Chapter 6: Chapter 6: The Conspiracy

Clara had waited until the morning, when Eddie and Hana had to turn their attentions away from her. Mary had been sleeping in. Their patient had the opportunity she needed. Donning a thick coat with a deep hood, the vampire ventured into the rain that had returned to its vendetta against the city. She was extra careful not to alert Hana’s hearing upon closing the door, refusing to even release the catch. Once it had been carefully slid home with nary a squeak, the hooded vampire began her journey across the city.

She couldn’t trust them, she reminded herself as she made her way towards the docks. They worked for Cavendish. And she wasn’t about to take second rate spin from anyone but that slimy git. She made sure to avoid the main streets, keeping her eyes strained for any hint of being followed. The rain’s constant droning slapping made such a thing difficult. She made a mental note that if she needed to sneak up on a vampire, do it in the rain.

Her unusual route made it difficult to find the particular section of docks Cavendish’s club was hiding in. Eventually, she settled for following the tarmac where it led her. So long as there was water to her left, she was in the right ballpark. She briefly thought on the consequences of the tribune being honest with her. That he was working against her. That would leave her with no allies, no safe places to run. Unhelpfully, her brain turned to the reality that safety was only ever an illusion. That trust was complicity. It was a weakness the canny enemy would always exploit.

The burning smell drifted through her nose once more, directing her eyes down a road that led back into the city. It was a double event this time. Clara dove into an alcove with an eye on the road, nostrils flaring. Her heart began to pound, weakened by a blood-sapped body. As she peeked around, she saw her. The woman with the dreadful eyes. The rain passed through her, hair unphased by its touch. The cruel smile was there, her eyes somehow returned to the darkened pits they were before. With a snarl, Clara noted the exact time and location of the illusion, mentally counting the seconds until it vanished. Thirty seconds, excluding the panicked run.

“After the poncy plantation pillock is done with, I’m coming for you bitch.” The vampire snarled as she slid the notebook once more under her coat into the pocket it normally sat in. With a steely glare, she followed the scent of burning toward the spectre’s former haunt before she was led to the left. After a few minutes’ walk, she found herself near his club. The lookouts had hidden under tarpaulin, glumly looking out from tents they’d erected as she passed by. She met their stares with suspicion, cursing herself for not bringing a knife or some other implement. Wouldn’t do much against five guns but it would at least make her feel safer.

As she walked down the steps of the club, she rattled the door only to find it locked. Undeterred, she moved around the building to Sam’s door. She rattled that, finding it stuck as it jittered in its frame. With a curled lip, she wrenched backward with all her strength. The door screeched and opened with a metal tearing sound as the lock snapped cleanly from its mooring. As she entered, she found a burly human levelling a gun at her in the kitchenette. From the way his hands shook, Clara assumed that he’d never seen a vampire on a bad day.

“You can’t be here ma’am; it’s not opening hours.” He jittered, licking his lips before he checked over his shoulder. He looked no older than twenty, high school jock aura to him. He had a messy mop of dirty blonde hair and a face Clara imagined other girls found handsome. She looked upon him with a mixture of hunger and irritation. Her stomach felt like a cavernous whirlpool, demanding to be filled by the contents of his veins.

“I don’t give a fuck, I’m not here to chew some pretty girl. I’m here for Cavendish. Grab him from whatever compromising situation he’s in and tell him I’ll be in his VIP lounge.” Clara spat as she sidled past him. As she drew closer, the human’s hands shook all the more until he had to concede the fight. It seemed he was smarter than the average football player. Had he pulled the trigger, all he’d earn himself was a juicing and an unceremonious end in the bayou. Satisfied her intimidation had worked, she spread herself out on the sofa of the lounge. She was particularly happy that vampires didn’t have blacklight vision like bumblebees.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited for, staring up at the book titles with disinterest. Eventually, Cavendish showed his face in a silken bathrobe. He held his gaudy gun with a negligent hand until he saw Clara laying there. His eyes registered confusion briefly before he turned to the watchman. With a murmured command, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey were produced, and Cavendish sat himself down with a contemptuous stare. He poured them both a drink before downing his with a sarcastic toast.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, pouring himself another without any restraint.

“Your security sucks ass. One human to guard a vampire club?” Clara observed to the ceiling, leaving her drink untouched as she pondered how best to phrase her question. Curiously, Cavendish didn’t seem to want to interject, absorbed in his own thoughts as his eyes travelled over the intruder. Probably sizing her up now that she was blonde, she thought. “I’m sick of people being coy with me, Edward. I want an update on my murder and why my picture is all over the precinct. It’s like you’re advertising to my killers.” She explained, taking care to use his name. He was a creature of ego, she was sure. She’d wax that big head of his until it shone. She wasn’t sure why but felt as if she could bully him somewhat. Like he feared her.

“Firstly, the rest of security were occupying my bed. Secondly, what sort of cretin is stupid enough to attack a tribune’s house?” He retorted over his glass with a pointed finger toward her. Well, there went the fear factor. He was hardly going to insult a creature he feared. “In the tertiary, if I had updates to give you, I would give them. The trail’s run cold! I’m simply questing for tips. Your killers likely still think you’re a bog body.” Cavendish laughed easily at the end of his summation, nudging her glass towards her. He sipped his own drink with an appreciative air, relaying the vintage to her. Apparently, original Scottish. From her homeland. Clara didn’t sound Scottish, at least to her ear. “But who told you I had my fingers in the precinct?” He inquired with a devious smile playing across his face. The younger vampire didn’t let the stab of anxiety pass her expression as she sighed, buying herself more time.

“Firstly, Eddie works in the precinct. Hana’s your creature. It was obvious. Secondly, you’d have to be in idiot not to have your fingers in every one of this city’s institutions to keep us a secret.” Clara explained with a pithy mimicking of Cavendish’s own condescending tone. It was fairly easy, given both of them sounded like the average Etonian. She then sat herself up on her elbows, taking the whiskey with a lifted eyebrow. A small sip was enough to put the proverbial hairs on her chest as she coughed from its strength. Yup, your average Scotsman’s floor polish. “Why do we have to be a secret, incidentally? The worst people in the world kill way more than us and are out and proud about it. We can kick the shit out of any human who tries it on. So, what’s with this world-spanning conspiracy that somehow never has a single leaker?” She asked with the air of a petulant child, almost deliberately. Judging by the paternal look he gave her it had worked a treat.

“Dear God, you have so much to learn. But you’re enthusiastic, which puts you ahead of most.” Cavendish observed as he finished his drink, relaxing into his chair with a contemplative rub of the chin. “I was but a humble youngster in those days. But shortly after the abolition of the peculiar institution, the tribes were instructed by the high council that vampires should not go about as we did. Overnight, we had to hide ourselves and our appetites. Obviously, we never tell humans that we’re real if we can help it. Let them think we are some organized crime racket or secretive club. To the Mayor, for example, I am a bastion of the community and well respected by many voters. He doesn’t even notice anything beyond that.” He smiled broadly then, suppressing a giggle. “That’s the secret, Clara. It was never a conspiracy. We told them we were a lie then paid them not to look. And humanity, being the short-sighted little worms they are, did. If you want an analogy don’t think of us as a conspiracy or country. We’re a cartel.”

“Nobody ever notices that we don’t age?” Clara asked incredulously, taking another swig of her turpentine.

“The average public official serves for maybe two terms. By then, his replacement has never met me. Especially if I communicate through letters, Emails and phone calls.” Cavendish shrugged, clearly enjoying himself. The smile never left his features even as he poured himself another. “Democracy and the indecision of the masses has been an absolutely stellar development for our cover. We have a veritable cavalcade of cretins eager to line their pockets with our money. With no children to divvy up our profits, coordinated trading and good old-fashioned extortion, we can buy whatever we want. Loyalty and preferential treatment come cheap in the USA. Just as we designed it.” Cavendish opined before he tapped his class ring. Clara was unsure whether this was his usual welcoming to the club speech, but her skin crawled regardless.  She finished her drink with a slight cough before sitting upright. The older vampire instructed her to wait but a moment before he walked to the cash register. Punching in a code, he retrieved a thick wad of dollars which he placed on the table before him. He slid it to her with what she assumed was supposed to be a warm look. He seemed more like an angler fish holding out its light.

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“Take this, buy yourself a new phone. Spend a few hours on the internet. It’ll do you good.” Cavendish insisted, sitting himself down once more with a congenial air. Clara was no idiot. She knew this gesture for what it was. A placating bribe to stop her from interfering in the boss man’s affairs. But she wasn’t stupid enough to refuse raw cash. With a sigh she pocketed it, giving Edward a shrewd look. He looked contemplative for a moment. “You remind me of my daughter. Honestly if anyone sums up the phrase bisexual disaster, it’s her and that French limpet she’s shacked up with.” He observed with a rueful look before putting his feet up with a dismissive gesture. “Off you go. Hana will probably be beside herself. Cold as she can seem, she isn’t actually my creature. She’s something of a charity I donate to.”

“Well, here I was thinking you were about as charitable as a tiger at breakfast time.” Clara observed sarcastically as she made her way toward the back door. “I’ll remember this the next time I begin to get worried you’re trying to keep me in New Orleans. God knows I want nothing more than to return to the rainy rock in the North Sea.” She shot over her shoulder, surprisingly drawing a laugh from the reclining vampire. Must have caught him in a good mood. If five beautiful vampire women couldn’t put you in a good mood, nothing would, Clara thought as she left his den of debauchery.

Before resolving to return before dark, the vampire made good on her threat to the spectre. With a face of determination that General Grant would be proud of, she began walking to the spot where she saw the creepy woman. Sure enough, as she closed in on the spot the smell of burning returned. She really hoped that vampires couldn’t have seizures. Or strokes. Or whatever the scent of burning signified to humans. As she literally followed her nose she was guided toward the older parts of the city. The parts settled by the colonists, that appeared on the postcards for tourists.  

She was eventually guided to a nondescript old building that appeared to be a very anachronistic, very local bank. She was surprised it hadn’t been gobbled up by a huge, soulless younger brother. Her surprise was swiftly replaced by irritation as the dark-haired creature slithered from the air like smoke. She crooked a finger, turning to enter the bank before vanishing through its doorway. Taking care to remove her hood as she entered, she was greeted by a classy-looking establishment with old-style metal grills on the teller’s stations. One absurdly old man with a walrus moustache and half-moon glasses was in attendance, mincing his way through signed documents that looked like bullion to the untrained Clara’s eye. She looked for any sign of the creature, confusion beginning to form on her features.

“Excuse me, did you see a dark-haired woman who looked a little bit like a B-movie horror villain?” She asked the single teller as she approached him. The bank was empty as a graveyard, though she’d expected that. Not many people used small banks that could blow up any day.

“Oh, I’m sure she’s around here somewhere.” The man assured her with a professional smile. He then set aside his bullion, lacing his hands together. “I believe she left something for you. If you would bear with me.” He added before stooping below his desk. Clara wanted to tell him that she wanted nothing from her. Accepting gifts from ghosts was how you got a curse or twelve. Regardless of her wishes, the teller returned from his sojourn with a lacquered pine box and a thick letter made of parchment. It was even sealed with wax, to add to Clara’s growing confusion. “Here we are. Safe deposit of Livia Juliana to be delivered to one Clara, surname unknown.” He smiled warmly as he slid the box under the grate with its letter. The box was about the size of a calculator or phone, approximately as thick.

“What exactly is this?” Clara asked firmly, turning over the box for any hint of heraldry. Any identifying mark. The teller looked up from his paperwork to look at the box, adjusting his glasses.

“I know not the contents of our safety deposit boxes. I only look after them. Your students wouldn’t trust me otherwise.” He grumbled before returning to his work. The woman’s attention snapped up, a question flying to her lips, leaving them as a bewildered breath. She looked ahead and saw no old man.

What returned her stare were the bored eyes of a middle-aged woman. They quickly became filled with surprise as Clara looked around. She saw an ordinary bank with its rope cordons and dejected homeowners asking after their mortgages. There wasn’t even glass between her and the teller. Yet the box and letter remained in her hands, as solid as the ground beneath her. She promptly stepped out of the line, looking toward the blustery weather outside. Resolving to read the letter at least, she began her journey back to Hana’s house.

On her way, she walked past the church the nun had invited her to, briefly entertaining going inside as she did. It all looked so ordinary, with parishioners filing through the doors for their daily confession. Or whatever people needed in these dark times. That irritating voice in the back of her head reminded her that everyone thought they were living in the final days. At no point in history did humanity look to the sky and think ‘things are going really well, I’m happy’. The thought brought a smile to Clara’s lips, strangely. The human and vampire races, united in pessimism. The nun was assisting the father, their eyes meeting briefly. She gave glum wave before leaving the pious to their own ends. She wasn’t quite ready for confession. Not yet.

None of them would risk breaking their cover to chase some random woman who could probably outrun them even on fumes. The roiling hunger in her gut had only gotten worse, demanding with more aggression than normal. Hana had ensured that the fledgling vampire had been feeding. Some newbies refused to feed for moral or religious reasons, but Clara wasn’t one of them. She was simply a disaster, unable to keep anything together lately. Even breaking out into random bouts of Shakespearian anger. A cup of pilfered blood from the hospital was hardly the premium concern, Clara reasoned as she entered the cul de sac with her hands in her pockets. She should have bought herself a phone, taken Cavendish’s advice. But her hungry, addled mind wanted only sleep.

As she neared the house, she saw Eddie’s patrol car pulled up with a bored-looking butch blonde woman in the front seat. She wore a police uniform but that wasn’t the vampire’s focus. The vampire instead focused on the scent of her blood. Drifting towards her, it tempted her as surely as a twelve-hour pulled pork would tempt any red-blooded southerner. As she approached, her mouth watered. What would it matter, she thought. One more crazy lady biting an officer. But to her it was sweet release, a satisfying deluge of relief.

“Clara!” Came a relieved shout from the house. Hana raced into the pouring rain with bare feet. Mary followed, shouting that she needed a coat. The young vampire looked over from the policewoman, eyes still hungry. She’d been listening to music unaware how close she came to being mauled. “Look at you, you’re starving. Where were you?” Hana asked plaintively as Mary dressed her for the rain. Their houseguest began to walk towards the house, informing them that Hana’s feet were bleeding. Sure enough, a pebble had lodged itself there. The dark-haired vampire cursed and began to limp to the house after pulling it free. “You missed the big news. The precinct found you! Got a tip this morning.” She beamed as they dried themselves under the porch. Mary even retrieved a towel for her lover, rubbing her down like a fussy parent.

“I was just out for a walk, see the city.” Clara lied as she hung up her coat, moving to the living room. “That’s wonderful news. Can’t wait.” She smiled. How conveniently timed.

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