Chapter 3
Puzzles
Shortly after my father spoke his name I quickly swallowed down the gasp I knew wanted to break free and schooled my features the best I could, just as I had trained myself to do around my family.
The very last thing I wanted was for them to know of any feelings I may have had for the Vampire King.
Of course, it hadn’t helped that not only had he once been my father’s enemy but to make matters worse, all had been forgiven and he was now one of the many Kings that sat at my father’s council table.
Thankfully, I no longer had to endure these yearly meetings at Afterlife or having to explain my absence on account of no longer living there.
Something that had happened a little time before I left for good and let’s just say that the excuse of a headache didn’t really cut it in our family.
But, surprisingly, my parents were still in the dark when it came to Lucius and the callous heartbreak he had inflicted that night, which was precisely how I preferred it.
For starters I didn’t know if the King of the Supernatural world could suffer from a heart attack, but I am sure that if there was ever an occasion for that to be tested, then my dad finding out about Lucius would have been it.
My first thought would have been that my dad would have simply killed Lucius or at least tried to, seeing as it was whispered that Lucius was in fact my father’s only equal in power and strength.
I didn’t know how true this was, but I knew enough of some of the Kings of the Seven Realms that they were all pretty equal in power, which included my Uncle Vincent who mainly ruled over the rogue Angels in the world, along with my father.
But then it was rumored that if Lucius, being the King of all Vampires, was ever to find his ultimate demise and the unbelievable happened, like his death, then he would also take with him all other Vampires to his grave.
Which, terrifyingly, also meant my mother being on that unfortunate list, seeing as he was her Sire.
I didn’t know all of the details of this story as certain things were, according to my parents, better left in the past.
I hadn’t given much thought to this growing up until the truth of it was used against me.
I shook my head and with it ridding myself of the sticky residue of pain that would latch itself to me unwittingly whenever his name was mentioned.
“Then why not take it straight to him?”
I had asked my dad, turning my back and busying myself with putting away some of my tools just so that I could hide the bitterness I felt in saying that sentence.
I could just imagine my dad’s single raised brow at me from behind, but I ignored the temptation to look, knowing I was too close to giving away my feelings if I did.
“Because I know how you like puzzles and I first thought to let you look at it in case it holds some greater meaning to our world.”
It was at this point that I had wanted to correct him and say, ‘don’t you mean your world’.
But in the end, I remained silent so as not to upset him when hearing this as I remembered the look of hurt the last time I threw it at him.
It was just before I left for university and he pleaded with me not to go, telling me that I had a responsibility as his daughter and therefore strictly speaking also as a princess to a King that I called father.
But the second he called me this I heard it being said as an insult by another and therefore lashed out venomously, feeling guilty then for the entire flight to London.
Which was why I was currently sat on the bus with the box inside my large handbag, clutching it on my lap as I made my way home.
I had wrapped the puzzle box up in bubble wrap and decided it was best not to speak of it to anyone, hoping I wouldn’t get stopped for a random search at the end of my working day.
Of course, it would have been easy to prove that it was mine considering it wasn’t catalogued as being in the museum’s possession and neither had it been catalogued as due in on any of their shipment manifests.
But proving it to be mine would have been a lengthy process, for which I didn’t have the time, that was if I was to make it home and get myself ready for this gala, then every spare minute counted.
Well, at least two things had come out of my father’s visit as he was right, I did love a good puzzle…that, and I finally had a date for the gala as my dad promised he wouldn’t let me go there alone.
So, after the fifteen-minute walk to Oxford Circus, I caught my usual bus to where I lived in Twickenham.
All in all, it usually took me just over an hour to get home with both the walk and bus journey combined.
But I didn’t mind as I liked the bus.
I liked being able to just sit back and watch the busy world go by, wondering at each person I saw what their story was. Where they were on their way to, where they had just come from and who it was they were going to meet. I had always been curious by nature but today I had to admit that my thoughts were most definitely elsewhere.
I remembered back to when I first came to find a place to live in London, getting lost more times than I could count.
I also thought back to when I spent a ridiculous amount of time stood staring at the multicolored lines of the Underground map, asking myself if people needed to first pass some unknown test just to navigate their way around the city.
A test no one had told me about.
Then I remembered when a kind and uniquely fashionable older lady in her seventies came to stand next to me and ended up explaining the whole system to me.
She had asked where it was I trying to get to and in the end, when hearing that it was the museum, thought it best to tag along and ended up spending the day with me.
Her name had been Queeney (to her friends anyway, as I never found out her real name).
She had also been the one to recommend the flat I now lived in, telling me that a friend of hers was trying to move quickly and would soon be putting it up for sale at a steal of the usual price.
Hence, how I ended up being the proud owner of a small one bedroom flat in Twickenham in a sweet and well-kept block of flats overlooking a small park.
So, just as I approached where I usually got off, which just so happened to be only a minute’s walk from where I lived, I pressed the button to let the driver know that this was my stop.
Then I heaved the bag over my shoulder remembering to take care considering what I carried inside it.
I then smiled at the bus driver in thanks before stepping off onto the curb.
Hitching up my bag once more, I made my way back home on foot, getting there in just over a minute.
I could literally see my building’s door from the bus stop. Which meant I could have that extra sleep on work days, as I wasn’t exactly a morning person.
In fact, to all who knew me well, I was a morning monster and could rival Hell’s wrath if woken up before I absolutely had to.
Which made getting me up in the morning for school a bit of a challenge for my parents.
But, since then I liked to think that I had matured in this department and therefore no longer growled like a bear at people should they wish me good morning.
However, I wasn’t yet above cursing loudly when hearing the annoying ringtone of my phone’s alarm in the morning.
I especially loathed getting up out of bed if it was still dark outside.
It was true, I was a complete bed monster and could basically sleep through most things, which was why I loved my days off, only rolling from my comfy crypt no earlier than ten.
“Happy Friday, Mrs Benton,”
I said wishing one of my neighbours a good day, who was reaching out of the kitchen window of her ground floor flat, watering her herbs that sat neatly inside a hanging window box.
She smiled at me and tore out a handful of basil, passing it to me as I passed.
“I recommend pasta tonight,”
she said as way of hello and I thanked her before entering the passcode to gain access to my building, now with one handful of fresh herbs.
My building was filled with high tech gadgets and a top of the range security system as it seemed that the owner was somewhat paranoid of break-ins.
This had been one of the features Queeney had pointed out at the time she had first shown me around her friend’s flat.
I just remembered thinking that at least my father would be happy to hear this, as my safety had been one of his biggest issues with me moving away.
I had just turned a corner after navigating up the first flight of stairs when I saw a familiar face speckled with paint.
“Hey Ben, how’s life treating you on this fine Friday evening?”
I asked this of my neighbor who lived in the flat directly opposite mine and who was currently painting his front door an array of geometric shapes in mad colours.
Not surprisingly, he was an artist, and this had been the second time I had seen him painting his front door this year and it was only March.
“Oh, just fine, fine, fine… although Owen is away again would you believe?”
Ben said waving around his blue soaked brush in an overly dramatic way as was his personality.
I gave him a sympathetic smile knowing that he hated it when his partner Owen was away.
Which he tended to do a lot these days, making me wonder if their relationship was as strong as it had been when they first met last summer.
Ben had lived here longer than I had and from what I could gather had paid a lot more for his place than I had for mine.
But I was wise enough to keep quiet on the matter as money was usually a sore spot with him.
I had met him the first day I had moved in as he saw me struggling with my boxes.
He had grabbed the door for me and minutes later helped me move the rest of my things in, that had been shipped across from Portland.
After that I had treated him to takeout sat on the floor and using a box for a table and we had been friends ever since.
He was about my height, a little podgy around the belly area from his love of baking, which I actually think suited him better as the extra weight also gave him a rounder face to match his big blue eyes and dark blonde hair.
He always seemed to be flushed having a redness to his cheeks and when he smiled it was so big that it transformed his face and made his eyes sparkle. He was like a cute teddy bear that made you want to hug him even when just saying hello. Which I would have done now if I hadn’t had a handful of herbs, a heavy bag full to the brim of ancient wood and eyeing up all the paint stuck to his work shirt and ripped jeans.
“I would say let’s get into our PJ’s, crack open a bottle of Zinfandel and stick a movie on but I have that stupid gala thing tonight,”
I said groaning at the end.
“Oh, poor you, a glamourous night ahead surrounded by handsome rich people…just however will you cope?”
he said, being bitchy in a joking way.
I rolled my eyes as I did with Wendy and said,
“Yeah, well it’s not exactly my ideal Friday night as you know.”
“Seriously girl, you have this so backward,”
he told me making me frown as I unlocked my door.
“Yeah, in what way?”
I asked over my shoulder at him.
“Because usually people feel depressed when they don’t have something to do on a Friday night other than sit at home only wishing that they had the excuse to wear a cute dress, killer heels and an actual reason to paint their nails…you on the other hand seem to wish for Netflix and pizza on the nights you have something awesome to do.”
I released a sigh knowing he was right.
“Yeah, well you are more than welcome to take my place since Wendy let me down and ended our fake lesbian relationship,”
I told him making him laugh.
“Ha, can you imagine me trying to talk seriously about shriveled up dead things with the same passion you do…perleeease Geekgirl, I would just be there for the free champagne, hors d’oeuvres and the potentially rich and handsome husband I might find,”
he said dragging out his ‘please’ and rolling his hand in the air.
“And what about Owen, huh?”
He gave me a pointed look that told me I had been right; their relationship was on the brink of coming to an end.
“So, what time do you want me to come round and do your hair?”
he asked changing the subject.
I gave him a surprised look prompting him to say,
“Oh, come on, you know you’re shit at it, no offence but if its more than giving it a quick blow dry and stuffing it up in a messy bun or a half assed plait then you’re shit at it,”
he reminded me, calling me out on something I already knew to be true.
“Fine, give me an hour to get showered and changed before knocking…oh and don’t you dare turn up here without that bottle of wine I know you have hiding in your fridge from last movie night.”
He gave me a salute when taking back up his brush, so he could finish his last blue shape.
I walked into my flat and breathed a sigh of relief that I could finally rid myself of my weighty burden.
Hell, I was half tempted to just let the thing drop to the floor the second the door closed behind me.
But then I remembered the thing was thousands of years old and did deserve a little more of my respect and professionalism.
So, I carefully placed my bag down on the kitchen table and proceeded to carry out my daily ritual of kicking off my shoes, shrugging out of my jacket and clicking the kettle on all at the same time.
Then, by the time the water had boiled, I was out of my work clothes and into comfy PJ bottoms and was pulling one of my funny T shirts over my head.
I kind of started collecting them after my Aunty Pip suggested it and therefore now received at least one from people I knew as gifts every year on both my birthday and Christmas.
Today’s choice had been from my Uncle Zagan, who was married to my father’s sister, my awesome Aunty Sophia. It read,
‘Guns don’t Kill People,
UNCLES
who have pretty
Nieces DO!’
Needless to say, all the men in my family had loved this one.
I, on the other hand, saved it for ‘inside wear only’ as let’s face it, I might have made a ‘no men’ vow, but I didn’t want to be single for the rest of my life.
Which made me think about Peter and when I had planned to see him next.
I decided to put it out of my head, making myself a cup of green tea.
Which would have been much to my mother’s disgust who was herself addicted to a more basic ‘English Breakfast’ variety, declaring all other tea’s as the work of the devil. I always giggled at this and the sight of her nose wrinkling in disgust whenever I ordered my ‘Devil tea’ when we were out.
Then I plonked myself down at the small kitchen table I’d picked up from Gumtree, the online second-hand site that lets you find hidden gems cheap that people were selling and wanted gone.
So, it had a wonky leg I had to glue every few months but so what, it was mine and I loved it, chipped paint and all.
I reached into my bag and carefully removed the puzzle box my dad had given me so that I could finally examine it in more detail.
I hadn’t had much time to do so by the time my father had left, seeing as I needed to catch my bus home.
But now, here under the hanging light I had got in the bargain section in Ikea for missing a few screws in its packaging, I could now see that it held so much more than I originally thought.
I soon began to understand why it was my dad couldn’t read its ancient text as it wasn’t your straight forward hieroglyphs.
In fact, it was starting to look more like its Egyptian symbols had been morphed with other known Glyphs used in many forms of ancient texts and language.
It had been very cleverly made that was for sure, as you would turn it one way and it would look like Cuneiform, the writing of the Sumerians.
Then you could look at it upside down and Cretan hieroglyphs could just be made out.
In fact, the whole box was covered in text, with three main scripts and the two languages being Egyptian entwined with ancient Greek.
None of it made any sense as the time frames were all off.
I decided to take pictures of each side with my phone so that I could print them out later and then circle each symbol as I deciphered it.
I usually did this when studying a new object, that way I could easily make notes and break down each element as it came to me.
I set the thing down and picked up my mug, drinking the hot tea and letting it soothe my ragged nerves, just knowing who could soon be holding this box if I couldn’t crack its code first and get it open myself.
A part of me wanted to fail, just so that I had the excuse to pass it onto him.
But the better part of me, the rational side that screamed at me on a daily basis that I hated him, wanted to stick two fingers up and crack it without needing his help.
So, I set my mug down and continued to take pictures of it until I was sure every inch had been documented.
Okay, so I know what you’re thinking.
Why, given my family’s background, would I choose to study ancient artifacts and the ancient Egyptians? Why not something like demonology, seeing as I pretty much knew all there was to know on the subject.
And, considering I was probably one of the only humans on earth to know exactly what was fact and what was fiction, then something like that might have been handy for the rest of the population...or so I thought.
But I would have been wrong.
Because unless the human world really knew the truth about what secrets lay in plain sight, then what use was I, the know it all on the subject? No, there was good reason why the supernatural side was kept hidden to them, as was part of my father’s job.
I mean look at what damage can be done in the name of religion.
How man throughout history has twisted their beliefs and the beliefs of others to start wars only for their own gain of power, land and another man’s riches.
So, the answer was simple, there wasn’t too many jobs out there for such a person and especially not in the work place of my dreams, that being the British Museum.
A place I visited on a school trip once when I bravely snuck out and forged my parents’ signatures just so that I could fulfil my wish of seeing London with the rest of my school friends.
But from the very first moment I stepped inside the amazing place, I knew that it had been fate and I would have done anything in my academic power to get a job there.
Even if I started at the very bottom and had to clean toilets to get it.
Okay, so I wasn’t exactly cleaning toilets, but cleaning artifacts was what I did most days.
However, I still loved it.
I fell in love with history pretty much from day one when I first learned to read.
And well, in truth, when you are brought up with a father who had lived through most of it, then each one of his amazing stories of his past just stuck with me and I couldn’t get enough.
I wanted to learn all about the ancient cultures my dad had lived through, learning more about his past as I did. I also inherited this passion for history from my mum, who studied it at college.
Well, admittedly it was that and my love for watching the Indiana Jones movies, quickly deciding when I was only six that this was what I wanted to become.
Okay, so it’s true that the booby trapped, cave hunting, out running crashing boulders, pit of snake diving, high flying and death-defying adventures had yet to happen, but I still had my fingers crossed that one day something exciting would finally find me.
And seeing as my mother and father were the King and Queen of the Supernatural world, then you would have thought that by the age of twenty-seven it would have happened by now.
But, in short, my life was pretty ordinary.
Then again, since I made the decision to leave home and basically live life like the human I was, then what did I really expect? I guess it shouldn’t have been that surprising that my life was as it was, as most people’s lives, the most exciting things to happen were falling in love, marriage and babies.
Oh, and the occasional accident that might mean a long wait in an A & E department.
Well, I had already done the falling in love part and stupidly let it then dictate my life by swearing off all men for the rest of eternity.
Okay, so that’s not strictly true as I was sort of seeing someone, but how far it was going to go was anyone’s guess, as we hadn’t even slept together yet.
And let’s just say that when it did finally happen for me, I had a feeling that Peter was the turn the lights off kind of guy.
Not that there was anything wrong with that but for me, it definitely seemed overshadowed by my ideals of how someone’s first time should go… especially when I had my traitorous fantasies and dreams to plague me of a certain Vampire King.
And I can safely say that my ideals and imagination tend to lead me down a much darker and taboo path when thinking about what Lucius would be like in the bedroom.
Chains, ropes, distinct teeth marks and red palmed skin tended to come to mind, as it was definitely more the red room from Fifty Shades, than the tame kissing on your wedding day from Pride and Prejudice in a horse drawn carriage.
But Peter was a sweet, kind and gentle man and most of all he was safe, which no doubt my father would like most about him.
Although, thankfully that day was far, far away from happening, no matter how much my mother thought it funny to tease him about it.
Ha, well there wouldn’t have been any teasing if either of them knew about my feelings for Lucius, as let’s face it, that was one can of demonic worms nobody wanted to open…as in EVER! Especially not what I knew now and how that bastard had taken great joy in telling me back when I had a fragile naive heart, one he stepped on and decided to break for nothing more than what seemed like his amusement.
Even if the bastard had saved my life that day, it didn’t matter, because for[sh2] long years after, the backlash of his actions had often made me wish that he hadn’t.
Man, how foolish I had been back then, I couldn’t help but shake my head when just thinking back to it.
No man was worth my life, that was the lesson I had learnt, and no man would ever love me as much as my father.
Or so I thought.
But offering my love to a man like Lucius, then really what had I been thinking? For how could a man, as cold and hard as he is, ever love anyone? I had often wondered this but then again, I knew the heartbreaking truth now, didn’t I? Because there had been one woman the Vampire King had fallen in love with and it most certainly hadn’t been me.
No, I learned the truth of that the hardest way anyone could learn it.
From the very lips I wished would spend long hours kissing my own and teaching my body what it felt like to have the determined touch of a dominant hand.
I heard it from the cruel lips of who I once believed to be my Chosen One.
The only person he told me that he had ever loved had been none other than my own…
Mother.