Miss Patience paused just a moment and then slowly turned her head as an unexpected and unwelcome presence appeared next to her. “Good evening, Martin. I trust you are well.”
“This is a salad bar,” Martin said, looking around.
“That is correct.” Miss Patience continued to heap her plate with the salads on display. She added some grated carrot.
“You are a vampire,” Martin said. “Why are you in a salad bar?”
“I do not eat meat,” Miss Patience said. “It is unfeminine.”
“You don’t eat much salad either.” Martin took a plate and glanced over the bar. He took some of the complimentary garlic bread.
“This is not for me.” Miss Patience added a few slices of cucumber. Her hand hovered over the gherkins as she glanced over at the pale man sitting in the corner and then moved over to the pasta.
Martin followed her gaze and sighed. The man was tall and already over slim with a glazed expression. “You’re pushing him too hard.”
“I know what I’m doing.” Miss Patience added some shredded lettuce.
“He needs meat,” Martin said. “And he needs more time. His brain will break soon if you don’t ease off.”
“I believe I already said that I know what I am doing.” Miss Patience added some sliced sweet pepper. “You do not need meat for proper nourishment.”
“You need more than some sprigs of greens,” Martin said. “And he needs meat!”
“The lentil bake that is already on his table is an acceptable substitute. You have been dormant for some time and science has progressed.”
“I’ve seen plenty of theories come and go. He needs something more than this pale stuff.” Martin threw a few bits of pepper on his plate and some olives. “Allow me to join you.”
“And if I say, ‘no’?” Miss Patience turned away from the salads.
“Then you will have to stop me, Patience, and you may find it slightly harder than you think.”
“Only slightly? Your modesty has increased.” Miss Patience started back towards her table.
“I don’t know the effect of the faerie infecting you,” Martin followed her, waving over a waiter and sliding into the seat next to the man.
Miss Patience sat opposite the man. “Dean, this is Martin, who is also an old soul. Martin, this is Dean who is an accountant.” The young man didn’t appear to notice. Instead he helped himself to some of the salad Miss Patience set next to him.
Martin ordered dhal and waited until the waiter was out of earshot before turning to Miss Patience. “You found someone with the same name.”
“It was entirely a coincidence I can assure you.” Miss Patience kept an icy composure. “Dean, please eat heartily.”
Martin watched Dean eating his way through the salad and picking at the lentil bake. “You know this is all wrong, don’t you?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. This person has an affinity with us, a feeling of belonging. It is natural that we occasionally add to our number and, since the loss of Rey and his associates, we are depleted.”
“You have played these stupid, blood sharing games for far too long, Patience.” Martin looked again at the thin man pecking at the edges of his food. When he was young, labourers and farmers worked hard on bread and beans, but this was different. There was no strength in a shred of carrot. “You took too much of Rey and now you and all those who play this are wrapped around with the rubbish from Lord Ragnar’s kingdom. Your presence may even be reinforcing it. Dean only escaped because Rey died before he was pulled back through the Veil. Not this Dean, obviously. What are you going to do when he goes rogue?”
“Your Dean or mine?” Miss Patience sipped the black coffee in front of her.
“The Dean at the White Hart isn’t mine or yours. He belongs to himself. Isn’t that a scary thought? He’s not doing too badly, considering he didn’t want to be a vampire, has no sire to guide him and the woman he loved and betrayed is married to someone else who he’s seeing every day.”
“Those rituals have made us stronger. And I can assure you I am completely unaffected by the elfen forces. I can’t imagine why you would think I would be.”
Martin pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it on top of Miss Patience’s hand before she had a time to react. She recoiled and then stared at the burn mark on her hand as he picked up the small disc. “Since when did vampires react to magnetised iron? It’s quite cool, there’s no garlic, no Holy Water, nothing except a magnet.” He held the disc out to her on the palm of his unharmed hand. When she did not react, he picked up the magnet and pressed it against the back of the wrist of the accountant Dean. Martin was unsurprised when Dean flinched and turned to him, hissing angrily, his fangs visible. He was also unimpressed. “Get him under control, Patience. We can’t have a scene here.”
Miss Patience coaxed her protégé into a calmer state and called for some red wine. She waited under Martin’s unflinching gaze until the waiter had brought a bottle, poured a glass for the accountant and left before turning to face Martin. A tear had slid down her face but she seemed unaware. “What is your advice?”
“Get away from here,” Martin said bluntly. “Put some distance between you and Lord Ragnar’s realm. Take your coven with you. I’ll put pressure on Lord Ragnar to get the realm sorted out and as soon as it is safe I will send word for you to come back to take your place as the head of the vampires of York. You must have contacts elsewhere.”
Miss Patience looked down at the coffee she was cupping in her hands. “The thought of leaving York hurts me. I don’t want to leave.”
“That’s the faerie stuff talking. I know you have friends in Sheffield. Or perhaps you could go over to Buxton. I know there’s a farm just outside which welcomes vampires. You could even go and stay at the Village. Mr Beddoes would sort stuff out for you. You’ll have to deal with this first though.” Martin waved at the accountant who was turning a slice of sweet pepper in his hands. “If the paladin finds out what is going on, you’ll be in trouble.”
“I do not fear a paladin,” Miss Patience said.
“You should. And you should fear what Lord Ragnar would say if he found that you are creating a new member of the coven without permission.”
“Lord Ragnar is not important.” Miss Patience took an infinitesimal sip of the coffee.
“He is damnably important, Patience.” Martin felt a real surge of worry at that. “He’ll rip your head off if you challenge him.”
“I must attend the feast he is planning,” Miss Patience said. “Do I challenge him or obey him?”
“I can make it right with Lord Ragnar,” Martin said. “Just get away. Put some miles between you and the source of infection.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“You do not fear Lord Ragnar,” Miss Patience said, stroking the accountant’s hand.
“I can usually deal with elfen.” Martin shrugged. “Patience – who is this man? What family does he have? Did he have a girlfriend or a wife? He’s old enough to have children – does he? What about his job? What are his dreams? You say he is an accountant, but could he also be an artist or is he someone who lives for numbers? What have you done?”
Miss Patience looked down at the coffee that was cooling in front of her. She shrugged. “He called to us.”
“He has the right name, is the right age and is male,” Martin said. “There are probably dozens like him in York. But none of them are the vampire Dean who is staying at the White Hart, out of your games. If you try and replace him, you are going to get strange echoes. Find someone willing and with their own name if you must. Look at him. I mean, truly look at him. He’s not strong enough for this.” Martin looked between Miss Patience and the accountant who was now daintily nibbling the sweet pepper. “What are you going to do?”
“What can we do?” Patience said. “He either changes or dies. He is too far gone.”
“There are ways back…”
“No, Martin, I have never seen those cures work. It is a cruel, painful and desperate ordeal with little hope of success.” Miss Patience looked at the accountant. He had taken a small sip of wine and was grimacing.
“He’s not going to make the change, Patience,” Martin said. “You went far too fast. Let me try, please. He has little hope otherwise.”
Miss Patience kept her gaze on the accountant. “What if it goes wrong?”
“He dies.” Martin did not try and sugar coat the problem. “But he’s dead anyway if we don’t try. He’s going to break and then there could be a lot of casualties.”
“What will you tell the paladin?” Miss Patience said. “And how will you deal with any police investigation, especially if it goes wrong? The police are remarkably competent these days.”
“Everything is more complicated than the old days,” Martin said. He accepted his dhal from the waiter and waited until he left. “But I’m sure I can manage.” He looked sadly across at the accountant. “I have to.”
Dave stood in the centre of the lounge and looked around critically. He’d done most decorating and handyman jobs, and it had given him a certain insight. He could see the botched plastering underneath the coving, and the floorboards at the door were dodgy, but it didn’t look too bad. “When was it last re-wired?”
The estate agent looked through his notes. He was getting rattled. He was surrounded by three extremely dangerous looking men, one of which kept asking awkward questions about drains and double glazing, and they were ready to spend half a million pounds cash on a property. There had to be something illegal going on. “I’ll have to check with the vendor.”
Sir Ewan looked out of the window and across the lawn. “There is a lot of maintenance here and the hedges hide approaches. I’m not sure we shouldn’t go for a terrace again.”
Darren was looking at the contents of the small bookcase. “There are always security cameras.”
“That depends on the wiring,” Dave said. He squatted down and looked at the outlets. “The faceplates look new enough.”
“Cameras aren’t always secure,” Sir Ewan said. “There is no clear line of sight to the end of the road.”
“When did you last need that line of sight?” Darren tilted his head better to read the book spines. “Someone likes their romance novels.”
“Don’t you have an energy efficiency certificate?” Dave asked the flustered estate agent. “I want to see the attic.”
“Most people don’t want to see the loft on the first inspection.” The estate agent backed towards the door. “But if you follow me.”
Dave followed the estate agent, leaving Darren and Sir Ewan to wander into the kitchen. Sir Ewan looked around. “It’s a nice size, but I’ll let Dave look at the rest of it.”
“It won’t be good enough,” Darren said. “Nothing has been so far.”
“He keeps grumbling about prices,” Sir Ewan said. “The Knights Templar may not be the powerhouses they once were, but we have enough to buy a house.”
Darren ran a critical finger over the top of a kitchen cabinet. “Just get a fixer upper. It can keep him busy once we have sorted out the revenants. You can get Ian Tait in to do the plumbing. He may be a werewolf but he is as honest as they come.” He inspected the dust with disapproval.
“The Order does not normally use non-normals as tradesmen,” Sir Ewan said. He peered out the window. “There really isn’t good visibility. Are you going to Lord Ragnar’s feast?”
“I don’t know,” Darren said. “It is supposed to be for his court, but he’s invited anyone that he thinks will show up. If we don’t go, he will hold it against us forever. But I’m not sure that we should be there. Steve is furious that Fiona is getting dragged into it and Kieran is equally furious that Lord Ragnar is insisting that the ladies of the pack attend.”
“Even Jasmine?” Sir Ewan said.
“Not just Jasmine, but Adele and Jeanette as well.” Darren turned to look back into the hall. “There are a lot of snappy werewolves around. Apparently, the ladies would prefer their craft evening to a feast with Lord Ragnar.”
“I think I’ll call in some extra people.” Sir Ewan looked thoughtful. “I mean, an unstable Prince forcing unwilling subjects to attend an arbitrary feast – what could go wrong? I know stuff will mainly stay within Lord Ragnar’s realm, but it would be a miracle if nothing at all spills out, especially with all this business with darkness in his domain and the revenants.”
“I worry for those in his court,” Darren said. “Fortunately, and I say this with some disbelief, Freydis has been working in the background. She’s arranged for the youngsters to go for an overnight in a big campground near Malton. That’s all the cubs, kitlings, slips and kids. Whatever happens, they will be safe and out of the way and being watched by some safe friends of hers from Hartlepool.”
“Those friends – are they safe for her or safe for the kids?” Sir Ewan asked.
Darren raised an eyebrow. “At the moment the revenants are concentrating on non-normals. The kids will be out of the way and she will enjoy whatever happens, I’m sure.”
Dave clattered down the stairs. “It’s no good. The roof space would have to be totally re-done and I’m not sure about some of those tiles.”
The estate agent trailed after him. “The roof has been inspected and passed.”
Dave grunted. “Inspected by who?”
Darren opened his mouth to correct the grammar and then thought better of it. “I don’t think this is the sort of place we are looking for. Perhaps you can match us up with some properties in need of renovation. That might be a better fit.” He turned to Dave. “You can sort it out yourself.”
Dave looked thoughtful. “That’s not a bad idea. I could hardwire in some security no problem.”
“I think I know the perfect property,” The estate agent said with relief. “In fact, we can have a look now. It’s a challenge, but I’m sure it will repay sympathetic restoration…”
The bar was tucked away in the shadow of York walls and almost impossible to find without a friendly guide or very specific directions. Lord Lothar and Lord Marius had found it without any problems and were drinking a version of ale that would never pass Trading Standards.
“This is remarkably pleasant.” Lord Lothar said, leaning back against the wooden settle. He looked around at the company. Boggarts were playing darts and some goblins in the corner were having a quiet game of dominoes. A brownie was deep in negotiation with a wight about the maintenance of his ruins and the barman was enjoying a conversation with the resident ghost. “I feel quite at home.”
“It is a splendid place.” Lord Marius said. “But that is not why I asked you to join me.”
“You wanted to enjoy malicious gossip, of course.” Lord Lothar’s eyes gleamed. “And there is plenty of it. Who will unseat Lord Ragnar?”
“Strangely, there are but few contenders.” Lord Marius sipped his ale. “Most of those jostling for position were eliminated last year. No contender from outside has prepared quickly enough to move.”
“I admit to not foreseeing Lord Ragnar’s collapse after his divorce,” Lord Lothar said. “At least, I did not expect it to progress with such speed. Freydis played the pretty idiot very well.”
“If someone weds her then their success in claiming the domain is all but guaranteed,” Lord Marius said. “But she remains loyal to Lord Ragnar, quite ridiculously so, and I believe she has been bolstering him behind the scenes.”
“But she was divorced,” Lord Lothar said.
“Indeed,” Lord Marius said. “But she apparently bears no malice. She works serving coffee.”
“So I believe,” Lord Lothar said. “But this cannot continue.” They paused as a werewolf trotted past them in its wolf form, heading for the changing rooms, waiting until it had passed before continuing. “The instability will affect all of us. All domains will soon be affected if we do not deal with this contagion at source. It could come to such a pass that well-meaning princes will have to intervene to protect their own and that will not end well.”
“Both of us could deal with the matter,” Lord Marius said, “And Freydis has expressed willingness to deal with it as well. Lord Ragnar refuses aid.”
“It does not show him as strong,” Lord Lothar said. “I saw Egerton in the street earlier.”
“He has little or no following yet,” Lord Marius said. “If he is wise, he will keep Lord Ragnar in place with unequivocal support until he is strong enough to unseat him.”
Lord Lothar nodded in approval. “A sudden strike from a previously trusted aide will often work.”
“Lord Ragnar does not trust Egerton.” Lord Marius shrugged.
“What of Kadogan?” Lord Lothar asked. “His influence has waxed greatly since he started acting as a merchant.”
“He is loyal to Lord Ragnar as well,” Lord Marius said. “I believe they have a strong bond of mutual assistance. However I have invited someone in who, while not wishing to be king, could well be a kingmaker. You remember Aelfhelm, do you not? He is now calling himself Martin and he is about to enter the bar.”