Blood Exposed Page 5

  I suppose, as I was studying sound engineering and planning a career backstage, I should have taken part in the conversation but I’d heard it all before, several times, and to be honest, the specifications of the sound desk weren’t something I cared about. While they regaled Severn with details of their favourite editing software, I counted the tiny covered buttons on the sleeves of her jacket so I could tell Mum about it over breakfast. I could see Severn’s eyes starting to glaze over as Kyle rambled on, so I was about to invent a way to break up the one-sided conversation when a trumpet blast did it for me.

  The fanfare, expertly played by a young, garishly-clad page boy, had the desired effect. Everyone in the room stopped mid-conversation and turned towards the door which was swung open by a matching pair of page boys, although I suspected one was actually a girl. As the trumpet played its final note, a plaintive, wheezing moan began to rise in volume. Severn looked at me, a huge smile breaking over his face as the moan morphed into a tune and a kilted bagpiper marched through the door followed by the committee in full medieval regalia.

  Behind the piper strode Harald Redbeard, aka Caleb’s dad, his deep blue, woollen tunic offset with intricate embroidery matching the multi-coloured beads woven into his magnificent plaited beard. Oblivious to the noise and the crowd, a huge Scottish deerhound padded silently beside him. Next in line was Lady Justinia, supporting Rachel, Mistress Hildegarde of Thuringen, who was painfully putting pomp before comfort in a valiant attempt to be part of the procession. She took a few faltering steps into the room before she began to stumble. From outside the door I could see Anita trying to get to her, carrying Rachel’s crutches, but her way was blocked by Rhys who made no attempt to move.

  Help came from our corner as the Rev pushed past the Goth Ks and caught Rachel before she fell. Taking her full weight on his small frame, the Rev helped her to the nearest chair and the procession continued. Lady Justinia smiled her thanks as she glided past, determinedly staying ahead of Rhys in his full Madoc the Blacksmith persona, complete with leather apron and tool belt hung with intimidating implements. A woman I hadn’t met but had to be Rhys’s wife, Donna, came next, looking embarrassed and slightly out of place in a costume that was much plainer than that worn by Justinia or by Abigail, who didn’t so much trail in the rear as pause in the doorway so her entrance had more drama. It certainly turned heads. Beside me Aiden whistled through his teeth and made audible sucking noises as Abigail’s cleavage entered the room before the rest of her. We might not be getting paid money for this event but the vampires were going to feed well.

  The deerhound stole the show. As Abigail, Lady Gloria d’Arbanville, sailed her engineered bosom on a sea of swirling silk through the gawping crowd, Harald and the hound had reached the high-backed wooden thrones that sat on a raised dais at the end of the room. Harald, unaware of the encroaching cleavage, had sat down, patting the dog on its head as it lowered itself to lie elegantly beside him. The piper had stationed himself at the edge of the dais, facing the dog which, with unchoreographed precision, lifted its head and howled along with the music just as Abigail advanced. The crowd cheered. The dog howled louder. Unable to stop playing until the whole procession had reached their seats, the piper piped manfully onwards, his face contorting in his struggle not to laugh as the dog sang along, oblivious to how well it had upstaged Abigail’s dramatic entrance. She was the only one who didn’t pat its head as they passed.

  The hush as the piper ended his tune was our cue to do some work. With the Rev still attending to Rachel, Aiden slid behind our trestle table and flicked a couple of switches, throwing a warm light onto the dais and the committee. Severn pushed sliders on the sound desk and Harald Redbeard’s voice boomed out from the speakers, welcoming the attendees to the convention. The committee then took their turn, Gerald, Ngaire and Rhys all explaining aspects of the weekend and even Rachel explaining her workshops using a microphone the Rev quickly plugged in so she could speak from her chair at the entrance. Rhys got up a second time to speak but the dog drowned him out with a bored whine.

  “All right,” he conceded, “that’s enough talk from us. Let’s have some music. Lady Justinia, I believe we have some minstrels from Stratford here to entertain at your court this evening. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Stratford Minstrels!”

  As I expected, the troupe of three players was led by Caleb, playing a jaunty tune on his violin. What I didn’t expect was Anita playing counterpoint on her flute to the beat of the third member who tapped out a rhythm on her hand-held drum that certainly wasn’t a standard rock four beats to the bar. They sashayed through the crowd, playing as they danced without missing a beat. As they reached the foot of the dais, the page boys rushed forwards with chairs into which the three musicians sank before launching into another number with a quieter, melancholy feel. A third tune was back to a jaunty dance beat and soon some of the audience were on their feet, forming a circle dance that looked complicated but they all seemed to know instinctively.

  By our desk, Rachel started to tap her foot to the music, then winced and rubbed her knee. The Goth Ks had already abandoned us for the dance floor but instead of joining the ever-growing circle, they were off to one side absorbed in a medieval steampunk tango of their own invention. Aiden licked his lips as he watched them.

  Caleb led his troupe of musicians through three more tunes before bowing deeply to the people seated on the dais and leaving to thunderous applause. Anita flicked me a small wave as she pranced out beside him, her face aglow with pleasure. I gave her a thumbs up sign as she passed.

  On the dais Lady Justinia stood up to the microphone.

  “Weren’t they just fabulous,” she beamed at the crowd. “We’ll be hearing more from the troubadours throughout the weekend and if you want some musical tips, check out their workshop tomorrow afternoon. Now, everyone, welcome again to ShireCon. Have a wonderful weekend and remember, keep your weapons peace-bonded.”

  Severn pulled down the sliders and dimmed the dais lights as the official opening ended, then faded in some ambient medieval music that Caleb had provided on an mp3 player, leaving Aiden and I to collect the microphones and dismantle the stands. We had carefully threaded the cables around the edge of the room earlier in the day and taped them down securely to stay in place for the whole weekend, so we were finished in a matter of minutes. The Rev handed Rachel her crutches and led her through to the second conference room to discuss her sewing machine, Severn leant back in his chair with his eyes shut and a smile that suggested he was actually enjoying the odd music and Aiden got more obvious in his desire to snack on the Goth Ks.

  “Stop drooling!” I punched his arm with more force than I had intended but he just grinned at me.

  “But they’re juicy. Even you have to admit that. Juicy, juicy, juicy.”

  “I get it. They’re supper. Just don’t make it so obvious.”

  “Just planning the strike and catch.”

  “That won’t take any planning. Just ask. She’s gagging to be bitten.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Come on! You can’t miss the fake bite marks tattooed on her neck just below the matching entwined Ks.”

  “What do you make of that? Matching tattoos, matching clothes. I wonder if they do anything apart. A bit too co-dependent for my taste, although I am looking forward to tasting them later. I’ll let you know if they taste the same.”

  “No thanks. I don’t want to know. Actually, you’d be the one to know the answer to the question I’ve been wondering all night. Are they a couple or are they brother and sister?”

  “Not brother and sister, no. They don’t smell the same. They act more like twins though, even more like twins than Meredith and I did.” The corners of Aiden’s mouth sank at the memory of his twin sister. I put my hand out and touched his arm gently.

  “You miss her, don’t you? It’s okay, you’re allowed to be sad. You’re even allowed to be angry with Severn.”

  “I’m not angry,” Aiden
shook his head. “Severn and I have talked. We’re all good. He did what he had to do. I would have done the same. Like the song says, she had it coming.” He looked over at the Goth Ks, still holding each other close as they danced. “Those two, though, they think like twins, they end each other’s sentences like twins, they like exactly the same things but they’re not related. They bonk like rabbits though.” He grinned and walked away.

  “You’re just jealous,” I called after him. I didn’t hear his response but Severn, still leaning back with his eyes shut, laughed out loud.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I don’t know what surprised me more – vampires arriving at my house at breakfast time or how good they all looked. Even though I knew they didn’t really turn to dust in daylight, I still thought of them as nocturnal – well, Aiden and the Rev at least, as there were times I forgot Severn wasn’t a normal human, he was at my house so often.

  “You fed well last night, didn’t you?” I asked as they helped themselves to coffee – something else I had got used to vampires doing.

  Severn dipped his eyes in embarrassment but Aiden was quick to agree,

  “Yes, we did. We most certainly did.”

  “The Goth Ks?” I asked.

  “No.” Aiden pouted and made a face at Severn. “He wouldn’t let me track those two. We had to settle for a couple we found necking in the park.”

  “I told you, it’s the same as Abigail. They’ve met us and would recognise us even in the dark. We can’t risk them remembering what happened and blowing our cover. No matter how much they fancy themselves as one of us.”

  “You spotted the fake bites?” I asked.

  “And his fake fangs,” Severn laughed. “He’s had his canine teeth sharpened to points. I wanted to flash him some real ones.”

  “I wanted to do that with the bite marks,” I said.

  “I want to give them both some real bite marks,” Aiden added.

  “Then shut up and do it,” the Reverend said from the bench he had been leaning against.

  “What?” we all said in unison.

  The Rev took his time, returning to the table, pulling out a chair, sitting down and revolving his coffee cup a couple of times before he answered.

  “We’re vampires. A year ago we were a pack of seven. Now, with three gone and Finn back in France, we are now a pack of three. We need new blood. The guys back in the monastery aren’t going to turn anyone again. They don’t go anywhere to meet anyone to turn. Seth made a lot of mistakes but he had one thing right. He reckoned if humans were adult, of sound mind, knew what they were getting into and wanted to join us, we should turn them. We’ve got two days with these two. Let’s sound them out. If they want to be vampires, let’s give them what they want.”

  “They seem to know about sound and lighting, so they’d fit into our team straight away. That’s a point in their favour already,” Aiden said.

  “And I might know how to fix a computer but they both write software. There could be some business opportunities in that,” Seven agreed. “Riley, you’ve gone quiet. What do you think?”

  “I have nothing to add,” I said. “Except it has to be their call. You can’t just leap in and do it. You have to promise me that you will give them all the information and let it be their choice. Don’t rush them.” They all nodded agreement. “One other thing,” I continued, pausing slightly to watch their reaction. “If you fail and she dies, I want her clothes.”

  “Spoken like a vampire.” Aiden gave me a high-five across the table. “I’ll have his boots.”

  We saw them as soon as we arrived at the hotel, leaning against the large oak tree in the carpark, still wearing the same clothes, their skin unnaturally pallid under the remnants of their white make-up. Kristi must have rubbed her eyes as her mascara had smeared in a dark trail across her cheek.

  “Good morning,” I said with exaggerated cheer as we climbed out of the van. “You two are up early.”

  “We’re not up early.” Kristi pushed her hand through her hair in a slow motion that matched the languid tone of her response. “We are about to retire.”

  “Had a hard night then?” Aiden asked. “Partying?”

  “We don’t party,” Kristi drawled. “We walk. We are creatures of the night. But now we must retire before the sun gets too high and turns us to dust. Vampires don’t do daylight.”

  “Yeah we do,” Aiden said. “that’s an urban myth, you know. It makes us sick, ask Severn about that, but it won’t kill us.”

  Kristi pushed herself away from the tree trunk and replied to Aiden with a derisive snort.

  “You? Think you’re a vampire? Really?”

  “We all do,” Severn said, stepping forwards to stand shoulder to shoulder with Aiden. “Except Riley, she hasn’t joined us yet.”

  “And we don’t think, we know,” Aiden added.

  “Dressed like that?” Kristi dismissed our black jeans and t-shirts with a contemptuous glance.

  “It’s called blending in. You get good at that after a hundred years or so,” Severn replied with too polite a smile. “If you want to be a real vampire, like us, you’ll have to learn that. It’s called survival.”

  Kristi’s mouth twitched as she tried to think of a smart answer but behind her, I could see Kyle was disturbed by Severn’s calm delivery. His brow furrowed and he stepped forwards to ask a question but Kristi spoke first, although her mocking words held a hesitant undertone as if she didn’t really want a positive answer.

  “So where are your fangs then?”

  Severn and Aiden looked at each other in silent communication. Severn raised an eyebrow, Aiden screwed up his nose and nodded his head. He turned his head back to face Kristi, his cheerful smile replaced by a thin-lipped scowl and bright, glinting, hunting eyes. Curling his top lip back, he flashed a brief glimpse of one fang.

  “I’ll show you later,” he said.

  If Kristi didn’t pick up the menace in Aiden’s voice, Kyle did.

  “Come on, Kristi, let’s go to bed,” he urged, grabbing her arm and pushing her away from us towards the hotel entrance. “These guys have got work to do. Stop messing with them.”

  “Later,” Aiden called after them. Kyle walked faster.

  “Was that safe?” I asked as we followed them across the car park.

  “Maybe not, but it was fun,” Aiden said.

  “Safe enough,” the Reverend said. “I mean. What’s the worst that could happen? Those two goths, who go around dressed like B-grade movie Draculas, claiming to be vampires, complain that the technical crew are actual vampires. Name three people in there who are going to believe them.”

  “True,” I agreed. “Everyone’s going to laugh at them.”

  “And if anyone does come up to us and tell us we have been outed as vampires, we will just smile and say we were having a bit of fun with them. It’s a convention, they expect fake vampires. We’ll just play along. More importantly, do we have to be monks today? It’s too hot in there to wear a cowl.”

  “Only this evening,” Severn said. “They’ve got a medieval feast tonight, so it’s costumes for that.”

  “Let’s get to work then. What are we doing first?”

  “Getting into the conference rooms without Ngaire waylaying us,” Severn laughed. “I’ve got annotated programmes for each of you so you know what you’ll be doing, but our first job is to get each room set up for the first panels of the day. Riley, can you and Aiden collect the microphones from the office upstairs while the Rev and I unlock the rooms. We’ve got,” he paused and checked his watch, “thirty three minutes till show time.”

  Sending Aiden and I up to the office was not the way I would have protected us from a marauding Ngaire so I was relieved when she didn’t appear. I could hear someone moving around in the bedroom but Caleb, in pyjama pants and a hoodie, was the only person in the lounge. By its messy state, it looked like the Goth Ks were not the only ones who had stayed up late. Caleb was stuffing empty beer and vodka cru
iser cans into a rubbish bag as we entered.

  “You’ve missed Mum,” he said. “She went over to the park ages ago. She’ll be over there most of the day if you need her.”

  “No, we’re right,” I assured him. “We’ve come to get our gear. What are you and Anita up to for the day?”

  “Not a lot. Annie should be here soon and our job is to be here answering questions. We’ve got to practise our music for tonight, so we might go and find a spot under a tree in the park later to do that, and I want to go to a couple of the panels. There’s a cool writers’ panel this afternoon on dragons and other mythical beasts in modern literature. I want to ask about werewolves.”

  “I bet the Goth Ks will be talking about vampires,” I said. “If it’s a writers’ panel it will be in your room, Aiden.”

  “The Goth Ks?” Caleb said before Aiden could answer. “Do you mean the Transylvanian Bookends? Matching pair, white faces, spectacular costumes?” I nodded. Caleb continued. “If that vampire routine is their hall costume, I wonder what they will do for the masquerade?”

  “They could turn into bats,” Aiden said, handing me four microphones. “Take these to Severn for the main room.” He turned to Caleb, straight-faced. “Bet they can’t fly like we can.”

  I pushed him out of the room before Caleb could ask what he meant.

  Downstairs in the main conference room, Severn had placed the microphones stands by the time I returned. We performed a quick “one, two, one, two,” check on the levels and the room was ready for the first panel. Hotel staff bustled in and out, setting glasses and carafes of water on the table for the panellists and plainer jugs with paper cups at the back of the room for those listening in the audience. A figure I recognised as the drummer from Caleb’s music troupe was arranging the chairs into lines facing the table, without losing the felt toy dragon that was perched on her shoulder. I was going to help her when the radio on my belt crackled. The Rev wanted me in conference room two.

  Rachel was still in costume, but a plainer version than the previous evening. A long, white apron with large pockets covered a plain, green dress that didn’t quite hide her modern sneakers. As I expected, my job entailed lifting the sewing machine that had caused the argument with Rhys. She had two workshops planned for the day and it was going to be just like working props backstage – move it on, put it in the right place, then move it off again, the Rev carrying the machine while I moved the folding table it sat on. Once we had it exactly where Rachel wanted it, I marked the spot on the floor with tape, while the Rev politely waved away Rachel’s effusive thanks and continual repetitions of “Bless you, Father.”