Young Writers Society

Chapter Eighteen

Messengers from the House on the Hill

Evian clasped his hands behind his neck and sucked in a deep breath. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but his posture was rigid, his stance attentive. The town hall stood on the opposite side of the road. From his perch on the pavement, Evian could see, clearly, the narrow oblong of light that hinted at the presence of occupants within the building. It had been ten minutes since Josiah, the mayor's short, beady-eyed secretary had disappeared inside.

'Wait here,' he had said jerkily, 'while I alert the guests of your arrival—urgent, very urgent, this is, but it would be rude for you to interrupt a discussion.' He had looked shifty, his persona much less intimidating than when he had banged at Evian's door.

Evian had simply nodded at him. 'Hope it won't take long,' he had told Josiah nervously. 'Wife's waiting at home.'

'It won't.' And with that, Josiah had left him to the company of the silent night.

Now, however, Evian was growing impatient. The merest slit of light that escaped from the heavily curtained window showed no sign of widening. It mocked him, and he wondered what on earth could have possessed the Vampire Council to want to see him. Whatever it was, though, Evian thought, fingering the thin slip of paper that hung like a pendant around his neck, he could have bet his socks it was important.

He looked at the watch he had strapped around his wrist before he had left. It was nearing midnight.

He paced the street in front of the town hall. It was an ugly building with few windows, a hunk of rock that reminded Evian of someone kneeling on the ground in pain—submitting, he thought, to the force of the law. It was most apt, in that sense. He couldn't help wondering, though, what the architect had had in mind when he had designed the building. It stood out like a dragon amidst a flock of rentai—a stout, intimidating creature set in stark contrast to a medley of slighter, more streamlined-looking ones. Arrowroad consisted of simple, but tasteful, houses, with pillars and whitewashed walls. They always carried that distinct feeling of warmth around them, coupled with an unnerving sense of aristocracy in a place that did not require it.

Evian felt glad that his first apprenticeship, after coming back from seas, had been at Arrowroad. The man whom he had worked with at the Reference centre, Jenkins, had died years ago. But he had taught Evian some of the most important lessons of his life--numerous lessons, some Evian had already forgotten, and some he was determined to never forget. It was Jenkins who had taught him how to read and write, the art of constructing buildings with nothing but words. Jenkins had been family when Evian had come back to none, and he alone of all the sceptical Arrowroad folk had accepted Evian's story for what it was. The truth.

Evian rubbed his arms as a cold wind cackled through the street. His eyes fell, for what seemed to be the umpteenth time in ten minutes, on the Reference centre. The window was covered over with black paper. The sign was faded, the lettering obscured by rude words the lads had probably scribbled over it on a dare. The young didn't have any respect for tombs, Evian thought sadly. Because that was what the Reference centre was now. And what he feared it always would be, without Jenkins to care for it.

The sky was as black as pitch, but fading to a deep violet nearer the horizon, where the gas lamps bit into it with bright fangs of light. Stars dusted the sky in patterns that reminded Evian of rope-ladders; they appeared to reach down and skim the rooftops of the small, neat houses. He sighed again. It was late. He had meant to have left Arrowroad by now. He fidgeted, drumming his fingers against his thigh. Nervously, he looked over his shoulder, at the town hall. When Josiah had informed him who the guests were, he had been a mixture of very frightened and very curious. He was certain that to have come here was not the smartest thing for him to have done, yet he could not think badly of them. They had sought him out, hadn't they? Vampire nobility was not wont to do that, these days, especially if seeking him meant coming to one of the smaller, more-obscure towns like Arrowroad.

It was quiet. There was no one outside. If there had been, he could have told them to deliver a message to Edith—tell her not to worry.... But there wasn't. And the longer Evian stood outside, the more skittish he became, until the softest sound was like an Inspektor's whistle. He made his decision in seconds.

Squaring his shoulders, he marched resolutely up to the double doors and knocked.

'Please—I'm here,' he said clearly, through the keyhole. He pressed an ear to the door, listening closely for any noise that might hint at activity inside. There was none. 'I've been here for a while, waiting...' he said, trailing off when he realised how effectively useless talking was. He turned the doorknob and walked into a fancy main hall, decked with marble and completely empty, aside from a few polished tables that had been placed at equal distances along the wall. Evian had been inside the town hall before, so he knew exactly where the conference room was.

With purpose in his stride, he easily manoeuvred through the corridors, halting when he reached the right room. Tugging at his coat collar and patting down at the sleeves, he rapped smartly at the door.

The person who opened the door was not Josiah, but someone Evian had hardly been expecting to run into so soon—and that, too, at Arrowroad.

Evian gaped at the man unabashedly, his mouth falling open. It took him a minute or two to find his voice; it had abandoned his voice box and was now cartwheeling through his body as if seeking an easier escape in silence. The man, meanwhile, gazed at him in an almost-bored way, but an obvious amusement lit up his features. Then, slowly, his face broke out into a half-smile. On anyone else but a vampire, the expression he wore could have been mistaken for derision ... but on a vampire, and a classically handsome vampire at that, the expression conveyed anything but scorn.

It was the traditional half-smile of welcome.

'I was wondering when you would come inside,' the vampire said. 'Watching someone pace only so many times can get ... boring.'

'I wasn't—I mean,' Evian choked. 'You work for Vampire nobility?' he asked.

The taller man gave a quiet laugh. 'I am nobility!' he said. 'Do you remember our little conversation back in Syti?'

Evian bit down on his lip. After his last meeting with the vampires, he was determined not to be pushed around by them. They couldn't hurt him—wouldn’t hurt him—because it was obvious that they required something from him. Warning bells jangled in his head. He phrased his next reply carefully.

'There was very little talking, from what I remember,' he said coolly, 'and more ransacking of my thoughts.'

The vampire stared at Evian as if he was an interesting sample of rentai muck. Evian tried not to fidget. Then, the vampire continued: 'Since we did not have the pleasure of being properly introduced...' He held out a hand. 'I am Aidan. I asked for you to come to the House on the Hill?' When Evian nodded, he asked, with more urgency, 'Did you find the girl? A—ah, refresher for you memory.' He grinned, revealing fangs that touched his lower lip.

'I didn't find her,' Evian lied through his teeth. 'But I was told you wanted to see me.'

'I do,' Aidan said, 'as does my friend.' He opened the door wider, then nodded at Evian to follow him into the room.

Evian obliged.