Family Ties by Jevron Mc Crory

The woman standing at the bar resembled my cousin so much it was uncanny.

For the last few years, I’d been hunting more and more only those who seemed to bear some likeness to members of my mortal family, dead and gone. It was as if I were physically attempting to destroy any and all memories of them. It would have been far easier to argue the logic of this had it not proved so effective, as with each evocative feeding, the memory of my former life receded a little further into the recesses of my mind. After hundred years, I still had some way to go before I would lose recollection of them completely.

I’d had been watching the woman for some time. She’d entered the central London pub with a silky confidence, gliding through the throng effortlessly to find a space at the bar where, refusing to resemble the many pathetic city patrons trying desperately to be served, she simply stood there as if merely taking a breather. Her body weight shifted subtly to rest upon one precariously high heel, causing the thin black material of her dress to tighten upon her formidable curves. Casually, she ran a hand through her long blonde mane, conscious or not that the gesture caused all males around her to stare. Within a matter of seconds, one of the many barmen made themselves readily available to her, much to the chagrin of her neighbours. She’d smiled then, a devastating expression that seemed to spell danger as much attraction, paid, took her drink (a white wine) and turned from the bar. In the same assured manner in which she’d entered the pub, she placed herself, quite coincidentally I was sure, amongst a group of rowdy young college boys who’d been present since I’d arrived more than three hours ago. Her presence was instantly greeted with eager smiles. A few even attempted conversation, but were met with disappointment, beautifully rejected with a polite shake of the head. I sat on the other side of the bar, far enough away that she would not notice my observation and was again struck pleasantly with her posed and considered manner. She moved with a joyful nature only females who love to be watched possessed. Every mannerism and affection of her body seemed designed to titillate, to tease, and entice, yet it all seemed so natural. Involuntarily, I felt the corners of my otherwise cynical mouth rise into a grin. I had been correct in my first assumption. This fair creature bore more than a passing resemblance to my late cousin, both in appearance and demeanour. She too had known how to gain the upper hand in the battle of the sexes, using her wanton body to gain that which lesser lookers coveted, yet remaining skilfully out of reach, emotionally closed, her heart very much her own. I remembered watching her in her formative years and marvelling at the ease in which she played with men, her own victims, if you may. Now, again years later, watching this woman work the room into an effortless thrall was like an echo of the past, history physically realised once more. My smile grew wider, my tongue gingerly probing one slowly lengthening fang in anticipation. Her death would close a very influential chapter in my human life and take me one step closer to becoming the brutally efficient orchestrator of death I so desperately yearned to be. I longed to be rid of the vestiges of lingering and debilitating human emotions once and for all, a hundred years seemingly not long enough.

I watched for another hour as potential suitors tried and failed to gain her favour. It seemed there was a limitless supply of men willing to refill her glass whenever the need arose, willing to steady her arm as she stepped from her seat. The by now very inebriated college boys defended her seat fiercely against those who tried to take her throne, willing to be on hand just in case she happened to change her mind and take one of them up on their offer. Witnessing this display brought me much amusement and considerably heightened my thirst. I often enjoyed observing humanity unawares, particularly my prey, learning about who they appeared to be somehow made their deaths, their taste, all the more sweet. In fact, simply observing, seeming a part of something or somewhere yet remaining intangible and oblique, had given me a delicious thrill from the very beginning. Fortunate. There were none such as us who could have played the game with any more polished fervour. So I continued to patiently wait as I watched her, sipping from my glass of absinthe and smoothly rebuking the many offers I began to receive from the numerous females about me. I had made up my mind and tonight, there would be no alternatives. I wanted her, my cousin’s doppelganger, and I would not settle for less. I could not. The disappointment would have shamed me.

Time wore on, as it inevitably does, and soon those who had not managed to secure partners for the night finished their drinks, concluded their solo dances and took to the cold streets, leaving those who’d proven more fortunate to exchange numbers with the objects of their desires. I remained in my seat, as staff began to usher clientele from their respective circles towards the exit. The woman yawned making even this rudimentary necessary human function something of a performance and politely excused herself from the drunken students who were now being somewhat forcibly removed from the premises by the formidable looking doorman. She walked to the bar, placed the empty glass upon the counter and immediately struck up a carefree and easy conversation with the remaining barmaid who was busying cleaning. They knew each other, that much was obvious, the conversation light and familiar. No further surprises were heralded in the sound of her voice, she was young, seemingly naive and borderline arrogant. She knew her potential in the world. They continued their dialogue as numbers in the bar dwindled, leaving them, the doormen, a loving couple helping each other on with their coats and myself. No matter, it wouldn’t make my intentions any more difficult to achieve. I’d learned long ago in the early years following my Embrace to cloak myself from human eyes. It wasn’t so much a matter of disappearing or appearing to vanish as so much failing to register in their subconscious despite their eyes seeing my physical form and I would be impossible to recollect. To this day, I cannot fully explain how I achieve this. I simply will it so. A handy trick, as I was all too soon to find out, all those many years ago. So my presence here was not a consideration. I cared even less where and when they would find her. I would be long gone by then.

I finished my absinthe and stood from my seat, just as the doorman was making his way towards me. One look in my eyes was all it took for him to continue past me, as if I wasn’t even there. I turned and began to make my way around the bar, past the numerous empty tables, past the empty glasses, hollowed out and now devoid of worth, towards my own vessel of nourishment, towards the woman who was now finishing her conversation and heading towards the ladies room. I quickened my pace, noting with some irritation my lack of reflection in the bar mirror (yet another of my lingering human habits) and the barmaid who seemed to see me yet not, her face a mixture of confusion and fear for one brief second. She returned to her duties a moment later. I smiled confidently, pulled my eager hands from my pockets, my fingernails lengthening into talons, and slipped through the rest rooms closing door behind my prey so smoothly I made not a single sound.

My assault was fierce and sudden. The woman had barely turned to look at herself in the large mirror before I grabbed a fistful of her long hair and slammed her precious face into the unforgiving glass. Her nose and cheekbones broke immediately, blood splattering the spider webbed reflection that bore only her image. I hauled her backwards, her high heeled feet skittering upon the wet tiled surface beneath, and taking hold of her shoulders, pitched her through the unlocked door of the nearest cubicle. Pausing only to note that my mouth had now uncontrollably began to water and my fangs had reached their full sharpened length, I followed her in.

She lay half slumped upon the closed toilet, one leg trembling, the other folded backwards behind the toilet. Her head rested against the side partition of the adjacent cubicle, barely conscious and affectingly beautiful. A bright crimson star burst of blood decorated the wall above her where the back of her head had undoubtedly connected. I turned in the small space and locked the door behind us, just as she made to slip from her seat altogether. I gathered her into my arms before she hit the ground, causing a low gasp to escape her lungs, and tilted her to one side, allowing her head to hang upon my arm, exposing her neck. A quiver of thirst ignited alongside one side of my tensed jaw as I stared down at the pumping vein. My hands instinctively clutched her tighter, my talons digging through her dress and into her warm pliable flesh. My entire body shivered with the sheer anticipation, till I could stand it no longer. Hoisting her body up higher in my arms, I opened my mouth and drove my twin incisors deep through the fleshy meat into her pulsing jugular. Ecstasy flooded me at once, her blood as delicious as I had allowed myself to hope and involuntarily, I swooned against my own assault. Falling against the partition, my head light and dizzy with sensation, I held her ever tighter and drank as much of the red hot fluid as my throat could contain in one gulp. My hands had started shaking at some point and now it felt as if I were shaking my mortal drink greedily as if to get to the most valuable of nutrients hiding within her shell. My eyes had closed at the beginning and now I fought to open them, sure as I was that my dizzy spell could not last. Soon, far sooner than I could have wanted, I heard the comforting beat of her heart begin to slow and knew that I must break the contact, relinquish my connection and withdraw. The thought alone pained me. Finally, I succeeded in forcing my body to acquiesce to my will and with a harrowing reluctance I ripped my blood drenched mouth away from her ravaged neck. My equilibrium regained itself almost immediately. My hands ceased shaking. My eyes fluttered open.

She weighed next to nothing now in my rejuvenated arms. I could still hear her rapidly fading heart clearly in my ears, as I could hear bolts being thrown in the bar outside as doors were locked for the night. It wouldn’t be long before the doorman or the barmaid would begin their nightly check of the toilets. I sat the drained woman back once more upon the closed toilet and began to modestly readjust the skirt that had risen upon her pale slender legs. I stopped immediately and stood in frustration, my fang biting clean through my own lip in sudden anger. This was exactly the kind of human emotive gesture I so desperately wanted to shed, and here she was, my cousin twin, dying at my hand and yet my mortal habits seemed as eternally present as ever. Another death and my contradictory character remained thoroughly intact. It ignited a fire within my dead heart that almost threatened to sour the sweetness that had been the taking of her life.

A door slammed within the building and footsteps began to sound, drawing closer to our drama. I moved swiftly, exiting the cubicle and landing upon the window pane that overlooked the small public room from its vantage point a few metres or so high from the ground. Such distances were mere child’s play. I slipped the window lock and gliding through the gap, closed it silently. I paused there upon the outside ledge, looking back through the frosted glass where the woman still sat perched upon the toilet seat, her head to one side, her long hair falling about her like a crimson stained cloak, her skirt spread wide, revealing the black knickers beneath, one foot shoeless, the other twisted and a broad smile upon her dead features. I gasped in surprise as I continued to stare, her eyes unseeing and lifeless yet contradictory to the pleasurable smile that now adorned her blood splattered face. I couldn’t help it. With her brazen posture, unashamed nudity and that grin, it seemed she was mocking me, just like my cousin had done all those years before when I had confessed my undying love for her. I couldn’t believe it. She’d found me. All this time, she’d followed me through countless generations just so she could take the form of this creature and laugh at me, one last time. My sudden and overwhelming rage almost caused me to re-enter and rip her smiling head clean from her shoulders, but it was at that moment that the barmaid, about her nightly duties, entered the room, whistling a merry tune as she did so. I dropped into the side alley alongside the bar, my anger still pounding a tribal rhythm within my bloody veins as the scream ripped through the night, a scream of primal fear and unhinging sanity. It more than improved my mood. Casually straightening my jacket and wiping the excess blood from my mouth, I walked away.

I paused under a streetlight in the midst of London’s busy Soho district and allowed myself a little laugh. My humiliation once again at the hands of my cousin was fading fast and so too was the sweetness of the hunt that I had so looked forward to. I knew that the night was not yet over. There was always life to ruin, to steal, to breathe into my own veins. I couldn’t help but look forward to the next hundred years. I was immortal. My memories were not.

I pushed aside all negative thoughts as easily as I erased myself from mortal recollection and with an air of authority, only we the kindred possessed, strolled into the beating heart of London life, eager once more to murder my family again and again.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Watcher by Jevron Mc Crory

It was on the fourth night of his vigil outside her apartment that she returned home with a companion.

Clearly not quite able to believe his good fortune, the young boy whom she had chosen for the night chatted animatedly and at length, his arm slung casually across her slender shoulders as they made their way towards her apartment block. She entertained the boy’s humour and enthusiasm with well mannered grace and humility, smiling occasionally and even laughing when one of his stories reached it’s tiresomely predictable conclusion. He watched them, laughing and stroking one another unashamedly and a cold possessive streak of jealous ignited within the furnace of his heart.

Drawing his collars up against the icy wind, Dominic leaned against the street light and withdrew a cigarette from his pocket. He snapped a flame to life with a silver lighter in his left hand before re-pocketing it and checking his watch. It read 11.22pm. The girl had been gone for a little over an hour, hardly enough time for her to have gained an accurate impression of the boy she had chosen as a potential suitor. He took a drag on the cigarette and blew the smoke out, watching as it twirled and spiralled to frolic with the rushing winds that carried it upwards through the night light of the street lamp above him. He took in the sight of the full moon for a moment as his gaze drifted, noting it’s stark white brilliance against the dead of night, aware that his thoughts, like his focus, also desired to free roam.

Where had the girl headed to this night? Had the intention of offering herself to the first attractive stranger been her driving force? He grimaced inwardly, her character and everything he had placed upon her threatening to be destroyed in that instant. Could the girl he had watched and lusted after night after night, so beautiful, elegant and carefree, truthfully be so brazen? So foolhardy? So whorish? This was the last thing he had expected, so undeserving of the revelation was he that the reality of it didn’t quite seem real. He’d planned well, of that there was no doubt. From the moment he’d laid eyes on the girl supping with friends at a late night coffee house, he’d conspired to never let her leave his sight again, at least until the time was right. She was mesmerising, her youthful exuberant beauty startling in a conventional way he found noticeably lacking in others of similar ilk. In addition, she possessed a grace and nobility that he’d thought he’d seen the last of in New Orleans, yet here it was once more, the sensual presence and regal charm of those so comfortably at ease with their own sexuality immaculately embodied within this young girl. He’d wanted her immediately. She would be his and he would brook no refusal. However, time, if nothing else, had taught him self preservation and so he had decided to wait before indulging his lustful wanton fantasies. Despite the logic of the decision, it had been almost unbearable to endure, patience not listed among many of his virtues and now it seemed he had missed his opportunity entirely. For three nights, he’d stood underneath the window to where he’d ascertained her bedroom lay and fancied that he could hear her breathing, comforted in the fact that she lay dreaming less than only a few feet above him. The notion that someone, the boy who even now was nuzzling her neck as she attempted to insert her key into the door, would lay with her tonight in that very bed in that very room was threatening to overwhelm him. It could not happen. It would not happen.

The door to her apartment closed and lights flickered into existence. He dragged on the cigarette again and hunched his shoulders against the cold, eyes narrowing into thin steely slits. From his vantage point across the street, he could see her in the kitchen, her back to the small shuttered window, her jacket being drawn clear of her shoulders. From the way they were heaving, she appeared to be laughing. The boy, as if aware of scrutiny, remained hidden from view, preferring to stand shrouded in the darkness of the adjacent hallway whilst continuing their exchange. Their communication was lively and punctuated with smiles and laughter. A punch of bitter and resentful bile rose in the back of his throat as he watched this flirtatious behaviour. It was making him progressively more uncomfortable by the second to observe how freely they conversed with one another so soon after their initial meeting…

…and then it happened. As if for his benefit alone, the boy stepped out of the darkness towards her, his expression one of pure unrestrained longing and placed his hands upon her waist, leaning her back against the work counter in full view of the window. They stood there, framed in the harsh fluorescent light, and came together suddenly, their mouths opening to one another hungrily. That sick familiar feeling of frustration and rage, coupled with the hunger she always invoked in him, began to boil in Dominic’s stomach and angrily, he inhaled the remainder of the cigarette and threw it to the ground, crushing it under heel. The boy’s actions were frenzied and clumsy and he pawed at the girl like she was a slab of meat. In contrast, her administrations were precise and articulate, her hands slow and steady to his uneducated fumbling. For much of the younger generation, ambition and appetite always outweighed skill and experience and at once, Dominic felt a seething and sudden rush of hatred for the young whelp. This downright disgusting display was offensive to every moral he held dear. This was not how this girl was to be treated! Had he not a shred of decency or respect? Back in his day, there was only way to deal with ruffians of such calibre. It was this thought and the answer that it inevitably brought that made him straighten from the lamp post and start to stride his way towards the apartment, his eyes never once leaving the framed lovers.

He was halfway across the street when the girls’ first scream shattered the calm dead of night.

The boy had her bent over the counter, her hair falling into the sink in bloodied ringlets as he lowered his mouth inevitably, teasingly to her neck. Blood lined his fingertips as they insistently pressed into the soft meat of her forearms, forcing her arms downwards. Her thin frame thrashed beneath his weight as he pressed down upon her, trapping her against the counter. His eyes blazed like wildfire, his teeth lengthening now at an alarming rate, the brightness of his pupils challenging the light thrown by the kitchen’s bulb, his fangs defying the hovering midnight moon to match their bone white neutrality.

His mouth, widening with every second, was less than centimetres from the girl’s freshly exposed jugular when a glass suddenly exploded over his head.

The boy spun to face Dominic’s rage fuelled offensive as the girl slipped from his grasp and ran screaming into the hallway. He attempted chase and was met halfway by a roaring Dominic who threw all of his body weight into a squarely aimed punch that connected solidly with the bridge of his nose, shattering it instantly. Howling with pain and anger, the boy charged a second time, barely giving Dominic a chance to withdraw his fist and the two combatants crashed to the cold linoleum floor in a tussling heap, the boy taking instant advantage to mount.

Hissing and screeching with hell bent fury, fangs bared and yellow eyes blazing, the boy clawed ferociously at Dominic’s fending arms, leaving deep ragged tears in the worn leather, furious he was unable to drive home a successful strike. It was as the boy reared back once more, howling like a world weary wolf, ready to unleash an assault of savagery not yet attempted, that Dominic wrestled the boy around the midsection and hauled him up off his knees. He staggered under the boy’s counterbalancing weight and drove his head further down to one side to avoid the blows that the boy was unleashing before taking the strain.

With a tremendous burst of strength borne of desperation, Dominic barrelled forwards and launched the boy headfirst against the metal shuttered kitchen window. The portion of glass spider-webbed instantly, the thin metal shutters buckling under the combined weight. The boy realised the intention all too late and tried to wrest himself free of Dominic’s grip but the bigger man was simply too strong. Backing up a second time, Dominic charged again and succeeded in pitching his attacker straight through the third storey window. The window exploded on contact, glass and metal shutters shattering and folding like plastic and paper and the boy sailed free of his grip, hurtling over the edge and out. With an intake of breath, Dominic watched as the boy’s body crunched into the asphalt with bone juddering force, his limps splaying outwards like a rag doll robbed of it’s strings. The momentum rocked the body a few times before stillness pervaded and the blood started to pool.

Heaving with exertion, Dominic turned and sagged against the counter, his knees trembling beneath him. He slid down the counter till he half sat on the glass covered linoleum, his breath tearing from him in strained gasps. The girl could still be heard sobbing in her bedroom from down the hall, a strangled desperation half borne of a mind rocked upon it’s very hinges. The sound of her sobs came distantly, along with the noise of movement from outside the window. Dominic stood warily and looked over the window sill in time to see the boy get to his feet and start to run down the street, one leg kicking outwards haphazardly and a loosely jointed arm swinging at his side. The sound of the girl’s cries getting louder finally drew him away.

She sat huddled upon the bed, her duvet drawn tightly around her trembling form. He stood motionless by the doorway, unable to prevent himself from taking in the sight of her bedroom like a blind man granted sight, unable to resist appraising her fragile and vulnerable beauty as tears wracked their way through her. Whether she was aware of his presence, Dominic could not say, but he held no intentions of intruding until she was ready. He did not wish, after all this time, to unsettle her. So he stood and watched her cry for what seemed like an eternity. Despite his eagerness to touch her, to be with her, her loneliness at this moment seemed insurmountable and he wasn’t sure if his presence would hinder or help. She looked up at him suddenly, her eyes red raw with tears, her face wet and flushed, her hair falling about her face in sodden strands and smiled. It was a smile of gratitude and it was meant purely for him. He inhaled deeply, basking in the warmth of it’s presence and nodded his acceptance.

It was only at this juncture was he aware that her full length mirror which hung adorning her wardrobe door was half ajar and facing him. From her vantage point on the bed, his lack of reflection would go unnoticed.

‘We’re not all like that.’

He whispered, loud enough that the tone of his voice seemed to reverberate throughout the small interior of her apartment.

Amanda could have sworn she’d glimpsed silver at the corners of the stranger’s mouth in the moment before he vanished, could have sworn she’d caught light dancing in those green eyes…

…the thought evaporated almost instantly as her own eyes alighted upon the blood that had smeared itself upon the back of her hand as it sat trembling upon her bare knee, trembling and shaking as if some unforeseen force had taken hold…

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

Katrina Collins isn’t like other musicians. She doesn’t grant interviews. She doesn’t pander to the press. No one has ever seen her outside of her musical arena. Her manner is brief, her beauty startling and her effect upon an audience mesmerising.

Lewis Morrison isn’t like other music journalists. He despises music. He loathes musicians. No one can stand to be in his company for more than a few moments. Katrina and Lewis are both damaged.

In the seedy underbelly of Camden, a unique North London habitat, they will find each other and their discovery will bring hope, redemption, pain, pleasure and death. This is Swan Song and it is unlike any other vampire story you have ever read.

Available exclusively at ebookundead.com priced £2.99 and discover more about this talented young author at www.jevron-mccrory.blogspot.com