The Red Slayer

I don’t recall us taking the tunnels home or leaving the lab. By the time I have a firm grasp on reality, I’ve changed into my swimsuit and kicked one of the larger floats into the centre of the pool to lie across. The peaceful blue glow of the pool lights makes looking at the night sky via the glass ceiling a perfect cleanser.

‘Are you going to be all right, Iorwen?’ asks Olga, perched on a smaller float.

I wish I could answer that question, but not even I know the answer.

‘I wonder how Michael Hughes got involved with vampires,’ says Luke, sitting on the side with his legs in the water. ‘You don’t think he is one, do you?’

I scoff. ‘Wouldn’t surprise me. He’s as monstrous as the ones we met back in May—’

Back. In. May.

I sit bolt upright. The float begins drifting away with my movement.

‘What is it?’ asks Dante, stopping in the middle of his length to tread water.

‘In May, when I went back in to confront those vampires. They were on the phone to someone. I couldn’t pin-point the voice then because I was more focused on successful stealth kills…But the voice on that speaker…that was Michael. If he’s a vampire, he may have his own den specialising in male victims.’

The bombshell of my mother’s murder overshadowed the finer details. 'Those vampires wanted to sell you and Luke to him.’ I snap my fingers. ‘They mentioned a “method”. Michael’s working on something and he needs male test subjects.’

‘Should we tell your dad?’ asks Luke.

I nod quickly.

‘Wait!’ says Olga. ‘Then he’ll know we went out when he told us not to.’

‘Better to ask forgiveness than permission,’ says Dante.

That’s not for another half-hour at least. There’s a pattern to these dinners he and Elisa go to, which Luke and I occasionally join in on. The food, made to suit everyone’s needs, is bland and tasteless, the wine on the same pH level as hydrochloric acid. The company at table a gamble. Afterwards, Dad and Elisa will track down the greasiest street food, then hit up a friendly pub with quality spirits. By the time Dad gets home, he’s barely coherent and enjoying a donner kebab. Hangovers will come, but it means a giant breakfast tomorrow.

We’re still in the pool when he gets home and finds us. Ariel has sought us out and paddled to my float to rest her head on my lap.

‘Hello,’ Dad beams. Definitely gin-drunk.

‘Hi,’ we reply in unison.

‘How was your trip out?’ he asks.

The four of us share a look. Is this a trick question?

Dad laughs. ‘It’s okay. I knew you weren’t going to listen. That’s why I put trackers in your masks.’

Olga gasps. ‘You didn’t tell us that.’

He shrugs and pulls up the nearest chair. ‘Sorry. It had to be done. The last time you were left to your own devices, you were captured by vampires.’

‘So you were monitoring us all evening?’ asks Luke.

Dad nods. 'Your mother and I agreed it was best. Plus, it was more amusing than the endless slideshows we had to sit through. Though we noticed you weren’t out long.’

‘We killed a vampire,’ I say as I swim to the side, Ariel following. ‘Well, Luke did.’

Dad sits up, slightly sobered. ‘What? Are you sure?’

‘She fell onto a bit of wood and turned to dust. That usually does the trick.’ I clear my throat. ‘But that’s not all. She…’ I can’t seem to swallow the giant lump in my throat.

Luke picks up the slack. ‘That vampire was working for Michael Hughes.’

***

Dad’s more passionate about tea than the Mad Hatter and Arthur Dent combined. When he breaks out the coffee, shit has gotten real. As of now, he’s on his third cup, and not a drop of has been diluted with milk or sugar. Pure black caffeine.

He slouches in his armchair and rubbing his eyes. I lean forward, prepared to catch his laptop if it slides off his knees. I’d be rubbing my eyes incessantly too if I’d been staring at a screen for the past three hours. He hasn’t moved once while the four of us changed into PJs and joined him in the living room.

Dante stirs from where he’s curled up on one of the sofas. That happens when Ariel chooses you to be her pillow. ‘Any luck?’

Dad shakes his head. ‘Unfortunately, flip-phones aren’t as easy to track as smartphones. And MI5 doesn’t seem to understand that emergencies don’t stick to a nine-to-five schedule. I can’t reach anyone with authority.’

‘Maybe try again in the morning?’ Olga suggests.

‘It’s no use. I’d be better off travelling back in time to this morning when someone could be reached. Best-case scenario, wait until Monday and hope no one asks why I didn’t tell them sooner. Worst-case, my suspicions about Michael Hughes will be dismissed due to bias.’

‘What about Sophia?’ I ask. ‘Surely, she’ll believe you.’

'Sophia, yes. Her bosses, no. The Director of Supernatural Affairs answers to a board of out-of-touch geriatrics. They’re the ones delaying your training. They only give me the time of day because of the weapons I make for them.

I frown, hands clenching in my lap. ‘Then…what can we do? Go after him ourselves?’

Dante is fully alert at the sound of this. ‘Yes! It’ll prove we’re worthy agents.’

‘If we survive,’ says Olga.

‘We’ll survive if we’re clever,’ says Luke.

The three of them look to me. Apparently, my opinion is the one they’ll follow. Does this mean I’m the leader? I hope not.

I shrug. ‘We could sneak into his base of operation once we find it. Then take the information we need on from his computer.’

Dad glances at each of us before closing his laptop. ‘All right, but you must plan this out before running into danger. You can’t always set the building on fire.’

‘No…’ I say slowly, rubbing my hands together. ‘But we could give Michael a little present in exchange for the info. Perhaps a terrible eighties video game?’

Dad raises his eyebrow and grins. ‘The E.T. Virus? Hm…It would be the perfect chance to test it out. But we’ll plan tomorrow. Bed first.’

Reluctantly, we head upstairs. Dante and Luke in the guest room, Olga with me. I stand in the doorway of my bathroom, brushing my teeth while she sits at my dressing table, brushing her hair out once it unravels from its long braid.

‘It’s surreal, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘The moment we start slaying vampires, we run into an evil plot by your uncle.’

I spit into the sink. 'I still can’t believe he’d associate with vampires, or possibly be one. You have to understand, he never had any patience for make-believe stuff. I couldn’t read Earthsea or Chronicles of Narnia without him telling me to grow up. He wouldn’t let his sons watch Disney movies because he thought they girly.’

Olga tosses a long wisp of hair over her shoulder. ‘Hmm, that’d suggest he has something to gain. Profit? Security?’

I spit into the sink again, turn the bathroom light off and get into bed. ‘I’d say profit. When the Hughes family’s abuse was discovered, Michael lost everything. His job, his six-figure salary, and his money had to cover the entire family’s legal fees. Then, just months before trial, my aunt divorced him, which was twice as expensive. He must have joined them after he left prison to rebuild his funds.’

Olga pats me on the shoulder and turns the bedside lamp off. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll work something out. And if he ends up being a hostile vampire, you’re allowed to execute him.’

‘I’ll do worse than that,’ I mutter, staring at the glowing stars on my ceiling. ‘This is the universe telling me I can get revenge for everything he did to me.’

Olga says nothing. Her religious principles preach against revenge; let karmic forces sort the injustice. After all, every action has a consequence, and karma never goes away. But what if I’m the karmic force? Why else would I have a vampire’s strength if they weren’t to be used against evil people like my uncle. The chaos of the universe led me to discovering he was in league with them. That has to mean something. And if that means slaying him, so be it.

I can tell Olga has fallen asleep. Now I’m alone with my thoughts.

I will learn what Michael’s doing and stop him. I will stare into his eyes with all the hatred I was scared to show, and he will fear me.

And they shall call me the Crimson Phantom!

Nah, that sounds like a pirate ship.

The Scarlet Death?

No. I want the vampires to think of me when they hear it. Not Vincent Price.

How about…

The Red Slayer.

© Alice of Sherwood, April 2020