Who controls the past...
London, 1933
He had never seen him look scared before.
He and Herrick had been through a lot together. Since they met on the battlefields of the Great War, Mitchell's propensity to get into trouble had always kept his creator on his toes. Murder and mayhem all around them but somehow Herrick had always found them a way out, never letting that genial smile slip. The smile that never quite reached his eyes.
But this was different.
"You're surely not still sulking about Paris?" Mitchell drained his champagne glass and waved it at the waiter for a refill, ignoring the tightening of Herrick's face at his uncouth behaviour.
Resisting the urge to remind his young protégée of his manners Herrick sipped from his own glass.
"I never sulk; I leave all that to you. Why would I possibly be upset about your wanton recruitment? The girl, well, maybe I could understand her but the waiter? What are we going to do with him? With that moustache we can hardly hide him away"
He raised a hand and a hovering barman leapt to his side.
"This champagne is not vintage. Bring us brandy instead, the best you have"
"Of course Sir, right away"
Unless engaged in – shall we say - less than gentlemanly pursuits, Herrick preferred to stay at Claridges on his trips to London. Always immaculately turned out, he spent lavishly and tipped well and accepted the resulting excellent service as merely his due. Typically, the brandy appeared almost instantly and the champagne and glasses were whisked away. Although not before Mitchell had managed to finish most of it, less fussy about its vintage status.
This lordly behaviour was nothing out of the ordinary for Herrick but Mitchell still felt that something was wrong. Herrick seemed tense and wary and although he was wearing one of his perfectly tailored evening suits he was without a fresh flower in his lapel and his shoes lacked their normal mirror polish. For Herrick this lack of standards was the sartorial equivalent of taking tea at the Ritz in his pyjamas! Unheard of. Herrick glanced over his shoulder and Mitchell realised that he kept looking at the entrance to the bar.
"Come on" he said, leaning over towards him to make sure Herrick knew he was serious "What's up? And don't bother with the recruitment bullshit because I know there is something going on. Is it about me?"
"Oh, the unquenchable arrogance of youth" Herrick chuckled; despite his antics Mitchell would always amuse him. "I'd love to say no but sadly you are right for once. We're waiting for someone. Someone who suggested we meet with him on the way back from Paris."
"Well, you don't look too thrilled about it... and since when did you listen to suggestions from anyone?"
Mitchell was more puzzled, not less at this explanation. Since they had been together he had seen that Herrick was always the leader in any vampire gathering; even though others were older and more established, his ambitions were clear to all and few dared to stand against him. Herrick had no compunction about dealing with his competitors in the most final way and no sense of loyalty to other vampires. He felt no tribal allegiance; it just got in the way. The London leader had challenged him when he saw Herrick and Mitchell rampaging around London, expecting him to clean up after them. Herrick had dealt with him, or rather he had had Seth do it rather than risk staining his gloves. His successor was more wary but Herrick was just biding his time to inflict even more misery. Just for fun.
Who or what - could be making ambitious, amoral Herrick so very uncomfortable?
They sat in silence for long minutes, Herrick getting ever more tense, staring at the door, perched on the very edge of his chair. Mitchell started to feel the tension too, despite his casual exterior, slumped back in his own deep, cushioned chair. His increasing disquiet and worry about what was coming was kept well hidden and it didn't stop him making inroads into the excellent brandy.
Finally Herrick shot to his feet, brushing down his jacket and smoothing his hair, as a slim man, plainly, almost severely dressed came striding towards them. Ignoring Herrick's wide, welcoming smile and outstretched hand he sat beside Mitchell, leaving Herrick stranded, completely wrong footed.
"Wyndam, Edgar Wyndam. And you must be John, how very lovely to meet you. Oh, and do sit down Billy for goodness sake; you do make the place look untidy"
He held out a hand to Mitchell and quite instinctively he took it, realising too late the strength in those elegant fingers. Wyndam looked over Mitchell, assessing him, missing nothing. Compared to the dapper Herrick, Mitchell was, to be charitable, less polished. He started out well intentioned and reasonably presentable but after a couple of drinks his hair got itself rumpled and his collar seemed to open of its own accord. His tie had disappeared at about the time the brandy appeared. Uncomfortable under such detailed scrutiny he tried to pull his hand away but it was impossible. With no visible effort at all Wyndam held him in a grip of steel.
He looked Mitchell in the eyes, icy blue eyes meeting worried brown ones and Mitchell felt a strange sensation. Unable to look away from those pale compelling eyes it was almost as if Wyndam was in his head, thumbing though his most personal memories. Images flashed through his mind unbidden, images not under his control, of people and places he thought he had forgotten and others he wished he could forget. Now pictures from his human past hurried in, his childhood and those too brief days of manhood before the trenches of the Great War. No one else could have known of these places, these events and he had always resisted revisiting them, not wanting to taint them with his new form.
Suddenly he realised that he had been released, Wyndam had turned away and he was sat back in his chair, feeling as though hours had passed. But that couldn't be the case; Herrick was still settling himself in his own chair, fussily checking his trousers were not creased. What had happened?
He tried to speak but only a stutter, almost a groan, emerged and Wyndam looked at him, putting his finger to his lips.
"Later, John, later. It will all become clear"
Wyndam's attention turned to Herrick who was smiling ingratiatingly, desperate for some attention, gazing on Wyndam with an odd mixture of hero worship and fear.
"So Billy, I hear you've been stirring up trouble. Some things will never change."
London, 1890
Herrick had taken to vampirism like the proverbial duck to water and the evil human he had been had become a truly wicked immortal. He loved it; it felt so right, so nice – what he had unknowingly been waiting for all through his miserable human life.
He'd met child-vampire Hetty when she posed as an abandoned orphan, duping Herrick into selling her to a brothel. After he was reborn as a vampire and she told him about his new world and all its opportunities, they carried on the ploy for fun, travelling between the many brothels and greedy Madams of London. Herrick collected a pretty fortune in gold as they sold poor, pretty, orphaned Hetty again and again. And let's be honest, a few dead prostitutes would never really bother the authorities.
They were savouring the comforts of the latest brothel – a small, select house for specialised tastes - where Hetty had achieved her highest price yet. They had spared the cook and the maid on the promise that they would serve them the best the kitchens and cellars could offer before fleeing but the Madam and her three girls had fallen to the ravenous vampires.
Satisfied, replete, Herrick was stretched out in front of the fire, toying with the last drops of blood in a crystal glass – one of his new pleasures. His feet were propped comfortably on the sprawled bodies of the three dead women as he watched Hetty arrange the Madam's body in a chair, looking for all the world like a child with a life sized doll.
Herrick had already leaned to be wary of Hetty – she may have been his maker but there was a distance between them and being trapped forever in the body of a child had made Hetty an ageless devil. Cruel and unforgiving, she played with her new offspring like a cat and Herrick was getting restive. He wanted to be free to choose his own dark path but Hetty could teach him and he was desperate to learn all he could from her before she discarded him and moved on to a new distraction. He could put up with her cruelty for a time if it was in exchange for valuable information; after all he had known far worse in the past. He still bore the scars.
She had only let slip a few secrets and it seemed to Herrick that the older the vampire the further they were from humanity. Gradually the emotions die away and a cold, hardness takes their place. Some react with a constant search for amusement and distraction, like Hetty, while some retreat from the world and others – well, that was a story she hadn't told him yet.
The door opened and a man entered – Herrick was getting to his feet to challenge the intruder but Hetty got there first.
"Edgar! My darling, my angel" she howled in delight. "At last!" She threw herself into his arms and Wyndam caught her, held her close and spun her round and round, as they laughed together.
"Let me look at you... as beautiful as ever, and just as terrible!"
Wyndam kissed Hetty on both cheeks as Herrick watched, holding her close. To a casual glance it could be a doting uncle and spoiled niece but he could see there was more. The embraces were closer than a family would countenance, he held her like a woman, not a child, and the way that Hetty stroked Wyndam's face was possessive and sensuous. It was almost as if...
"Herrick – don't be so disgracefully prudish" scolded Hetty, seeing his disquiet. "This is my maker, my own Edgar, and let me assure you that this body puts a stop to what you are imagining with such puerile delight, more's the pity!"
"Edgar, this is William Herrick – my new baby." She whispered something in Wyndam's ear and he laughed.
Herrick felt awkward, Hetty and Wyndam made him feel gauche and unwanted but Wyndam was something that Herrick didn't recognise. Somehow he drew the eye and held it and Herrick couldn't look away from him, he was strangely fascinating. Herrick's vampire senses were still young but even he could see that Wyndam was immensely powerful in a way that he envied from the core of his being. Wyndam gave him the last piece of his vampire puzzle and he knew now where he was going, what he would be – with or without Hetty.
He would be powerful.
"So Billy – a new born child! How jolly!" Wyndam's voice was patronising and he and Hetty were looking at Herrick as if he were some kind of experiment. Interesting for the moment but doomed to certain failure.
"It's William or Herrick, if you please" he replied, trying to stay polite but sounding rather servile. He hated being called Billy; that was what they had called him in the workhouse but Wyndam just laughed again. He surveyed Herrick who forced himself to stand straight and endure the scrutiny when all his senses told him he should run. Herrick's ill gotten gold had bought him the best clothes he could find, a sparkling watch and chain and a trip to a gentleman's barber but under that cold gaze he felt wanting. His suit and linen were too new, too perfect, far from the bespoke perfection of Wyndam's plain attire. Everything he had been so pleased with in his dark new world now felt tawdry and cheap. Spoiled.
"You were quite right my darling, he is an amusing prospect. So needy, so desperate for attention and authority – and so unlikely to ever get it" Wyndam let Hetty gently down to the ground and without seeming to move was suddenly beside Herrick, taking him by the throat and lifting him off the floor.
"Just beware, little Billy. I can see who you are, all that desire and twisted need. I can see your ambition and your dreams of grandeur. I don't want to find you building empires, gathering troops. I don't ever want to have to come and find you. But I will if you make me and I can assure you that you will not be pleased to see me."
He let Herrick fall, dusting off his hands as he turned away. Herrick leapt after him but although his strength had increased since he became a vampire it was useless. Wyndam caught his arm and threw him across the room, barely even looking at him and leaving Herrick humiliated and crumpled in the corner. Hetty danced over and hugged him, putting her lips to his ear.
"Bye bye baby Billy. I'm bored of you now, you dull little man"
Wyndam took Hetty in his arms again, her little arms locked tightly around his neck and he carried her away, still laughing together. They left Herrick raging with a desire for revenge coupled with a terror that Wyndam would indeed come to find him.
He never saw Hetty again but her mocking laughter stayed with him always. He had known none of his human family, and the loss of the only mother he had ever known made him even more determined to succeed on his own terms.
Wyndam, however, he would see again. He would come and find him...
London, 1933
Herrick was blustering, he had no idea which particular piece of trouble Wyndam meant – frankly, there was a lot to choose from. He blathered on as Wyndam watched him, missing nothing, and while Mitchell watched Wyndam. He was recovering from Wyndam's examination and sat up straighter, but when he reached for the brandy Wyndam was there first, pouring him a generous measure. Mitchell hadn't seen him move and even Herrick seemed startled and finally stuttered to a halt.
"Billy. Enough. No more killing the other chiefs. I know about London and I know about the others. I allowed you Bristol, be satisfied with that."
Wyndam pointed at Herrick, face like stone.
"And no more about heirs. You know the rules. And you know the punishment"
Wyndam settled back, enjoying Herrick's sudden terror. He did indeed know the punishment for creating an heir without the Old One's knowledge and approval and for the first time Mitchell could remember Herrick was unable to speak, much to Wyndam's amusement.
"Oh Billy, do be a man about this, you will persist in making an exhibition of yourself. Which reminds me, Hetty sends her love, of course. Why, I have no idea, you are a sore disappointment to her.
"Now leave us. I want to talk to John"
Turning away from Herrick, dismissing him without another thought, Wyndam focused his attention on Mitchell. For the first time he smiled fully, his face transformed, open and attractive and Mitchell couldn't help but respond. The stern authority had gone – this was someone he desperately wanted to know. Wyndam poured more brandy for Mitchell who was well on the way to being drunk despite his legendary capacity for alcohol and he didn't notice that Wyndam barely sipped at his own glass.
"Tell me John, I'm curious. What is a man like you doing with a man like Herrick?"
Mitchell knocked back the last of the brandy. He felt as drunk as he had ever been as a vampire and vaguely he knew that it wasn't just the alcohol. He always had a tendency to be indiscrete when drinking but he felt safe with Wyndam. He wanted to tell him everything.
He started to talk about his recruitment, how he bargained with Herrick, confiding all his fears and hopes to those kind blue eyes. Wyndam let him talk, nodding, making encouraging sounds, keeping Mitchell focused on him alone.
He told him of how the urge to hunt and kill and drink overwhelmed him, it made him unstoppable, and how Herrick encouraged his rampages, urging him on to greater and greater excesses. He found himself telling Wyndam something he had confided to no one before, something he had barely even admitted to himself.
"Sometimes it repulses me, the blood and the death... Sometimes I wonder if there is another way."
Wyndam leant over closer to him, so close that Mitchell could smell his cologne. A fragrance that made him think of ages past, an earthiness, a hint of dark forests; not unpleasant but unusual and intoxicating. It was like nothing Mitchell had ever known and it seemed to be coming from Wyndam's skin, a part of him rather than some artificial creation of chemicals.
"There are many ways, more than you could begin to imagine but not while you are young. To become strong you need blood, to understand life you must see death and to become human again... well, that takes many centuries. But that isn't your path. You were born to struggle John, it will be hard but you will find much of worth along the way. Your destiny is tied to Herrick's, if you could break away from him now then maybe... but he won't let you free and in some strange way you need him too. You need to see his path to know your own."
Wyndam's voice was low and intimate and Mitchell had no awareness of his surroundings anymore, completely in thrall to this strange man. Right now he would follow him anywhere, do anything he asked... anything, without question. If he had looked up he would have seen Herrick pacing, worried about Mitchell or possible more worried about what he might say or hear but Herrick was very far from his thoughts.
Wyndam stood and offered his hand to Mitchell again, this time in farewell. Mitchell took it warily, waiting for something to happen but his mind was left untouched, although echoes of Wyndam remained among his memories. Wyndam's skin was cool and dry, but his touch sent a heat through Mitchell's body, a feeling of belonging and comfort and safety and it was a physical wrench when Wyndam turned away, taking that warmth with him.
"We will meet again, John. A time is coming when you will need me and I will be there for you. There will also be a time when you think that I am the very last thing you need."
So many questions. Mitchell didn't know where to start as he watched Wyndam leave. What he really wanted to do was run after him; beg him to take him with him, to ask all those questions even if Wyndam would not answer. He was getting to his feet, ready to follow when Herrick bustled over and pushed him back into his chair, his face red and angry.
"What did you say to him? What did you tell him about me?"
"Nothing! Jesus! What's wrong with you?" Mitchell wanted to stall Herrick while he collected his thoughts, pushing away the impulse to follow Wyndam, for the moment at least. "Just get me another drink will you?"
It didn't take long for Herrick to organise more brandy but it was enough time for Mitchell to decide. He would tell Herrick nothing. Although the strange euphoria he had felt with Wyndam had faded as soon as he walked away, Mitchell could still feel those blue eyes looking straight into his soul.
Not waiting for Herrick to start questioning him Mitchell attacked first.
"Who the hell was that guy? How do you know him?"
Herrick looked away, avoiding Mitchell's eyes.
"Wyndam is one of the Old Ones. I don't know him well."
"Rubbish. He knew you, and who is Hetty? Come on man – you know I'll get it out of you in the end. And if you don't tell me I'll go and ask him myself!"
At that Herrick laughed, the vision of Mitchell facing up to Wyndam and demanding answers amused him and he finally relaxed. Just a little.
"Right. Of course you will. So... Wyndam. I truly don't know much but I have heard talk. He's unimaginably old, they say he has been a vampire for over a thousand years. Others say he can read minds, some say he's so old he is human but no one can agree. He can be good or evil as he pleases. The Old Ones don't rule him but he can act in their name – now, that's an odd relationship.
"It's well to be scared of him – he's dangerous. He's more powerful than you can imagine and it's said he can bend people to his will. He only shows up when there is going to be trouble, and he seems to know before it happens.
"I've even heard talk that everyone he meets, men and women, human and vampire, become utterly besotted with him, 'in love' as they say, but I can assure you that is rubbish – I can't abide the man."
He had neatly avoided the subject of Hetty and although Mitchell noticed and made a mental note to come back to her, he let it go for now. He was far more interested in Wyndam.
Every word that Wyndam had said to him was engraved in Mitchell's mind – but there was something more than that. He looked at Herrick and saw something different; he could see the Herrick that Wyndam saw. Not his mentor and leader, his partner in blood and death, but the little man desperate for power, jealous of Mitchell's charisma and effortless charm and it made him wonder. Was it time he left him and found a new way? Did he really need Herrick at all?
At least he had some uses, Mitchell thought as he poured yet another glass of the truly excellent brandy! Silly Billy, he chuckled to himself...
And how strange, he could suddenly smell that distinctive heady aroma he had smelled on Wyndam – could someone else use the same cologne? He looked around, there was no one there but Herrick and he was strictly a soap and water man. Mitchell inhaled deeply and felt a glow of satisfaction at his decision.
He would manage just fine without Herrick.