Alive Ch. 01

This story is a little pet project of mine and I'm just putting the feelers out, since it's a little different to my usual stuff. There's no sex in this chapter, if that's what you're looking for...but if I get enough feedback to warrant continuing, there will be J If anyone is familiar with the song "Colder" by Charon; it serves as the inspiration for this piece.

Chapter One

"Psssst."

Sol jerked left. The blackberries he tended caught his fingers with clean thorns and his eyelids mashed into a wince; he searched for the voice in darkness. Where did the hiss come from?

"Over here," said the voice. Its tone was hushed, air escaping around sharp teeth.

When the pain fell away, the light rushed back into Sol's eye sockets and the blood welled at his fingertip in crimson flecks.

Writhing towards him was a fat green snake.

Sol jumped up, searching at once for Mari, his lover; she had been picking redcurrants on the other side of the clearing. There she was still, her copper hair bound by splintered grasses -- the same ones that crafted the basket at her feet. He exhaled; she hadn't been bitten. Now, he needed to --

"I know you can hear me," said the snake, cocking its smooth little head.

Sol stepped back. He must have pricked his finger on something other than a blackberry bush -- snakes did not talk.

"Oh, Mother," he muttered.

"She couldn't hear me." The snake glanced briefly at Mari with a flicker of forked tongue. "I could go back and taste her pretty ankle, though, if that would be more convincing."

"No --!" Sol brought a hand to his temples. Snakes did not talk.

"Ah. Now then." The snake's plump body piled into a coil at Sol's feet. "Do I have your attention?"

"I...yes..."

"Sit down, then."

Sol gulped as he sank to his knees, now hidden from sight by the thigh-high brambles.

"We can't have brothers and sisters thinking you mad now, can we?" said the serpent.

"Snakes don't talk," he whispered, glued to the creature's murky gold eyes.

"And yet, you can hear me." The snake paused. "There are a lot of things that humans would be able to do if they only tried, Sol. If they only asked the right questions." Its black pupils swelled.

"How do you know my name?" Sol said.

"I know all things, all things. It's just the nature of what I am."

"An evil spirit." He spat on the ground.

"Already on to good and evil, are we?" The snake clicked its teeth. "Interesting."

"You're not a snake," Sol murmured; understanding. The world swam with it.

"Indeed." Ivory fangs flashed in the newborn sun. "Tell me, Sol -- what is the nature of what you are?"

"I...I don't know," he admitted, his shoulders heaving. The question was suddenly a huge weight to bear.

"Let me tell you what the nature of human beings is," the snake sighed. "Flawed. There are faults in the depths of your guts, in the sinew of your legs, in the pit of your brain. You are mortal, Sol, and that is your problem. These are the things that make you weak."

"But we are strong, too. We build, we make, we rule -- "

"What do you rule?" The snake laughed. "Tiny, insignificant patches of land! Let me tell you - in thousands of years, you will rule no more; not the natural world, not the world beyond. I've seen it. I know."

Sol scratched at his temple again.

"I don't understand -- I don't want to rule anything. What has this got to do with me?"

"You can hear a snake talk."

Sol gave a nervous little laugh.

"But what does that mean?"

The snake seemed to smile, stretching cold scales over its teeth.

"That is the right question." It leaned in, its voice falling. "What if I told you that in a matter of years, there will be nothing left? You will lose your strength. Enemy tribes will spring forth and steal this very orchard from your grasp. Mari will die giving birth to your children."

"I..." Sol's brow fell forward, his eyebrows meeting in a bushy crest. "I don't believe that's true."

"I told you. I've seen it."

"Why are you telling me this?" he said.

"I'm giving you the chance to change it, Sol." The snake caught his gaze, conquered and ruled it. "There's another way."

Sol glanced up, as if the sky might offer a hand crafted in cloud that he could hold on to.

"What way is that, and why would you offer it to me?"

"Your maker has been careless, Sol. It wanted Its creations to suffer and die. It is natural and inevitable, It said. And I say..." Another flick of the spear-like tongue. "I say that what is natural will remain so, and what is unnatural will be stronger."

"What?" Sol whispered, fascinated and appalled.

"I can turn you into a powerful spirit -- and you will still be a man. I can make you live as long and as strong as you desire."

"Why would I want that?"

"There will be more of you. We will make them together, choose them. Oh, you will have to be patient," it smiled again, "but one day, I will make you a spirit greater than any. A God."

A God.

Sol was trembling, even in the morning heat. He had never hoped for more than songs around the fire and love beyond the dying embers. Pain was just part of life.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting this," said the snake. He seemed to be talking from very far away.

"What price do I pay?" he managed.

"You pay no price. Well. Only the price that any might for living a life in the beginning of things. Being first can be lonely...but then you are no stranger to that."

This was true. His tribe were the first humans as they were -- or at least, as far as they could tell. The world was but a slow learning curve; nobody dared to think of ruling it all.

Maybe...somebody should?

"Escape death. Escape illness. Surround yourself with your own kind and escape even loss," urged the snake.

"But -- but Mari -- "

"Be stronger. Faster. Better," it hissed.

"And what's in this for you?" he said suddenly.

"I am like your maker; a philosopher, a scientist," it said. "One day, you will know what that means."

"I should know now," Sol retorted.

"Then let me show you." The snake leaned in again, its head drifting from its coiled body. "I don't have long left..."

Sol ripped a fistful of brambles from the earth in adrenaline-steeped exasperation. The pain ebbed sweetly in his palm; it made him dizzy.

"I don't even know what you're asking me!" he cried.

"Choose this."

The snake nudged his hot hand with its cold little head. As his fingers unfurled and the brambles fell away, Sol saw crimson trickling along his skin.

"Choose...blood?" he croaked.

"Live blood. It is more powerful than you know. Do you want to be a great man-spirit or a mutated weakling?"

"My brothers and sisters are not weaklings..." He couldn't peel his eyes from the scarlet patterns as they meandered down his arm.

"But think of the things you will teach them, if you only have the means." It sought his eyes again, glued them to its own. "I can't wait any longer, Sol. There isn't -- "

"I don't know!" Sol felt warm tears on his cheeks; it was only when one splashed on to his knee that he noticed the colour.

Deep, dark red.

He opened his mouth and the words queued on his tongue in unruly stutter.

"W-what have you done t-to me?"

The snake lunged.

Sol was fast, but not fast enough.

Its fangs sank deep above Sol's collarbone and frozen pain drudged in, thawing on impact. His pulse slackened and heat poured from his gaping wounds.

Then he heard the voice in his head: a hoarse screech that doused everything in smoke.

Isn't the pain beautiful, Sol? It's all part of it. It won't be long...

Sol could hear the snake gulping and swallowing.

"Don't -- " He took a wheezing breath, "don't k-kill me!"

This is only the beginning.

Sol only bleated a miserable sob.

Is it dark yet? Are you fading? Let it go.

"No - "

LET IT GO!

It was dark, like his face had fallen into wet pitch and all the while, it was so horribly cold.

I love you, Sol. Go forth and know it.

"What...what if I want it to stop?" he managed.

If one day, you do, then I understand.

"How?" he screamed, suddenly desperate. Before the end, he must know this.

You need only...

"How?" The word flayed his raw throat.

You need only to --

Oh, no no.

That, my flawed little Halflings, would be cheating.

****

2012

Brutus and Octavian Gemellus are two of the UK's most famous vampires. Their MTV show, See No Evil, tops the ratings every weekend and the boys' website boasts two million unique hits a week.

Focus. What else did that documentary say? Don't think about how annoying the perma-tanned presenter was. No. No...aha!

With their sun-kissed good looks, the twins could make even a purist forget the myth that vampires are allergic to daylight. These guys are hot to trot and boy, do they know it!

Because that's going to be useful during a job interview, remembering just how batchelor-tastic they are. When they ask me if I know their favourite Toni and Guy stylist, I'll be sorted. What was it that Mr. Green used to say in Media Studies? Yeah...Youtube is not research.

Their ancient Roman names and tanned skin mean that they are often mistaken for Italians, but as we revealed on our Fanguine history special, the twins actually hail from England. They were sent to Gaul as soldiers during the Roman occupation and chose their namesakes through the wry wit that has since captured the hearts - and necks - of the nation.

Good looking. Funny. What's not to love? Aside from eating people, that is. I forget that bit occasionally.

A lot of people do these days.

Bru and Tavian - as the boys are known - reside in a comfortable mansion in the Surrey countryside, formerly owned by the National Trust. You'll be relieved to know that instead of coffins, they sleep on twelve-hundred thread-count sheets and luxurious - but normal - four poster beds. The only place the boys won't allow our cameras is the dining room...but we all know what happens in -

"Miss Leye?"

"Mmm?" I hid my chewing gum beneath my tongue.

"You're next," said the assistant. "You've got two minutes."

She stalked away on her impossibly high heels; legs like a gazelle, arse like a horse with a superiority complex. I stared down at my high street suit and wondered how on Earth I was supposed to fit into the highbrow world of vampire servitude.

Not that the job I'd applied for was glamorous in the least. Not really.

Crap. They're not going to film my interview, are they...?

I closed my eyes, tried to ignore the way mascara had matted my lashes uncomfortably tight. I thought, just for a second, on why I was really there. Then the dark got nauseating and I returned to the waiting room at Gorby Hall with its teetering chandeliers, faded oil paintings on wood panelling and worryingly creaky furniture.

Was this better than the dark?

Was it merely a different shade?

"We're ready for you." The assistant's voice was shrill in my ear.

"Oh. Ok then." I stood up, brandishing my CV like it would serve as a stake. Paper is wood, right?

I followed her down a dimly lit hall in the same mahogany panelling, and teetered on my heels as she stopped dead beside an open door. A camera had been set up beside it and I pointed nervously.

"Are...are they...?"

"For this?" she snorted. "Ha! No. Think yourself lucky." Especially with that make-up, she was thinking. It was written all over her face in eyeliner as blunt as mine.

I snuck the chewing gum back into its wrapper and shoved it into my pocket. I took a deep breath; the air was musty here. Don't cough! My eyeballs, of all places, felt cold.

The I sank into the carpet of the drawing room and came face to face with two caramel-haired twenty (hundred) somethings, their stares bored as they lounged in huge velvet chairs.

"Hi," I croaked.

Brutus - the one with the straight hair tucked behind his ears, I remembered - glanced up and cocked an eyebrow.

Octavian pursed his lips at his brother, twiddling with a stray wave.

"Why's she here, again?"

"Job interview," said Brutus.

"Oh. I see." Octavian looked me swiftly up and down. "Right. So why do you want to be a chef?"

I stepped from foot to foot.

"I kind of already am a chef," I said.

"Ignore him. He got the question wrong." Brutus leaned forward on his elbows. "Why do you want to be a chef to us?"

"You mean, to vampires?"

Octavian gave a sarcastic little nod.

"I suppose I want a new challenge?" I tried.

"I'm sure you read the brief," Bru went on, "but to make this very clear - there's not much cooking involved."

"We eat a lot of cereal," Tavian added, very serious.

"Actually...yeah. We do." Bru scratched the back of his neck.

"What kind?" I ventured.

Silence. Ooh. I know my place, eh.

Octavian leapt up and snatched the CV from my hands. He had a shocking grace about him; he looked like he should have lumbered.

"Well, I'm not calling you Delphine," he announced. "Utterly shite name."

Brutus chewed his lip.

"What I mean to say is...you do know what the position entails, yes?"

"Maybe Del. Dellie? Too plain? Too dull?" Octavian sank back in the chair and threw his legs over the armrest. "How about Phi, like the spreadable cheese?"

"We don't turn people. That's not part of the deal," Brutus said quietly. He caught my gaze and held it; I was a cat after string.

"I know," I whispered.

The boys are plagued with requests to turn their adoring fans into fellow vampires, but they insist that they follow the rules, the presenter said in my head. In fact, no vampires have been turned for almost two hundred years.

"We could mix it up a bit. Pheenie. Phizzle. I'm liking Phizzle but it's not sexy. What do you think, Bru?"

Bru ignored his brother.

"You know that sometimes, you'd make the kill - don't you?"

"I know." I paused, black hair falling into my eyes as I finally lost my nerve. "Loads of people do it now. They deserve it, right?"

"Actually, I take it back. Phizzle sucks emu cock. I'm going to call you Priscilla." Tavian grinned at me.

"That's...lovely," I muttered.

"Take no notice of him," Bru sighed. "Look -- Miss Leye. Just because somebody's a criminal themselves...it doesn't make killing them any easier, not when you come to it." He cleared his throat. "For you, that is."

Octavian sniffed my CV as if he was a dog going after a mate's arse.

"If you're not feeling Priscilla, I could totally go with Emmeline - "

"Tavian - "

"She smells like an Emmeline," he insisted.

"Fucking hell, Tavian! Will you cut the faux-dim crap and just help me out here?"

Octavian grinned at me again.

"Are you a virgin?" he teased.

Arses. If you can be seared by a blush, I was sizzling.

"Leave off it. She's eighteen. Of course she's not a - "

"Come on. They taste so much better," he said.

"Yes," I yelped.

Ooh. My parents would be so proud of me right now.

"They do not." Brutus rolled his eyes. "Total myth. If anything, they're a bit soapy."

"I could...not be a virgin?"

"Cor. She really wants this job, eh?" Octavian beckoned me with a finger. "Listen, Emme...we'll sort out your name later. Come here."

I glanced at Bru, who gave a slow nod.

"Don't stand there like a dolt, Phizzle," Tavian tutted.

I walked slowly, coming to a stop just between the pair of them. I had expected to see something different about them close up - blue-tinged skin? Drunk eyes? Eerie disposition? - but no, nothing. They looked...well. Normal.

Before I could stop him, Bru snatched my hand, reached into his pocket and slammed a thick little needle right into my palm.

I shrieked so loud that it echoed round the beams.

"It's rude to stare," he murmured, watching the blood splutter up from the wound.

"This wasn't in the brief," I gasped.

He dipped a marble-cold finger into the blood and lathed it over his tongue.

Then he paused.

I used to read vampire books. I admit it. Anne Rice, Dracula, bad Buffy fan fiction...I devoured it. Before the uprising, before anybody knew that vampires were truly real - they were almost seductive. Do you remember the moments in those stories when the brooding vamp hero tastes a girl for the first time, and instantly falls in love? The look of intensity on his strange, beautiful features?

For just a split second, I thought that it was happening to Bru.

No.

He didn't look enraptured. He didn't even look hungry. He looked...confused.

"What?" I said, forgetting the pain. "What's wrong?"

I dropped my hand and the blood fell on to the duck-egg carpet in fat little splashes.

"Oh crap. I'm sorry - "

"Shut up." Bru looked at his brother, who scowled at him.

"Well?" said Tavian.

Bru leaned over and whispered against his ear. I watched his mouth move as he spoke, still frozen to the spot like a thawing sculpture. I trembled as the heat seeped back in.

They could tell.

"I -- I would have said if you'd asked -- " I stammered.

"We did ask. You lied," Bru said quietly.

Tavian shook his head.

"Not a virgin, eh."

"Sorry," I muttered.

Bru was watching me, his brown eyes still wide and intrigued.

"So you should be." Was that a flicker of a smile? "You don't need to go home for anything, do you?"

"Um." I should go home and leave a note, I suppose. Not that anyone's likely to read it, but it feels like it should be done. "Maybe - "

"It was a rhetorical question."

Hang on just a second.

I got the job?

"Welcome to Gorby Hall, Miss Leye." Tavian sat back and folded thick arms. "We'd best get you sorted, hmm?"

I got the job. My pulse joined my shriek somewhere in the rafters.

"Delphie. How does that sound?" said Tavian.

Bru nodded.

"I like it."

Why was that so easy?

A shock of cold shot up my arm as Tavian swiped my hand and began pressing the print to various papers.

"Hey -!"

"Employment terms...non-disclosure...dental policy," he said blithely, tossing the contracts aside as he smeared them with my blood. "We now own your goldfish. I hope that's ok."

"I don't have any goldfish," I muttered.

"Did I say goldfish? I meant soul."

I felt my eyes dart from one twin to the other. Straight faces.

"That's not funny," I said.

"Best hope you don't have a soul, then," said Bru, mischief alight in his eyes.

It suited him.

I'm not sure what made me more uncomfortable; that I thought that, or that I noticed in the first place. I shouldn't have been looking so closely -- these men had murdered hundreds of people. Thousands, probably -- and not all of them were to the current specification of bad seed.

Another assistant appeared in an arched doorway. She was shorter and older than the last, pale copper hair wrapped in a loose bun.

"Natasha's our housekeeper - you're all hers," said Bru. "Be good, now."

"I'll do my best," I managed.

I followed Natasha into a drawing room with striped wallpaper and bureaux-style desks, licking at my wounded palm.

"Tavian!" I heard behind me, "have some bloody manners, will you? Don't suck it out of the carp - "

The door slammed with a thick thump and Natasha stood before me, hands on her hips. She had the manner of a wise old pixie and it made her almost as nerve-wracking as the twins.

"They've done it again." She stopped to rub her eyes beneath wire-framed glasses. "They've hired another human. Christ."