Uprising

Power. Limitless power. But at what cost?

Worst of all, he might never be able to visit Toby again. Lonsdale closed his eyes. Saw the boy’s bright, smiling face in his mind, heard the sound of his laughter.

When he opened his eyes, they were moist.

How could I have been so stupid?

It wasn’t too late. Stone hadn’t even told him when the next stage would take place. He could still back out. It would mean having to confront Gabriel Stone face to face at his home in Henley. The idea chilled Lonsdale utterly. But it was the only way, and he was suddenly gripped by a pressing sense of urgency.

He tinkled the little silver bell on the table in front of him, and seconds later the butler came running out of the house.

‘Roberto, have my jet prepared. I have to return to Britain as soon as possible.’

Chapter Nineteen

The John Radcliffe Hospital

4.25 p.m.

‘You again,’ the staff nurse sneered at Joel. ‘Visiting hours are over.’

‘Don’t give me that,’ he said and marched by her.

Dec Maddon was sitting up in bed reading a comic book as Joel walked into his ward.

‘What happened to the old guy next to you?’ Joel asked, pointing at the empty, neatly made bed.

Dec shut the comic with a surly look. ‘Died.’

‘How’s the wrist?’

‘Getting better, so it is. What are you doing here? More questions?’

‘Good news first,’ Joel said, sitting in the chair next to the bed. ‘Your blood tests came through negative. Which means there’ll be no drug driving charge. You’re not supposed to know that yet, so keep it to yourself, okay?’

‘Told you, didn’t I?’ Dec raised an eyebrow. ‘So what’s the bad news?’

‘The bad news is I need you to look at something for me. And again, this isn’t something you should be seeing. It’s strictly between you and me. Understood?’ Joel took out his phone.

‘What is it?’

‘Something not nice, Dec. You’re going to have to be brave.’

‘I saw a girl get her throat slashed and a bunch of vampires taking a shower in her blood,’ Dec muttered. ‘I think I can handle whatever you have to show me.’

Joel scrolled up the photo he’d taken at the recovery scene. Without another word he handed the phone to Dec. The young guy’s face drained of colour as he stared at the image on the screen.

‘Scroll down. There’s another.’

Dec thumbed the button and his face grew even whiter. He dropped the phone in his lap, then sank his head into his hands. ‘Shit. That is bad.’

Joel took the phone back from him. ‘You okay?’

‘Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t think I’ll be wanting dinner, though.’

‘Well?’

‘It’s her,’ Dec mumbled through his fingers. ‘The girl from the party. The one they killed.’

‘Dec, we need to be completely sure.’

The young guy looked up sharply. ‘You don’t forget something like that. I’m sure.’

Joel nodded. He was silent for a few moments as he got his thoughts together. Confiding in Dec Maddon was going a long way out on a limb – but Dec was all he had right now.

He took a deep breath. ‘This isn’t a regular murder investigation, is it, Dec? This is something different.’

Dec looked at him. ‘Does that mean you believe me?’

Joel paused a long time before he replied. ‘We need to keep all this between us. I’m taking a big chance on you. Don’t let me down.’

Dec nodded solemnly. ‘I won’t let you down.’

‘You’re going to be discharged from here tomorrow morning, and you and I are going for a drive. I want you to help me find the house. You need to think hard.’

‘Things are coming back slowly,’ Dec said. ‘Details.’

‘Like?’

‘Like those weird birds.’

‘What weird birds?’

‘On the gateposts. Like sculptures, you know? Stone birds. Ravens or something. I can remember their claws and beaks. Ugly fuckers.’

Joel patted him on the shoulder as he rose to leave.

‘Keep it coming. Write down everything you remember. I’ll see you in the morning.’

Chapter Twenty

Evening was falling by the time Joel rode into Lavender Close on the edge of the market town of Wallingford. He cruised slowly past the gate entrances looking for number sixteen, but couldn’t find it until he realised that the Hawthornes’ place was the only house in the street with a name instead of a number. The fancy slate sign on the wall read ‘The Willows’.

He rolled the big Suzuki up onto the kerb by the gate and killed the engine. Unstrapping his helmet, he looked around him. The houses looked like they could have been made of Lego, all sitting in neat ranks in the amber glow of the streetlamps, each with its crisp little garden. Two of them even had gnomes. The house next door to the Hawthornes’ place was the only property that lacked the compulsory manicured lawn and perfect hedge, and instead of a Rover or a Volvo in the drive, there was a builder’s van and a couple of go-faster hatchbacks. That would be the Maddon place, then.

He walked in the gate of The Willows, brushed his fingers through his hair at the door, and knocked. A few seconds later a light came on in the hallway, then the door opened and a sour-faced woman appeared on the front step. She eyed the bike and his leather jacket with obvious distaste, and crossed her arms.

‘If it’s the Maddons you’re looking for, it’s the next door along.’

‘I’m not. Are you Mrs Hawthorne?’

‘I’m Gillian Hawthorne,’ she said uncertainly. Her eyes opened wide as he showed her his police ID. ‘You’re a Detective Inspector?’ She made no attempt to mask the scepticism in her voice.

‘Incredible though it may seem,’ he felt like saying. Instead he adopted his most polite tone and said, ‘It’s your daughter Kate I’ve come to see. Is she in?’

‘If this is about Declan Maddon, shouldn’t you be talking to them?’ She jerked her thumb dismissively at the house next door, keeping her eyes averted from the place as though it would turn her stomach to look at it directly. ‘The police have already been here once today. Is Kate in trouble?’

‘None whatsoever. I just want to ask her a couple of questions.’

‘Oh, very well.’ She ushered him inside the hall and made a big show of getting him to leave his helmet by the door. The house smelled of new carpets and air freshener. Gillian Hawthorne called up the stairs, ‘Ka-ate!’

No reply.

‘She’s been in bed.’

‘Is she not well?’

‘She’s just a little off-colour. Do you really need to talk to her now?’

‘It’s quite important,’ he replied.

‘I suppose you’d better come up, then.’

Gillian Hawthorne led the way up the stairs and stopped at a door.

‘Kate, dear?’ She turned the handle and Joel followed her inside. The room was dark. Gillian turned on a side light, and there was a groan from the bed. Joel could see the girl’s red hair sticking out from under the duvet. He looked around. The bedroom was just like any teenage girl’s room. Posters on the walls, TV, computer, a desk covered in magazines, hairbrush, iPod, makeup, mobile. The only odd detail he noticed was the way the floor-length curtains at the far end of the room had been tightly closed together with safety pins. He crossed the room and peered behind them. A French window led out onto a little balcony overlooking the back garden.

‘Kate, this gentleman is from the police and he’s come to talk to you about Declan.’ She spat that last word out with disgust.

Joel pulled up a chair. He smiled at the girl as she sat up in bed with a resentful scowl. Her hair was tousled. Her face was pallid, almost white.

‘Detective Inspector Solomon. Actually, Kate, it’s you I wanted to talk about.’

‘What for?’

‘I’ve been speaking to Dec Maddon about reported incidents last night at a party that he says you and he both attended. I was wondering what you could tell me about it.’

‘He’s a bloody liar,’ Gillian Hawthorne cut in irritably. ‘We’ve already been over and over this with you people. I mean, is there nobody in Thames Valley Police who can understand plain English?’

‘Please, Mrs Hawthorne.’ Joel turned back to Kate and spoke softly. ‘I’d appreciate it if we could go through it again. Just one more time, okay?’

Kate grimaced. ‘I don’t know what Dec was on about. I came straight home. I didn’t go to any party.’ She said it very carefully, as if she was reciting prepared lines.

‘You’re sure?’

She nodded.

‘How did you get home?’

‘I took a taxi.’

‘What time?’

‘I don’t remember,’ she groaned. ‘It was late.’

‘Where did you take the taxi from?’

‘Somewhere. I was walking.’

‘So you called the cab company on your phone?’

‘Yes. No.’

‘Which is it?’

‘My head’s hurting.’

‘Why are you asking her all this?’ Gillian said.

‘I’m just trying to understand what happened,’ Joel replied, keeping his tone gentle.

Gillian gave a snort. ‘What happened is that nothing happened.’

‘I called them,’ Kate said. ‘I remember now.’

‘That’s good. I can make enquiries and find out the name of the taxi firm,’ he said, watching her face. ‘That way I can find out where they picked you up from.’

She flushed at his words. ‘Oh…hang on. No. I thumbed a lift.’

The bluff had worked. ‘So you didn’t take a taxi after all.’

‘No.’

‘Who gave you a lift?’

‘I don’t know. A man.’

‘What happened to your neck?’ he asked. ‘Did someone hurt you?’

Kate immediately covered her neck with the collar of her pyjama top. Something flashed in her eyes. Not a look of embarrassment, the way a self-conscious teenager might have reacted. It was a flash of hard white anger, animal rage.

‘I fell,’ she said in a strange voice.

‘It looks like a bite.’

‘I’m telling you that I fell. Against a barbed wire fence.’ The tone in her voice was suddenly harsh.

‘Maybe you should let a doctor see that. It looks nasty.’

‘I don’t need a doctor,’ she shot back.

‘If there’s anything you’d like to tell me about what happened at the party,’ Joel said, ‘remember you won’t be in any trouble.’

‘Nothing happened at the party.’

‘So you were at the party. Dec was telling the truth.’

‘No!’

‘But you just said you were. I need to know where the party was, Kate. Exactly what happened, and who else was there. It’s very important.’

‘You’re confusing me! I don’t understand what these questions are about!’

‘Why are you making up stories, Kate? Are you trying to protect someone?’

Kate glared at him. The rage in her eyes burned intensely. For a second it was like being face to face with a snarling dog, and Joel almost backed away.

‘Go fuck yourself,’ she spat. Then burst into tears. She fell down onto the pillow, shaking and sobbing. Her mother rallied to her side, glaring indignantly at Joel.

‘You’re upsetting my daughter, Inspector. I’d also like to know what these questions are in aid of. Is this an official police line of enquiry? Because if it’s not, I think you should be aware that my husband is a very senior solicitor and that we know our rights.’

Joel stood up. ‘I’m sorry if I upset you,’ he said to Kate. ‘I’ll leave you in peace now. Thanks for talking to me.’

Gillian Hawthorne couldn’t see him out the front door fast enough. Outside, it was getting colder and the night fog was settling in again, wisping like smoke around the streetlamps.

Joel stopped on the doorstep. ‘Out of interest, Mrs Hawthorne, did you put the safety pins on her curtains?’

‘If it’s any of your business, she did it herself. She says the light hurts her.’

‘We had the lights on in her room.’

‘Not those,’ she said impatiently. ‘Just the sunlight.’

‘Since when?’

‘Just this morning. She’ll be fine. She probably has a touch of that new type of flu that’s going round.’

‘I’m sure you’re right, Mrs Hawthorne. I hope she gets well soon.’ He turned to go, conscious of her glare following him. He already knew what his next move was going to be. What it could only be. He stopped and turned back. She was still glowering at him.

‘One last question, Mrs Hawthorne. Do you own a dog?’

‘A dog?’ She frowned. ‘Of course I don’t bloody own a dog. Why would you ask me that?’

‘Thanks for your help,’ he smiled, and started walking back to the bike.

Chapter Twenty-One

After his hurried trip back from Italy to the UK, Jeremy Lonsdale had called Seymour Finch with great trepidation. The appointment to see Mr Stone had been set for eight thirty that same evening.

It was only now, as he sat hunched in one of the leather armchairs in Stone’s library watching the logs crackle in the fire, that the real fear was beginning to take him. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and a twitch in his left leg was making his knee bounce up and down uncontrollably. He needed a drink, but Finch had ushered him in with barely a word and had offered him nothing. Did they somehow know what was in his mind? That was a terrifying thought.

‘You wanted to see me.’ Stone’s voice came from behind him, calm and soft.

Lonsdale started and whipped round. The vampire was standing there in a long silk robe over black trousers. The robe was open enough at the chest to show his toned pectoral muscles.

‘What a surprise, Jeremy, to see you back so soon from Italy. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?’

‘There’s something we have to discuss,’ Lonsdale blurted out.

Stone walked slowly across the room and leaned on the mantelpiece. A smile crept over his lips, and the twinkle in his eye was more than just the reflection of the firelight. ‘You sound nervous, Jeremy. Is something wrong?’

‘I’ve been reconsidering my options,’ Lonsdale said.

Stone raised an eyebrow. ‘What options would you be referring to, my friend?’

Lonsdale let out a deep sigh, and came straight out with it. ‘The deal’s off. I want my money back.’

Stone was quiet for a moment. ‘So you no longer wish to join our circle.’

‘No. Frankly, on reflection, the idea horrifies me.’ Lonsdale cleared his throat and tried desperately to hide the quaver in his voice. ‘Now, if you will be good enough to wire the funds back into my private account, minus a ten per cent administration fee which I’m more than happy to pay you, that will be that and we’ll say no more about it. I’ve been pleased to be able to help you by using my contacts and influence. I hope we can remain on cordial terms, and perhaps do business together in the future.’

He stood up and put out his hand.

Stone looked at the hand. He didn’t move.

‘Now, I should be on my way,’ Lonsdale said briskly. ‘There are people expecting me back in London. They know I’m here,’ he added.

Stone chuckled. ‘That’s your way of telling me no harm must come to you. Really. What do you take me for, a monster?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

Stone walked over to his desk and pressed a button. ‘Please sit down, Jeremy. I’d hate for you to leave without a farewell drink.’

Lonsdale hesitated, bit his lip, made a show of glancing at his watch. ‘Just a quick one. I think I have time.’

Finch entered the library carrying a tray with two glasses and a bottle of Krug. He laid the tray down, solemnly filled the glasses and left. Stone handed Lonsdale a glass.

‘To the future,’ he said, raising his own.

‘To the future,’ Lonsdale echoed uncertainly. He slugged down his champagne and went to stand up again. ‘That was lovely. Now—’

‘Why such a hurry?’ Stone said smoothly. ‘Have another. It’s a very good vintage, don’t you think?’ He paused as he refilled Lonsdale’s glass. ‘You see, Jeremy, I knew what it was you wanted to tell me tonight. That’s why I arranged an entertainment for us.’ He slipped a little remote from the pocket of his robe. He aimed it at the bookcases to the right of the fireplace and the carved wood shelves suddenly parted and slid open, revealing a giant screen. ‘You and I are going to watch a little film.’

‘I don’t have time for a film.’

‘I think you’ll like this one,’ Stone replied, with a flare in his eyes that forced Lonsdale helplessly back in his chair.

‘I trust the scene looks familiar to you,’ Stone said as the screen lit up. The warning look had melted from his face and now he looked almost jovial.

Lonsdale gaped. It was himself he was seeing on the screen, on Hallowe’en night, the occasion of his initiation ceremony. He watched in horror as the nightmarish images unravelled. The girl hanging from the chains. The blade slashing through her neck like something on a butcher’s slab. The blood cascading down, soaking his hair, sticking his shirt to his body. And all through the orgiastic frenzy, the camera was right on him.

‘Stop it,’ Lonsdale wheezed. His heart was hammering dangerously now. ‘Stop it.’

Stone raised the remote and the image onscreen froze into a close-up of Lonsdale’s blood-slicked face and his white, rolling eyes behind the mask.

‘You see, Jeremy, the fact is, as you now see, that you have no options. The deal must be honoured. Like it or not, you’re already part of our family.’

‘That could be anyone in a mask,’ Lonsdale exploded in outrage. ‘Nobody could prove it was me.’

‘Jeremy, Jeremy, do you take us for complete idiots? What I am showing you is merely an excerpt. The best bits, if you will. We filmed you coming into the house. Walking in from the car with the delectable Kate Hawthorne. Putting on your mask. Oh, I think people would have little trouble believing it was you. Then there’s the footage of your bedroom escapades with Lillith. No mask there, if my memory serves me well.’

Lonsdale gulped back rising bile. ‘You could never use this. You’d be incriminating yourself, and your whole bunch.’

Stone laughed. ‘That is of little consequence. None of us exist. Nobody can touch any of us, Jeremy. We are free to vanish. You, on the other hand…’ He shrugged. ‘If I may be permitted to use the vernacular: you’re fucked.’

Lonsdale opened his mouth to protest, but there was nothing to say. He’d been set up. The initiation ceremony, the whole thing, had been concocted just to entrap him. Stone had never intended to make good on his promise of eternal life and unlimited power. He was trapped, and there was no going back. He slumped in the armchair, defeated.

‘Humans are utterly repugnant to me,’ Stone said softly, watching him. ‘But the creature whose verminous ways offend me most deeply of all is a politician. I’m disappointed in you, Jeremy. I had hopes that you might have been different.’

‘Keep the money,’ Lonsdale breathed. ‘Keep every penny. I don’t care. Just let me go on with my life. Please. I beg you.’

‘Your life?’ Stone smiled. ‘That belongs to me now. When I want you, you’ll be ready for me. You are at my bidding, and will provide me with anything I require, at any time, without question or hesitation. Fail me in any way, and every television station and newspaper in Europe will receive a copy of the film. Let the serfs who voted for you know the truth about their future leader.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Now get out of my sight.’

Jeremy Lonsdale staggered from the library and found his way to the marbled hallway. Outside, he drew in huge gulps of the cold night air. It wasn’t until he was sitting at the wheel of the Rolls, fumbling with the key, half blinded with sweat, that his guts heaved all the way over and the vomit burst down his front.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Canary Wharf, London

9.29 p.m.

‘Thanks, Rudi. See you later.’ Alex snapped her phone shut. The night breeze ruffled her hair as she leaned on the rail of her apartment balcony. A human would have been shivering in the November chill, but she loved the freshness of the air. She lingered for a moment, watching the city lights dance on the river. The sadness that had been hovering over her all day was descending now. She turned from the balcony and walked barefoot in through the sliding glass door of her living room. Philip Glass piano music was playing softly on her stereo system. She padded across the plush carpet of the modern, open-plan living room, then went up the spiral staircase to her bedroom.

As she passed the bed, her sadness sharpened. At the foot of the bed was an oak chest. She stopped, kneeled. While everything else in her apartment was ultra-modern, the chest was pitted with age, splits in the wood patched here and there with metal plates. She and that old chest went back a long way. It had been a while since she’d last opened it.

She reached for the little key she wore around her neck and unclipped it from its leather thong. It was made of the same pitted black metal as the lock of the chest. It slid smoothly into the lock and sprung the mechanism with a tiny click. She carefully lifted the lid until it rested against the foot of the bed.

Inside were her memories.

The diamond and sapphire engagement ring was still as bright and sparkling as the day William had given it to her. She smiled sadly at it, then closed the scuffed, battered little box and replaced it at the bottom of the chest. There was the bundle of letters, still tied with the same yellow ribbon. The lock of his golden hair. The one photograph she had of him, long ago faded to a dull sepia tone.

She gazed at it. Such a long time ago, but she could still remember every moment they’d had together. She could recall the touch of his skin against hers, the softness of his voice, the infectiousness of his laugh.

I’ll come back to you one day, my love.

Those had been his last words to her. A day she didn’t like to remember, but whose memory she couldn’t chase. Not in a hundred and thirteen years.

I’ll come back.

But she was still waiting.

Or was she? As she caressed the faded image with her thumb, she thought about Joel Solomon. It was uncanny. They could have been brothers, twins.

Alexandra Bishop, born 1869, turned 1897, would never have believed in such a thing as reincarnation, as William had. But then, back in those days, she’d never have believed in vampires, either.

She gazed at the picture a while longer, then laid it back inside the chest and shut the lid.

The far wall of the bedroom was one huge solid expanse of mirror. She walked towards it, snatching a remote control off a table as she went. She didn’t slow her pace and, just as she was about to walk straight into the glass, she pressed the button on the remote and the partition instantly slid aside to reveal the hidden room beyond. She stepped inside, aimed the remote behind her and slid the wall shut again.

She was in her weapons room.

The place was as utilitarian as it could be. On a steel wall rack were a pair of assault rifles, a cut-down shotgun and two ex-MOD submachine guns. Beside those, another rack holding four identical .50-calibre Desert Eagle pistols. The opposite wall was covered in industrial shelving, and in between was the workbench where she handloaded her own ammunition. She’d never trusted the stuff that VIA issued the agents. Bolted to the bench was a reloading press with a rotating platform that housed half-a-dozen empty glittering brass cartridge cases at a time. Mounted on top, a clear plastic hopper was filled with peppery gunpowder. It was Alex’s little personal production line.

She sat at the bench and worked the lever on the press. Ker-chunk. One pull to fill up each case with powder. Another pull to ram home the fat half-inch hollowpoint bullets and seat them firmly in the mouths of the cases. After five minutes, she had a batch of thirty .50 Action Express rounds ready – or they would have been, for use on a normal target. For Alex’s purposes, there was one more stage to perform.