Death in the Family: Sophie Morgan Vampire Series, #2

Prologue

The peachy glow of the February sunrise shone through the bedroom window, casting shadows on the wall. Julie Morgan lay in bed for a long while, bathing in the sun that illuminated but did not warm. Spring was attempting an early visit to Bethesda, but the air remained crisp and refreshing. A hint of frost coated the shrubs outside.

Her home and the village were both still. It was early, but her father had already left for work. The silence was reassuring. The stillness of the cosmos, of her home, of the world outside, embraced her and she felt soothed by the quietness. Everything was exactly as it should be. A long, shallow, cleansing breath parted her lips as she soaked it in.

Life moved inside Julie, nudging her to get up and begin the day. It wouldn't be long before the baby would be nestled in her bosom. In a few short months, she'd be a mother, no longer a child herself. Everything would be different. It was a sacrifice she welcomed. It would all be worth it: all the pain, even the fact that she was doing this alone. Yes, she could tolerate the torment of his abandoning her, of his never knowing she was carrying his child. She’d swallowed it down as soon as she'd discovered the joyful news—well, at least once she’d told her parents and realized she wasn't completely alone. They were standing by her. No, no point dwelling on the past, it was all about the future. It was all about her. Everything was going to be pure love. Stretching her arms high above her head, she rose from her bed and pushed her swollen feet into her slippers. Her painted toenails peeked through them. She wiggled them, the act prompting an unexpected giggle.

It took Julie a few minutes to put on clean underwear and pull the loose smock she'd laid out the night before over her head. It wasn't particularly flattering, but she no longer cared; it was comfortable, and less restrictive than her school uniform.

As she ran a brush through her long red hair, she noticed the postman through the window. He loitered for a moment by the garden gate, struggling with the bulging bag of letters. Once his load was adapted to his satisfaction, he moved along; another day without any post for her, and no letter from Kasper. Despite a fleeting twinge of disappointment, she had at least stopped waiting for him to turn up in person.

Six months had passed without sight or sound of him. There had been no contact since he had had lain in her arms that fateful night: the night they had slept together; the night she had woken up alone.

A kaleidoscope of emotions had engulfed her on their meeting: desire, love, belonging, fear, worry, despair, anger. Now she wasn’t sure what she felt about him. What she did know was that she had to protect their baby, her baby. But her blood pressure was already dangerously high. It was best to avoid lighting that emotional touch paper, sensible to shut out thoughts of her lost love.

Her heart, her world, had opened up the night she’d met Kasper, in a dingy little cafe bar in Copenhagen. Drunk on peach schnapps and the freedom of her first overseas adventure, she had thought him the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen.

Until then, Julie had never left Wales without her parents. Never been abroad, never been in love. That summer she had experienced all three, the result of a reciprocal cultural exchange with a Danish student. Birgitte had visited Julie for two weeks at the end of the spring term. Then Julie was spending four weeks in Copenhagen, a longer period due to it being the summer holidays. The exchange had been coordinated by her school, and was intended to broaden her horizons and increase her marketability to universities. It had certainly achieved one of those things.

In addition to the museums, the galleries, and the Little Mermaid, she’d also seen Copenhagen nightlife. It was an exciting world out there, full of potential, full of change; everything was evolving. The exchange had been considerably more reserved when her Danish friend had visited Bethesda, the village on the outskirts of the South Wales valleys where Julie had been raised. The most exciting places Julie took her guest to were Bethel, the larger industrial town of which Bethesda was technically a part, and Cardiff. Prior to her trip to Denmark, Julie had thought her own capital city was exciting. Then she’d seen Copenhagen. It was huge by comparison, and although there was a lot to see, you could walk or cycle everywhere. It was also clean, really clean.

The girls had been in the basement of a student-friendly bar near Vesterbro when she had first met Kasper Andersen. Two small glasses of a fruit-flavoured spirit had lubricated her limbs and loosened her inhibitions. She’d danced unfettered by shoes to a Divinyls track, experiencing nightclubs for the first time, amazed by the freedom and anonymity they afforded. Then Kasper had entered. He was cool and intense, an expensive-looking camera draped around his neck. Flashes lit up dingy corners as he took snaps of the scene around him. At first she had pretended not to notice his pale skin, dense spiked dark hair, and enigmatic eyes, but as she had spun and writhed around, their eyes had met and the deal was done.

He was a photography student at the university, a few years her senior, and took the lead. His nervousness surprised her as he rummaged through coins and notes to buy her a drink. Young men didn’t normally approach her. The few she had ever come into close contact with worked with her father at his hardware shop. Tom, the handyman her parents used for odd jobs, was polite and good looking, but he had never invited her out on a date. They only had to talk to her and her father would shoot them a warning glare. Now this mysterious, dark stranger was asking to buy her a drink. Even more staggering, he was nervous about it. Julie wasn’t used to alcohol, and opted for coffee; she suspected she'd made a fool of herself already. Kasper opted for coffee too. How cosmopolitan, she thought.

For the rest of the evening they sat in a quiet corner, immersed in conversation and ignoring their original companions. Birgitte sat patiently, attempting to chat with Kasper’s older brother, Kurt, a Ph.D. student, who replied to most of her questions monosyllabically.

But Julie and Kasper didn’t care. They were oblivious to the world around them. They didn’t even hear the band when it came on to replace the music piped through the stereo system behind the bar; nor did they notice when the band finished its sets and began packing, and everyone else started leaving. They only heard each other’s voices. Sparks flew when their fingers brushed against each other, sending pinprick jolts down her body. When their lips eventually brushed in a tentative kiss, she felt her body melt, just as night melted into day.

The weeks that followed their meeting were a hazy montage of snatched moments, hesitant embraces, and deep gazes. Kasper took hundreds of photographs of her, consumed by his passion, trying to capture whatever piece of her he could before her imminent departure. She too knew their time together was finite, precious, although she didn’t want to think about what it would mean when she had to leave him. Julie felt like a child in many ways, but he had awakened feelings in her she didn’t want to suppress. She ushered them in. She didn’t want to fight the knowledge that they belonged to each other, to deny the truth that, at only seventeen, she had met the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with.

Then, on an uncharacteristically wet night, he had failed to turn up for their date. She and Birgitte had stood huddled under an umbrella for almost an hour, before they begrudgingly walked back to the apartment and an evening of playing cards with Birgitte’s family.

When daylight came, she called the number of his family home on the outskirts of the city.

"Hej," Kurt said brusquely.

Kurt?

Yes... Julie?

Oh, yes. Yes, it's me. Is Kasper there, please? she asked.

No. His reply was definitive. Its sternness startled her. A startled oh! escaped her lips without her thinking. It broke the silence, but she didn’t know where to go next. Kurt had never spoken more than a few words to her. He had never looked her in the eye. Once he had even walked out of the room as soon as he was alone with her. He couldn’t even stand to be with her for the time it took for Kasper to go to the kitchen and grab them some sodas.

Is there anything I can do for you?

Flustered and embarrassed, she told him that Kasper had not turned up for their date the previous evening. I'm sure there's a good reason. I was just worried something might have happened, or that he might think I was cross at him for forgetting our date or something.

Kurt took a deep breath before answering. Neither he nor his parents had heard from Kasper, but that wasn't unusual. You shouldn't worry. He will often disappear for days. He added that Kasper often wandered off without telling anyone his movements. His passion for photography took him venturing further afield. Don't worry, Julie; he’ll just be off with his camera somewhere!

Yes, well, could you please tell him that I called when he does show his face? I'm leaving soon, and I was hoping to see him again before I go. I’ll spend my final few days here worrying if I don't hear from him!

Of course, Kurt said, his words now uncharacteristically kind. I'll tell him.

Julie spent the remainder of the day frantically wondering where Kasper was, whether he was safe and well, or whether he was simply choosing to ignore her. She dragged Birgitte around their favourite spots in hopes of seeing him. They checked in at coffee shops and art galleries, walking the length of the harbour. Yet Kasper was nowhere to be found.

Then, later that night, he answered her prayers and appeared on Birgitte's doorstep.

The house was still and quiet, all residents asleep in their beds. Julie was the only one who could not settle, thoughts of Kasper churning around her mind. Despite her exhaustion, sleep would not come. It was already dark, but she gazed hopefully out the window nevertheless.

If she hadn't been looking out of the small window in the guest bedroom, she wouldn't have even known he was there, pathetic and trembling. Then he collapsed into the refuse bins crowding the entrance of the apartment building, and she knew something was very, very wrong.

Her host family did not stir as she tiptoed across the landing to the apartment door, carefully manoeuvred the lock, and closed the door behind her, allowing it to rest gently on the latch. She raced down three flights of cold, tiled steps and swung the door open with excitement and anxiety. Her heart pounded in her chest. He was here! It was him! Then her heart sank as she became sadly aware of the condition of his clothes, the blood on his shirt, the sweat pouring from his face.

She ushered the fevered young man into the hallway, pushing him up the stairs in front of her so that, although he stumbled, he couldn’t fall backwards and hurt himself. He moaned and collapsed into the front door, so she tenderly placed her hand over his mouth and told him to be quiet. With an almost supernatural ability, she navigated him in his stupefied state, down the hallway and into the small guest room at the end. It was barely big enough to accommodate her; it contained a single bed and a table just big enough for a small lamp. Her clothes and personal possessions were stored in her suitcase, which she had managed to force under the bedstead.

Kasper stumbled through the door and collapsed onto the dishevelled bed, garbling words which were barely audible. She held him and he calmed. Kasper told her that he had little recollection of the previous twenty-four hours, but he knew it must have been bad. His white shirt was drenched in blood, his eyes blackened, his torso covered with bruises. He’d awoken in a strange place, alone and frightened. When he had heard footsteps coming towards the door, he’d made a dash out the window and down the fire escape, and ran. He’d run until he found himself on her doorstep. He’d left behind him the camera and leather jacket, his two most prized possessions, on the bed in the mysterious room.

She peeled the sodden clothing from his limbs and welcomed him into her bed and her embrace. Kissing away his tears, she silently vowed to protect him, and promised to keep him safe. She absorbed the burning heat from his body into her own and soothed him. They made love in whispers and sowed the seed for a future together, but by morning Kasper had carefully and silently crept out and away.

Julie never knew when he had left her side exactly, where he went, or what happened to him. She attempted to find out, of course. She rang his parents again, describing the state in which Kasper had come to her; she told them that he had been attacked, that he was injured. They had made her feel like she was overacting and exaggerating the state Kasper was in. He was probably drunk, they said, a little rattled perhaps. He’d often disappear for days, they told her. He was a free spirit, and she shouldn’t worry.

When Julie finally left Denmark later that week, she left the hope of a future with him behind. Had she been used? Had it all been a lie? She found that difficult to believe; it didn’t seem or feel like him. But what other explanation was there? The idea of him lying dead in a ditch somewhere filled her with horror. Abandonment was a less-disturbing notion.

If Kasper had ever returned to his family, they’d made no attempt to contact her. She’d written to them a few times when first returning home, but they hadn’t replied. This surprised her. She’d thought his brother would have been in touch. Then again, she’d also had the impression that Kurt was uncomfortable around her, as if trying to suppress some hidden distaste. When she had discovered she was pregnant shortly after, she’d considered calling them, but dismissed it.

Kasper was either dead, or happy somewhere else, possibly even with someone else. Perhaps one day she would turn a corner and bump into him, or she’d get a letter out of the blue. She wouldn’t hold her breath till then.

Since then, all that had mattered was the bump, the squirming bundle of joy and hope wriggling its behind into her bladder. She placed a hand on her swollen stomach and rubbed it in a circular motion. Squirm wriggled some more, but soon settled. The urge to urinate subsided as quickly as it had arrived.

She felt glorious, despite the discomfort, and despite having to sport the navy smock and support socks. Her school uniform no longer fit her. It was good that her mother was handy with a sewing machine. The headmaster had agreed that the smock, fashioned in school colours, was an acceptable alternative. Otherwise he would have expelled her. Her father’s offering to sponsor the next school theatrical production, by donating materials from his hardware shop to build sets, had helped a little too. The birth would be over in time for her A-Level exams, although university was off the cards for now. She had promised her parents she would consider applying to Cardiff in a year or so, once things had settled down, but she suspected it was a promise that all sides knew it was unrealistic to make.

Her quiet solitude was disrupted by a gentle rap on the bedroom door and the hushed growl of the creaking door brushing over the thick pile carpet.

Julie, are you decent?

She didn’t have time to respond before her mother crossed the room and stood by her side. She placed a cup of steaming tea on the windowsill. The words ‘World’s Best Daughter’ were written in bold lettering on the side.

They gazed out the window together at the distant Technicolour landscape. It had been a mild winter with plenty of rain; the leaves remained on the trees and daffodils were already starting to bloom. Crocuses, beaten down by the weather, trumpeted a hopeful hello at the world.

Julie cradled her stomach with one hand and, distant with thought, reached for the tea with the other.

Have you decided on a name yet? her mother asked. She appreciated what it was like be pregnant and hormonal, but she couldn’t imagine going through it at almost eighteen, as a teenager, unmarried and still in school. It was best to stay on safe subject-matter, to stay practical and focused. She knew her daughter was sad, but she knew it was not her place to raise it. Nothing could be gained from dwelling on things you couldn’t change.

Julie had indeed thought of a name; she had been studying her book of baby names quite carefully over the previous few weeks. After much deliberation, the solution had come to her with an air of amazement. It was there in the final pages of the ‘S’ section: a name meaning wisdom, something she hoped her daughter would have in abundance.

Her lips curled up at the edges and her hair danced in the sunlight as the name kissed her lips. Sophie, she sighed. Her name is Sophie!

1

I kicked back the duvet from my naked legs and dropped my wonderfully tired limbs on the previously crisp cover. They felt like I’d run a marathon, but I welcomed the dull ache that throbbed throughout each muscle. I wiggled my toes in delight before casting a sneaky peak at my bed partner.

Good morning! Mickey said rubbing his hands through his hair. He shuffled up the bed and reclined back on his elbows.

Morning yourself! I’d been awake for around twenty minutes already, and although I hadn’t moved from my pit, I was distinctly sprightlier than my companion. He smirked back at me, looking me up and down, reminding me of my nakedness. I pulled the corner of the duvet up over my breasts and sank back into the pillows. He leaned over and kissed me softly on the mouth. When our lips parted, he smiled an awkward smile of coyness and delight. Something stirred beneath the duvet cover.

Some night, eh? I said, beaming.

Yeah, he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection, despite the circles that lay beneath them. He kissed me again, stopping at the sound of Charlie, my cat, scratching at the door demanding to be let in. I think the little fella wants his breakfast.

I nodded in agreement, slipped out from under the bedclothes, and quickly threw on* my dressing gown.

I’ll sort him out, and put the kettle on while I’m at it, I told him. Take your time, there’s no rush. There’s nowhere I need to be today. Working for yourself definitely had advantages. Besides, I’d waited months for Mickey; I could wait a little longer.

He and I had met six months earlier in Antwerp. I was on holiday with a friend from Coventry, where I was living at the time; I’d been at university and then stayed on, you know how it is. He had been working in a bar, O’Malley’s, along with his younger brother Sean. They’d been travelling around Europe but hadn’t gotten far, the need for money and accommodation prevailing over the quest for adventure.

Nothing overtly romantic had happened between us back then, not in the conventional sense. We’d shared a fleeting, awkward kiss, but the chemistry had been undeniable; even I could tell that.

Of course, there was also a much deeper, darker connection between us, and a much greater motivation for him tracking me down to my South Wales home, and turning up on my doorstep out of the blue. That reason was simple: vampires!

The closest thing we’d come to a hot date in Antwerp had been hunting down a vampire who had attacked me, not far from O’Malley’s. Mickey had come to my rescue, saving me from a bloody and painful death, but we couldn’t be certain if my attacker would come back. We went looking for him to see if he was dead, as well as to confirm whether our suspicions, that he was a vampire, were even right to begin with. Although injured, he had been capable of completing the kill, despite the intervention of two additional vampire companions. Thankfully, we had managed to dispatch two of them and run the other off, although this had been in large part due to Mickey’s boss, Maggie, who had tracked us down at exactly the right moment, with what I strongly suspect was an illegal shotgun. She was one gutsy woman!

But these weren’t the only vampires in Antwerp, not that I had known it at the time. Shortly after my return to the UK, the gang they were affiliated with had come looking for revenge—and specifically for me, for some inexplicable reason. Mickey and Sean had borne the brunt of their anger; they had killed Sean, and left Mickey for dead with a wealth of broken bones and severe amnesia. It had taken months for Mickey to fully recall what had gone down, adding feelings of shame and confusion to the mounting wave of grief.

He’d returned to Ireland, and slowly but surely started to remember the events of that night. He’d remembered the vampires stamping on his brother’s head, the feeling of boots on his own rib cage, and of teeth piercing his limbs. He’d remembered the sound of his brother’s whimpers and groans as he lay dying on the blood-soaked cellar door. He had also recalled the younger vampire, the one who had just watched while the other vamps had a party on his body. He hadn’t participated in the violence, but he was still terrifying in his own right. He’d wanted to know where I was, and Mickey had been frightened that this onlooker had left him alive in the hope that Mickey might lead him . . . to me.

Of course, it had been too late to tell the police, who by that point had dismissed it all as a random gang attack; that’s even if he had known he could trust the police anyway. But it hadn’t been too late to warn me. Despite his grief and his need to be with his family, Mickey had still needed to come, to warn me. It had taken him a while to get everything clear in his head, but he had still come, and now here he was.

While all that had gone on, I’d been back in the UK, completely unaware of all the horror he was experiencing. Mickey and I had kept in touch for a while, emailing and texting regularly; we’d even spoken on the phone a few times. When he had broken off contact I’d felt horribly rejected, and despite looking on the internet for news of him or vampires, I hadn’t seen anything online or in the press.

Besides, I had plenty of my own troubles to worry about back in Coventry. Up until all this had happened, I had been blissfully unaware that vampires existed, and was merrily going around believing that (a) most bad things would be reported in the news, and (b) they were the result of your common, garden-variety criminals, or psychos, neither of whom I would most likely ever have the misfortune to meet. But I was to find no more peace in England