CHAPTER 23.
Molly woke and rolled over expecting to find Charlotte and wrap her arms and legs around her. When, to her disappointment, she found the other half of the bed empty, she yawned, stretched and got out of bed. She pulled a fluffy pink dressing gown on over her black lace night gown and looked for her lover. She found Charlotte casting her runes on the kitchen table. Molly did not like her runes. Firstly, they were creepy in themselves. An exact replica of the runes which she had used when Dragon Ships still rules the waves, Charlotte had made them herself out of bleached bones, carved with symbols which were then drawn in blood. Molly did not know who or what’s bones, or who or what’s blood, and she did not want to know. They rattled alarmingly when Charlotte shuck the bag, and landed with a dull thud like a tiny coffin closing when she shattered them. Secondly, they were usually right. Charlotte had cast the runes after they had first met two centuries ago and she had cast them when they had become a couple in more recent years, and they had told them many things. Molly respected Charlotte’s faith, traditions and skills, but she also believed in a chaotic universe where people had freewill. Twenty four bits of blood stained bone lay scattered on the table, where Charlotte studied them intently. Molly only had the slightest understanding of how they worked, but she knew that Charlotte could learn a great deal from the patterns they made, the relative closeness of certain runes, and if they landed face up or down. “Shit,” Charlotte cursed quietly. Then she gathered up the terrible runes, put them in a black leather pouch and shuck them. Then she picked out one and put it down on the table. The Thurizas rune. She studied it, wrinkled her brow, then picked three more. Perthro, Nauthiz and Hagalaz.
“Shit,” she said more loudly.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked.
Charlotte spun round, her eyes blazing, and stared at Molly. She looked her up and down, recognised her and came out of her trance. “The runes are wrong Molly.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything is wrong. It wasn’t suppose to happen like this. Germaine has messed with The Wyrd and now something is going to go terribly wrong.”
“Oh dear,” Molly said, knowing there was no point in getting involved. “Never mind, do you want some mead?”
Wagner’s Flight of The Valkyries placed loudly in the candle lit room. A large fire burnt in the heath. Lloyd sat on his favourite chair, a half smoked cigar in hand. He took a drag from it, blew a smoke ring and watched the smoke dance and disperse in the candle light.
His door bell rang, so he stood, turned down the music and went to the door.
He open his door to find John stood outside with a bottle of whiskey in his hand, red brimmed and blood shot eyes and a smirk across his face.
“Lloyd, you utter, utter bastard!” John exclaimed affectionately.
“Harvey, you silly sod! Been drinking?”
“Oh yes!” John replied proudly.
“Come in then, old boy,” Lloyd led him to the lounge where he sank into an arm chair. “To what do I owe this pleasure.”
“You said to come round, so I came round. How the Devil are you?”
“Quite well. Cigar?”
“Thank you, very kind.”
John took a swig of his whiskey, lit his cigar on the third attempt, then took another swig.
“Drink?” John offered the bottle to Lloyd.
“No thanks.”
“Oh, yes, sorry, forgot.”
“How much have you had?”
“This is my second bottle.”
It was only three hours after sunset.
“Fast work old chap,” Lloyd said. “Maybe you ought to pace yourself a tad.”
“You can’t talk.”
“Well, actually I can. I was a connoisseur; I had an Honorary Degree in Drinking from Oxford University. I know what I’m talking about.” John looked thoughtfully at his friend, then at his bottle, as though seeking a comparison between the two.
“Quite right, Mister Lloyd, quite right. Was very thirsty, but shall be alright,” he took a loving swig from the bottle them put it down on the table. His cigar had gone out so he relit it.
“How was the funeral?”
“Brief.”
“Tolerable?”
“Yes, not much preaching.”
“And the day light.”
“Not too bad, was raining… Colour is over rated, a bit of green and brown to go with the grey and back. You’re not missing much.”
“Everything looks rather more elegant in the starlight.”
John look thoughtful for a moment, gazed longingly at the dancing flame of a candle, and then said;
“Miss her terribly.”
“Victoria? You only knew her for a few days.” “We were in love, damn it!”
“Quite so, for a few days.”
“Maybe… Maybe rather longer.”
They finished their cigars wordlessly. John picked up his bottle, stared at it, then put it down again.
“I’d rather like a cup of tea, do you want one?” Lloyd asked.
“Aye, thank you.”
“A bite to eat?”
“No thank you.”
Lloyd went through to the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with two cups of tea and a cucumber sandwich for himself. John poured a little whiskey into his tea.
“Irish Coffee?” Lloyd commented.
“’British Tea’… look here Lloyd, have been thinking about this Alice girl…” “Already, are you turning into me or some such?”
“No. It’s not like that.”
“You just cannot stop thinking about her, am I right?”
“Aye.”
“And so?”
“And so nothing.”
“You can’t fool me, Harvey, you want to hunt her down, don’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“And you want me to help.”
“Maybe.”
“Well maybe I will. Let me tell you why. I have learnt a few things about myself over the last few weeks. One of those things is that I have almost no morals, but- I am ashamed to say- not none at all. One of the other things is that most of the time I enjoy the hunt more than the kill… However, I shall not discuss the matter further with you until you are vaguely sober. For now we ought to relax. Help yourself to a cigar, I shall put some more music. Tell me, Vivaldi or Bach?”
John woke on Lloyd’s sofa the next evening. His coat had been frown over him, and he was fully dressed. His head hurt a great deal, and his throat felt like a chain smoking rat had died in it.
“Wakey- wakey old boy!” Lloyd greeted him cheerfully, and put a glass of water on the coffee table next to the half bottle of whiskey. “Get this down you. There is coffee and nice raw steak on the way, then off to work with you.”
“What the?… Damn…”
“Rise and shine, bright eyed and bushy tailed, up and at ‘em, and all that nonsense.”
John forced himself to sit up, rubbed his eyes, then downed the water in one.
“Thank you Lloyd. What time is it?”
“Eight of the o’clock.”
“Bugger it. I need to be in work now…”
“Not at all. You must be properly fortified first, or you shall be all squiffy all night.”
Lloyd went through to the kitchen and came back with a pot of coffee, two cups and two plates of rare steak on a tray. John took a deep swig of the coffee then started into the steak.
“Fantastic steak Lloyd,” he said after a few mouthfuls. “Very decent of you… Are you up to much today?”
“I may go up the Scotland and kill someone.” “Seriously?”
“Maybe. I’m in two minds. Toying with the idea, don’t you know.”
John finished his steak and drained the last of his coffee.
“Must be off now, Lloyd, thanks again.”
“Think nothing of it, but for God’s sake have a wash and brush your teeth before you go.”
“Sorry for being late, shall put some over time on your wages, get yourself home,” John said to Olly as he arrived at work.
“Thanks, are you alright mate?” Olly replied.
“The whiskey and I were very well acquainted last night. Will be fine.”
Olly got his coat and went home, and John got to work. He was not alright, his head felt like a dart board and his dexterity was reduced to that of a blind toddler. Fortunately the pub was not too busy. He turned the volume down on the jukebox and drank a lot of tea. After an hour he resorted to The Hair of The Dog and poured himself a shot of whiskey, which did not help much.
At quarter to twelve Lloyd strode in wearing a tartan silk scarf and with a brown paper bag in hand. .
“Evening Harvey,” Lloyd greeted him. “Evening Lloyd, did not expect to see you here.”
“Missed the last train to Glasgow, so I thought I’d come here and mock you instead. How’s your head?” “Hung over.”
“Ah, yes, hangovers, I remember those. They were terrible. What ever were you thinking? Now look here, you left this behind.”
He opened the paper bag and put John’s half finished bottle of whiskey on the bar.
“Take it away from me,” John recoiled from his old acquaintance in the way a more stereotypical vampire would recoil from a cross.
“It’s of no use to me, and it will only save you buying another one tomorrow… And speaking of drinks, could you get me a strawberry juice?”
“Certainly, on the house.”
Two Emo lads watched from the other side of the room.
“Look, he’s not even paying for it, its blood, like Evil Sophie said,” one of them said.
“No way, its bright pink.” The other replied.
“The Vampire is a cunning creature.”
“How would you know?”
“Saw it on ‘t’internet.”
“Must be off now,” Lloyd said as he finished his drink. “But you should pop round tomorrow after work, when you have recovered, and discuss the matter you raised last night.”
“What matter?” John remembered almost nothing of the night before.
“With the email-girl and the hunting and what not.”
“That? Right… I come round anyway, thanks, at two thirty.”
“Jolly good, see you then.”
The bar was deserted by half past twelve, so John decided to close early. He tidied the bar, put on his jacket and looked at the bottle of whiskey. He cursed Lloyd put putting temptation in his path, took a swig of the bottle, and set off home.
Once home he cooked a meat and potato pie and washed it down with a glass of red wine, then tried to read.
He could not concentrate on the book. Memories of Victoria, thoughts of Alice, and the thirst for blood or whiskey plagued him. He thought for a moment about how most of the vampires he knew drank a lot, or smoked too much, and decided they were ways of satisfying the constant thirst for blood. A substitute, and a poor one at that. He took a swig of whiskey and turned on his computer.
There was the one email from Alice, to which he replied;
“Dear Alice;
How are you?
Am doing okay, better after the funeral. Still miss her, but it is all very much done with now, in this life anyway.
How is your vampyre study going? Any further questions? Could meet with you to discuss things if you wish.
Take care,
John. X”
John looked at his emails immediately after breakfast the next evening, and found no reply from Alice. His head hurt, but not as much as the night before. He hunted down the bottle of whiskey, found it empty, and cursed himself. He had also run out of wine, so he drank a glass of port, and was on his way. A night in the Black Boar passed uneventfully, he and Molly closed the pub at two, and then he headed to Lloyd’s home.
Lloyd served a fine meal of sausages, fried corned beef, black pudding, mashed potatoes and gravy.
“Righty-ho, to the hunting,” Lloyd declared as soon as the meal was over.
“What’s the plan?” John asked.
“With the miracles of modern technology, namely The Internet, it is remarkable easy to stalk a person. What is this girl’s name?”
“Alive who?”
“No idea.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“No. But she’s definitely British.”
“Dash. What’s her email address?”
“Alice4321@ -“
“This may present a small problem, but problems are made for solutions… Coffee? Cigar?”
“Thank you.”
Lloyd brought coffee, then they both lit a cigar and Lloyd fetched a sleek black laptop and set it up on the coffee table.
“What do you know about her?” Lloyd asked, cigar perched between wolfish smile.
“She is a psychology student, during her dissertation, so that means she is in her last year. Think she is currently single. Into vampyres… That’s it.”
“Right, so she is about 22, single, probably Gothic. Let’s work some magic…”
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