"Caleb Knight saved my life", gushed Marsha to the press, "I passed out for no reason and suddenly there he was stroking my neck and telling me it was all going to be fine. And he's such a wonderful Phantom too…"
Cal read the subsequent interview and laughed himself hoarse in his flat with the blinds all drawn and the lights blazing. If only the silly bitch knew!
A banging at the door that could only mean one person.
He strode to the door and confronted a glowering Ethan.
"So you not only cover up your crime and get away Scot free but you suddenly become even more of a media darling? You disgust me."
"Ooh and when you were back in the 1930's and you were Al Capone's right hand man, killing people all over the place…"
Ethan looked at him witheringly.
"I was in England during the 1930's, cretin, and it was dole queues and austerity, not killing sprees."
"Pity. That little barista would make a sweet little flapper. You ought to get closer to her."
"I don't want to be closer to her. I don't want to be close to any women except our kind. Human women are a liability. You see that pulse in their little necks and…"
"You don't have to kill them altogether Ethan."
"It's still evil. And you had to make me part of it. You had to bite me."
Sick of his brother's nagging, Cal got him by the scruff of the neck and put him outside.
Five minutes later Ethan, having walked through the wall, stood glaring by the fireplace.
"And you should be sleeping now, not gobbling up all that electricity. Have you no regard for the planet?"
"None whatsoever" replied Cal, turning on the television.
"I'll have to move out of the flat. I might bite poor little Robyn."
Max was thinking of pitfalls now the euphoria of being undead and in love had worn off.
"I'll get us a lovely flat. Two en suite bedrooms…"
"I can't afford anything like that and I won't let you pay."
"You don't have to, my darling. I'll simply – umm – suggest to the Estate Agent that we've already paid."
"And the deeds?"
"With my memory and technological skills I can forge the deeds."
"You're immoral, woman!"
"Comes with being a vampire, my love. And the fact that I had to grovel and scrape to that bitch Cleopatra for so many years. I learned to be hard."
"Zoe? THE Cleopatra?"
"Yes Max. I hope you're not going to start drooling. If truth be known she wasn't that gorgeous."
"Did she really… um… put an asp down her….?"
"It was her wrist", Zoe replied witheringly, "Shakespeare decided to spice up her death scene a bit."
"I shan't have any more fantasies of being an asp then. Dirty bugger, Shakespeare, wasn't he?"
"Like most men. Like you."
Max smirked, then a few moments later:
"What excuse can I make to Robyn?"
"You're moving in with your girlfriend" Zoe shrugged.
"So we're going public?"
"About everything but the immortality."
Dear Diary:
It's so strange how I just accept that I'm reincarnated from a doomed Russian Princess and that the woman I love's a vampire. My world's turned insane, but I'm so deeply in love that I don't know how to get out of this, and to be honest, why would I want to? But if there are vampires there must be vampire killers too. I worry so much for her. And on a more selfish note, Diary, would they kill me too? Oh well. No turning back now. She's actually quite unnerving as a clinical lead, and it's more than anybody's job's worth to disturb her from when she first comes in to work in her leathers and dark glasses mid-morning to when she leaves before dawn. Too long hours for any normal human being. The day staff just believe she's driven. But when she's finally home and we get together…. Oh we make such sweet music!
Dyan Keogh pulled on his jacket, looking forward to leaving the problems of the ED to the night shift and going home and having some doggie cuddles. He was walking through the grounds when he saw a desolate figure sitting on a bench, his head in his hands, sobbing as if his heart would break.
"Benjamin?"