This is just the prologue – I am really enjoying writing this and have hit 12k words. If you enjoy it let me know and I will get more up. I appreciate that the text changes from time to time, and honestly I have no idea why this is, I have pasted straight from OpenOffice, the poor man’s Word. Answers on a postcard and all that,
(Edit, this is version two, longer and edited. And still subject to change)
Prologue
“Right,” said the bald man. “Has any of what I’ve said got through to you daft pricks today? Have you learned anything at all? Anything?”
He was becoming increasingly irritated with the four lumps slouched on the leather couch in front of him. He had been trying to teach them for a week or so, but it seemed like an eternity now.
It shouldn’t have been like this, of course. When he had given them life, given them the gift, they should have become better. Superhuman. They had not evolved at all as far as he could see, and it was getting on his tits.
“Ok. From the top,” he sighed, barely managing to conceal his rage. “Tell me how I would kill you, if I so desired.”
The short stumpy one put his hand up. This one was called James Mcbeath, and he had been a vampire for several weeks now.
“Yes, James?” he asked, bracing himself.
“Eh, garlic boss, no?” McBeath replied. He looked proud of himself.
“FOR FUCK SAKE,” he yelled, “How many fucking times must I tell you? Garlic cannot fucking kill you. Aye, it’s disgusting, but it’s only a fucking plant, for fuck sake.” He really needed a break from this, he realised. It wouldn’t have been good for his blood pressure if he had such a thing.
“That’s it. I’m actually going to kill someone if we carry on today. We can start again tomorrow, now get out of my sight!”
He stormed into the kitchen and studied the rows of bottled red liquid in the fridge. Normally, as was the fashion these days, animal blood would suffice. Today he needed something stronger. He picked out a clear bag marked “O+” poured it into a wine glass and took a long slug. Christ, he thought, I earned that. He licked his lips, pulled out a cigar and strode through the ground floor to the living room. If things didn’t pick up with these…these clowns, he was going to have to reconsider his plans.
What on earth had dragged him to Glasgow? It was a question he had asked himself a few times recently. As a starter for ten he had left the States in a hurry. Out of necessity, he thought, having left a trail of bodies in his wake. He had tried to stay in control, under the radar, and had managed it for a while. Unfortunately, the old urges had kicked in with a vengeance. He smiled as he remembered it though, and felt his teeth tingle at the memory. At least he had enjoyed it.
He knew he had burned his bridges across the Atlantic, though. He would have to leave for a few years, if he valued his life. And he did, he valued it a great deal. The FBI had not had a clue what was going on, and he had found their panic over a new serial killer amusing for a time. They had made a big show of their so called Task Force, but had ended up powerless against an increasing body count. He had enjoyed watching them, scrabbling in the dirt for clues.
Unfortunately, however, there were those who knew what signs to look for. He had almost certainly stirred them up, those nasty little fuckers. Even just a handful of them could be extremely detrimental to his longevity, and he knew it.
He’d thought hard about where to go next. Mainland Europe had crossed his mind but frankly there were too many of his kind there already. In any case, the increasingly powerful non violent lobby amongst them would have been more dangerous to him than any modern day wannabe Van Helsing. He could have screamed when he thought about what the modern day liberals had reduced themselves to. He did scream about it, from time to time.
He was not going to start thinking about them again, he decided. It just made him angry, and it was when he let himself feel that way bad things started to happen. His control slipped. This time, he had plans that required a degree of self control. Big plans. He was going to take over a city.
He had been in a safehouse in the US whilst waiting for a contact to arrange safe passage out of the country. Even a vampire needed travel documents, especially since 9/11. Nothing could get across the Atlantic without being checked, double checked and then checked again. Thankfully, there were no shortage of places to lie low. It never failed to surprise him, even after all these years, how many women were seduced by the fangs and the myth. He could have had his pick from any one of a thousand ‘alternative’ nightclubs across the US. Frequently, he did. Which, unfortunately, was why he had had to leave.
Whilst laid up in some shithole in Minnesota, he couldn’t remember the name of the town, he had been watching the television. He was not really a fan of television at all, however sometimes it could provide a distraction. He had drained his host almost dry, and she lay unconscious on the bed next to him. A program had come on one of the low rent cable channels about gangs in Glasgow, and something about it had appealed to him. The wanton violence was simply beautiful, he had thought, and the stars of the show had been so pale that he would blend in almost perfectly. He started work on the accent straight away.
A couple of months later, an extremely large sum of money and several favours later he had been rolled off the plane. Nobody wanted to interfere with a dead relative being repatriated, and he had found himself cramped and hungry in a Glasgow funeral parlour waiting on a contact to prise the lid off the coffin so he could begin his new ‘life’.
That had been several years ago, and he realised now he felt strangely at home in this Scottish city. He had no need for friends, but had several acquaintances who could get him what he needed for a price. He had not killed a human since leaving the states, but paid top dollar to some greedy little shit who worked the Blood Transfusion Service for a regular fix.
Otherwise, he hunted. He had taken prey from miles around the city, one of the advantages of his species being that he could move incredibly quickly. Deer from rural Ayrshire, cows from Strathhaven, either could quench his thirst and baser instincts. For a time.
He had spent the years studying all manner of things. Even vampires could use the internet, in fact had he was eternally grateful for it. He had read thousands upon thousands of pages about his kin, some of it remarkably accurate. His favourite topic of late, however, had been Glasgow’s violent history of gangland figures, murders and sectarian tensions.
He had no doubt that God existed, no doubt whatsover. Indeed, one of the reasons he could live so comfortably now was that humans didn’t really bother any longer. Sure they had their weddings and funerals, but he had noted with some fascination over the years that church congregations in the UK had dwindled to the extent they were selling off the once proud buildings to make luxury flats for yuppies.
In a generation there may be no need for them at all, the churches and chapels, he believed. In contrast, some of the United States was becoming almost as fervent as it had been before the Civil War. The South particularly had always lent towards the fanatical when it came to God. Another reason to avoid the States, he thought, shuddering. Some of those God Botherers would have been delighted had they known of such an evil presence alive and thriving in their midst. Any excuse to get the holy water or whatever the Baptist equivalent was out. No doubt burning down some abortion clinics or protesting against the gays for good measure.
He had read the tales of the old school gangland enforcers and the gangs who had run riot in the old Glasgow slums. Protection rackets, prostitution, drugs, weapons, you name it, they did it. In modern Glasgow nothing had really changed, there were gangsters in all corners of the city, usually run by a self styled crime boss in the suburbs.
They controlled the heroin for the poor and the cocaine for the rich. They still demanded protection money, owned nightclubs and taxi firms and tanning salons. They had contacts in the police and the city council, and they believed they were untouchable.
If there was one thing he enjoyed more than blood it was cold, unadulterated power. He was going to show these fuckers how to do it properly, he had decided. Within the year, he would have this city by the balls. Or baws, he smirked, correcting himself.
