9. Ari
Ari
We have lunch in the living area – I mean, to be fair there isn’t really anywhere else – and I begin to feel a little claustrophobic, like the walls of the tiny flat are starting to press in against me.
Perhaps it’s just having the two of us in this space, all cooped up.
Or perhaps it’s the invisible hand of fate pressing down on my neck as the clock continues to tick down on my debt that must be repaid.
We eat our coronation chicken baguettes in silence.
But I can tell he wants to say something.
Being able to read people kind of comes with the territory after being alive for so long.
Or at least, it should. Not that I’m always right about people of course, otherwise we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.
But luckily Brody wears his heart on his sleeve and has zero in the way of a poker face. “Just spit it out,” I tell him.
“Spit what out?”
“Whatever it is you’re trying to muster the courage to say.”
His gaze darts left to right a few times, as if he’s trying to figure out his escape route from having to broach whatever subject he’s mulling over. “I… I…” he stumbles. It’s almost cute.
“You obviously want to say something. And it’ll be far easier for the both of us if you’re honest with me.”
Brody nods a few times, causing his hair to flop across his forehead in that distracting way. The vampire style de jour is a slicked back quiff reminiscent of the 1950s, but the current human fashion is much more flattering and I can’t help but imagine running my fingers through his soft curls.
He clears his throat, takes a sip of his coffee, clears his throat again and then finally opens his mouth to speak. “Do you have a business plan?” The words tumble from his lips in an almost incoherent stream.
“Oh. Well…” This time it’s my turn to stumble.
“It’s just that these apps can be really expensive to build and get out into the world.”
I was afraid of this, my fear building all morning as we looked at the rest of the app market, all slick interfaces and obviously huge marketing budgets. My assumption that these things were pretty cheap may have not been entirely accurate.
“Yeah.” I sound defeated and a look of alarm flashes across Brody’s features. I guess he was hoping I’d tell him it was all under control and I had a vault of cash set aside.
“So… You don’t have a business plan?” I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully.
“It can’t be that expensive. I mean, we just need enough cash to get it off the ground and then we can use the profits to reinvest and make some of the more complex stuff work.” It’s a question though. I don’t really understand all this.
“Do you want me to tell you that’s how it will happen and everything will be fine?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No. Just tell me the truth.” I lean back and close my eyes. Perhaps this will be easier to take if I can’t see him.
“So firstly there’s the user interface, or UX, design.”
I nod so he knows I’m listening but I don’t open my eyes.
“Then there’s the frontend and backend development.
Plus quality assurance and testing. Project management.
Now, because the app is niche market rather than trading off a functionality USP, we can use some pre-built elements so I don’t have to code everything from scratch.
That will save a bit of cash. And time of course.
And then there’s hosting. Trademarks to buy.
And that’s before we’ve even thought about marketing. ”
After a while I find my attention drifting away from the words of doom spilling from his mouth and towards his really rather earnest delivery.
So far I’ve seen him uptight and worried and second guessing himself and everything he says.
But now, he’s warming up to subject and his confidence is growing.
It’s… well if he wasn’t telling me Only Fangs is a bust, it’d almost be sexy.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Hmmm?” His question jars me out of the little daydream – OK, more like a fantasy – I was indulging in.
“I think I lost you there for a moment,” he says.
“Oh no, you were there—” I cut myself off.
I might not be one hundred percent up to date with modern workplace etiquette but I’m pretty sure it’s frowned upon to imagine doing that with your employees.
Not that he’s likely to be my employee for long.
I can only afford to pay him for three months and I’d banked on getting Only Fangs up and running within that time to start paying the bills.
It seems I have royally fucked up this situation.
Brody heads home, wishing me a fabulous evening on the doorstep and promising to arrive tomorrow morning with a proper list of things we need to budget for.
I haven’t told him it’s a waste of time.
Not yet anyway. There must be something I can do.
I make a cup of tea and then lie down on the sofa.
Perhaps being horizontal will help, Mum always used to say it gave a fresh perspective on a problem.
But twenty minutes later I’m still lying there without any answers. In fact all I’ve managed to achieve is a low key panic attack and even more questions. The flat feels quiet, more so than usual. It’s as if the contrast to Brody’s presence has made it seem even smaller and lonelier. I ring Clara.
“Yo sweetie. You coming over to Ivan’s? He just rang to say he scored some top quality Sanguis.”
I glance around my empty flat and think of the bottle of synthetic blood in the fridge.
The instructions on the bottle suggest it can be warmed in the microwave.
The microwave! Like any self-respecting vampire would heat their blood in the microwave and not in a proper bain-marie.
Company and Sanguis sounds a damn sight better than the alternative. Although it is Ivan’s place…
“And he promises he’s had his apartment deep cleaned,” Clara adds. She doesn’t hide the ick in her tone, we have discussed many times the potential health hazard of spending time at Ivan’s, especially if he’s been “entertaining” recently.
But sharing he’s been cleaning is enough to tip the balance. “Fine,” I tell Clara. “I’ll be five minutes.” I don’t even bother to change or check the laptop is unplugged before I grab my keys and leave.
So, vampires can fly in a kind of metaphorical way.
Like, it isn’t flying per se, it’s more of a very fast floating, as if the usual rules of gravity don’t apply, or we can bend the world a little to our whims. I’m sure some clever shit vampire somewhere could explain it properly, but I don’t really care about the physics.
We can’t do it over long distances but it does mean I can cover the mile to Ivan’s in seconds.
Very useful when there’s the promise of Sanguis.
Clara beats me there and she’s waiting outside for me.
We ring the bell and wait for Ivan to grant us access.
It’s a common misconception that you only need to invite a vampire inside once and then we can come and go as we please.
And plenty of human establishments – mainly those stuffy private members clubs favoured by boring old white men – use it to keep us out.
Not that we want to join their old boys’ networks, we have far better clubs of our own, but it does make it awkward going to Sainsbury’s sometimes.
You can access anywhere if you have a key though, so I can get straight into Clara’s place without any problems. I’ve always thought someone should just invent a master key for all public places to solve the problem.
The Sanguis isn’t just “top quality”, it’s the best money can buy, and so fresh I can taste the subtle hint of sweetness, like a perfectly ripe strawberry. “That is fucking delicious,” I tell Ivan and he shimmies with pride.
“Only the best for my bitches—”
“No!” Clara cuts him off. “We talked about this Ivan. You cannot call us that.”
“Kill joy,” he replies, watching her over the rim of his glass. He pouts a little and Clara rolls her eyes.
After the Sanguis we move on to red wine. A 2010 Chateau La Mission-Haut-Brion. It probably cost more than my rent.
“You know what this wine needs?” Ivan says as he swirls it round the glass. “Some nice cheese, like a good sharp cheddar or even an aged gouda.”
“Do you have any?” Clara asks.
“No.” Ivan pouts. “But I really want it now I’ve said it. I could ask Victor for a little favour.”
“No.” The word flies from my mouth in a high pitched squeak before I can even think about it. “I mean,” returning to my usual voice, “you can’t just summon a demon for something so trivial.”
“Cheese isn’t trivial,” Ivan says. “And he does have to come for any reasonable deal. I was going to offer him the other bottle of this wine in return.”
“No.” I repeat. Ivan can’t summon Victor. Not when I’m here.
“Fine.” He huffs a little as he sips his drink.
“So, tell me all about Only Fangs,” Clara says, obviously wanting to change the subject. She tucks her long legs beneath her as she settles into the corner spot on the sofa.
“It’s great.” I try to sound positive. But there’s a problem with friends who’ve known you for over a century: you can’t lie to them, no matter how hard you try.
“Spill.”
“It’s nothing. It’s just money, you know.
” I make a face. I say you can’t lie to your best friends, but you can just not tell them certain things.
Like quite how broke I am. Like what will happen if I can’t turn round my financial situation.
And quickly. “But anyway, let’s not talk about work stuff.
” I flap my hand as if to say that none of it matters and it’s all just a little too boring to discuss.
“What about that cute little piece of ass you hired?” Ivan asks.
“He’s good. At the coding and stuff I mean.” I reply.
“You like him.” Ivan is on his feet and standing in front of me in a flash.
I recoil slightly. Sometimes he really has no concept of personal space. “I don’t.”
“Yes you do. You can’t hide anything from Uncle Ivan, you know.”
“I don’t.”
“You keep lying to yourself.” He picks up Clara’s phone and holds it out so she can press her thumb against the bottom of the screen.
Fun fact, vampires can’t use facial recognition for security on our phones and stuff, so we’re stuck in this weird limbo of the iPhone 8, like we’re frozen in time.
Clara’s father has lobbied Apple to sort their shit out before we become what he calls “imprisoned in a technical drought” but so far no luck.
Ivan chuckles a few times as he taps on the screen.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Asking your new fancy man and his flatmate to join us for a drinkie.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not,” he pops a hip as he stares me down.
“It’s workplace harassment,” I tell him, raising an eyebrow with righteous conviction.
“So don’t harass him then.”