Chapter 36
So this is my life now, for better or worse.
I’m a bloodsucker, an abhorrence to nature, a vampire.
How it happened, I don’t know. Sometime during the night at Darius’s house, Anya must’ve bitten me, but the memory is lost. And it never returns in the days and weeks following when I’m in a bloodlust frenzy.
Things get to the point where I know I have to confess to Mother Swift—I have to tell her that I’m not ‘normal’ because a gentleman is going to complain about me at some point.
I shoo the other girls out of the parlour, so it’s just the two of us.
From her tense jaw and the clear thoughts I’m picking up (I can read people’s minds!), I know what she’s assuming.
‘I’m not pregnant,’ I tell her.
Her elegant features relax under the mask of make-up, and she lets out a breath. ‘Thank the Lord. You’re my best girl, Sadie. That would be a calamity.’
‘You have nothing to worry about there,’ I say pleasantly, smoothing my silk dress (a new blue one I’ve purchased of late). ‘But there is something you should know about me.’
‘If it’s a gin habit, do not trouble yourself. I’m happy to turn a blind eye to the odd tipple. Don’t mind if I join you.’ Her red-lipsticked mouth stretches into a wide grin.
‘It’s not a gin habit.’
‘Oh. What then?’
I pause, trying to find the right words. ‘Something has happened to make me ... otherworldly.’
Mother Swift’s forehead wrinkles. ‘Pardon?’
‘Perhaps it’s better if I show you.’ I pull a sharp kitchen knife out of my pocket, for I have come prepared to demonstrate. I draw the knife across my forearm, and Mother Swift gasps in horror and leaps off the moth-eaten pink velvet couch to halt me.
‘Wait! Look!’ I command, brandishing the knife to stop her coming any closer.
Her wide kohled eyes lock on to my arm, watching the red gash. Her jaw sags when it slowly but surely heals until there’s nothing there. It’s as if I never cut myself.
Mother Swift falls back onto the couch, gaping at me in shock. She makes the sign of the cross. ‘Are you undead?’
‘Yes,’ I say solemnly. ‘But I feel quite all right about it.’
Mother Swift lets out a small cry of alarm. ‘Silly girl, I told you not to go off to strange gentlemen’s houses! It was the night of the raid, wasn’t it? When you came back the next morning feeling poorly?’
I nod, wondering if this was a good idea after all. What if she insists that I leave the brothel? Where would I go?
But I don’t need to worry. Her initial fear slides away, and her eyes take on a bright, cunning look.
‘This is excellent news, Sadie,’ she says with a sly smile.
‘It is?’
‘Yes, I will tell you why in a minute. But firstly, have you bitten any customers?’
‘Yeeess,’ I say slowly. ‘I am sorry, but I was thirsty, and I needed sustenance ... and physical release.’
‘How many gentlemen?’
I tilt my head to one side, calculating.
‘I would say a dozen in the last month. But they knew nothing when it was happening, and I seemed able to compel them to forget about it afterwards. They paid and went off home happily enough. But they no doubt wondered at their tired cocks and sore necks the next morning.’ I smirk, remembering all the lovely fucking and feasting I’ve been doing.
Mother Swift rubs her own neck distractedly, as if imagining the sharp points of my fangs jabbing her. ‘All right. Twelve, not too many. And that’s handy you can erase their memories.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we say nothing to the other girls for a start. If word gets out that Mother Swift is housing a vampire, then we would be set upon. You will be staked, beheaded, and burned.’
I shudder at that. ‘Not my idea of fun. But I’ve been keeping to myself lately anyway, so no one else knows.’
‘Good, good. How much sleep do you need?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘Maybe a couple of hours during the day? I have a lot more energy than before, especially after feeding.’
‘We should increase your number of customers then. How many could you service during an eighteen-hour period, do you think?’
Closing my eyes, I calculate rapidly without needing to use my fingers. Thanks to vampirism, my mental acuity has increased. ‘At four men an hour, around seventy-two men a day.’
Mother Swift’s brown eyes glint greedily. Her exact thought is Sadie is going to make me rich!
‘Excellent,’ she says out loud. ‘I’ll set you up in my quarters at the back of the house where no one can disturb you, dearie. There’s a nice big bedroom and an adjoining parlour you can use too. I’ll move upstairs into your bedroom.’
‘Oh, thank you. That’s kind—’
She waves away my thanks. ‘It’s not kind. It’s business.’
‘Fine. But I have two requests.’
She inclines her head. ‘Name them.’
‘That I can feed on two men of my choosing per day and I get five days off once a month.’
Mother Swift’s teeth grind as she calculates how much money she’ll lose in my absence. Five days! That’s much more than I allow the other girls. Then again, she’s going to make me so much money that it’s well worth it.
‘It’s a deal,’ she says, and I nod, smiling to myself.
Mother Swift reaches out a manicured hand to shake on it but then remembers I’m a vampire and withdraws it hastily.
***
A couple of months later, I’m well settled into Mother Swift’s new regime. We’re even on a first-name basis, so I’m calling her Fanny.
Her worries about my vampiric state being leaked were unfounded as there aren’t as many girls working at the brothel now.
In fact, there’s mostly just me since I’m so efficient.
We’ve expanded into small group servicings since they’re popular amongst the elite.
This is how it works: A party of half a dozen young toffs are out on the town for a drink.
They go visiting pub after pub, getting rowdier and rowdier until they’re thrown out.
Then one of them has the bright idea of calling at Mother Swift’s.
They show up sozzled, demanding the best girls.
Fanny smiles winsomely, talks them through my various talents, and gets them all hot and bothered.
Once they’re thinking with their stiff rods, she then charges them triple.
Up front. Suffice to say, once they’re in my parlour, they’re not disappointed.
Everyone leaves satisfied, except for two of them, who stay behind until I’m fed.
Fucking, feasting, and getting paid well for it—it’s an excellent arrangement.
On the downside, I am quite lonely and missing the company of the other girls. Sharing funny stories about our customers and having a laugh at the pub were some of the highlights of working here. Now I spend most of my time being rogered so I can earn my supper.
They should update my description in Harris’s List: Sadie Smith, forever 21, silky blonde hair and luscious long legs. You won’t get much conversation, but you’ll get a fast sweet fuck ... and a sore neck.
It is slightly concerning that Fanny is putting all her golden eggs in one basket. I’m her ticket to a fancier life, and she’s counting on me to get her there. With the extra money she’s making comes extra temptation too, of the alcoholic kind.
One slow afternoon, she sends me out on a gin run. She’s been knocking back the stuff like no one’s business lately because she’s upgraded to a better quality of spirit. But it’s not for me to judge how she spends her coin.
I memorise the address of the house she’s scribbled on a grubby scrap of paper and wend my way through the darkened back alleys, asking directions from whoever I meet.
Daylight hurts my eyes, but I discover I can tolerate it for short periods.
Enough to bring back a bottle of dodgy gin for my only friend anyway.
Emerging from a particularly dark alleyway, I blink as a familiar row of houses with neatly tended front gardens and a black iron fence materialises.
Fear grips my gut as I recognise exactly where I am.
According to the directions I’ve been given, one of these is the gin house.
And that one right there with the dark-green door, number 13, is Darius’s house.
Quickly, I check Fanny’s piece of paper: Number 11, Stukeley Street. Amy Renfrew. Buy the LARGE bottle.
What are the chances it’s right next door! The gin can wait. I have to know. I have to find out.
After carefully opening the gate, I totter up the garden path, peering around nervously. It takes me a while to gather my courage and knock on the door, but when I do, I know it’s out of my hands now. Will he be glad to see me? Or angry?
The door opens revealing a young gentleman with tousled blond hair and his shirt collar undone. This definitely isn’t Darius. My stomach gives a cold lurch.
‘Yes, can I help you?’ he says in a brisk, but not unfriendly tone.
‘I-I’m looking for a gentleman who I believe lives here. His name is Darius Vexley.’
The gentleman rakes his gaze over me none too politely. ‘Who?’
‘Darius Vexley,’ I repeat, straightening my spine. ‘He is a business acquaintance of mine.’
The gentleman raises an eyebrow and turns his head and calls into the depths, ‘Sammy, do we know a Darius Vexley? Young lady at the front door says he lives here.’
After a beat, another gentleman with ginger hair and a matching moustache appears. His deep blue eyes lock on to my bosom and then lift to my eyes.
‘Darius Vexley, hmmm. Doesn’t ring any bells. But would you like to come in, madam, while we ponder if we do in fact know him?’
Both of them look at me expectantly, and their thoughts aren’t too difficult to determine even if I wasn’t a vampire: Pretty thing, I wonder how much she charges. I’d like to see those rosebud lips wrapped round my dick. Should I ask if she can do us a two for one?
I take a step back. ‘My mistake. I must have the wrong house.’
The unnamed blond man suddenly snaps his fingers. ‘Sammy, wasn’t the previous tenant called Vexley?’
I take a step forward. ‘P-previous tenant?’
‘Yes,’ he continues. ‘The landlord said there was some kind of incident, and Vexley had done a runner. We never found out more than that, but it must have been urgent as he left all his belongings behind.’
I bite my lip. ‘Is he ... Do you think he is quite well? I mean, was there anything to make you think he wasn’t well when he left?’
They look at each other and shrug. ‘Like what?’ asks ginger Sammy.
‘Like, uh, blood on the rug or ... or under the bed?’
Their eyes widen at that, and they look at me curiously.
Damn, that’s got them thinking suspicious thoughts.
Well, well, the little minx, it’s always the quiet ones.
Did she stick him with her hatpin because he refused to pay?
But what happened after that? The constable might want to know about this.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to come in, madam? We can have a check under the bed and see if there’s anything amiss,’ says ginger Sammy, his kindly tone belying what’s going on in his head.
I know if I step foot into that house, they’re going to try and detain me or force themselves upon me. Either way, it’s not going to end well for them. This was a bad idea. My brain is screaming at me, Leave it alone! Get the hell out of here!
Without another word to the two men, I turn on my heel and stride down the path, unlock the gate, and walk hastily across the road to the alleyway.
From there, I watch as they confer for a minute, then shrug and close the door.
But I can’t hear their thoughts; the mind reading seems to work only when I’m right next to the person, which is annoying.
I toss up whether or not to collect the gin from number 11, but Amy Renfrew undoubtedly knows who Fanny is and where she lives. So if the two men happen to look out the window and see me going in there, it would be easy enough to track me down afterwards.
Slowly, I make my way back to the brothel with the men’s words ringing in my ears. There was some kind of incident. He left all his belongings behind.
But is he alive or dead? Did he walk out, or did Anya kill him and get rid of the body? Will I ever know?
With a whimper, I shove Darius and Anya under the potentially bloodied rug and push them down far away from me, where I don’t have to ever think about them again. Or wonder if I’m to blame for the whole sorry mess.
Besides, I have more than enough to worry about.
Everyone in certain circles knows me and what I do.
If there was another raid at the brothel, I’d be the only one getting arrested.
And now I have two suspicious witnesses who know I was asking questions about their previous tenant.
I’m going to end up in the Clink. I just know it.
I start walking faster, my heels tip-tapping on the grimy cobblestones, as a plan starts taking shape: Me in Paris, dressed in pink taffeta with a fine hat and well-made shoes.
A toff on each arm, vying for my affections.
Me laughing and flirting coyly. Hmm, the flirting part could be a problem since I can’t speak French, but I’m sure it’s easy enough to learn.
‘Ooh la la’ when I clap eyes on their stiff rods should be enough to begin with anyway.
And of course, I’ll need a different surname if I’m going to start earning my living as a high-class harlot.
Smith is much too plain. What about ... Bouffant? That sounds French and right posh.
Yes, it’s all coming together. Pity about Fanny, but she can easily get the girls back once I’m gone. It’s time for Sadie Bouffant, sole resident vampire of Mother Swift’s elegant establishment, to vamoose across the Channel and look after herself.