The Pilgrims of the Damned: A Vampire Thriller, page 6
“Do vampires get jet lag?”
Miles chuckled. “Sort of, but once we’ve had a feed and sleep, we’re usually pretty good to go. It’s why a lot of us sleep on the flight. And why we usually only fly if we can be in darkness when we get to our destination. Should be about ten PM when we reach Boston, so we’re all good on that front.”
“I want to show you Stuart’s house,” Amelia said. “The police have already taken all of the evidence they found, but I think you should see it anyway. We’re going to meet my Detective contact there.”
“When we land?” Miles asked.
“A few hours later,” Amelia said. “I wanted to give you and Church time to acclimatise yourselves to a new city.”
Miles put the call on speaker and got off the bed, stretching as he stood. The fact that all of this had been arranged well in advance of anyone coming to Miles’s home should have annoyed him, but he found the idea of having an actual plan ahead of time to be something of a rarity in his life.
“I’ve been to Boston before,” he said. “Many times over the years. There’s a large vampire population there. New York, Delaware, Virginia, North and South Carolina all have big vampire populations. Goes back across the northern states to Michigan and Minnesota too.”
“I heard there was a large exodus of vampires from America after Maine,” Amelia said.
“Officially?” Miles asked.
“We’re not on the record, we’re just talking.”
“In that case, yes probably,” Miles said. “I can’t tell you the figures, but a lot went north to Canada. By a lot, we’re talking a few thousand. There might be half a million vampires all across the United States, but probably three times that in Canada. Maybe more, I don’t keep track of who does what. You’d have to ask a Justice, or someone from the Assembly Administration.”
“That’s a lot different from the Magistrate numbers,” Amelia said. “They think it’s closer to ten million vampires.”
Miles laughed. “I heard thirty-five million once. I don’t even think there’s anything close to thirty-five million vampires on the planet. If I’m honest, I’d say ten million was probably every vampire who lives right now. Like I said, I don’t know the exact figures.”
“Ten million is a lot,” Amelia said.
“The vast majority of vampires who are turned die within the first century. They are either illegal and are hunted down for doing something awful, or they cross the wrong person at the wrong time. Eight billion people live on this planet. Ten million of them being vampires is just over zero-point-one percent.”
“And now you can add witches to the number of nonhumans,” Amelia said. “Again.”
Miles pulled on a T-shirt and pair of jeans. “I’m happy to know I was wrong about your kind being extinct. How many witches are there?”
“Officially?” Amelia asked.
Miles smiled. “I’m nae on the record either.”
“No idea. Maybe a million, and of those, maybe a hundred thousand know what they’re doing and use magic on a regular basis. From that, maybe ten thousand are someone to keep an eye on.”
“Witches managed to keep a million magic users from the Assembly and human governments,” Miles said. “Impressive.”
“Like I said, only a fraction of those know what they are, and a fraction of those have any real power,” Amelia said.
“So, do you have covens and the like?”
“We do,” Amelia said. “The coven keeps its area clear of problem witches.”
“What if the coven itself is the problem?”
“Then a neighbouring coven deals with it,” Amelia explained. “There are nomadic witches who do any dirty work that needs doing. Removing problem witches, or making sure the authorities find evidence of any human crimes they’ve been involved in. It’s worked that way for centuries.”
“Do you have any contact with other species?”
“Other species?” Amelia asked. “You mean like werewolves?”
“You know of werewolves?” Miles asked.
“Met a few,” Amelia said. “None were exactly fun experiences.”
Werewolves tended to keep to themselves, and for the most part weren’t really a big problem for vampire or human populations. The werewolves usually knew what they were, and they either took steps to ensure that their wolf side wasn’t allowed free rein, or they did something stupid and got killed by werewolves who would rather their species not be front page news.
“You know any?” Amelia continued.
“Werewolves?” Miles asked. “I’ve met a few. They’ve always been pretty chilled out. They don’t hunt the moors at night looking for lost Americans to bite. Werewolves in their beast form don’t hunt humans, just like wolves don’t. There’s easier prey. Although I wouldn’t want one hunting me through the dead of night.”
“I tried to do a story about one a few years back, but couldn’t find her,” Amelia said.
“You know, we could just have this conversation face-to-face,” Miles said. “It’s a little odd chatting while I’m trying to get dressed.”
“Sorry, brain ran away with me,” Amelia said. “Anyway, I’m having food in the restaurant, if you care to join me. The glass here is specially designed to stop UV light.”
“I’ll be down shortly,” Miles said, ending the call. He finished getting dressed, packed up his things, and left the room with Church beside him, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the lift.
The stairwell opened into the large foyer and reception area, which Miles and Church walked through to the restaurant, where they were greeted by a pleasant young man who seemed completely at ease with both vampires and large dogs.
Miles was shown where Amelia was and walked over, taking the seat opposite her. Amelia put down her pen on top of her notebook as a waiter arrived. Miles asked for a pot of coffee, some oat milk, and a bacon sandwich.
“No blood pouch?” Amelia asked, after the waiter walked away. She wore a forest-green hoodie which wasn’t zipped up, revealing the plain white T-shirt beneath.
“I’ll get one at the airport,” Miles said. “They have different vintages there.”
“Is it ever weird ordering blood?”
“No,” Miles said, nodding a thank-you to the waiter who brought over his drink and explained that the sandwich would be a few minutes.
“You were just used to it from the very beginning?”
“We didn’t have blood pouches back when I was turned,” Miles said. “You went out and found someone to drink from. It was a more dangerous time to be a vampire for a host of reasons.”
“Is the oat milk because you can’t eat dairy?” Amelia asked. “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, I just don’t know many vampires, so I’m getting all the questions in.”
“I don’t like milk,” Miles said, then corrected himself. “Actually, that’s nae true, I don’t mind milk, but I prefer not to drink it. For centuries, I’d just suck it up and use milk, or drink tea and coffee black. But now, humans have come out with dairy alternatives. It’s been a bit of a revolution for my coffee drinking.”
“You settled on oat?”
“Is this really the conversation you want to have with a vampire?” Miles asked with a grin, as he poured the milk into the coffee, put in a tablespoon of brown sugar, and started stirring.
“No,” Amelia said. “I just don’t know you. At all. I’ve heard a lot about you from Drest and Charlotte, but I’m trying to get a read on the kind of person you are.”
“And you think that the type of milk I drink might give you that read?” Miles asked, laughing, as his bacon sandwich arrived along with a selection of sauces. Miles selected the brown sauce and opened the sachet. He removed one slice of bread, selecting a piece of bacon and tossing it to Church, who caught it before it touched the ground, after which he poured brown sauce onto the rest of the bacon before taking a bite. “Is the brown sauce a strange thing, too?”
“No, that’s the only sauce that should ever go on bacon,” Amelia said firmly. “Ketchup is disgusting. It’s like eating tomato sugar.”
“On that, we agree,” Miles responded, enjoying his food. “So, what do you want to ask me? Preferably not about food or drink.”
“How bad was Maine?” Amelia said. “Honestly.”
“Oh, it was bad.” Miles sighed, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Humans and vampires spending decades experimenting on the desolate, keeping hundreds of them for testing. And then they got free, and tens of thousands of desolate were created in a few hours. More than a hundred thousand people—human and vampire—were either displaced or killed. I’ve been to war. I’ve seen people die. A lot of people. Some horribly. Some peacefully. No one who died in Maine did so peacefully. If the desolate caught you, you were either turned into a desolate, or you were food. No middle ground. No one was injured and survived. Thousands of people died in the first day. Tens of thousands in the first week. Vampires and humans couldn’t handle the exploding number of desolate.
“I went in about a month after it happened. I was helping to rout out and exterminate the more stubborn desolate populations who had gone north and were being held back by the humans and vampires who had come down from Canada, trying to stop the spread. By this time, New Brunswick was in danger of falling totally, and it felt like we were fighting a losing battle. Thankfully, we managed to stop the horde of desolate and contain them farther south, but not before we lost Maine in its entirety, as well as a portion of New Brunswick.”
“You haven’t been back since the nineties, yes?” Amelia asked.
Miles nodded and finished his cup of coffee, before pouring a second, making sure to get the last dregs out of the coffee pot.
“What do you think of House Idolator’s plans to reestablish Maine?”
“Is this an interview?” Miles asked, pointing to the open notebook.
Amelia closed the notebook. “Sorry. Look, I just want to know what you think about it all. To me, it seems sensible to have a permanently open road from Bangor to Portsmouth.”
“While I agree in principle, I’ve heard about Augusta,” Miles said. “It was overrun with desolate during the breakout. They were mostly destroyed, although there are still some hiding in long abandoned buildings, or trapped underground. At some point, it was declared free of desolate and an expedition—a combination of vampires and humans—was sent to look around. Found no desolate, so a second expedition was sent to see if it was possible to repopulate the area. Only two people of a ten- strong team came back, both humans, both babbling incoherently about giants and desolate.
“After that Augusta was kept an eye on, but no one was sent there. Out of sight, out of mind. There’s the occasional desolate, from what I hear, but mostly it’s a ghost town that creeps everyone out who goes there.”
“No more people screaming about giants?” Amelia asked.
“Can I assume you’d like to go there?”
“I’m not sure that like is the right word,” Amelia said. “And hopefully it won’t be necessary.”
“So we go with the pilgrimage to Bangor, and then we try to figure out where Stuart and his friends have gone, so you can go reclaim a stolen grimoire,” Miles said. “I don’t think he’s going to give it up willingly. You going to kill him for it?”
“I hope not,” Amelia said, although her tone suggested she would do whatever it took.
Miles finished off his bacon sandwich.
“Stuart went there for a reason,” Amelia said. “He’s dying, and from all I’ve heard, desperate for a cure. At this point, the magic might be the only thing keeping him alive. If there’s someone in Maine capable of curing his cancer, they’re not going to do it for free. The kinds of people who would have use for someone who burns a priest and his congregation to death are probably people the witch and vampire world should know about.”
“I can’t disagree with that,” Miles said, unsure if Amelia was withholding something from him. “Tell me about Heather.”
“We met in college,” Amelia said sadly. “She studied at St Andrews near Edinburgh, just like I did. We’ve been friends ever since. Nearly eighteen years now. I went to her wedding when she was twenty-two and married the completely wrong person, I went to her divorce party two years later. She was my friend, Miles. And some fucking asshole took that light from my world.”
“And she thought that Stuart ordered the theft and murder?” Miles said.
“Yes,” Amelia said.
Miles nodded. “I mean, we don’t know for certain that the grimoire that Stuart has is the same one stolen from the murdered witch. And we can’t ask the killer because he’s conveniently dead. I guess we get more answers when we find Stuart.”
Amelia got to her feet. “I’m going to get all of my stuff together and we’ll get the car to the airport. I know vampires don’t have to check in as early as we do, but it would help to make sure we were ready.”
Miles nodded. “I’ll meet you in the foyer in, what, ten minutes?”
“Sounds good,” Amelia said, leaving the restaurant.
Miles paid his bill, thanked the staff, and left with Church beside him. He opened his phone, went to Kentucky on the contacts page, and dialled the number.
“Miles Watson, as I live and do not breathe anymore,” the male voice said, his voice full of warmth.
“Samuel Austin,” Miles said. “You still causing trouble everywhere you go?”
Samuel Austin was a friend of Miles’s from back when the latter worked for House Venator, and the former for House Phalanx. Samuel had gotten into some hot water with his First Lord and had been sent to be a liaison with the humans in America. He’d started work for the FBI not long after and had been a big help in bridging cooperation between the human and vampire worlds.
“For a hundred and fifty years,” he said. “Now, as lovely as this conversation is, I’d like to know why an Assembly Arbiter is calling me on this fine morning.”
“You still up?” Miles asked.
“Miles,” Samuel said, a little more get on with it, in his Kentucky accent.
Miles smiled, enjoying speaking to his old friend. “You know anything about a Stuart Murphy?”
“Should I?” Samuel asked.
“He’s ex-CIA,” Miles said. “Friends with a man by the name of Liam White.”
“Oh, that son of a bitch,” Samuel said. “Him, I know. Why?”
“They’ve killed some people and fled into Maine.”
“Good, let the desolate eat them,” Samuel said.
“Stuart used chaos magic to kill a bunch of people,” Miles explained.
“Witches?” Samuel asked in a tone that suggested it had better not be.
“I thought they were extinct,” Miles said. “Apparently, I was wrong. Did you know they were still around?”
“Not concrete,” Samuel said. “I’ve heard rumours over the years, but they thankfully keep to themselves. What did this one do? And how does it involve you?”
“I’m flying into Boston with a reporter. They killed her friend, Sam. Maybe nae personally, but it sounds like they have reach. Sounds like they’re up to no good, too.”
“Goddamn it, Miles,” Samuel said. “Can’t I never just have a little peace and quiet on my vacation?”
“You on vacation?” Miles asked. “Where’d you go?”
“New York,” Samuel said. “Got tickets for the theatre. You know how long you have to wait before you can see some of these shows? You want me to come up, say hi? Maybe do a little digging on your Stuart friend in the meantime?”
“You still have contacts in the CIA?” Miles asked.
“I still have people who owe me a favour,” Samuel said. “That’s pretty much the same thing. If you played nicer with them humans over there, you might have contacts, too.”
“Aye, but why bother when I have someone with as sparkling a personality as you do to help?”
Samuel’s laugh was deep and full of genuine warmth. “Damn you, Miles, you’re going to get me in trouble. Message me when you land with an address. I’ll see what I can do. Oh, and Miles, Liam is a bad guy. He did some seriously dark stuff that there are no official records of, if you get my meaning.”
“I do,” Miles said. “Thanks, Sam.”
“Be safe, my friend,” Samuel said, ending the call.
Miles pocketed his phone as Amelia walked over to him. “You ready?” she asked.
Miles nodded. “Let’s go fly to Boston.”
Chapter Six
The flight was uneventful, which gave Miles time to read up on what Amelia had found on Stuart Murphy and Liam White. She’d written several notes about Stuart, each of them a scathing indictment of the man, and gave multiple sources and detailed information on his activities as someone for whom violence was second nature. It was a well-written, well-researched piece, and it poured a lot of fuel on a man who didn’t seem that bothered about seeing things on fire.
Her information on Liam White was less detailed but included a few photographs and some information about the time he beat a man half to death in a drug-fuelled need for vengeance over the matter of twenty dollars. None of it was on record, with several mentions by Amelia about how people refused to talk to her about him if there was a chance it would come back on them.
The flight was a pleasant experience, as was getting through the vampire side of passport control, and out to the black BMW i7 that was waiting for them in the nearby underground parking area. The keys had been waiting for them at the manned guard area, along with a note from Charlotte that told Miles the car was to be returned in the same condition it was found in.
“Well, now, this is going to get totalled,” Miles said, rolling his eyes, as he opened the door behind the driver’s side and let Church in, who immediately made herself at home on the burgundy leather seats.
“Because she wrote not to?” Amelia asked.
“I don’t make the rules,” Miles said, closing the door behind Church and opening the driver’s side. He paused. “You want to drive?”
Amelia was already halfway into the car when Miles spoke, and she climbed back out, looking over the roof. “I heard you like to drive.”
