Fairy and fucking Santa Claus.”
I didn’t say anything. Because again, he was right. He got up from the bed, went to the window and looked down into the softly blazing garden, hands in his back pockets. I thought how much I’d loved the shape of him. Lean, economically muscled. The pretty profile. Loved. Past tense. What happened? What happens?
A vampire comes to call.
“Let me ask you one thing,” I said. “If there was a cure, would you take it?”
This, I knew, was also what had vexed him. The suggestion of return. Which brought the absence of anything to return
to.
He didn’t answer straight away. His face was calm and golden in the sunlight.
“There’s no going back,” he said. “Not for me.”
At which moment my phone rang. Again.
17
“F ORGIVE MY IMPATIENCE ,” Olek said, “but I’m on tenterhooks here. Have you read Quinn’s journal?”
I got to my feet and stepped out onto the landing. Walker turned and watched, but didn’t follow. Through the door opposite I could see into Cloquet’s room. The twins had found an assortment of hats and gloves and shoes in the downstairs closet. They were putting them on Cloquet, who was still half asleep. He was currently wearing a bicycle helmet, an oven mitt and a pair of battered dress shoes much too big for him.
“Yes,” I said. “So what?”
“So what, Miss Talulla, is that I know what the people who returned to the banks of Iteru—or the Nile as we now call it—knew. I know the way out of the Curse.”
“I repeat,” I said: “So what?”
If you can hear a smile, I heard his.
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Who the fuck
are
you?”
“Who am I? I’ve told you. My name is Olek. I’m a vampire. I have an interest in science. And
I
repeat: I have a proposition of potential benefit to us both.”
“Not if I don’t want what you’re offering.”
“You might not want it for yourself,” he said. “But you’ll want it for your children. Do you have access to a computer?”
For your children.
It sounded like a threat. Then I thought of Lorcan’s problems around full moon. Could the vampire know about that?
“Yes,” I said. I could feel more of what there was between me and Walker tearing. He hadn’t moved from the window. Was letting himself imagine the future without me.
“Stay on the line. Go to your computer. Open your web browser.”
The laptop was in the en suite, half-buried under a pile of laundry.Lycanthropy hadn’t made me any tidier. I went back through the bedroom—Walker gave me a now what? look to which I raised a hand: Hang on. I sat down on the bathroom floor and powered-up the laptop.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m online.”
“Good. There’s something you need to see. Go to Google. Sign in to Mail with the following address. Don’t worry. It’s an account I’ve set up just for this.” He gave me a sequence of letters which didn’t spell anything in English, at gmail.com. The password was numbers and letters that meant nothing to me. Naturally the thought that this was being traced or hacked—or that the entry would set a time bomb under the villa ticking—occurred to me, but I dismissed it. Not with good reason. Just out of impatience. I was doing this, whatever the fuck it was.
An inbox opened, with one mail item.
“Open the email and click on the link,” Olek said. “It’s secure, I promise you. When the link page opens, it’ll ask you for another password. You there?”
“Yes. Page open.”
More numbers and letters.
I hit enter.
“What you’re about to see is a real event,” Olek said. “I’ll stay on the line. Just watch. I’ll explain when it’s run.”
Video clip. Very high resolution. No sound. Timecode in the bottom left corner. Another sequence of numbers on the right.
Blue sky. Sunshine. A long line of what appeared to be Chinese people filing into a solitary low-lying white building with no windows set in manicured grounds. Heavily armed military
I didn’t say anything. Because again, he was right. He got up from the bed, went to the window and looked down into the softly blazing garden, hands in his back pockets. I thought how much I’d loved the shape of him. Lean, economically muscled. The pretty profile. Loved. Past tense. What happened? What happens?
A vampire comes to call.
“Let me ask you one thing,” I said. “If there was a cure, would you take it?”
This, I knew, was also what had vexed him. The suggestion of return. Which brought the absence of anything to return
to.
He didn’t answer straight away. His face was calm and golden in the sunlight.
“There’s no going back,” he said. “Not for me.”
At which moment my phone rang. Again.
17
“F ORGIVE MY IMPATIENCE ,” Olek said, “but I’m on tenterhooks here. Have you read Quinn’s journal?”
I got to my feet and stepped out onto the landing. Walker turned and watched, but didn’t follow. Through the door opposite I could see into Cloquet’s room. The twins had found an assortment of hats and gloves and shoes in the downstairs closet. They were putting them on Cloquet, who was still half asleep. He was currently wearing a bicycle helmet, an oven mitt and a pair of battered dress shoes much too big for him.
“Yes,” I said. “So what?”
“So what, Miss Talulla, is that I know what the people who returned to the banks of Iteru—or the Nile as we now call it—knew. I know the way out of the Curse.”
“I repeat,” I said: “So what?”
If you can hear a smile, I heard his.
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Who the fuck
are
you?”
“Who am I? I’ve told you. My name is Olek. I’m a vampire. I have an interest in science. And
I
repeat: I have a proposition of potential benefit to us both.”
“Not if I don’t want what you’re offering.”
“You might not want it for yourself,” he said. “But you’ll want it for your children. Do you have access to a computer?”
For your children.
It sounded like a threat. Then I thought of Lorcan’s problems around full moon. Could the vampire know about that?
“Yes,” I said. I could feel more of what there was between me and Walker tearing. He hadn’t moved from the window. Was letting himself imagine the future without me.
“Stay on the line. Go to your computer. Open your web browser.”
The laptop was in the en suite, half-buried under a pile of laundry.Lycanthropy hadn’t made me any tidier. I went back through the bedroom—Walker gave me a now what? look to which I raised a hand: Hang on. I sat down on the bathroom floor and powered-up the laptop.
“Okay,” I said. “I’m online.”
“Good. There’s something you need to see. Go to Google. Sign in to Mail with the following address. Don’t worry. It’s an account I’ve set up just for this.” He gave me a sequence of letters which didn’t spell anything in English, at gmail.com. The password was numbers and letters that meant nothing to me. Naturally the thought that this was being traced or hacked—or that the entry would set a time bomb under the villa ticking—occurred to me, but I dismissed it. Not with good reason. Just out of impatience. I was doing this, whatever the fuck it was.
An inbox opened, with one mail item.
“Open the email and click on the link,” Olek said. “It’s secure, I promise you. When the link page opens, it’ll ask you for another password. You there?”
“Yes. Page open.”
More numbers and letters.
I hit enter.
“What you’re about to see is a real event,” Olek said. “I’ll stay on the line. Just watch. I’ll explain when it’s run.”
Video clip. Very high resolution. No sound. Timecode in the bottom left corner. Another sequence of numbers on the right.
Blue sky. Sunshine. A long line of what appeared to be Chinese people filing into a solitary low-lying white building with no windows set in manicured grounds. Heavily armed military
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