by, but Vinyl pretended not to notice.
“Hey,” said Vinyl softly, kneeling beside her. She touched Octavia’s shoulder.
Octavia leaned into her, and began to cry again.
Octavia got up.
Small chunks of plaster fell off her. Her body stretched involuntarily, feeling like it needed to expand after being hammered into the wall.
It had been a long day. This wasn’t the first time she’d fought with the intention to kill in the last twenty four hours. It wasn’t even the second or third. But her fatigue was forgotten and her fangs were out again.
Fleur stood across the room. Octavia had never seen her mutation before, the two wrist-thick tentacles that emerged from somewhere within her hair. Of course, that fit perfectly. Fleur had shown her true self. Octavia had never liked her, so at least her attitude to Fleur was one of the few things that wouldn’t be upturned today.
Fleur had taken a stance, but hadn’t advanced while Octavia was down. Part of that might have been Vinyl, who stood between the two. Fancypants stood off to the side, apparently unconcerned about the damage to his house.
“Are you good?” Vinyl asked.
Octavia flexed her hands and took a breath, eyes locked on Fleur. “I am.”
Fancypants spread his hands. “Let them fight.”
Vinyl looked at Octavia, glanced at Fleur, and then stepped back.
Octavia walked forward. She didn’t know what had become of her weapons, probably lost when Fleur had tossed her. She raised her fists.
Fleur had longer reach; Octavia had never fought anyone with tentacles before. Still, as Octavia advanced on her, Fleur actually took a step backwards. Their eyes met. Octavia didn’t stop to ponder what Fleur might be thinking.
The tentacles came up and Fleur went on the attack. She’d tipped her game too early, though, and Octavia was easily able to brush back Fleur’s grasp, being at the full extent of her range. She made a grab for the flailing tentacles and Fleur backed up again.
“Stop running!” Octavia shouted. “This is ending here!”
Fleur did not respond except to continue to keep Octavia at tentacle length. The two circled slowly, Octavia pressing for an advantage. Nothing had yet happened in the fight and it was getting tiresome. Octavia was cautious by nature, but this needed to be done. That thought was balanced by the risk. What would happen if she lost? Could she even operate now that her emotions were unregulated? Had she only been such an effective killer because the mind control had made her that way?
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vinyl with her hands clasped to her chest, excitement plastered on her face. Many things had changed in the last day, but that was one friend who hadn’t. What would happen if Octavia lost? Then Vinyl would finish it.
With that knowledge, Octavia waded in.
She ducked forward and raised her arms as Fleur struck. One tentacle lashed her forearm, but she got her hand on it. Pulling back, she raised her foot and rammed Fleur into it. Not kicked Fleur, more like raised her leg and yanked Fleur’s gut onto it.
Fleur’s other tentacle came around and smashed into the side of Octavia’s face, instantly knocking her jaw out of place. Octavia rolled with it, twisting with her grip on the other tentacle, rolling up it and coming back around with an elbow to Fleur’s nose. Blood splashed radially across Fleur’s face and she jerked back. Octavia brought up her other hand and grabbed Fleur’s other tentacle at its base near her head.
Fleur’s arms punched and scratched Octavia’s sides, but she barely felt it. The two of them were so close that there wasn’t much power in the blows anyway. Octavia twisted the tentacles in her grasp, forcing Fleur’s head to tilt backwards and exposing her throat.
Forgetting her broken jaw, Octavia tried and failed to rip into Fleur’s jugular. The other end of the tentacle Octavia held came around and coiled around her neck. She kept her hold, even as Fleur tried to pull her back. It was a tug of war between Octavia’s grip on Fleur’s tentacle which was connected to Fleur’s head and the constricting other tentacle around Octavia’s neck. Something had to give, something had to break the stalemate, and Octavia was suddenly aware that it just might be her neck.
She let go of Fleur and stepped back, throwing herself against the tentacle around her neck. It stretched tight like a bowstring and Fleur had no choice but to go along with the momentum. Octavia dropped to one knee as Fleur stumbled towards her, and then put everything she had into an explosive charge forward.
She caught Fleur around the midsection and knocked her off her feet, lifting her clear of the floor and then slamming her back down. Octavia scrambled up Fleur’s body, getting her knees into her chest and beginning to swing.
Fleur raised her arm to block. Octavia seized her wrist and twisted, snapping the bones in Fleur’s forearm and tearing the fractured ends out through the skin. Fleur’s other arm came up to cover her face. Octavia peeled it back, raising her other hand to strike. Her arm was almost immediately wrapped up with a tentacle. The other was still coiled around her neck.
The two of them struggled, neither able to break the lock. Octavia tried to lunge forward, to headbutt, anything, but she was held too tightly. Fleur struggled, knowing that any mistake would cost her.
Again, something had to break the stalemate. Octavia tried, but couldn’t attack and couldn’t back off. She leaned forward, muscles in her back flexing. Her vestigial claws stabbed forward and tore out Fleur’s eyes.
Wait…
Fleur screamed and flailed, loosening her hold on Octavia and moving to cover her face, rolling out from under Octavia. She scrambled away until she ran into the wall and stopped there, alternately bleeding and sobbing.
Octavia paused, sitting on her knees. Parts of her body she didn’t even know she had came into view. Out of everything that had happened to her over the last two years, this left her most bewildered.
She’d grown bat wings of skin and bone. The hooked claws at the joints were coated with Fleur’s blood. Octavia had used them instinctively, before even realizing they were there. They were more than big enough to cocoon her as she brought them forward to examine.
The sheer amazement was enough to distract Octavia until Vinyl’s face popped up right in front of her own. She’d crawled under Octavia’s wings to appear inside the small space in between.
“Holy shit,” was the first thing Vinyl said.
Octavia tried to reply, but her jaw was still out of alignment. She popped it back into place and managed to speak, albeit slurred. “I think that sufficiently describes it.”
“I have never seen a vampire mutation like this.” Vinyl raised her head. “What about you, Fancy?”
“I have not.”
“Check this out.” Vinyl ran her hand over the spar of Octavia’s wing, down towards her back. The wing flexed reactively.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” said Octavia, only just now managing to think coherently. “Why would I have wings on my back? Bat wings are the forelimbs. As a mammal, it doesn’t make any sense that I would have additional limbs growing from my back.”
“Does it look like we’re doing science here?” said Vinyl. “At least you didn’t end up a freak like Fleur.”
“But how am I going to hide this?” Octavia said. “I can’t go out in public this way!”
“We’ll figure it out,” Vinyl assured her. “If we have to, we’ll just rip them off.”
“Why do you always resort to the most violent option first?”
“You’re one to talk. You beat the shit out of Fleur.”
The two of them looked across the room to where Fleur still lay. Her eyes were still bleeding and she cradled her shattered arm close to her chest, the bones still exposed.
“I did,” Octavia acknowledged.
“So anyway,” said Vinyl, “can you fly? I totally want to see that.”
Octavia unsteadily stood up, adjusting to a new center of gravity. Aside from the gut-twisting anxiety over mutating, the prospect of being able to fly did secretly excite her. As for going out in public, well, it wasn’t as if she had a social life to lose.
She discovered that her wings had ripped their own holes in her shirt as they’d emerged, likely with the same claws that had gouged Fleur’s eyes. It took her a moment to realize that they’d also torn her bra strap.
This was really turning out to be an immodest day. Octavia figured there were probably even odds that Vinyl would comment.
Proactively changing the subject, Octavia took the initiative to go over to Fleur and begin the interrogation. Fleur heard her footsteps, but at this point she was past resistance. It looked like she might have begun to heal, but sundered limbs and destroyed organs took time and blood.
“I want you to tell me everything you know,” said Octavia.
“W-why. You-you will just...”
“I haven’t made my mind up on that,” Octavia said, truthfully. She probably would put Fleur to death. But she wasn’t yet certain. She’d already made her point, after all. “Now, where can I find Carousel?”
“Can’t t-tell you. I love him.”
Octavia leaned closer. “I loved my parents.”
Fleur did not respond. Octavia took Fleur’s wrist, the one attached to her broken arm, and began to bring the sharp edges of bone back together.
Fleur, knowing what was coming, did a feeble impression of trying to resist. Octavia hesitated, knowing what she needed from Fleur, but still mentally steeling herself for what she was about to do to a defenseless foe.
Vinyl touched Octavia’s shoulder. “I can help you.”
Octavia turned her head, not sure how she would reply, but Fancypants broke in. “Or we could simply dig through her phone until we got the information we wanted.”
“Yes,” Octavia decided. “Let’s do that.”
She backed away, mind already clearing. Would she have hesitated to be so brutal if she was still under thrall? Were her own emotions limiting her?
Fancypants picked up Fleur’s phone and handed it to Vinyl. “You two run along. I’m sure Carousel Brass won’t be expecting you yet.”
He punted Fleur in the stomach, slamming her into the wall. “I shall tidy up here.”
“Come on,” said Vinyl, taking Octavia’s elbow and turning her towards the front door. Octavia could do nothing but go along.
Out in the car, Vinyl picked through Fleur’s phone as Octavia struggled to get her wings situated. They didn’t want to fold quite correctly and she didn’t yet have the kind of control to make them comfortable.
“Here, let me-” Vinyl tried to reach over her to adjust the seatbelt. Her hand touched Octavia’s back near the wingroot.
On its own reflex, the wing snapped open, throwing Vinyl to the other side of the car. Her head thunked against the windshield pillar.
“Sorry!” Octavia gasped.
Vinyl laughed and adjusted her sunglasses, which had nearly been knocked off. “We can work out all the batty stuff later. If I know you, you just want to get this over with.”
Octavia nodded. “I suppose I used to hope for normality. I know that’s an impossibility. I just wish things didn’t keep getting worse.”
“You’re tougher than you think. You’ll get through this.”
“Am I? I just found out the last nearly two years have been a lie. It wasn’t me.”
“Your past doesn’t define you. Hell, you’ve got so much future ahead of you I’d be more excited about that.”
“But what of the future? How can I go on like this?” Octavia gestured to herself.
Vinyl grabbed Octavia’s hands and held them. “Listen to me. You are a stone cold badass. Even if you might have been under mind control, you still have those skills and experience. You’re on the right side of morality here. You personally took down a lot of bad people, and Carousel Brass is no exception. He needs to be stopped. And you can fucking fly! How cool is that?”
Octavia breathed out through her nose and closed her eyes. “You always know just what to say.”
“Hey, Itchy and Scratchy are a team.”
“I’ve never actually flown. For all we know, I can’t.”
“Baby steps. Kill Carousel now, terror of the night later. Though, if you want, you can try flying to his place now.”
“I don’t have a pilot’s license.”
Vinyl threw her head back and screamed with laughter. “Oh man. No, Tavi, you don’t have to worry that being enthralled made you different. You’re still you. Fleur didn’t do shit to your mind.”
Octavia leaned back, managing a smile even despite the discomfort of her wings on the seat. “That’s a relief. Thank you.”
“No prob.” Vinyl started the car. “Let’s go kick Carousel’s ass.”
The blue Volkswagen would not have been Octavia's first pick to ride into battle, had she been given a choice. Though to be fair, she would have rather had nothing short of a main battle tank.
Octavia spontaneously growing bat wings in the middle of persuading Fleur to give up what she knew had not done much for her self-confidence. At least it hadn’t affected her drive to finish what she had started.
While the information from Fleur’s phone led Octavia and Vinyl to Carousel Brass’ place in Chelsea, neither of them was expecting it to be so completely enormous. It looked more like a hotel than a house, and a nice hotel even for the affluent area. In fact, if it had also possessed a wall around it, one might think it was a castle.
“He’s definitely going to have security,” Vinyl observed through her pink sunglasses. “Yeah, look. Hey, are those guys human?”
Octavia looked out the window at two guards standing near what was apparently the front door as they drove by. “I suppose it makes sense he has many interlocking rings of security.”
“Are you good with this?” Vinyl asked, searching for a place to park.
“I would like to avoid killing the hired help if at all possible,” Octavia replied. “They could even be ghouls enthralled by Carousel.”
Vinyl nodded. “Sure. I guess we’ll just walk over there and…”
She glanced at Octavia. “No, wait, they’d be all like ‘what’s with the chick with wings’ and it would be awkward. Okay, I’ll walk over there. You come in from the sky.”
“I still don’t know if I can actually fly!”
Vinyl grinned. “No time like the present. You’ve got to use those wings sometime, and I know you don’t like hugs.”
They got out of the car on a dark patch of sidewalk. VInyl somehow concealed her machete up under her jacket.
Octavia tentatively stretched out her wings, wider than the span of her arms. It did feel good after being cramped in the car. She took stock, figuring out which muscles did what and tentatively began to flap. Her feet got light, but it took a moment to balance thrust so that she didn’t carry herself off to one side or the other. Vinyl watched her, grinning like a maniac. Octavia bent her knees, gaining clearance from the ground while still staying close to it while she learned.
“You good?” said Vinyl. Without waiting for a reply, she went on. “Okay, let’s go. Itchy and Scratchy ride again!”
Octavia would have commented on the inanity of the remark, but Vinyl had already started to walk down the block towards the two guards bathed under a security light. Octavia gained some altitude, mentally pushing away her reservations. She wasn’t scared of heights, but she had to reprogram her personal definition of risk, even after being a vampire assassin for two years. It just felt so strange to be hovering several meters above the ground.
She followed Vinyl, subtly adjusting the stroke of her wings to stay as quiet as possible. Though, it helped that Vinyl had her phone out and had begun to dance, playing music to the volume limit of the phone’s speakers. If nothing else, it attracted additional attention away from Octavia, and that was probably her intent.
Octavia’s night vision spotted a few cameras. They were pointed at the ground, not anticipating a threat from the air. To be fair, Octavia wouldn’t have either had she not been that threat. She carefully adjusted the nearest camera, changing it to point at a different piece of sidewalk. Flying ahead, she found another and pushed it away from the front door, too.
Below, Vinyl stopped, distracting the guards. “Pardon me, gentlemen, I was hoping you could help me find the Tower of London?”
“You’re a long way from there,” said one of them. “What’s a tourist even doing here?”
“Maybe she got lost wearing sunglasses at night,” sniped the other.
The two of them heard Octavia land behind them, but neither had time to react before her precise and strong fingers pinched the blood vessels in their necks that led to their brains.
“Holy shit, Tavi, did you get that from Star Trek ?” Vinyl asked as the pair of men crumpled.
“I can’t use the force.”
Vinyl shook her head. “Nevermind.” She tried the doorknob, but it was locked. There was also an electronic box beside the door.
Octavia bound the two men with their own clothes while Vinyl bent over to the control box, popping the cover off and beginning to fiddle with the wires inside. Octavia glanced around, feeling exposed in the light. “Do hurry up.”
“Come on, this takes precision and the right steps. You of all people should know about following the queue.”
Octavia crossed her arms. “Just this once, why don’t you skip a few steps?”
Vinyl grinned. “Wow, okay. I’ll knock it out lickety-split. So fast you won’t know what hit you. Wine, dine, sixty-nine.”
“Three sexual puns, two of them double entendres for going fast.” Octavia rolled her eyes. “A new record in obscenity and you still haven’t gotten that open.”
“Well, it’s not exactly easy to break into a sophisticated, best-that-money-can-buy electronic lock that was specifically designed not to be tampered with.”
The lock clicked.
“I thought you said-” Octavia began.
“It wasn’t-!”
The door slammed open and something furry fired out as if shot from a cannon. Vinyl, standing to the side, got the door to the face. Octavia, a bigger target standing right in front of the door, got the werewolf to the face.
However, her hands were almost as quick and she got the muzzle of the borrowed Browning up, substituting it for her own flesh in the attacking werewolf’s mouth.
Whoever the werewolf was, they got the message pretty quickly. Maybe Octavia’s wings hanging over the scene and casting a shadow in the overhead light helped. With her gun still in their mouth, the wolf immediately dropped into the beg position.
Vinyl pushed the door off herself, rubbing her nose. Her sunglasses were battered, but held together. She waved her hand. “He attacked us first.”
Octavia’s finger tightened on the trigger, but the werewolf spoke up. “Hey, wait!” At least that’s what it sounded like with a gun in his mouth.
He partially shapeshifted his head back to speak more clearly. “Why are you doing this?”
There was no easy or direct answer to that question. Carousel was guilty of at the very least endorsing what happened to Octavia’s parents. He was likely responsible for quite a bit more than that. Nothing Octavia knew, however, just what she had been told or guessed. Carousel had cut her with a sword earlier when she’d faced him in the hall of mirrors, but in her current line of work that was practically a greeting.
But really, the first point was the most important: Carousel was the final remaining person who had participated in what had happened in Octavia’s life. He may or may not have been the most important, but he was the one who had not yet faced some punishment for it.
Assuming Octavia could be the one to carry it out. She’d beaten Fleur, but somehow that had felt personal, emotional. Fleur had manipulated Octavia, and there was revenge to be had. The revelation about her parents and the mind control had thrown Octavia for a bigger loop than when she’d first been turned into a vampire. Finishing off Carousel might not be the missing puzzle piece that would let her put her life back together, but damned if she wouldn’t try.
Octavia answered the question. “Because I have to.”
Vinyl’s head jerked up, looking towards the door. Without waiting to also sense whatever Vinyl had, Octavia twisted her body, wings providing extra thrust, and hooked her foot around the werewolf’s head. The force of her kick lifted him off the ground from his crouched position and flung him through the door where he collided with a very surprised pair of vampires.
Vinyl went through the door a fraction of a second after the pileup, swinging her machete. On impulse, Octavia followed her, but by the time she was across the threshold the only resistance she encountered was stepping over three decapitated bodies.
The inside of the house was well furnished, as one might expect from a vampire/jeweler/criminal mastermind. At the least, the ceilings were high and the hallways were wide, more than enough room for Octavia’s wings.
Also, fighting. Though, after the werewolf and two vampires from earlier, the three zombies that came at them next were less of a challenge, even though these were the kind of zombies that carried guns and shot back. The Browning in Octavia’s hands made short work of them with three precise headshots.
Forgetting that she was a much bigger target now, a couple of bullets of return fire had punched holes in the skin of Octavia’s wings, but now that she was indoors it wasn’t as if she needed them.
“One werewolf, two vampires, three zombies,” muttered Vinyl. “Is it my imagination or are they trading quality for quantity?”
“You’re seeing patterns where only coincidences exist,” said Octavia. “And don’t forget it started with two humans.”
“If you say so.”
“Trust me. I actually know something about rhythm.”
“If you’re going to keep burning me like that, we’re going to have to renegotiate the terms of this friendship.”
“I suppose I never really thought about us being friends,” said Octavia, after a moment. “We are, don’t get me wrong, I’ve just never considered what that means.”
“At the risk of sounding incredibly sappy, you don’t have to overthink about it like I know you do, instead it’s something you feel.”
Octavia’s eyebrows went up. “That’s quite out of character for you.”
“I mean, I can talk about being more than friends and upgrading this relationship to fuckbuddies if you want.”
Octavia sighed. “Now that sounds more like you.”
Vinyl tilted her head. “I could even say that seriously.”
Octavia looked at her. “Is this really the time?”
“Come on, I know you well enough to know there is no good time to offer to have sex. So I’ll just put it out there.”
“No.”
“Okay.” Vinyl shrugged.
Octavia paused and sighed. “I didn’t mean to come off so standoffish, and having sex with you would probably be one of the least repulsive things I’ve done in the last twenty four hours. It just isn’t something I want, not a personal insult to you.”
“I said it was okay.” Vinyl grinned. “And I told you to stop overthinking things.”
It was good that the conversation was drawing to a close, because they were interrupted just then by two werewolves. This at least validated Octavia’s statement that there was no pattern, but that was not nearly as important as defending against two werewolves.
Also, the lights cut out just then, but Octavia’s gun was already pointed and she fired anyway. Something slid limply into her legs, so she presumed success. There was a moment of back-and-forth movement over where Vinyl had been, then a body hitting the floor.
“Are you well?” Octavia asked the darkness.
“Yep,” Vinyl replied.
They stood there for a moment. While Octavia’s night vision was excellent, in total blackness there was not even a small trace of light to detect.
“So…” said Vinyl. “We should probably get moving before they bring in the infrared goggles and stuff. Do you have sonar?”
“That would be ridiculous.”
“That’s what you said about flying.”
“At least I do have wings. I don’t have ears nearly large enough to sensitively echolocate things. I can only vaguely tell where you are just by talking to you, and I can’t tell anything about the surrounding area.”
“Eh, it was a thought.” Vinyl took a few steps, coming closer. Even though she expected it, Octavia was still surprised by Vinyl’s hand touching her. To Vinyl’s credit, she didn’t leave her hand on Octavia’s chest very long.
“Okay, those guys came from somewhere over here…” Vinyl said. Octavia followed her lead, the two of them gradually feeling, smelling, and using whatever senses they could to navigate deeper into the house.
“Do you hear that distinctive fifty-hertz sound?” said Vinyl. “There’s still electricity on somewhere in the building. We just have to find the switches. Or open some blinds and let some streetlight in.” She laughed. “This is kind of bullshit.”
Vinyl had the better hearing and Octavia let her guide through the dark, her hand on Octavia’s shoulder.
Up ahead, there was slight sound. Octavia could only describe it as a slither, which was not something that generally had any positive connotations.
Vinyl pulled her phone out and turned on the flashlight app, lighting up the hallway ahead but there was nothing there.
“You had that the whole time?” Octavia said, her pupils shrinking painfully in the glare. “Couldn’t you have used it earlier?”
“I was just trying to keep us stealthy,” said Vinyl. “Now, whoever’s around that corner up there knows we’re here. Where’s your phone, anyway?”
“Blown up earlier today.”
“Oh right.”
Now that there was light, the two of them separated slightly. At the least, it helped prepare for who - or what - awaited them.
As it turned out, it was both. A woman and a snake, that is. Or more appropriately, a woman/snake.
“Holy shit,” said Vinyl. “I honestly didn’t know there were any of you guys in the UK.”
Octavia thought there was some sort of Greek name for whatever the creature was, but couldn’t recall it. At any rate, it didn’t seem important. Whoever she was, apparently foreign, she either didn’t speak English or wasn’t interested in doing so. And quick as a snake, she struck.
Despite her size - her tail must have been several meters long - she still moved like a snake. And as she arched towards Octavia, her jaw unhinged like one, showing off a maw of teeth.
Octavia barely got out of the way, and aimed a strike at the scaly tail, though it didn’t do much good against the natural armor. Her opponent turned around and started back towards Octavia, but this time purposely feinted to the side, passing by again.
It took Octavia a moment too long to realize that she’d been encircled by the long tail. Fortunately, Vinyl was on the ball and ripped a handful of claws against the grain of the scales, digging enough of a hole to more than get the lamia’s attention.
Octavia leaped out of the encircling coils and aimed her fist at the lamia’s head, who snapped her mouth open wide again and made Octavia reconsider.
Vinyl, however, took it as an opportunity and seemed to willingly shove her arm directly down the lamia’s throat all the way up to the shoulder. Then, she pulled it back out along with a handful of flesh.
Internal bleeding wasn’t going to finish the lamia off that quickly, but it certainly helped. Even before she could react in pain, Vinyl’s next attack was a throat punch followed up by a side kick to the face that the lamia was too stunned to attempt to bite. As she swayed, Vinyl then decapitated her with a machete strike.
“What is this?” Octavia said, gesturing. “I didn’t know anything like this existed. She doesn’t even look like she started out as human.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Carousel likes shiny things, right? Maybe he has a collection of imported exotics.”
The two of them continued on, not pausing to dwell further. Rounding the corner, they were immediately confronted by another one of Carousel’s curiosities. She had the face of a woman, the body of a lion, and large, feathery wings.
“A fucking sphinx? Seriously?” Vinyl extended her arms and looked around, as if searching for a hidden camera.
Despite Vinyl’s incredulity, Octavia didn’t take her eyes off the new threat. If nothing else, it was still at least mostly a lion.
“Stop right there,” said the sphinx.
“Oh yeah, sure,” said Vinyl. “You’re going to ask us a riddle and stall for time or something to get backup here to keep us from killing you and everyone else on our way to kill Carousel.”
The sphinx’s tail flicked. “Imagine this. You’re given a choice to buy fruit from a man that claims his is the best and another man that claims his is the worst. Who do you believe?”
“It’s whom .” Octavia shot her in the face. The sphinx dropped.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Vinyl glanced at Octavia. “Well, I guess that was answer enough. I guess this also means these guys aren’t arranged in difficulty of fighting them, either. Let’s hope Carousel himself continues the trend.”
“There isn’t a trend,” Octavia pointed out. “We already discussed this. I would say that you had forgotten in the heat of the moment, but most of them seem to be attacking me first.”
“I noticed that too, why do they keep going after you?” Vinyl wondered. “Is it because with the wings they suddenly see you as a bigger threat, or at least a bigger target? I guess I could shift forms if that meant they would go after me.”
“You don’t have to keep shielding me.”
“I know you can handle yourself in a fight. But if you want, I’ll still act like a clown in public to draw attention away from you.”
Octavia stopped and turned to Vinyl. “This whole time, you were doing that consciously and intentionally?”
“At least partially. When we first met, Fancy told me how self-conscious you were. I had already been doing some DJ’ing but kicked it up a notch.” Vinyl grinned. “Hey, it worked out for me, too. People really seem to like this persona and record sales are up.”
“You’re welcome, I suppose.”
“Thanks, Tavi.”
Octavia shook her head. “No, wait, I should be thanking you.”
“You’re welcome, Tavi.”
This really wasn’t a good time to have a heart to heart. They stepped over the dead sphinx, towards the double doors she had been guarding. Opening them up, the pair found themselves in a large room. The walls and ceiling faded away into darkness. It was like a gymnasium.
“I kind of wonder why a vampire would need to exercise,” said Vinyl, “but also, if I had the kind of money for a house this big, I would probably have my own basketball court, too.”
“It’s for badminton, you uncultured swine,” said a voice.
The lights came up, revealing Carousel Brass standing on the other side of the room. His polished sabre was in his hand.
“Did you do that on purpose?” said Vinyl.
“I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Octavia. “The last time I met him it was in a house of mirrors. He seems to have a flair for the dramatic.”
“We should have gotten Fancypants to challenge him to a dandy-off.” Vinyl shrugged. “But I don’t think even Fancy has ever called me an uncultured swine.”
“Though you are,” said Octavia.
Vinyl shrugged, not denying it.
Carousel took a few steps forward. “I won’t pretend I don’t know why you’re here.”
“Great, because Fleur really gave us the runaround,” said Vinyl. She jerked her head at Octavia. “Tavi had to beat it out of her.”
“You did what!? ” Carousel’s head snapped to Octavia.
“She was alive the last time we saw her,” said Octavia flatly. “Though not for lack of trying.”
Carousel twitched, his spine contorting strangely. “When I am finished with you, I will go to her. For your sake, hope that I will not be too late.”
“No,” said Octavia. “This ends here.”
“You know nothing about the power of love,” he sneered.
“Nothing is sacred,” Octavia shot back. “You know very well what happened to me, what you had a part in, and you think you’re special? We all try to stay close to the things we want, but life is ugly and unfair. You don’t get to love someone. Not after everything you’ve done.”
“Damn,” Vinyl muttered appreciatively.
“So you think you’re better than me?” Carousel said. “That you’re on the side of right in all this?”
“The thought never crossed my mind,” Octavia said. “Fancypants is right. Murder is evil, and maybe someday I’ll pay for my sins. But that doesn’t mean I don’t also know evil when I see it. Not to mention, this is personal.”
She held her weapons loosely, not confident she could attack from across the room without Carousel managing to dodge. She would close the distance, then. Better that this sort of thing was done up close and personal.
Perhaps seeing the steel in her eyes, Carousel ended the conversation. “So be it.”
His shoulders hunched, even as he seemed to grow taller. Edges appeared on his forearms. For a moment, Octavia thought that he had the same sort of arm blades as Mutton Chop, but then they unfolded to a longer length and took on a metallic sheen.
This was in addition to his legs lengthening and splitting into four, all pointed and made of the same shiny material.
“What the hell?” said Vinyl. “Is this guy some kind of cyborg or bug or something?”
Regardless, Carousel was now taller, more stable, and had built in weapons. If he and his closest associates had all developed such extensive mutations, after receiving their bite it was a wonder that Octavia had only gotten out of it with wings.
Speaking of...now would be a good time to not be stuck on the ground as Carousel scuttled forward.
“Bats eat bugs, right?” Vinyl called as she and Octavia split up to circle Carousel.
“Not that I wanted to bite him, but I want to even less now,” Octavia replied, learning how to fly sideways to always be facing Carousel.
She chanced a shot, but Carousel got his arm up quickly enough to actually deflect it somewhere into the ceiling. Vinyl jumped forward to swing her machete, but he moved his leg and kicked her back with it.
Whatever else Carousel had going on with his body, his torso at least seemed ripe for a staking. The problem would be getting close enough to do so. Octavia made a couple of tentative approaches, the compressibility of air not giving her the same kind of acceleration that pushing off the ground with her legs would have. Still, she felt that flying continued to give her the advantage, if nothing else the psychological boost of looking down on him.
She and Vinyl both made a couple more probing attacks, but even with coordination didn’t manage to make anything stick. At least Carousel’s earlier confidence was gone, but it had been replaced with wary caution. He held his sabre defensively now.
Octavia drew a little closer, testing him. Carousel played conservatively, right up until the point when he suddenly didn’t, lunging forward with his bladed, extended arms.
He smacked her head sideways, knocking Octavia for a loop. Before she could recover, he sliced straight through the skin of her wings, his hands grasping the thicker spar of bone that formed the leading edge and the blades poking through the back, negating any chance that she could get free. His body, limbs lengthened and modified as they were, held her at enough distance that she couldn’t reach back to him. And then, he began to pull.
Octavia felt muscles and tendons she didn’t even know she had begin to strain as Carousel tried to pull pieces of her body apart. She tried to kick, but he only jerked her harder. She’d lost her weapons somewhere and had no way to attack him. Carousel held her up, still with her wings in tension, pulling harder.
“Do it!” Octavia shouted.
Vinyl would later admit she thought Octavia was talking to her. Taking advantage of Carousel’s distraction, she came around behind and leaped into the air, cutting Octavia loose with a powerful strike of her machete.
Octavia fell to the floor, but got her feet under her as Carousel looked dumbly at the amputated wings in his hands. She put her whole strength into an powerful thrust up off the floor that slammed into Carousel and carried them both over backwards.
He landed on his back, legs kicking and Octavia on top. She scrambled forward, clawing at his body and ducking inside his slicing blades. He came up with his sabre, but Octavia twisted his wrist off like a twig. Bone was still bone, her fury was still overpowering.
Carousel fought Octavia as she crawled all the way up, even when she jammed her fingers up his nose and twisted his head back, tearing her fangs into his throat.
“Here!” Seeing that Octavia was otherwise occupied, Vinyl pressed the stake into her hand.
Octavia slammed it into Carousel’s chest, feeling the wood drive all the way through and splinter on the floor beneath him.
His resistance tapered away. Octavia took a breath, pushing herself up and swaying slightly. Her back wasn’t her only wound, and blood felt like it trickled from everywhere. Looking down at Carousel, he lay still. The blacked wood taken from Octavia’s house stuck up from his chest like a monument.
Vinyl touched her shoulder, just letting Octavia know she was there. The two of them stood quietly for a moment, looking at what had been wrought, and what had been ended.
“Well,” said Vinyl after a moment. “I guess we should burn the place.”
The pub didn’t have a stage, just a chair and a little bit of open space towards the front of the room. Octavia sat there, playing cello.
Being that particular pub, the night crowd was, if anything, larger than during the daytime. Live music wasn’t a regular event, but when Octavia inquired about playing, Jack had smiled and said that he had been waiting for her to ask.
Octavia kept her head down, loose hair across her chest as she played, slowly working the bow with her right hand and the strings with her left. It took a little while for the old movements to come back, the muscle memory still returning. That was alright. She had nothing but time.
Even above the music, she could hear conversation. Octavia had never played at a pub before, so some background noise was to be expected. Still, when she did sneak a glance up, there were at least a few people paying attention.
After playing for twenty minutes, she’d finished her rehearsed material and put the bow down. Adjusting her skirt, she stood up from the chair. A light scatter of applause went around the room.
Not feeling dramatic or deserving enough to take a full bow, Octavia simply nodded once. Maybe that was something else that would come back with time. The limited applause was still the most praise she’d gotten for anything in years, however, and she couldn’t stop a flustered smile as she walked away.
She joined Vinyl at a table. Jack appeared to pour the tea as Octavia sat down.
“Vinyl told me you were good,” he said. “And you are.”
“Thank you.” Octavia looked across the table. “Did you really?”
“Why wouldn’t I have?” Vinyl grinned.
“You don’t like cello.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t tell people you’re good at it.” Vinyl took a sip of her coffee. “Now that we have so much time on our hands, you’d better be.”
“It isn’t as if we’re on vacation,” Octavia corrected.
“Yeah, but it sure seems like Fancy’s getting closer to his goal.” Vinyl shrugged. “I have to say, I was skeptical that he could ever kill all of evil, but if anything you’re the one who deserves most of the credit.” She waved her hands. “But listen to me. ‘Oh, if only Tavi wasn’t so good at killing bad guys we could still find some action around here.’”
Octavia sipped her tea. Vinyl had gone quiet. The two of them sat for a moment. Vinyl fidgeted. She took off her pink sunglasses and folded them, laying them on the table.
“So...after it’s all said and done, is this it for us?”
Octavia met her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve lived through enough eras to know when I’m staring at the end of one.”
Octavia frowned. “Vinyl, we’ve already had this discussion. You’re my friend.”
“You got your revenge, shares of evil on the morality market are down, you’re even back to playing cello. I just feel like you’ve moved on and now we don’t have any reason to hang out.”
“We’re hanging out now,” Octavia pointed out. “You’re here and you don’t even like the music.”
“I just...I can’t help but imagine this is the end of a movie or something. I’ll say a one-liner like ‘wear your sunscreen,’ and you’ll reply ‘mind the silver bullets’ and we’ll both turn away and ride off into separate sunsets.”
“I’ve often wondered how your imagination works, but this gives me a good idea,” Octavia said. She paused for a moment to organize her thoughts. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I know we only met because Fancypants thought I needed someone to help me adjust. And I take it that you think I have now and that you aren’t needed anymore?”
Vinyl took a breath. “...yeah, that’s it.”
“Maybe I don’t need you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate you.” Octavia shook her head. “I can’t believe you of all people are worried about something like this.”
“I never had anyone I was so worried to lose,” Vinyl muttered.
Octavia paused, and looked down at her teacup. “Well, you know me. Was it not obvious that I never really had many friends, much less a friend like you?”
The tension in the air evaporated.
“I guess I can see that,” said Vinyl. “God, you must have been Queen Introvert.”
“Between the OCD, the hours of cello practice, and underdeveloped healthy relationships, yes, I think that’s accurate.”
Vinyl looked around. “Does Jack do birthday parties? I wonder if he has any cardboard crowns.”
Octavia sighed and rolled her eyes. “But I wouldn’t want people staring at me.”
Vinyl flashed her a grin. “The crown was going to be for me.”
Octavia laughed.
Vinyl went on. “But seriously, OCD? I thought that was a vampire thing like in the stories about how vampires were always counting.”
“It is, it just made it worse.” Octavia paused, stifled a smirk, and then quietly added, “Ah ah ah.”
Vinyl pounded her fist on the table and threw her head back with laughter, drawing the attention of people from other tables.
She was still giggling as she put her sunglasses back on. “Well, I’m glad we’re friends, Tavi. I was trying to think of what I was going to do if I didn’t have you. Take up skydiving. Get into fights. Maybe start a little challenge for myself to set up the most complicated one-liner. Like I would get religion and get up into the priesthood just so I could say, ‘the power of Christ impales you!’”
Octavia laughed politely. For people who knew her, that almost drew more attention than Vinyl’s noise.
“You’re awfully merry for murderers,” said a voice.
Octavia looked over her shoulder, spotting a man from another table glowering at them.
“You again?” grumbled Vinyl. Octavia glanced between her and him.
“I heard what you did,” he said.
“You’re going to have to be more specific,” said Vinyl.
“Then it’s even worse than I thought,” he said. “Just how many people have you killed?”
“Oh, and what about you?” said Vinyl. She winked at him, which probably only Octavia caught behind her sunglasses. “Yeah, I had Fancy look up a couple things. Nobody’s as squeaky clean as they like to think. I wondered why you were objecting so strongly to murderers being murdered.”
Much of the pub had now gone quiet. Jack was hurrying over.
“Are you teaching her the same thing?” the man flicked a hand at Octavia. “The gospel of Fancypants? How to upset order and throw the world into chaos?”
“Well, that, and I keep trying to get her to have sex with me,” said Vinyl.
Octavia blushed.
“As despicable as you are, I can only imagine how a girl like her will grow up. Probably a whore like you.”
“I’m sitting right here,” said Octavia.
“There’s no need to bring her into this,” said Vinyl, her tone dropping to neutral. “You should apologize to the lady.”
As close as their relationship was, Octavia had greater insight into the subtle nature of Vinyl’s speech and body language than perhaps anyone. She saw a tension in her shoulders and legs and subtle expressions others might have missed behind the sunglasses.
“Lady ,” he sneered. “As if you know anything about that.”
“I don’t,” said Vinyl. “But she’s slowly teaching me.”
“Really?” said Octavia.
“Slowly,” Vinyl replied out of the corner of her mouth. She turned back. “And you still haven’t apologized for insulting Tavi’s honor.”
The man sneered. “Make me.”
Jack reached their table just then, for all the good it did. Vinyl ignored him, turning to look at Octavia, eyebrows lifting above her sunglasses.
Octavia’s lips showed a smile so slight only Vinyl might have caught it. “If you must.”
An equally fleeting grin flashed across Vinyl’s face before a mask of pure rage replaced it. She flipped the table as she got up, screaming “No more mister nice bitch!”
Jack sighed and closed his eyes as the fight broke out.
Octavia, having had the foresight to pick up her teacup before the table went over, took a sip, still smiling.
The private table behind the curtain at the back of the pub was quiet with just the two of them sitting there. Octavia stared at the cup of tea in front of her, her hands wrapped around it and feeling the warmth.
Vinyl sat across from her. Since they were going for comfort beverages, she had decided on kvass. She took off her pink sunglasses, folding them and putting them down on the table.
“Jack said it was good tea,” said Vinyl.
Octavia made a slight gesture of acknowledgement.
Vinyl glanced at her phone. Since meeting up with Octavia outside the meat packing plant, she hadn’t told anyone yet. There hadn’t been time.
Vinyl glanced back up. Octavia still hadn’t moved. Vinyl ventured, “So...what happened?”
Octavia raised her head, sucking in a breath, trying to speak, trying not to speak. “I...I…”
“I’ve never seen you like this,” said Vinyl, leaning forward. “Is there anything I can do?”
Octavia swallowed, eyes going back to the table. “No. They’re gone. I saw it with my own eyes this time.”
“Who’s gone?”
“My parents.”
“They were there?” Vinyl asked quietly.
Octavia made a sound about halfway between talking and not talking, but the words burst out of her. “They were vampires. Mutton Chop kept them as slaves.”
“O-okay, wow, um…” Vinyl grimaced, but recovered, reaching to touch Octavia’s hand. “Back to my original question, is there anything I can do for you?”
“I think…” Octavia glanced up for a moment. “I think you’re doing it now.”
Vinyl said nothing, just sitting with her hands folded in the center of the table. Octavia used the silence to collect her scattered thoughts.
“I don’t know why this is so difficult,” she said.
“I’m not surprised,” said Vinyl. “Honestly, this is more like what I expected. I’m more surprised you were so calm the first time you went through this.”
“But this is not who I am,” Octavia protested.
“You’re a robot?” Vinyl asked. “Yeah, I have to admit, you really keep it bottled up. But that doesn’t mean you have to. You gotta show what you feel, don’t hide. Come on and do it.”
Octavia looked up. “Did you just quote the Spice Girls?”
“It’s not like you thought I had good taste in music to begin with.” Vinyl grinned.
Octavia exhaled slightly harder than normal. She lifted her cup and took a sip. “This is good tea.”
She put her cup back down and folded her hands. “Do you know if it’s possible for one vampire to enthrall another, or even werewolves or zombies? My parents were not the only ones there.”
“I think so.” Vinyl tipped her head, brows knitting. “How did you know?”
“They didn’t recognize me at first, but it seemed like they fought through it.”
Vinyl suddenly pulled out her phone and began tapping rapidly on it. She appeared to receive a reply and went straight back to hammering on the digital keyboard.
“What is it?” Octavia said.
“I’m just asking Pip something.”
Jack poked his head around the curtain. “Can I get you ladies anything?”
Vinyl looked up. “I need either garlic powder or garlic salt, wolfsbane, and a knife.”
“Which wolfsbane, aconitum or arnica montana ?”
“Which one do you think?”
“You don’t have a knife on you?”
Vinyl gave him a look. “Come on, dude.”
Jack disappeared. Octavia looked at Vinyl. “What are you doing?”
“Just testing something,” Vinyl replied.
They waited a few minutes in silence for the order. Vinyl gestured. “What’s that on your hands?”
“Besides the blood?”
“I can see the blood. You’re covered in blood.”
That was part of why they were at a table in the back, behind the curtain. Octavia was still literally drenched in drying blood from the explosion at the meat processing plant.
“The other residue on my hands is plastic explosive,” Octavia said.
“Damn, I must have missed a real party.”
The pub waitress arrived with a plate that contained a small plastic bottle of commercial garlic powder, a small flower, and a worn paring knife.
Vinyl grabbed the plate and put it down in front of Octavia. She quickly consulted her phone and then grabbed the salt shaker off the table and popped the lid off the garlic, sprinkling both over the wolfsbane.
“This is going to be like doing tequila,” said Vinyl. She pointed at the wolfsbane. “Put that in your mouth and wait for the liquid.”
Octavia, confused but trusting Vinyl, picked up the mess on the plate and put it in her mouth. Not surprisingly, it wasn’t at all appetizing.
Vinyl picked up the knife and pricked her thumb. As a drop of blood welled up, she held her hand close to Octavia’s face and said, “Lick that.”
With her mouth full, Octavia glanced up to Vinyl’s face. She was serious. Hesitantly, Octavia put her tongue out.
It was like a strike of lightning hit her as she tasted it. She convulsed and everything in her mouth came out on the plate. Octavia spit several times, trying to clear what remained. “What was that!?”
The waitress, wearing an expression of reluctance, picked up the plate.
Vinyl answered Octavia’s question. “Somebody enthralled you. You fought through it before, but it’s gone now.”
“Wh-what!?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d always been that way, maybe even before you woke up in Fleur’s arms,” Vinyl speculated, also licking her thumb to clean it. “That could explain your muted reaction to everything.”
The implications were as terrifying as they were far-reaching. What had Octavia done that wasn’t her own thought or action? Who could have done this to her, and why?
“I didn’t wake up in Fleur’s arms,” she corrected.
“Well, you know how the French over-dramatize things and add unnecessary romantic overtones.”
Octavia nodded in agreement. Changing the subject, she said, “What did you just do? I thought garlic wasn’t actually bad for vampires, just an old misconception.”
“Pip told me what to do. Garlic isn’t specifically bad for vampires, but it helps break the link to their enthralled ghouls. That’s why people in the old days used it as repellant, not to keep the vampire away but to make themselves less attractive to enthrall. Anyway, with the garlic in place, to get the jolt to make it work, we needed something besides vanilla blood so I used my werewolf blood filtered through the wolfsbane with some salt as the catalyst.”
“Why does it need an additional catalyst? Blood has salt in it.”
Vinyl shrugged. “Does it look like we’re doing science here?”
Octavia took a breath and considered it. Someone had been controlling her. She had never felt controlled, but would she? And she had to reluctantly admit, Vinyl was right, it would explain a lot.
But who could have done it? Something Mutton Chop had said made her think he was at least aware. If he or his associates had controlled her, why hadn’t they had her try to attack Fancypants or something? Did they have that much control, or just influence on her emotions? How had they had such comprehensive control over her parents?
“What are you thinking?” Vinyl asked.
Octavia glanced up. “You know, vanilla blood could be good.”
Vinyl stared at her. “Holy shit, was that a joke? Tavi telling a joke?”
“No,” said Octavia. “I just think vanilla blood could be good.”
“We do make frappuccinos,” said waitress.
“Do I look like a heathen?” Octavia snapped.
After paying the bill, they went out to Vinyl’s car, parked in the back alley behind the pub. Octavia was still covered in blood that was beginning to get crusty.
“I’d give you my backup clothes but they’re already kind of bloody and torn, if they would have even fit you,” said Vinyl.
“How did they get bloody and torn?” asked Octavia.
“Uh…” Vinyl tilted her head back and forth as if trying to summarize an answer before finally just replying “Nazis.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Octavia changed the subject. “We should probably tell Fancypants what happened today.”
Vinyl pulled out her phone but paused. “With everything going on, you being controlled, and your parents secretly kept, there’s something going on here.”
“You don’t trust Fancypants?” Octavia asked. “I heard Mutton Chop mention that they should have killed him when they had the chance. I don’t think he’s in league with them.”
“No, I absolutely do trust Fancy, I’m just worried what else might be going on.”
“Who all knows what happened in the last twelve hours or so?”
“Fancy, Fleur, and Pip,” Vinyl counted on her fingers.
“Mutton Chop is dead and Carousel Brass is still out there somewhere,” Octavia added.
“I guess Jack and everyone hanging around his place,” said Vinyl. “And oh yeah, the elves and the Nazis.”
Octavia paused. “You know, I brushed it off the first time, but now I have to ask: actual Nazis?”
“Don’t worry, they’re dead now.”
“The full Indiana Jones?”
“Yes, exactly. In fact, that’s what I’ll call it from now on.”
Octavia nodded, satisfied. “Well, I suppose that covers most everything. We need to find Carousel. I’m sure he has quite a few tricks left to pull.”
Vinyl nodded. She sent a message. Octavia glanced over at her phone.
Me
Found Tavi
After a moment, a reply:
Fancypants
Jolly Good.
Vinyl put the phone away. “But first, you need a shower.”
Octavia’s place was closest, and had the benefit of containing her clothes. She took a trash bag into the bathroom with her. Everything was getting thrown away.
She’d lost her purse somewhere. Searching back through her memories, Octavia realized she’d last seen it torn to pieces by the explosion. She’d have to get new weapons and credit cards. At least she didn’t have a driver’s license to lose.
Octavia didn’t pause to look in the mirror before getting in the shower. The water immediately began to loosen the blood dried to her skin, but it needed some help to come off.
Some areas were more difficult than others. Octavia turned off the water to make her voice heard. “Vinyl, how do I get blood out of hair?”
“Peroxide,” Vinyl replied from outside the room.
“I don’t have any, or any medical supplies for that matter,” Octavia reminded her. “Also, doesn’t that lighten your hair?”
Vinyl snickered. “You don’t want to look like Fleur?”
Octavia glared at the closed door. “What are my other options?”
“You could cut it.”
“Then I’d look like you.”
“Ouch.” Vinyl paused. “Well, just do a standard hard reset: rip it out and start over.”
That wasn’t much of an option, either. Octavia reached outside the shower to get her brush and used a combination of that and copious amounts of conditioner to work the clots out. It still didn’t quite bring her hair back to normal, but after the day she’d had, just being cleaner was acceptable.
Vinyl was sitting on the bed when Octavia came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Vinyl got up and left the room.
Octavia didn’t own any clothing that wasn’t conservative. She got dressed, patting her hair as dry as it was going to get and then left it loose.
She came out into the main room. Vinyl was wiping dust off the little-used cello leaning against the wall. Octavia had put it there out of its case so she would see it while passing by and be reminded to play it. The tactic hadn’t worked.
Vinyl glanced at her as she folded the dust cloth.
“Thank you,” said Octavia, but nothing else.
They went out to Vinyl’s car. Octavia had lost her accessories so Vinyl lent her a canvas messenger bag and found a battered Browning pistol in the glovebox. It was quite a bit larger than Octavia’s old handgun, but she wasn’t really thinking about long term concealment at the moment.
“I need to find a stake,” said Octavia, checking the pistol before slipping it into the bag.
“I don’t think there are any hardware stores open this time of day,” said Vinyl. She paused in thought. “Wait, I know where we can go.”
Octavia looked out the window as they drove. Things began to look familiar, but it wasn’t until Vinyl stopped that she realized where they were.
The blackened skeleton of her family home was as it had been left. Octavia had never visited after the fire. She hadn’t wanted to remember.
It didn’t mean that she did now, but one did not always get what they wanted. And to be fair, seeing the burned out husk of her old house was hardly the worst thing that had happened to her today.
Octavia got out of the car. It was not difficult to find a scrap of wood, blackened by charcoal, that would serve suitably as a stake.
Octavia put it into the bag and headed back for the car. She would have to do something about this place, she realized. It couldn’t just keep sitting here. But there were more important things on her mind at the moment.
The realization that she was consciously choosing to compartmentalize was welcome. It meant that she was thinking for herself again. Not healthy, and she would probably have a jolly old freakout later, but better than having no emotional control at all.
Vinyl drove them over to Fancypants’ place. He was back in London. When they arrived, he was carefully examining a piece of electronic equipment on his desk.
“What are you doing with Vinyl’s turntable?” Octavia asked.
“Well, it’s not exactly a turntable, but even if you got that wrong, I’m impressed you recognized a Pioneer EFX-1000 at a glance,” said Vinyl.
“Ms. Scratch asked me to be ready to fill in for her if she had taken too long to locate you,” said Fancypants.
“Did you really?” said Octavia. “So I suppose you could take pleasure in killing the collective good taste of the greater London area.”
Fancypants laughed. “I was actually working out how to undo this stuck volume knob so the audience didn’t go deaf in the first five minutes. Then, yes.”
“I don’t even know what your DJ name would be,” said Vinyl, shaking her head. “I’m actually surprised you took me seriously.”
“‘Quality Chap.’ And not to worry, I was looking for a new challenge.”
“Maybe we’ll have to get you to play anyway, so I can actually get Tavi’s reaction firsthand.” Vinyl grinned. “Probably something like, ‘Oi, what’s this noise? It doesn't harmonize and the bass is spilling me tea.’”
Octavia would have protested, “I don’t sound like that,” but it wouldn’t have deterred Vinyl in the slightest.
Instead, she sharpened her vowels and replied, “At least I’m not, like, all about the wubs.”
Vinyl threw her hands up to sides of her head. “Oooh ! Holy fuckballs, that’s amazing. Here, we’ve gotta get a picture to commemorate Tavi’s first joke.”
She grabbed Octavia around the shoulders and held up her cell phone. The screen only showed Vinyl leaning on thin air, but she took the picture anyway. “Great! That goes perfect with my Octavia album.” She started swiping through her pictures, all featuring what appeared to be only solo selfies of Vinyl. “Tavi’s first double homicide, Tavi’s first screaming match with Fleur-”
As if summoned, Fleur walked into the room. She wore a sour look, which by this point was more the rule than the exception for her.
“I should apologize for what happened to your flat,” said Octavia.
“Yes, I believe eet iz best,” Fleur agreed, crossing her arms.
“Though, I certainly wouldn’t have broken everything if a hostile vampire hadn’t discovered me there. I don’t know how he found me, but I killed him in your front room.”
“He was a Nazi,” Vinyl added helpfully. “Oh shit, we never took a ‘Tavi’s first post-Reich fight’ commemorative photo.”
She raised her phone again, but Fleur interrupted. “Exactly what was eet you were doing at my apartment?”
“I went to find clues about Carousel Brass,” Octavia explained. “And I found him, too. Unfortunately, he got away, but I picked up a lead on Mutton Chop, who is dead now.”
“You killed him?” Fleur asked.
“Well, the explosion did. He-” Octavia paused, took a deep breath, and went on in a quieter tone. “My parents had been turned into vampires and must have been rescued from the house fire. Mutton Chop was keeping them like slaves, apparently under some sort of mind control.” She gestured to Vinyl. “We figured out the same thing had been happening to me, though a much milder form.”
Octavia turned to address Fancypants. “I sincerely hope whoever did this to me hasn’t caused any damage to your enterprise as a result.”
“Probably less than they thought,” he said. “But more importantly, you have my condolences.”
Octavia acknowledged it with a nod. She glanced at Fleur. “Whoever took my parents must have been right there that night in order to get them out of the house before it burned completely. Do you remember seeing anyone?”
“No,” Fleur replied.
“Wait a second, if those three guys who broke in were presumably the ones who did it, and they were apparently still around the neighborhood, why didn’t they also take Octavia and maybe even Fleur too while they were at it?” Vinyl asked.
“We can’t know that,” said Fleur.
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” Vinyl went on. “Why go to the trouble of enthralling Octavia and her parents but then not kidnapping Octavia too? It’s not like they held off because they were scared of you .”
Fancypants’ eyes moved back and forth, following the conversation with a slight, amused smile on his face.
“You killed Sauerkraut Hoagie,” said Fleur to Octavia. “I zink I should be able to handle at least anything you can.”
“How did you know his name?” asked Vinyl.
“You said Nazi.” Her accent did interesting things to the word. “Since zhere are only so many vampires, and vampire Nazis, word travels fast and I could only assume eet was him. ”
“He wasn’t the only Nazi we killed today,” Octavia pointed out. Vinyl made a fist and held it out. Octavia glanced at it, and after a moment bumped it with her own fist.
“Can you not understand zat I would be interested in who died in my apartment?” Fleur had begun to talk faster.
“Who told you Sauerkraut Hoagie was dead?” Octavia asked.
“That does not matter.”
“Then why won’t don’t you tell us?” said Vinyl.
“Just…people were talking about eet. I don’t remember who said eet exactly.”
“Then how did you know he was a Nazi?” said Octavia. “Do you know a lot of Nazis?”
“Why all ze questions?” Fleur demanded, abruptly going on the offensive. “What did I do to deserve zis?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious you’re hiding something,” said Vinyl. “Why? What else could you be lying about? Are you even French?”
Octavia looked to Fancypants. “Do you know what is going on?”
“I do,” he said. “I had hoped you would figure it out yourself because it’s more fun that way, but honestly Fleur-” he turned to her “-this is just getting pathetic. Tell them.”
“Tell zem what?” said Fleur.
“About your relationship with Carousel Brass.” Fancypants smiled. “Did you honestly think I didn’t know?”
Vinyl’s mouth dropped open and she glanced back and forth between Fancypants and Fleur before bursting out laughing.
“Did you know this whole time?” Octavia demanded of Fancypants.
“Well, you know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Perhaps that’s what Fleur and her associates were thinking when they introduced you to me.”
“Wait…” Octavia turned to Fleur. “Was it you? Were you the one controlling me?”
Fleur’s lips curled, still unwilling to admit anything but unable to think of a plausible lie.
“I’m guessing she doesn’t have the level of control over others that she thinks she does or that Mutton Chop wielded,” said Fancypants. “She certainly tried on me often enough, when she thought I wasn’t testing my tea for her blood.”
“But you knew she was involved?” Octavia said.
“I knew that she knew more than she admitted, but it wasn’t until earlier today when she called Carousel after learning that you were at her apartment that I made the rest of the connections,” Fancypants admitted.
“And Carousel then dispatched Sauerkraut Hoagie to go after me,” said Octavia, making the connection.
“You tapped my phone?” Fleur blurted out.
“Why does that surprise you?” said Fancypants. “All this time Carousel has had you keeping tabs on me and trying to undermine me, and you never once thought that I didn’t trust you?”
Vinyl shook her head. “Jeeze, I’m not even sure I’m angry anymore, Fleur. You goofed so bad and you never even noticed.”
“I’m angry,” said Octavia. “How could you just keep her around, Mr. Fancypants? You could have told me!”
“Well, you know how I feel about traitors,” he said. “There’s a special place in my heart for them, but there’s also special place in Hell for them.”
“I did everything you asked me to do!” Fleur protested.
“Fair enough,” he admitted. “Though I see now why you brought certain targets to my attention. Prissy Petunia for example. You thought perhaps we were getting close to discovering you, so you started bumping off any connections. Dirty Trowel worked for her, so she might expose you.”
“This iz ridiculous.” Fleur shook her head. “I’m leaving.”
She turned to go, but Vinyl called, “Are you fucking serious? You can’t just walk out!”
“You can do whatever you want,” said Fancypants. “If you leave, we’ll hunt you down. If you stay, there may yet be a chance for you to talk your way out of this.”
“Are you bloody serious?” Octavia demanded. “After what she’s done?”
“Would you accept an apology? How about help in taking down Carousel?” Fancypants asked Octavia.
She considered it. Who was actually responsible for what had happened? Was it Mutton because he’d controlled her parents? Was it Carousel because he’d recently ordered Octavia’s death? Was it Fleur for helping? Even if Fleur wasn’t the baddest bad person in the lineup, could Octavia feel satisfied while she was still alive?
That could wait. Octavia turned to Fleur. “Tell me what you know.”
“I keep telling you-” Fleur began.
Octavia’s temper suddenly flashed and she started towards Fleur. “After everything you’ve done, everything you helped do, everything you turned a blind eye to, you dare pretend you weren’t involved? My eyes are opened and now I see. In retrospect, you only wanted to use me just like you’ve used everyone else. The least you could do is admit to us - admit to yourself - what you did and take responsibility. Pretending the atrocity didn’t even happen only adds insult to injury. You’re going to be held accountable for your actions either way, but it’s up to you to take responsibility.”
She stopped within arm’s length of Fleur and raised her hand. “And another thing-”
Fleur’s hair suddenly bloomed outwards as if hit with an updraft. Before Octavia could react, two tentacles wrapped around her throat and jerked her into the air.
The sheer surprise momentarily blocked any reaction Octavia could have made. She simply struggled, grabbing for whatever she could reach, kicking ineffectively against the air. Her hand fumbled for a weapon.
Fleur twisted and Octavia was flung like a ragdoll across the room, straight towards Vinyl, who ducked. Octavia slammed into the wall upside down, putting a dent the shape of her body in it before falling to the floor on her head.
Vinyl was now closer to Fleur, but she turned to Octavia, who was just blinking and trying to sit up.
Aside from having her windpipe and spine battered, something seemed off. Octavia got to her hands and knees. She looked up. Vinyl was staring, mouth open and eyes delighted.
“What?” said Octavia, struggling to her feet.
“I’ll tell you later. Kill Fleur now.”
