THE SEER

It's getting very cold in the cottage. Someone's a bit peckish. "Welcome to The Glass Half Full..." Comments and reviews are welcomed. The Being Human characters to Toby Whithouse and the BBC.

Chapter Ten

The Black Bull Inn, Manchester

"Maybe she's our Christmas dinner?"

Jacob Carter stood, his hair ragged, eyeing the mess of a blood drunk night around him. "I mean, he's feeding her up, isn't he?"

Harper sat awkwardly next to the bar-keeper's wife, or more rightly now, widow. She was half-asleep, her head on Harper's shoulder, half drunk, just about to be drunk from too...They'd been given clear instructions, a 'favour' had been asked, the removal of a problem...A quick killing, a neat but painful killing, and if they wanted to feed...two birds with one stone...Wyndam had smiled very darkly when he handed Harper the details. Harper had read the note, then handed it back. Wyndam threw the note on the fire. Its content had the desired effect on Harper. His face tightened.

"Sir."

"I thought you were the right vampire for the task. I know you have...difficulty...sometimes with the need to feed...I'm sure that won't be a problem for you this time..." His look was knowing.

"No, sir..."

The woman was so far away with the drink, she actually told Harper what she had done, boasting about it..."I turned her out onto the street, thought she was too good to clean floors, few weeks she'd have been begging or..." she looked at the bottle, her head woozy. "I told her to take her fine airs and graces to the house down the lane...she didn't like that. Ha ha!" She didn't even notice how quiet and still Harper was. Jacob knew him though, he always went that way, right before...it was as though he had to let the anger build to...

"I thought you said she was only a child..." Harper said it so quietly, only Jacob heard him. He repeated himself, a little louder this time. The woman hiccuped, then laughed.

"So? Not my child...that useless jacka…jackanapes' over there, where are you Michael?" Her head was moving from side to side, the alcohol clearly taking effect. "She was thirteen, a mouth to feed, she could earn her keep, one way or another...but no, she was going into service with a 'fine lady' when she came for her...but she didn't, did she?"

Harper caught his breath at the woman's callousness. He tightened his grip on her neck.

"What happened to her?" He already knew, that was why they were here, on Wyndam's orders, an Old One had been crossed, and they never reacted well to that.

"They found her on the moor, froze to...froze to...hic!" She was so nearly gone, but she didn't know it.

Mrs Armstrong had seen the girl the last time she'd come north, and thought her to be the answer to the neverending 'problem' that was Hetty. "Someone her own age, Edgar...maybe that will work..." Wyndam had pointed out the obvious to her, putting his foot down,

"That's just it, Judith...Hetty is not a child...and the last time she got 'lonely' there was a big, bloody mess to clear up..." the northern accent coming out, as it usually did when he was annoyed. Judith turned on the tears.

"Edgar...I know she's...difficult..." He laughed.

"Difficult?" Judith turned on the smooth charm that worked so well on humans.

"But you got Harper out of that big, bloody mess...Edgar..." He looked at her with that cruel expression; she was now trying her most pleading face out. He'd seen that once too often for that to work.

"Watch my lips, Judith...the answer is no. Into service, yes, not turned...not another child. If she proves to be someone who can handle the 'little madam', then yes, when she is older..." Judith had stormed out the door, past Jacob, whilst Wyndam shouted after her, "And no 'accidental' turning either, Judith...no 'my fangs just slipped', I'll find out..." Jacob had told Harper all about it; Harper had known how it would end. Another victim for that 'little madam', Judith had taken an almighty huff, then promptly forgot about the girl. Wyndam had asked if the girl had been 'invited' down, Matthews had told him that no one had been taken south on the last trip.

"She must have changed her mind," he mused, the matter seemingly closed. Harper knew that most vampires thought human life was cheap, but humans could always outdo them in the sellers' stakes...the girl had been turned out on the coldest night in years...only one way that was going to turn out...

Jacob was watching Harper's reactions. They'd already finished off the bar-keeper, but Harper was eking out the wife. Why was he doing this to himself, thought Jacob? They didn't need to know all this, the couple had thrown an Old One's pet out, she was dead; they would pay for that alone.

Harper was thinking about the woman and her child. They were being well-looked after by Wyndam. Mrs Armstrong on the other hand had promised the girl a life of comfort, forgotten about her, then cried her mock tears. Quite how she had heard about the girl's death...but then again, the vampires' own network of messengers was very efficient, they usually beat even the King's own service, though how much of that was by fair means...the odd human messenger never reaching their destination...She had written a letter, requesting Wyndam's assistance, too 'heartbroken' to clear up her own 'mess'...if the woman met the same fate...he would never...

"James?" Carter's voice seemed so loud.

"She froze to death..." Every time Harper thought vampires were the most cruel things on this earth, humanity would prove him wrong. He would remember this woman's casual cruelty for a long time.

"She was your step-daughter..." the woman lifted one eyelid.

"So?" She laughed, just for a moment. He didn't even bother to cover her mouth to stop her screams...

Afterwards, Harper sat, coming down from the blood, his hands still shaking. Jacob poured him some more ale.

"I'm sorry, James." Harper looked up at him, the edge coming out of his eyes.

"What?"

"I didn't mean to make fun of the woman. Then again, maybe she is our Christmas dinner..." Harper gave him such a glare that Jacob held his hands up, "I'm sorry, I know...he doesn't want her harmed, but he has fed from her, you said so yourself..." Harper shrugged. He was sure Wyndam wasn't still feeding from her, she was pale, but that was probably her natural colouring.

"Look James, he hasn't killed her, and he hasn't harmed her, apart from a little nip...maybe he's just keeping an eye on her for someone...what about the child's father?" Harper looked at him, not quite comprehending. Jacob rolled his eyes. "Well the child came from somewhere, didn't she?"

"I don't think there is one, not around..." said Harper, though why he thought that, he didn't know. Jacob smiled at him.

"Look, he was in a good mood when he dismissed me...he wasn't in the 'I'm going to tear her heart out and roast it on a spit' mood...Maybe he just likes her company..." Harper's face turned glacial. Jacob held his hands up again. "Alright, alright...but he's an Old One, James. You do not meddle in their affairs; there are worse things than dying, again." Harper nodded. Jacob continued.

"And he still trusts you to watch her, that's a good sign. He wants her alive, my friend." He looked around the room. "Now I think we have a bit of clearing up to do. What do you think, the usual 'robbery gone badly'? And there might be a few bottles we've missed..."

The Cottage

Jenny cleared the table, and handed Wyndam a light from the fire. She stood nervously, whilst he lit the candle.

"How does this work? You just let me into your mind? Have a rout around in your memories?" He smiled benignly at her.

"Yes. It's not that difficult. Should be very easy, for such a powerful seer. A doddle, in fact."

They both sat down. He pointed to the candle, its light cast a faint golden glow on the table.

"I want you to look into the flame. When you hear my voice, I want you to look right into my eyes..." she gave him such a sceptical look. "What?" A look of innocence crossed his face.

"And you'll let me in? I will see your memories?" She still doubted him, there had to be a catch.

"Yes. You sound so surprised." The sly grin was back.

"Oh ye of little faith..."

She smiled herself at that; it seemed so strange coming out of a vampire's mouth.

"Your hands, please." He took her hands in his. His skin felt cooler than her own, he noticed her reaction. "We are always colder than...Now, same as before. Clear your mind. Concentrate on the flame." The room felt so quiet, and suddenly so dark to Jenny.

"Now..." his voice was so soft. She looked into his eyes and felt a jolt, then the same drawing in that she had felt earlier. She blinked, then she felt a breeze, like a veil lifting...she was seeing through his eyes...he was walking briskly through the streets towards her parents' house in Leith, she recognised some of the place names, it was the strangest sensation, as though she was floating, but trapped at the same time...She couldn't believe what she was seeing, everything was higher up so it had to be Wyndam's memories...she could feel the tension in him, he was not happy. The streets were emptying, night had fallen. Two women passed, she knew their faces, and one of them was Mary, her mother's maid. She could hear their whispers...

"I'm not staying...a house of witches...he can drink himself to death, I don't care. He as good as lit the fire beneath her...I'm not going against Lilian Ross...that bairn will..." She felt Wyndam's temper rise. He grabbed Mary by the throat, the other woman by the wrist, and pulled them both into a vennel.

"What did you say?" Mary was grasping at his fingers, the other woman just trembled. "If you know what is good for you, hold your tongue and run..." The woman nodded, picked up her skirts and ran for her life. Mary's eyes were full of fear. "Now...where were we? Lilian Ross...where is she?" Mary was starting to cry. He responded by shaking her once against the wall.

"Tears don't work on me. Where is she?"

Mary whispered; "Gone…"

"And the child?" His grip was strengthening. Mary was staring at him in horror, her eyes wild.

"She took her…I don't know where…Himself…he's still at the house…she told us to leave…"

So the famed seer had run for the hills…the child had to have some abilities after all, the hypocrite had offered her up then tried to cheat him…he had only wanted to meet the child properly, assess her potential…oh Madam, you've really given the game away by running…

Jenny could hear Mary's terrified sobs, but Wyndam wasn't looking at her. He turned his attention back to her, leaned forward, and whispered into her right ear;

"Run…and don't look back…if you want to live…" He let her go, and she ran, her heels clipping on the cobbles. Wyndam could hear her jumbled thoughts.

"The Devil himself…I knew she was a witch…" Jenny felt him smile.

Not that far off it, the mood I'm in tonight… She felt the determination in him. He couldn't be that far from the house. One more turn and he was there, the solid oak door that was so familiar to Jenny. The door stood ajar, that was unusual, she thought. The house was empty, bar for one, sluggish, but steady heartbeat. Wyndam walked slowly from room to room, his temper rising. Each room was in a guddle, chairs overturned, as though someone had been ransacking the place. He found her father in his study. He was snoring gently, his head still on the table. More empty whisky bottles lay around him. She felt Wyndam's eyes narrow, then he turned on his heel and marched down the stairs to the kitchen. He grabbed a pail of water, and calmly walked back up the stairs. He stood for just a moment, then he threw the water straight over Jenny's father. He stirred slightly, but not enough for Wyndam, who pulled him upright in his chair, and shook him hard. He seemed to rouse.

"What? Who…are…?"

Wyndam pulled a chair across in front of him, and leant on it, staring at her father. It was strange to see him through Wyndam's eyes, he didn't look as fearsome as she remembered, if anything he seemed smaller.

"You are…were…the husband of Elspeth Ross, daughter of Lilian Ross, of Applecross?" Her father's eyes twitched, nervously.

"My commiserations on your loss…" She recognised that sarcastic edge in Wyndam's voice. Her father's eyes showed his guilt, he looked down at the floor.

"But then you were the one who named her so…" Her father was trying to place Wyndam's face.

"How long since they left?"

"Who?" Her father went to stand up, but Wyndam pushed him back into the chair. He opened his mouth to protest, but Wyndam got there first.

"No use calling for your servants. You think they'll help you? It looks like they've already taken their wages…or was that the bailiffs? Your servants are not very happy with you, you cost them their mistress, and their 'little one'…in fact…can you hear that? No? They've all gone…It's just you and me…" Wyndam sat down. He leant forwards, his hands clasped in front of him.

"This is just a little visit…" Her father started at that, the penny had dropped. He knew what Wyndam was. His eyes were fixed warily on his face.

"Ah! Now you remember me! If I'd known who you were, I wouldn't have let you melt away in that crowd. How is the little one? How is she coping? I'm assuming that it was her grandmother who took her away?"

Her father stuttered; "I…don't…"

"Come, come, sir…I met one of your servants. She was most helpful…How long since they left?" Wyndam's eyes were scorching into her father's. She couldn't see anything but fear and guilt…

"I must say I am more than a little disappointed to have missed her…" He could have been talking to a friend, his tone was so even.

"Your eyes…" Her father didn't speak the words, he breathed them. She felt Wyndam smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are they black as night? That happens when I'm a bit annoyed…" Jenny could feel his temper rising. "You just have to worry about my fangs…" Her father gasped.

"Oh dear," said Wyndam, that hint of cruelty there, "are they showing too?"

He stood up so quickly, her father jerked back, raising his hands to cover his face. She could see into his mind, through Wyndam's eyes, she saw herself, cowering from him, waiting for the blow, was she ever that wee…

"Not quite so brave when it's not a child you're dealing with, are you?" The disgust was clear in Wyndam's tone. "Where is she going? Lilian…where is she taking her?" She'd have had more sense than to tell this fool, but it was worth a try…Jenny heard the thought distinctly.

"She wouldn't tell me…I…" She felt Wyndam's eyes narrow again, understanding him perfectly.

"You never asked, did you?" Her father looked down, finally shamed.

"Your own daughter…and you never asked?" Wyndam hissed the words at him, as he grabbed him and pushed him against the open window. The study was three storeys up, she remembered, she'd nearly fallen out of it herself, a dare from her brother…Her father was muttering at Wyndam, under his breath. Wyndam was scathing.

"You think your words can hurt me? Half-remembered oaths and curses, that's the best you can throw at me?" He pushed her father's head out of the window. He was the one scared now, she thought. Good.

"She's her mother's daughter…there's nothing of me in her…" Wyndam blinked, then he laughed.

"I'd say that was a good thing, wouldn't you? A man who can trade his wife…and a seer at that…a man who knows the price of everything…and throws it all away to save his own skin…" He threw him down before the fireplace. He landed on the hearth, the cracking sound made Jenny flinch. Wyndam bent down, whispering;

"They burnt the wrong person…"

Her father's breathing was shallow, he was in real pain now, Wyndam didn't care. He stood up, and stepped away from him.

"I'd start running now if I were you…I've got a feeling your life's about to get a lot worse…Lilian Ross has friends…you waited 'til she was out of the country to destroy her daughter…they may not have been able to save Elspeth, but you are a very different target…" Wyndam walked over to the door.

"I'm sure we'll meet again someday. It would be no sport to kill you tonight. But one night, sir, you will open your eyes, and the last thing you will see will be my face, and I will remind you of what you cost me this day…Pleasant dreams, sir…"

The scene faded, but another one took its place. The images were blurred, older somehow…Confusion. Wyndam was standing, a sword in his hand. She can feel fear in him. Others are falling all around him. He and the rest of the men are fighting, if they stop, it's the end…if they fall…they win…He sees black eyes…what the…The devils have got through the outer wall…he's not even supposed to be here…he made a mistake…it wasn't his fault…they told them the house was empty…burn it down…The others are no soldiers, but they're brave, they know if they get through the gatehouse it is over…there's blood in his eyes…he can't see…pain, terrible pain…he can hear laughter…he can hear screams…

Jenny felt herself being thrown back violently, the memories broke apart, and she was fighting for breath, her throat constricting. The connection was broken. She opened her eyes. Wyndam's hands were still raised, his eyes were so black. It was the absence of any feeling that really chilled her.

"How did...?" He lowered his arms slowly; his eyes never left her's.

Oh God, he'll kill me now, if I look away, we are gone...She could feel the hunger there...she would have seen the warning signs if she hadn't been so lost in the past...His eyes were so set.

"It's so easy to be cruel, isn't it?" Why did she say that? She was looking at a killer, their killer...

You know just where to press...you've done it often enough...a gentle click...that little bone in her neck...you don't even have to look at her eyes...if she struggles...all the better...it's what you are...

"I didn't...push...it was there...I don't care what you do to me, but Isobel...your word...Wyndam...whatever happens to me...let her go..."

He blinked, the blackness disappeared, and the familiar blue eyes were staring at her. Even with the black eyes gone, she could see the vampire sharpness there.

"She won't come to harm at my hand," he said it softly. He could hear her heart thundering. He had to get out of here now. The hunger was twisting its way through him. Any longer...it was sharpening its hold...the debt had to be paid again tonight...

"Did I pass the test?" She was shaking, she knew, but she wouldn't look away.

"Yes." It was his turn to smile sadly. "You got a little too close for comfort, for us both I think." He paused. "Old memories...sometimes they're better left in the past..." He got up and brought her a cup of water. She took the cup, but didn't look at him.

"Why didn't..."

"I kill him?" She nodded, turning to look at him. The sharpness was gone. He sat down again.

"There was always a chance, a very slim chance admittedly, that Lilian would slip up. Where else would you have gone but back to him? I did have him watched, for several years, but there were no letters home, and no word in Edinburgh of your whereabouts."

And to think Lilian Ross had considered handing her over to the wolves, that really would have been a waste, he thought.

"You need to go now, don't you?" She was understandably wary, her eyes kept flitting to Isobel's door, and they weren't out of danger yet. He stood up.

"Yes." He walked over to the door. "Don't..."

"Where would I go?"

He stopped, his hand on the ring of the door handle.

"Once you take a life...it's the same as if you take a thousand...there is no way back..." He said it quietly. He knew those sad, grey eyes were on him.

"No redemption?" She was curious. He sighed.

"Oh Jenny...God doesn't care about his 'children', haven't you worked that one out yet? He made monsters, even in his own Paradise, then he cast us out...Goodnight."

The Glass Half Full, the York Road

It was a plain timber-framed building. It didn't stand out; it didn't look anything out of the ordinary. That was the point. In fact, it was easy to miss if you didn't know where to look. It was just off the York road. The front door opened onto what was expected. An inn, a very fine inn too, the best alcohol in the North, none of the gut rot you found elsewhere. If you wanted a little 'company', that could be arranged too...No thieves dipped their sticky fingers into your purse there, the landlord was very strict about that...any funny business, you didn't do it again...Humans came for the landlord's sense of humour, and the fact it was open all hours, the proper authorities looking the other way. Humans had a habit of doing that when it suited them. The side door, now that was a different matter. It opened onto much the same scene, a traditional inn, roaring log fire, more benches, than stools, perhaps, for obvious practical reasons. They were less likely to make the inn's 'other' customers nervous, vampires could be very belligerent when drunk, whether it be the alcohol, or the really hard red stuff. No humans came in that door, unless they were very drunk, or very foolish. Several doors led off through the back. Most vampires never got to see what lay behind those doors, content to have a tankard full of the good stuff in front of them. They didn't care about who supplied it or why the blood was so fresh. The Glass had so many dark secrets; it was surprising the place didn't sink into the ground under the weight of them all. One of them was why it had been built so close to the road to York, for a plentiful supply route of criminals and lone travellers, many never making it home. Not too many, just enough that it wasn't noticed.

There was a similar establishment in London, near Tyburn. The Hangman's Drop. Wyndam smiled that tight, cruel smile. Vampires could have a very dark, twisted humour. A more aptly named place, there never was. Condemned prisoners often spent a night or two before their 'official' execution, the right palms crossed with silver; nervous but grasping eyes looking the other way, yet again. If the odd prisoner met their end a little early, well that saved the authorities the cost of their keep, and the executioner's fee. As long as the mobs got their 'entertainment', it didn't matter if condemned eyes were glassy from blood loss. It often kept his kind from creating the kind of mayhem that the hunger demanded. He'd been there when the humans erected the 'Tyburn Tree', just so they could kill more of their own. Louisa had been there with him, watching the spectacle.

"And we're supposed to be the evil ones, Edgar..."

"Oh we are, Louisa, but at least we have an excuse, we kill to feed." He'd turned away, but she kept watching, she was looking for someone in particular.

"Don't they? Look at them...applauding when they brave it out...booing when they weep...Curious creatures, aren't they? Never happier than when they are picking over the bones..." She was younger than him, and already sounded so jaded.

"There he is..." She tugged at Wyndam's sleeve. A young, ashen-faced man, seemingly unconscious, was being booed by the crowd. The gaolers around him were muttering, looking at the crowd nervously. The executioner pulled the man's head up by the hair, then let it fall back.

"This one's dead already." The crowd's jeers made his mind up for him. He whispered to his assistant, "Get him away now, the mood they're in, they'll tear him up." The man smiled curtly.

"Certainly, sir." He turned and looked straight at Louisa, who smiled sweetly back.

"I win!" She said it with a gleam in her eye.

"That's your new...you turned a condemned prisoner before he...Very stylish, Louisa..."

"Thank you, Edgar. I take that as a compliment...I'd better collect him before they throw him out with the rest of the bodies." She turned to leave. "His name's Jacob, by the way." She curtseyed, he was the elder, after all. Wyndam chuckled.

"How very biblical of you..."

The human walked through the side door. He missed the strange looks the other drinkers gave him. He'd been told it was the best place for a drink, good prices too. He sauntered up to the bar. The other drinkers turned back to their tankards. The woman serving smiled,

"Just a moment, sir." She went through the door that connected the two parts of the inn. The landlord came back through with her.

"Welcome to The Glass Half Full, sir. You may well leave feet first..."

"That's the idea..." the man laughed. The landlord smiled his friendliest smile, the little red thread veins on his face flushing redder. He winked at the man.

"Don't say I didn't warn you...you came in the wrong door, sir, but take a seat..."

The side door opened again. The landlord's manner changed.

"Lizzie, take care of this customer." He moved away to the other end of the bar. The human didn't notice anything, but the atmosphere changed so subtly. The vampires straightened, one whispered to another, "That's Wyndam..."

"Sir...I haven't seen you for a while..." An Old One patronising his establishment did him no harm...Wyndam smiled, the hunger was so sharp now, it was piercing his brain. The only visible sign was a slight twitch in his left hand. Six-hundred years of killing and control. The landlord turned on his most fawning manner. He lowered his voice.

"A little drink, sir?" Wyndam smiled, he could just about keep the black eyes from appearing, but not for much longer.

"No, I think a large one."

"Right you are, sir!" The landlord's eyes danced. "Your usual room?"

The simpering fool, thought Wyndam. He smiled back politely. The landlord took it as a good sign.

"I have one I've been keeping especially, sir. This way."

The room was kept for his special clients, who liked to drink privately. It wasn't a room for 'company'. A small fireplace, a comfortable, horse-hair filled chair, and a table and two wooden chairs were the only moveable furniture in the room. The only other comfort in the room was a long, padded bench where the window should have been. There were fresh candles everywhere. The landlord lit them all quickly, Wyndam was very quiet, and that unnerved him.

"Won't be a moment, sir." The landlord went through to the human part of the inn. He tapped a blonde-haired young woman on the shoulder. She was clearing the tables, most of the human customers had already gone.

"Leave that, Sarah. I want you to serve a gentleman." She hadn't been here long, but she shot him a look.

"Not like that, I know you're a good, God-fearing lass." She smiled, she was young, but she wasn't that naive.

"He's a good customer. Proper gentleman. Take this brandy through to him. Oh hang on; I'll have to show you the way, won't I?" The two halves of The Glass were kept separate for very good reasons. He knocked the door, and waited.

"Yes?" The landlord opened the door quickly.

"Mr Wyndam...this is Sarah...she'll be waiting on you." The girl bobbed in the doorway, then looked up at the gentleman, who was sitting at the table. He seemed pleasant enough. He was smiling, his teeth were very white.

"Come in." The landlord left them to it immediately. Discretion was required in his business. Sarah poured the brandy for the gentleman, then she stood waiting by the table.

"How long have you been here?" She smiled, she was so young, he thought.

"Two weeks, sir." Of course, not long enough to see the other side of the place, he thought.

"Have a drink with me." His most charming smile, eyes open, welcoming even.

"I shouldn't, sir. That's when the trouble starts." He laughed warmly.

"How true! Sit with me then."

"I'm not that kind of..." she eyed him playfully, but warily.

"Of course you're not. I didn't mean...tell me where you come from...what idiot let you get away..." What cold-hearted person sent you here...

She laughed, but she moved closer, his smile was so inviting, he seemed genuine. He was probably just a lonely soul; wanting to talk about how his wife didn't understand him...she'd met a few like that already. No wedding band though, she noticed. She looked at the chair, her feet were killing her. He smiled, then gestured to the chair opposite. She sat down, telling him everything, he seemed so warm and understanding, she didn't notice the tremble in his left hand, that he never used her name, how his eyes were narrowing all the time, the cruel tilt of his mouth, and how he laughed at everything she said, pulling her in...Sometimes it was too easy...

She felt a little light-headed; she hadn't touched a drop, that was odd.

Wyndam's eyes were searing over her. She was a pretty little thing, the complete opposite of...long blonde hair, pretty, but no future. Even if she hadn't come here, her tale was already told. Sometimes he could see it, whether it was their aura, or just their manner. He could be a merciless killer, but not tonight. If it wasn't him, it would be someone else. He'd make it quick. He'd make it kind. It wasn't fair but...he needed to feed...He ran his fingers gently over her wrists, not a mark to be seen, she hadn't been tasted.

"Shame..." He said it softly, not looking at her. She had never felt so warm, so light...

"Why?" She looked at his face closely in the light of the fire. "I'm not..."

"Oh I think we've gone past that, don't you?" He moved so fast, one hand to her throat, the other to her waist, pulling her to him.

"You're not human..." she breathed. He smiled wistfully, one hand stroking the pale skin on her neck.

"I haven't been human in a very long time..."

He lifted her onto the bench, and killed her quickly, not spilling a drop. The hunger had won again. It always would.

He laid her down on the bench. She hadn't struggled, she had accepted it. He was waiting for her spirit to appear; he wanted to explain it somehow. She appeared quickly, no tears, no horror, just a questioning face. She looked down at her own body, then up at him.

"Why?" He kept his now clear blue eyes on her.

"You were dead from the moment you walked in the door." He said it quietly. Her door appeared. She looked at it with alarm.

"You have nothing to fear there. The people who sent you here though..." He opened the room's own door, the landlord just 'happened' to be passing.

"I take it everything was...she was..." He was fawning again. He could only see a faint shape, to Wyndam, she was so vivid.

"Who sent her here?" The directness was back in his tone. The landlord looked at him, not understanding. Wyndam said impatiently; "I take it there was a debt to be paid, or a favour? Who sent her here?" Sarah was watching them both; the questioning look was still there.

"London. Her parents. They owed money to...payment was insisted upon..." The landlord was starting to feel a heaviness in his chest. "Payment in blood...instead..."

They hadn't offered their own necks in payment though, thought Wyndam.

"How much was..." The landlord was feeling distinctly unwell now. He whispered the amount to Wyndam, whose face turned to stone. "They sent her here as payment for that?" The landlord nodded.

"The parents agreed. What about them, sir?" Wyndam was watching her spirit, his face was still set in stone.

"Well, I wouldn't like her to be lonely." Sarah's eyes widened.

"I have a feeling they won't be going to the same place though." She smiled; a little cruel hint of understanding was there. Her hand was on the door's handle. Wyndam continued.

"She gets a proper burial...they don't."

"Yes, sir." She opened the door; the light was so bright behind it.

"And, my fine host, make sure they suffer..."

"Yes, sir."

He passed through the vampires in the outer public room, taking no notice of anyone. Not blood drunk, the hunger wouldn't be that kind, but sated. Another face to add to the long list. He had been 'kind'. There were worse fates behind the doors. He had to get back to the manor. Home. Or what passed for one. He hadn't had one of them in a long time. They should have moved on by now...

He passed the now hopelessly drunk human. Lizzie lifted the man's head, and whispered into his ear, her sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"We like you to feel welcome...but we like it better when you bleed..."