Guildhall Guardian: Thamesian #1 (Thamesians) (9 page)

  "Gioia. Di Terzi."

  "Oh, Latin. Are you a Roman Catholic?"

I thought of the silver cross around my neck "Yes I am."

I had the unpleasant feeling that he saw through me and branded me human cattle.

  "Do you wish to be settled in your apartment, my Lord?" asked Roydon, and I was grateful to return to the background.

  "No thank you. I'll just get back to the grave. I just came to greet you and see that all is right in the Guildhall. How long has it been since the last time, thirty-five, forty years?"

  "It was in 1969, my Lord."

"Awful time the sixties, yes. But it was so easy to find blood then."

*

  Roydon couldn't believe his eyes. Hendry of Lancaster was hunting again.  Hendry was the least favourite of his masters. The youngest and reckless one, his unruly temper naturally clashed with Roydon's need for order and safety.

Hendry seldom complied with the rules. And he was out there now ready to bloody the city and draw attention on them. They did not drink blood, they had the wine for that, but as a full blood vampire Lancaster was entitled and didn't understand the modern ways. Roydon was relieved not to have him in the Guilhall. 

It was one thing to serve him and protect him, another to deal with the most whimsical of his masters under his roof.

  "Be prudent, my Lord. The times have changed and our underworld is much more vulnerable than it was before."

  "Don't be afflicted. I am quenched for some time now."

*

  Before leaving us, the Vampire had bared his teeth for a smile. To me.  I must admit he was almost charming in his spooky way.  I was not getting used to supernatural beings but by now I can say I had passed some tests. I just wished not to face Hendry of Lancaster alone. He had been so ready to drink me, I shivered at the memory of the grave. I could have fallen face to face with him in the dark pit.

I felt like fainting.

  "Hum, why didn't you tell him what's happening?" I asked Roydon dishearteningly.

  "I don't trust him."

  "But you were all my lordy with him, acting like his personal assistant."

  "I am bound to him by the social laws of an archaic world, it doesn't mean I should rely on him. It's the other way around actually. He relies on me."

  "Okay. So it's our own team."

Roydon picked up a jacket from a chair and put it on. Oh my, why was he going all fashion week on me, did he have no mercy?

He had his phone in his hand.

  " You're going to pack up your things Ms. Di Terzi" he commanded.

He had no right to ask me to leave the country.

  "You can't order me around like that."

" You're too involved now. Go fetch your things and you'll be living here now, at least until the date of the auction sale."

What? Oh.

  "It was nice to see this Lancaster vampire has not been stolen yet."

  "You're still thinking of my masters as objects."

  "You are able to put yourself in the collectors's mind. To someone out there, they are."

Roydon eyes were distracted. "Yes, we have to narrow down who."

I stretched myself and yawned, feeling ready to drop asleep any minute.

  "Entering the website is the priority. Wow, I should really get going"

Roydon swiftly picked me up in his arms.

"What?"

"You're tired, I'll drive you home. Just relax." 

Oh Mister Thamesian the things you do to me when you speak like that...

*

  Gioia was asleep, her head against the window. 

Brand had found the time to text him a list of the top ten hunters in possession of British citizenship at the moment, with their possible localization.  He knew a few names among the ten of the list.  Hunters had no business in his Quarter.  They often were after the highest bounties of tracking the oldest vampires, even older than the Lancasters, vampires from the first centuries.

A werewolf, captured alive, was worth its weight in gold for the rarity.

He had done a good job hiding the graves, until the photos that was.

He bloody well knew about the first two names of the list, hunters households names on their own right he was weary of : witch Isolde Perdue and human phenomenon Camden Deemer.

The former, a deadly woman born under the reign of Elizabeth Tudor, now fashion designer and the latter a former MI5 agent bent on killing supernatural beings off the earth.

Roydon was well-aware of the risks. He actually had history with Demeer, after a chance encounter he had left the man very badly wounded. Potential suspect.

And he had his suspicions about Brand having some on and off affair with Isolde Perdue, at his own peril.  How they could make it work and not try to kill each other off was beyond him. Well, the
entire person
of his brother was beyond him.

He rapidly checked the rest of the list:

10.    Clive last name unknown Possible last location:  India

9.  Eden Foster,  Possible last location:  Hackney

8. Kipling Kirk, Possible last location:  Unknown

7. Ishvi Koen, Possible last location:  Northampton

6. Farley Ryuu, Possible last location:  Okney Islands

5. Wira Atkins, Possible last location:  Australia

4. Jasmijn last name unknown  Possible last location:  Amsterdam

3. Alex Thurstan Possible last location:  Unknown

2. Camden Deemer, Possible last location:  Unknown

1. Isolde Perdue, Known last location:  London

They were the ones to make it today, but for the ten of them, how much remained in the shadow, reading to attack all the same?

As the CEO of Perdue Clothing, the witch was the easiest of them to locate or so it seemed, she also worked as an editor for her own fashion magazine,
Hags and Stiches: The Rag Bewitches
and had reduced her hunter's missions to a minimum in the last five years.

Deemer was a perfect fit, vindicated man had who evanesced from their radar, a MI5 man he was perfectly capable of pulling this trick or worse. It even seemed amateur from him.

Roydon stopped before Gioia's house and she said ''There is no way I'm gonna be on time at work tomorrow."

So she hadn"t been really sleeping, the scoundrel.

*

  I was beyond ashamed when I had to wake up Mrs Pickle well after one in the morning to tell her I was taking at least one week off, going to backpack the countryside and maybe visit London. As if it was believable. I hadn't even worked enough to take so much time on leave.

She must have seen through all these pieces of crap for she said with her usual icing of humour '' He drives a nice car. I wish I was forty years younger."

I tried to pack as fast as I could, throwing things into my big travel bag and grabbing my laptop and handbag. Luckily for me I travelled pretty light. I ran to the upstairs bathroom to gather my beauty products and stopped a minute to wonder, what was I doing?

I would be living under the same roof as an hybrid vampire, in a Quarter where being human was not the trend.

More importantly, could I keep going to work and pretend that nothing was going on?

I wished I could just ditch my work as a City Council secretary. But then no money, no England, no nothing anymore. Tough luck.

The Guildhall and its gallery, the private auction, had reignited my passion for Art.

I died for an opportunity to examine the objects sold at auction.  Watch the collectors raise the stakes and frenzy over vampires.

The deadline was fast coming. Three days now. 

I had to stay super sharp for this. Sharper than Hendry's fangs that is.

Living with Roydon Thamesian.

I didn't want to dwell on that. He was a very busy man anyway.  It was not like we were going to be roommates. Much more likely I was his digger on the leash. Or digger for a leech. Just stop the wordplay when this tired.

I peeked Mrs Pickle on the cheek and here I was, carrying my bags boho style and hopping back in Roydon's BMW.

  He couldn't help it, could he? Getting involved with Gioia to the point of recklessness, moving her into the Guildhall.  Putting temptation within his immediate reach. 

She knew too much, she had done too much. She could become the next target and killing her would take much less than a platinum arrow.  He watched her closely as she clutched her handbags, her head dropping under the weight of fatigue.

She didn't have a prudent bone in her body. She looked tired so the bags shadowed the exquisite bone structure of her face.

He would give her the Weaver's Room, the biggest room of the Guildhall and the most remote from his own.

   "My kingdom for a bed." she said with her sultry exhausted voice.

His body twitched as if attuned to the throaty sound she produced.

It was a matter of days. Sure he could fight the pull.  He would just avoid looking straight into her now languid blue eyes.

  The room was really, really nice.

Even if I felt drugged out and my vision was foggy, I could appreciate the suite.

Big bed, tapestries, a full armour, stained glass window. It felt like a dream.

I just had the strength to put on my pajamas and slide under the heavy eiderdown before given in to sleep.

    Fuck, oh fuck!  It was eight thirty in the morning. I was done.

Fifteen minutes to the office if I ran. I crawled out of bed, my hair in disarray. My body was sore. Visiting tombs will kick your ass, ditto.  I ran jumped into my black pants and put my jacket over my tee-shirt.  Brushed my teeth, plaited my hair, just a touch of blush. Badge on. Umbrella in bag. Keys. Oh, yes I was in the Guildhall, my keys were useless now. Breakfast : will grab something on the go.

Worst Monday morning ever. And I have undergone a lot of crappy Mondays.

Moon-day as my colleague's accent called it. Well I hate you Moonday.

I arrived two minutes late. Pretty proud of myself.

No one had noticed. I rapidly went to the bathroom, to fix my appearance.

Thanks Goodness there was no trace left of Gangsta Gioia from last night.

I drank some extra strong Darjeeling tea to get myself going.

I hadn't even seen Roydon this morning. How sentimental of me. What was I thinking? That he would kiss me goodbye before I went to work?

Delusional.

I resisted until the beginning of the afternoon and then gave up all pretense of working to connect myself on the auction webpage. Yep, I was totally guilty of using office hours to further my own interests, but who isn't?

This webpage and its template was maddening. There was no weakness in its design.

At two twenty, feeling utterly helpless, I checked my emails.

Surprise. An email from
[email protected]:

Dear Ms. Di Terzi,

You must be regretting your nightly deed now. What would your colleagues say if they knew how much of a mischief-maker you are?

When you come back from work, don't hesitate to ask Blacksmith, my butler, if you need anything.

Yours

Roydon

I quickly typed back:

Dear defender of the Medieval Quarter

You used your official webmail. I'm impressed.

My colleagues certainly can't know about my secret identity.  Gangsta Gioia that is.

What is yours? Come on, tell me!

Thanks for distracting me from my very 'not'important job.

G.

Immediate answer:

Gangsta Gioia? 

Mine will be RAD Roydon, does it sound streetwise enough for you?

Get back to work, scoundrel. 

I am currently having feedback on our little online riddle.

See ya laters Gangsta G.

R. Roydon

  After a Skype meeting with his new favourite hacker- it seemed he was taking an habit of finding humans ingenious lately- Roydon had gained access to a login web button.  He had also compared the page to Isolde Perdue's trademark design , the match was not conclusive.

However the hacker kid had said that the website was hosted in the UK, in London's outskirts.

Roydon knew the supernatural population rate in London was low.  The vamps typically preferred the privacy of their estate and the discretion of small towns. Not that he was well acquainted with other immortals outside of his own Quarter.  He was closely faithful to the Guild, his two brothers and the 9000 or so inhabitants of the Medieval Quarter.