Читать книгу Battle Lines - Will Hill, Will Hill - Страница 18

Jamie Carpenter stood outside a door on Level C and took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart.

He had left Ellison and Morton absorbing the detail of their briefing, what little there was. Of the five vampire targets they had been given, only one had so far been identified: Eric Bingham, a paranoid schizophrenic who had been caught attempting to strangle his infant niece, had wandered past a police station in Peterborough and been captured on CCTV. The Surveillance Division’s facial recognition system had instantly identified him, logged his location into their system, and tracked him as he moved slowly south. The other four targets were mysteries, nothing more than heat blooms on satellite screens. Every effort would continue to be made to identify them before Jamie’s squad moved against them; knowing whether they had been violent men before their turnings could prove vital.

They were scheduled to depart in just over an hour and a half, so Jamie had ordered his squad mates to meet him in the hangar in seventy-five minutes. He had been about to head down to the dining hall to grab a late breakfast when Jack Williams called and told him the news.

Angela Darcy’s squad mates were both in the infirmary, being tended to by the Blacklight medical staff; Jacobs’s arms had been set and splinted, and Carlisle’s wounds had been treated and stitched. They were both going to recover, but Jacobs was going to be inactive for several months, and Carlisle had required surgery to remove a shard of plastic that had stopped a millimetre short of his left eyeball.

“One vamp put them both down,” said Jack. “Angela said she’d never seen anything like it.”

Jamie thanked him for passing on the news, and warned him to be careful out there. Jack told him to do the same and cut their connection.

The door in front of him was no different from any of the hundreds of others on B and C, the residential levels of the Loop; what lay behind it was why his heart was accelerating so sharply. He reached out a gloved hand, noted with anger its visible tremble, and knocked heavily on the door.

Silence.

Jamie knocked again, and was about to turn and walk away when he heard a deep voice emerge from inside the room.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me,” he replied. “Jamie.”

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the door unlocked with a series of smooth clicks and swung open a fraction. Jamie reached out and pushed it inwards, revealing a spacious room, far larger than his own quarters. It was sparse and scrupulously neat; the surface of the desk was clear, the bed was neatly made, the floor was clean and polished. A pair of armchairs sat opposite the desk. One was empty; the other was straining under the weight of its occupant.

The monster, now once again going by the name Victor Frankenstein, looked up as Jamie walked into his room. He was wearing a white shirt, open at the neck, and black trousers and boots; a thick multi-coloured beard sprouted from his cheeks and chin, and his hair fell carelessly across his forehead and below his ears. His appearance was not against regulations – Blacklight operated a far looser dress code than the regular military, just as the special forces did – but it worried Jamie nonetheless. On a small table beside the armchair stood a glass, a bottle of whisky and a bowl of ice, and these items worried him too, given that it was barely noon.

“Hey,” said Jamie, settling into the empty armchair.

“Good evening,” replied Frankenstein.

“It’s afternoon,” said Jamie, forcing a smile. “Early afternoon.”

“I don’t care,” replied Frankenstein. He reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. “How are you, Jamie? Looking after yourself?”

“I’m trying,” he replied. “It was easier with you looking after me as well.” He smiled again, trying to encourage the monster, to flatter him. “A lot easier.”

“I’m sure it was,” said Frankenstein. “It’s a shame you’ve had to grow up so fast. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I know,” said Jamie. “But that’s the world, isn’t it? Bad things happen.”

Frankenstein nodded. “Bad things happen.”

The monster’s free hand slid to the middle of his chest and rested there. Beneath the material of his shirt was a long pattern of scars, far more recent than the many others that covered his uneven flesh. They had been carved into him with a scalpel by Dante Valeriano, the self-styled vampire king of Paris, whom Frankenstein had injured terribly almost a century earlier, and who had spent the subsequent decades focusing on nothing except his insatiable desire for vengeance. In truth, he had been a fraud, a working-class boy from Saint-Denis called Pierre Depuis who had asserted dominance over the Parisian vampires with little more than bravado and a compellingly fictional history. Jamie and a small squad of Operators had destroyed the vampire king in the theatre where he lived, and brought the captive Frankenstein home, but not before Valeriano had begun to exact his revenge.

He doesn’t know he’s doing it, thought Jamie. Doesn’t realise how often he touches his scars.

Jamie felt his own hand twitch towards his neck, where an ugly red patch of skin stretched from his jaw to his shoulder, a memento of the search for his mother, what now felt like years ago.

You’re not the only one, he thought. We’ve all got scars.

“How’s your girlfriend?” asked Frankenstein. “What’s her name? The vampire?”

“Larissa,” said Jamie, through a suddenly clenched jaw. “She’s fine. Thanks.”

Frankenstein nodded. “Is she still in America?”

“Yes,” said Jamie.

“Best place for her,” grunted the monster.

Jamie bore down on the fury that was rising up through him with all his strength and somehow managed to push it back.

Be calm, he told himself. It’s not his fault. Be calm.

Frankenstein’s hatred of vampires was long-standing and potent. He had made his feelings on them as a species clear to Jamie the very first time they had gone out on an operation together; he believed them to be aberrations, creatures that had no right to exist in the world. His encounter with Lord Dante had not improved his opinion of them, and he had still not forgiven Larissa for wasting their time during the search for Marie Carpenter, despite Jamie’s repeated pleas for him to do so.

“She seems happy,” he said, as brightly as he was able. “So maybe it is.”

Frankenstein stared at Jamie with his misshapen, multicoloured eyes, his gaze heavy and unblinking, and momentarily full of warning. “What about your other friend?” he asked. “The girl from Lindisfarne? Kate, was it?”

“She’s fine,” said Jamie, grateful for the new topic of conversation. “She’s getting stuck into this new project she’s running with Paul Turner. I hardly see her at the moment.”

“That’s life inside the Department,” said Frankenstein. “There’s always something going on.”

“Tell me about it,” said Jamie. “I’ve just come from a Zero Hour briefing. You’re not going to believe what—”

“I don’t want to know,” interrupted the monster.

“I know, but—”

“Jamie,” said Frankenstein, his voice like thunder. “We’ve been through this before. Cal offered me a place on the Zero Hour Task Force and I turned it down. You know that. I don’t understand why you find it so difficult to respect my decision.”

They looked at one another for a long, silent moment.

“You’re still on the inactive list,” said Jamie, eventually. It was a statement rather than a question.

“That’s correct,” replied Frankenstein.

“Why?”

“I would have thought that was obvious. I’m dangerous. I’m of no Operational use to anyone.”

“You’re dangerous three days of the month,” said Jamie. “And I’m obviously not suggesting you go out during them. But the rest of the time—”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted Frankenstein. “As always, I’m curious as to why you think this is any of your business?”

Jamie felt his face fill with angry heat. “I’ll tell you why it’s my business,” he said. “It’s my business because I risked my life, and the lives of four other people, to drag you out of that theatre in Paris and bring you home safe. That’s why.”

“Why did you do it, though?” asked Frankenstein. “Why did you risk so much to rescue me?”

“Why?” asked Jamie, leaning forward in his chair. “What the hell do you mean, why? Because we’re on the same side. Because I thought we were friends. Because I didn’t want you to die. Take your pick from any of those. Dante would have killed you if we hadn’t got there when we did, and now all you can do is drink whisky and ask me stupid questions? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re lying to yourself, Jamie,” said Frankenstein. The monster’s tone was even, maddeningly so. “Why did you rescue me?”

“Because what happened to you was my fault,” shouted Jamie. “If I hadn’t listened to Tom Morris, then everything on Lindisfarne would have happened differently. You wouldn’t have fallen, or been bitten, or lost your memory. So when we found out you were still alive, I couldn’t let you die, OK? I had to find you and bring you home. Do you understand? I had to.”

Frankenstein smiled at him, an open expression that seemed full of genuine warmth. “I know, Jamie,” he said, his voice low. “And if you think I don’t appreciate what you did, then you’re sorely mistaken, I promise you. I owe you my life, truly I do. But we both know why you did what you did. Because you felt guilty, because you believed that rescuing me would atone for the mistake you believe you made last year. Which, as I’ve tried to tell you a thousand times, was never your fault in the first place. Bad things happen, Jamie. They do. You trusted a senior Operator that you had no reason not to and things went wrong. You blamed yourself and I understand that. But you rescued me, you brought me home, and now you can put down that weight you’ve been carrying around with you since I fell. I meant it when I said I owed you my life, Jamie. But that doesn’t mean you get to tell me how to live the rest of it.”

Jamie felt his anger dissipate, and slumped back into his chair.

“I get it,” he said. “I get how bad Paris was. I mean, I don’t really, but I can guess.”

“It’s not just Paris,” said Frankenstein. “Dante, Latour, they’re only part of it.”

“So what is it?” asked Jamie.

“It’s impossible for you to understand,” said Frankenstein. “I’d buried so many of the things I’ve done, buried them so deeply that I’d been able to convince myself that maybe I wasn’t the monster everyone claimed, that maybe the good I’ve done could outweigh the bad. But it can’t. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Why not?” said Jamie. “Why shouldn’t it?”

“Because it doesn’t. You can never truly bury the past. I thought I had and, when it all came back to me, it was like experiencing it all again for the first time. It was like having my soul torn to pieces in front of me. I don’t expect you to feel sorry for me, Jamie, or pity me. But I need you to understand that I can’t go back out there. I just can’t.”

Jamie felt his heart go out to the huge grey-green man, who had once sworn a solemn oath to protect the Carpenter family. It was obvious to him what the missing word in Frankenstein’s explanation had been.

He’s ashamed. Of the things he did. Of himself.

“The thing you don’t want to know about is big,” Jamie said. “There’s a new type of vamp out there. Really strong. Really fast. Angela Darcy’s squad took one down last night and two of them ended up in the infirmary, so I’m going to say this for the last time. We could really use your help out there.”

“I’m sorry,” replied Frankenstein. “I can’t. What about you? Are you going out?”

Jamie checked his console. “In just over an hour,” he replied. “The entire active roster is going out today or tonight.”

“You’re taking your rookies?”

He nodded. “Holmwood has temporarily activated all the trainees. They go back to the Playground as soon as this is dealt with, but as of right now, they’re officially Operators.”

Frankenstein poured himself another glass of whisky. “Are they ready?” he asked.

“No,” said Jamie, honestly. “But I think they’ll do OK. And, to be honest, they’re going to have to. This is pretty much the definition of in at the deep end.”

The monster took a sip of his drink. “Keep a close eye on them.”

Jamie forced a laugh. “Both of them are older than me; one was some kind of SIS assassin and the other was a Para on the verge of SAS selection. I’m hoping they’re going to keep an eye on me.”

Frankenstein put his drink down and leant forward.

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice rumbling like an earthquake. “I don’t care what they did, where they did it, or for how long. They’ve never seen the things that you and I have seen. So I’ll say it again: keep a close eye on them. Do you hear me?”

“Yeah,” replied Jamie. “OK, sure, I hear you. I’ll be careful.”

Frankenstein sat back. “I’m sure you’ll try,” he said. For a brief moment, his eyes seemed to sparkle with laughter and Jamie felt the atmosphere in the room lift. “Now let’s talk about something less gloomy. How is Matt enjoying being asked to save the world?”

Jamie opened his mouth to answer, then felt his console vibrate once in its loop in his belt. It was the alarm he had set for himself, to make sure he had enough time to do everything he wanted to do before meeting up with his squad.

“Matt’s fine,” he replied, standing up. “I’ll tell you next time, I promise.”

“You have to leave?”

“I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I thought you weren’t heading out for an hour?”

“I’m sorry,” repeated Jamie, noting the expression of sadness that had flickered across the monster’s face. “I’ll come down tomorrow, OK?”

“All right,” replied Frankenstein. “Good luck with the op. Be careful. And remember what you promised me. Stay away—”

“I know,” interrupted Jamie, a smile breaking out across his face. “I know what I promised you. You remind me every time I see you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right,” said Frankenstein, the sad ghost of a smile on his face. “Tomorrow.”

“Really?” asked Valentin Rusmanov, placing two cups of tea on the low table that sat in the middle of his cell. “That’s really what he made you promise?”

“Stay away from Valentin,” said Jamie, grinning. “He reminds me every time I see him.”

“How perfectly lovely,” replied Valentin, settling easily on to the chaise longue that stood against one of cell’s bare concrete walls. “Under normal circumstances I would not consider myself easily flattered, but I must confess it gives me a rather warm feeling to know that the monster considers me worthy of such warnings. Has he explained why you should stay away from me?”

“He says you can’t be trusted,” replied Jamie, sipping his tea. “He doesn’t believe your reasons for being here.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t really blame him for that,” said Valentin. “Although I am glad you choose to ignore his warnings. And I do rather resent his hypocrisy.”

“What do you mean?” asked Jamie, glancing round the cell as he spoke.

Lamberton, Valentin’s long-serving butler, was in his own cell next door, but was liable to appear at any moment. The ancient vampires could pass through the UV walls that were supposed to contain them with casual ease, and did so whenever they chose to. Jamie assumed that Lamberton was providing the illusion of privacy while his master spoke with his guest, although he knew full well that the servant would have been able to hear every word from a far greater distance than the neighbouring cell.

Several items had been added to the room since Valentin had arrived at the Loop, offering to help Blacklight defeat both his former master and his older brother. The elegant chaise longue, the rosewood coffee table, the matching pair of green leather chairs: all were new additions. Jamie didn’t know where they had come from; they were presumably the result of discussions between Valentin and Cal Holmwood, discussions that Jamie would have loved the opportunity to listen in on.

The vampire was still a deeply polarising figure within the Department, even after his actions during his brother’s attack on the Loop. He had fought Valeri to a standstill in front of everyone, and had given his own blood to help Larissa in the moments before the base’s final defence mechanism, a ring of incredibly powerful ultraviolet bombs, had reduced them both to little more than burnt husks.

But to many Operators, he was still nothing more than a vampire, an old and incredibly dangerous one; he had been turned by Dracula himself and they simply could not bring themselves to believe that he was truly on their side. Some act of betrayal was widely expected, and the prospect contributed greatly to the oppressive air of anxiety within the Department for a very good reason: no one inside Blacklight was remotely confident of stopping Valentin if he decided to turn on them.

Jamie was unsure of his own feelings regarding the ancient vampire. Valentin was unquestionably a provocateur, and it was not in his nature to provide reassurance; he had refused all requests for some form of collateral to back up his words, whether it be wearing a limiter belt, allowing the insertion of a locator chip, or anything else. He maintained that his word should be sufficient, taking great delight, Jamie was quite sure, in the knowledge that there was no good reason for it to be. But he had fed Larissa his own blood after Valeri pulled her throat out, and for that Jamie would always be grateful. He wasn’t stupid; he knew it was highly likely that Valentin had merely seen an opportunity to increase his standing within the Department. But there were so many potential levels of bluff, double bluff and counter bluff that it would never be possible to know why he had done what he did with any degree of certainty. Jamie had decided simply to take Valentin at face value, while never lowering his guard for a second or letting his hand drift too far from the grip of his T-Bone.

Doing so had proved easier than expected, because above and behind and beyond all the rational analysis of the situation lay a simple truth, a truth that it would have broken Frankenstein’s heart to hear.

Jamie liked Valentin.

He liked him a lot.

The vampire was supernaturally full of life: cheerful, arrogant, funny, and endlessly charming. His appetite for the world around him was infectious, even though it had led him to commit atrocities that turned Jamie’s stomach, and he found his spirits lifted merely by being in the vampire’s presence. The same, he noted with a mixture of sadness or guilt, could not be said of Frankenstein.

“The monster has done things over the course of his long life that even I would have thought twice about,” replied Valentin. “I know he’s a loyal little Blacklight puppy now, but he wasn’t always so tediously wholesome. So for him to judge me seems rather hypocritical. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I don’t know,” replied Jamie. “He regrets the things he did. You don’t. Isn’t that a pretty big difference?”

Valentin smiled broadly. “Touché, Mr Carpenter. But answer me this. Do his regrets undo any of the pain he caused?”

Jamie shook his head.

“Quite right,” said Valentin. “Regrets and guilt and self-flagellation are all well and good, but they cannot change what has already happened. A murderer may find God in prison, or undergo therapy and come to regret his crimes. It may well mean he never kills again. But it won’t bring his victims back to life.”

“True,” said Jamie. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

“The alternative, in this case, being me?”

“That’s right.”

“I suppose from your perspective that’s true,” said Valentin. “From mine, there is nothing more cowardly than pretending to be something you are not. If the day comes when someone puts a stake through my heart to punish me for the things I’ve done, I will bear them no ill will. By the standards of what passes for morality in this day and age, I’ll deserve it, for having lived my life as I chose. Which is why it frustrates me to know that your superiors still cannot bring themselves to trust me. I have never claimed to be anything other than that which I am, and I have no intention of starting now. Can you see why it annoys me so?”

“I can,” said Jamie. “But if it surprises you, then you’re nowhere near as clever as you think you are.”

There was a moment’s silence, before the ancient vampire burst out laughing and Jamie joined in. The joke had been risky, but he believed he had acquired a pretty good feel for Valentin’s boundaries, such as they were, and had been reasonably confident of getting away with it.

“I do enjoy talking to you, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin, once their laughter had faded. “There is more life in you than in a dozen of your black-suited friends.”

“Thanks,” said Jamie, smiling broadly.

I like talking to you too. I look forward to coming down here.

“You’re most welcome,” said Valentin. “So. What’s currently occupying your time, Mr Carpenter?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” replied Jamie. “Although I’m sure you know.”

Valentin smiled. “I do hear the occasional murmur, even all the way down here. Emptying the jails was a clever move on my former master’s part. Very clever indeed.”

“You think it came from Dracula?” asked Jamie. “Not Valeri?”

Valentin snorted. “Please,” he said, his voice thick with contempt. “Although getting others to fight instead of him does indeed sound like the work of my dear brother, this is too bold, too smart a move for his tiny little brain to have devised. This is Dracula beginning to assert himself, I’m sorry to say.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Jamie, and sighed, deeply.

“I hear the escaped vampires are unusually powerful. How perplexing.”

Jamie narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about it?” he said.

“Nothing,” said the ancient vampire, with a glint in his eye that Jamie didn’t like. “Absolutely nothing. I assume you and your colleagues are no closer to locating my former master?”

“You know I—”

“Can’t tell me, yes, of course,” interrupted Valentin. “So I will just assume that’s the case, and you need neither confirm nor deny. Which is a shame, especially given that I’ve told your superiors on a great many occasions that there is a solution to your problem.”

Jamie sat forward in his chair. “What solution?”

“Me, Mr Carpenter,” said Valentin. “Sorry, I rather assumed that would have been obvious. I can find them.”

“How?”

“I know the dark corners where my brother hides. I know the men and women with whom he associates. I can extract information from people who would not even tell you their names. And more than that, I can feel them. We’re linked, by blood. I can find them, but I am not allowed to do so.”

“Why not?” asked Jamie.

“Your superiors do not trust me, Mr Carpenter, as I have lamented so many times. They believe that my being here is a ruse, a sham of some kind, and that if they allow me to leave, I will return to my brother and my former master and tell them everything I know about this place and its inhabitants.”

“That’s stupid,” said Jamie. “What could you tell them that they haven’t already got from Valeri’s spies? We barely survived his attack as it is.”

Valentin raised his hands and spread them wide. “I’ve made that point quite vociferously,” he replied. “Unfortunately, they are less capable than you of seeing the simple logic of the matter. So here I remain, unable to help, and getting more and more bored with each day that passes.”

Jamie considered the stupidity of the situation that had just been described to him. “Can’t you just go?” he said, eventually. “Do you really need their permission to leave?”

“My dear Mr Carpenter,” replied Valentin. “I’m flattered by your faith in my abilities, I truly am. And yes, I probably could make my way out, if it became necessary to do so. But once out of this cell, there are only two options: break through the airlock and fight my way to the surface, or dig through several hundred metres of concrete and earth. Either one would likely involve killing the majority of the men and women in this base, which is not a prospect that particularly appeals to me.”

“I’ll talk to them,” said Jamie.

“I’m sure you will, Mr Carpenter. As always, you have my gratitude.”

“Cool,” said Jamie. He was dimly aware of the fact that Valentin had not actually asked him to do anything, that he had, in fact, volunteered to speak to his superiors on the vampire’s behalf, but he pushed the thought aside. What he had said made sense, surely anyone could see that?

His console vibrated against his hip; he reached down and dismissed the alarm again.

“Time for work?” asked Valentin.

“Almost,” said Jamie, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“Those newly-turned vampires aren’t going to destroy themselves, are they?”

“I doubt it,” replied Jamie, a smile rising on to his face.

“That’s a real shame,” said Valentin, and stood up. “It’s been a pleasure to see you, Jamie, as always.” The vampire extended his hand and he shook it with a thick band of confusion rippling through his head. It was how he always felt when he left Valentin’s cell, as though he had somehow only heard half of the conversation, that what was actually important had taken place without him noticing.

“You too,” he said.

Valentin smiled a final time, then floated back on to the chaise longue and opened the battered paperback copy of The Count of Monte Cristo that had been lying on the coffee table.

Jamie watched him for a second or two, then walked through the UV wall, feeling the familiar tingle on his skin. He turned to his right and walked quickly towards the cell at the end of the block.

It was always a strange moment for Jamie when he stepped out in front of the UV wall that enclosed the square room his mother now called home.

The warm, comfortable space she had made was in such stark contrast to the austere grey concrete of the other cells that it always made him want to laugh. Marie Carpenter was standing in the middle of the spotlessly neat room, smiling nervously at him as he appeared. He walked through the ultraviolet barrier, hugged her, and felt her reach carefully around him and link her arms at his back. This too made him want to laugh; his mother was so worried about accidentally hurting him with her vampire strength that she held him as though he was made of glass.

“How are you, Mum?” he said, pulling back. “Everything OK?”

“Everything’s fine,” she said. As they always did, her eyes flicked to the scar on his neck. “How are you, love?”

“Surviving,” replied Jamie, smiling at her. She frowned, and he instantly regretted the small joke. “I’m fine, Mum,” he said. “I’m all right.”

“Good,” she said. “That’s good.”

They stood, looking at each other, for a long moment.

“I might sit down, Mum,” said Jamie, eventually. “What do you think?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, sit down. Definitely. Would you like tea?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” he replied, and flopped down on to the brown leather sofa that had stood for years in the living room of their house in Kent.

“Sorry,” said Marie. “I forgot you just had one.”

Jamie looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “You heard me talking to Valentin.”

“I wasn’t listening,” she said, quickly. “Not on purpose. I couldn’t help overhearing.”

“It’s OK, Mum,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

“Do you want something else?” she asked, eagerly. “I’ve got some biscuits.”

“I’m fine, Mum, honestly. I can’t stay long.”

Her face fell. “Are you going on a mission?” she asked.

Yet again, Jamie fought back the urge to laugh. It was ludicrous to hear his mother talking about missions, although no more ludicrous than the fact that she was now a vampire, the result of Alexandru Rusmanov’s last attempt to hurt the Carpenter family, or the fact that she had fought against Valeri’s army during the attack on the Loop, committing acts of violence that were so out of keeping with her gentle nature.

“I am,” he replied. “I can’t tell you what it is, though.”

“Is it dangerous?” she asked, nervously, holding a packet of Rich Tea biscuits in her hand.

“They all are, Mum,” he replied. “Forget the biscuits. Come and sit down.”

She nodded, replaced the packet on the table that had once stood in their kitchen, and sat down next to him on the sofa.

“Are you OK?” he asked. “Have you got everything you need?”

She nodded.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll come down and see you tomorrow, OK? I promise.”

“You said that two days ago,” she replied. “And the day before that too.”

Jamie felt heat rise in his cheeks. But this was not the anger that had filled him as he talked to Frankenstein; this was the dull bloom of shame. He had promised his mum he would come and see her two days ago, and the day before that, and a great many days before that as well. Somehow it always slipped his mind; things happened, and he forgot. She never complained, or made him feel bad about it; she had never even mentioned it, until now.

“I know,” he said, softly. “And I’m sorry. It just… gets a bit crazy up there sometimes.”

There was a long moment of silence. The expression on his mother’s face made Jamie want to cry; it was so full of unconditional love.

No matter how often I let her down, he thought. She always forgives me. I don’t deserve her.

“Do you ever get scared?” asked Marie, her tone gentle. “It’s OK if you don’t want to tell me.”

The question cut right through him. He considered lying to his mother, but quickly decided against it; he had promised himself that he wouldn’t, regardless of what it might mean he had to tell her.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Not usually. But right now…”

Marie frowned. “I heard you and Valentin talking about some new vampires. Are they worse than the usual ones?”

“I haven’t seen them in the flesh,” replied Jamie. “But yes, it sounds like they’re pretty bad.”

“Do you have to go?” she asked.

Jamie nodded.

“Can’t somebody else deal with them? Why does it always have to be you?”

“It’s not just me, Mum. Everybody is going out.”

“It really must be serious,” said Marie. “Promise me you’ll be extra careful?”

Jamie smiled. “Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll come down tomorrow so you can see I’m OK. I promise.”

She smiled at him, and he suddenly felt as though his heart might break. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, love,” she said. “I’m not trying to make your life harder, I’m honestly not. It would just be nice to see you now and again. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry, Mum,” he repeated. “I really am. I’ll come down tomorrow.”

“OK,” she said, squeezing his hand briefly. “I’m sure you will.”

He felt a lump rise in his throat and got to his feet. She floated up with him and he hugged his mother again; she gave him a tight squeeze, then floated off across the cell and began to make tea for herself. Jamie watched her for a moment, his heart aching, then walked away down the corridor.

Marie Carpenter listened as her son’s footsteps echoed away.

When he reached the airlock, she let out the breath she had been holding, a tremulous expulsion of air that was close to a sob. It hurt her to know that Jamie was in danger every day, but what hurt her even more was that she saw him so rarely; she had thought that the only upside to the terrible series of events that had befallen their family would be that she got to spend time with her son, the way they had before Julian had died, leaving her a widow and Jamie a fatherless teenage boy. But he was always busy, and he never came to see her when he said he would, and she tried so hard not to show him how much it hurt her, to not be a burden, or give him anything else to worry about when all he should be concentrating on was keeping himself safe. Sometimes she got so angry with herself; she tried to focus on the fact that he had bigger concerns than coming to see his mum, tried to just be proud of him and support him, but she couldn’t help it.

She missed her son.

“Am I interrupting?”

Marie spun round and saw a tall, strikingly handsome man standing casually on the other side of the ultraviolet barrier. He was dressed in a beautiful dark blue suit and his skin was incredibly pale, almost translucent; it seemed to shimmer beneath the fluorescent lights.

“Of course not, Valentin,” she said, with a wide smile. “It’s lovely to see you, as always.”

The ancient vampire smiled back at her, then slid through the UV barrier as though it was the easiest thing in the world. Marie had tried to do it herself, after the first time Valentin had come to see her, and burned her arm an agonising black. She was quicker now, however, gaining speed and strength with the assistance of her new friend, and she thought the day that she could step safely out of her cell might not be too far away. He appeared at her side, and his proximity made her feel like it always did; as though someone had turned her internal thermostat up by a couple of degrees without warning her.

“Did I hear you mention tea?” he asked, his smile dizzying.

“You did,” she managed. “Go and sit down.”

He stayed where he was for a long moment, then floated gracefully across the cell and settled on to the sofa.

“How was Jamie?” he asked.

Marie smiled at the mention of her son’s name, and started to talk as she set about making the tea.