The Red Slayer

I haven’t forgotten what Dad told us in January about Ferals. Pure vampire. All trace of humanity removed in place of pure bloodlust. To think, the time I spent being Hamlet, discovering my sexuality, dislocating my shoulder and continuously encountering and slaying vampires, Michael was trying to create this monstrosity. Why couldn’t he have been making him making a dirty bomb? That at least would have been someone else’s problem.

‘How can he make a Feral?’ says Luke, cleaning up. ‘You said all methods were destroyed.’

‘Clearly,’ Dad replies, ‘Michael has worked out how to make one.’

Olga releases a pained breath, pressing her palm against her forehead, as if to stop her brain falling out. Dante silently wraps up what’s left of his protein bar, no longer hungry.

Dad continues, ‘Testosterone is the key. Everything from muscle mass to body hair are a result of testosterone. It’s more prominent in men than women, so I’ve come to hypothesise that women can’t become Ferals. Their test subjects have to be male, and reasonably young and healthy.’

Dante arches an eyebrow. ‘What if you’re a trans-woman that’s fully transitioned?’

Dad considers for a moment, ‘Then I suppose you couldn’t be made into a Feral because your anatomy is female.’

‘But if you were still a woman trapped in a man’s body, you could still be a Feral?’

‘Yes.’

I put my hand up. ‘Could a trans-man that’s fully transitioned become a Feral?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Dad. ‘The data doesn’t go that far. As far as we know Michael is only using cis-men as test subjects.’

‘But what does this have to do with turning?’ asks Luke.

‘Remember how turning involves exchanging human blood for vampire like a transfusion? It would seem frequently injecting testosterone into the victim’s body as they lose blood helps them accept foreign blood in their system. By cancelling out their estrogen levels, the immune system doesn’t fight it. Hughes has the full method in the data. God knows how many test subjects he’s gone through to reach it.’

I don’t want to imagine. The image of one victim after another paralyzed and toyed with until they couldn’t take anymore. I swallow the lump in my throat, though it keeps coming back. Could he be making ferals on an assembly line right now?

I sit up with the loudest of gasps, startling everyone else. ‘Hang on…When we were in the Shard, we didn’t see any test subjects. You think they’d lock some in cages overnight.’

‘That’s right,’ says Olga, her voice jumping up three or four pitches. ‘And if Ferals are so dangerous, why would you make one halfway up a skyscraper? You’d think they would want to secure these things.’

‘The Shard isn’t his only base of operations,’ I conclude. ‘He just happened to be calling from there when Dad tracked his phone.’

‘You have a point,’ says Dante. ‘I mean, if your uncle’s goons are kidnapping victims off the streets, how do you conceal taking a body into the Shard?’

Dad chews his cheek lining contemplatively. ‘I’ll dig through the research again and see what I can find. Wherever it is, it’s likely outside of London.’

My eyes switch to Elisa, who smiles kindly at me. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll see your father doesn’t overwork himself. The rest of you should relax. Especially you, Iorwen. Don’t let this ruin Prizegiving.’

I gasp. ‘Shit, I’d forgotten about that. We’d better skip school tomorrow. Prizegiving, should be safe. We have a strict policy on who comes backstage. Is it possible to keep Tara here until tomorrow evening?’

‘We can call Sophia,’ Dad suggests. ‘She can set up an excuse to the school and hopefully reassure Tara’s mother.’

‘Oh, like she cares,’ Tara says from the archway between the living room and kitchen.

The six of us jump, not realising she was there. I can’t help grinning. Like a true actress, she waited for the best cue.

‘I’ll call my dad,’ she continues. ‘He at least gives a toss. Knowing my mother, she’s having martinis with her friends and will pile Mike’s stuff on the pavement in the morning.’

No one responds. I haven’t told my friends how dysfunctional Tara’s life is; it’s never been my place. She examines my costume. The micro-miniskirt has ridden up, exposing a generous portion of thigh. Her eyes travel up to me again, her face losing all emotion.

‘Um…’ says Elisa, ‘We’ll give you some privacy.’ She jumps down from the stool and steers Luke out of the kitchen by the shoulders. Dante follows while Dad and Olga have to be harried. Tara spots Olga’s costume and I watch her jaw clench.

‘Tara…’ I begin, only to find myself speechless.

She sighs. ‘I honestly thought I was dreaming back there. How long have you been dressing like this?’

‘Uh…a week. I made it myself.’

‘I can tell,’ she replies and reaches out to touch my sleeve. ‘What is that? It looks rubbery, but it’s soft.’

‘Dad invented it.’ I stroke the sleeve up and down with admiration. ‘Hard as Kevlar yet soft as nylon.’

‘But why?’ she exclaims, aghast. ’Why are you wearing that? What are you all doing? And why is your uncle involved?’

I take a deep breath and absentmindedly rub my nose. ‘I’m vampire slayer.’

She stares open-mouthed. She’d like to deny it, but after what she’s seen, she cannot.

‘Of course. Let me guess, you’re the latest in a long line with special abilities that let you defeat vampires? Do you have a favourite stake?’

I scoff. ‘Look, I’m being honest with you, you don’t have to be sarcastic.’

‘But you’ve kept this secret from me. What else don’t I know about you?’

Silence.

I make her sit on the kitchen stool so she won’t collapse onto anything. I tell her everything; from the night I slew my first vampire, to finding Dad’s laboratory, the vampire club and their trafficked victims, MI5 and discovering Michael’s plan. Every time something new comes up, Tara sits forward to interrupt me, but I soon cut her off.

‘…And now, my uncle, your stepdad, is creating a vampire so dangerous, it could rip through Central London in a matter of days. Ferals are super illegal, you know. The United Nations would hang, draw and quarter him.’

Tara leans back against the counter as the information washes over her. ‘Is that everything? The whole story?’

I hesitate and quickly add, ‘The day the four of us found the club, I ate two beef burgers.’

Tara’s mouth, that was gaping through my recollection, snaps shut and she scowls. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. I was eating my feelings and I didn’t consider the poor slaughtered cows.’

She shakes her head and lets out another sigh. ‘Who else knows about this?’

‘No one, except for a few people in MI5. Sophia McIntyre thinks Luke, Olga, Dante and I have real potential to become agents—’

‘And you’re going to?’

‘I have to. People are being murdered and violated because of a corrupt elite They’re parasites. They’ll rip families apart, just like they did mine.’

‘What?’

‘Vampires murdered my mother.’

Tara’s judging gaze vanishes. Her rage disappears with a single exhale. My body, suddenly heavy with emotion, heaves up onto the stool next to her.

‘I used to think her death was an accident,’ I confess, staring at my hands in my lap. ‘But knowing someone deliberately took her away is reason enough to stop hostiles doing the same to other families.’

‘But what if you get killed,’ she says, her hand reaches across the gap between us to hold my wrist.

‘There’s always the danger…But it’s like joining the army. Everyone who enlists knows there’s a chance they’ll be shot in the field rather than die surrounded by their loved ones. And just like soldiers, I have a sense of duty I can’t ignore.’

Tara doesn’t say anything else. She eats the food Dad left out and I offer my own en-suite for her to take a shower. She heads upstairs and I leave out some pyjamas.

The moment she shuts herself in and I hear the water running, I hurry back downstairs, vaulting over the bannister to reach the lab quicker. find everyone gathered around the computer desk. In the last day, four identical office chairs have been brought in and each one is occupied.

Luke swivels around to see me. ‘Is Tara okay?’

‘She’s not happy,’ I reply. ‘Then again, I was hardly over the moon when I found out vampires existed.’

I pull up a stool and gaze up at the screens. One listing the endless files of the data we stole, one showing the footage Olga captured of Michael’s headquarters. Another screen shows a map of London zoomed out so far you can only see the river and blobs of grey and green. The fourth screen is blank, while the fifth is divided into four CCTV recordings of the outside of the house: the front door, back door, front gates and the street. We’ve always had surveillance outside the house, though we’ve never been burgled.

Sophia’s face suddenly appears in the blank screen. ‘Sorry to bother you on a Sunday,’ Dad tells her and fills her in. The cool and calm face I’ve come to associate her with flickers with surprise once the word Feral is uttered.

‘Do you want the four of us to arrest Michael?’ I ask her.

Sophia shakes her head and gives me a kind smile. ‘You and your friends have done more than enough to gather evidence. We will take the apprehension of Michael Hughes from here. Thank you.’

The four of us release a huge sigh. Not that this hasn’t been fun, but I’d rather not reopen personal wounds next time I fight vampires. Elisa grins and jumps to her feet. ‘In that case, I will take Dante and Olga home now.’

I also stand up. ‘I’ll get back to Tara before she wonders where we’ve gone.’

‘She’s in the garden,’ says Dante, pointing to the surveillance screens. He’s right. Tara, in the very pyjamas I leant her has stepped out into view of the surveillance camera. The blue glow from the pool within illuminates her. She looks about curiously, stepping from the stone terrace onto the dark, unlit lawn.

Seconds later, she’s rushing back to the house, terror spread across her face, when a pair of arms, just offscreen, seize her around the waist and pull her into the dark.

I bolt to the elevator before anyone can follow. I sprint through the workshop, taking the cellar steps two at a time. It’s quicker to swim across the pool than run around the side. Ariel is jumping up at the glass door, barking madly. We run into the garden together.

But no one’s there. Not even a threatening note from the assailant. Ariel runs to the swinging garden gate, still barking. We follow the back alley to the street again, hoping to find a getaway vehicle.

Nothing. I drop to my knees. She’s gone.

© Alice of Sherwood, June 2020