Chapter Four

Jesse could see her looking away in annoyance as he drove away from the interchange. It was all open- mouthed amazement from her friends, but he could not care less. What he wanted to see were her dark eyes, full of envy and wonder at seeing his new Ferrari. He felt the disappointment creep into his veins and tried to call it back. They might notice it in his voice, in his face…

"…I would love to get my hands on her!" growled a voice from the backseat. It belonged to Blayde, one of his best friends.

"Really? Garson? Since when?" asked Jesse with more than a little curiosity. He thought he heard a mysterious sound of a book being fumbled behind him.

"No- not Garson, her blonde friend. She's so hot…so different from the others. Should really go about getting with her…"

Jesse silently smirked at him.

"The poor bastard. He doesn't know he'd never be able to do that. She's Nightworld, more or less, and now a Harman to top it off," he thought amusedly but sadly at the same time. Blayde Dashward with his beach looks and wicked humour, had the reputation of replacing girls like clothes, but Jesse knew that Philomena had always meant something special to him. Naturally Blayde had never summoned the courage to do anything about it.

 "What if she's a witch and might turn you into a friggin' toad or something?" he said aloud sneakily, over the sound of a distinct 'ahem'.

"Ha ha. You're so bloody funny or what! She would only turn me into a…prince," said Blayde suggestively, licking his lips.

"Dream on Fluffhead," muttered Sanjo Miyoko from the opposite end of the backseat. He was the odd one out of Jesse's many acquaintances, but they have somehow managed to get on very well. Mainly owing to the fact that he was one of the few realists among them.

"Sanjo, you sad, sad man; why the hell are you reading the freakin' Maths book?" cried Blayde with a start.

"I'm just wondering whether the answer in the book is wrong that's all…have you guys done Chapter 15?" Since Blayde just gave him a stupefied look, Sanjo sighed and regarded his other friend with some hope. "What about you Ingram?"

"Um, well I haven't gone that far mate…you can ask me anything about Chapter 1 though- we did do that in class today…"

Jesse grinned as he heard Blayde groan.

"Aw man! We seriously need to get him a life, don't we Ingram? Joe ol' buddy, no- one and I mean no- one, does friggin' Maths in the holidays! What's wrong with you?" exclaimed an utterly disgusted Blayde, tapping his newly studious friend on the head. "Where's that party guy gone huh? What are you now? A goddamn professor?" he asked incredulously.

"Sock it thicko! Where's 24 hour partying going to get you anyhow? Wake up! It's Year 12!" yelled Sanjo insanely.

They were quietened for some time, and the conveyor of the foreboding reminder himself broke the gloomy silence.

"Well actually, I'd rather we didn't have to put up with all this either. It's there…hanging about our heads like some big cloud. We can only beat it by uh, giving our academic studies our best shot…right?" he said meekly.

There was a thoughtful pause.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't have a bit of fun…oh I think I just 'saw' a speed limit sign saying '140'. We're holding up the traffic don't you reckon guys? We should speed up," reasoned Jesse.

"Great idea!" shouted two voices from the back seat simultaneously.

"…but just make sure there's no living things on the road okay?" added Sanjo, ignoring Blayde's snort.

 The three friends hooted in glee as they raced down the road, nearly crashing onto someone's trashcan along the way. The owner of the endangered bin shook his fist at them.

"Bloody hoons!" he bellowed.

"Nah mate, we're just responsible students!" returned Sanjo, putting his head out of the window. His friends laughed to see him regain some of his old mirth.

They came to a halt at Sanjo's house, still recovering from the short but invigorating ride.

"Alright Dash. You can come over today, but try do some work! Don't worry. I'll help you figure out what one plus one equals if necessary," said Sanjo reassuringly.

Blayde gave him the finger as he trudged off towards his friend's house, answering Sanjo's 'No, it equals two!' with a derisive grunt.

Jesse suddenly noticed someone staring furtively at them from the lounge room window.

"Hey Joe! Seems you're having another visitor," he commented, while Sanjo turned his eyes to where Jesse was looking. "Who's that?" he added.

" I dunno…well I might…geez it's him, whatshisface? Haven't seen him for yonks," said Sanjo, raising a tentative hand at his visitor.

" 'Right then. Catchya later," said Jesse.

He got back into his car and started driving. Trying to recall where he had seen that face before, he suddenly remembered. Memories of disguised childhood games and exposed fangs plunged unwelcome into his mind.

"It's that loser again," he thought dismally. "Never mind, if worse comes to worse, you can always use one of Mum and Dad's old .54 sharps and give him a good jab," he decided. "I wonder what he'd grown into, that bloodsucking monster."

Jesse tried to picture him as a 'sober' vampire, even a Daybreaker, but found it to be incredibly unrealistic. He was a Nightworlder, and Nightworlders do not usually do magical attitude u-turns.

"Vermin, they call us," his mother used to sneer with bitter contempt. "They call us vermin when they are the real parasites, preying on our blood."

Jesse's parents taught him never to trust the Nightworld mind, never to look twice at them, because once you do, it's all 'food glorious food, happily ever after' for them. Jesse knew these simple facts because his parents have been vampire hunters. They used to be the sole owners and operators of a successful hunting company called Ingram & Spender Corporated.

"…and I've got their blood whether I want it or not, so I'd kill him if he tries to dine on anyone," he promised himself determinedly.

Jesse could not comprehend how the Sanjos could tolerate the Nightworld. Being Daybreakers, they had a preposterous habit of giving such murderous creeps 'second chances' when there was simple, more efficient means. However, it was going to cost them big time.

"The Millennium Battle indeed," he muttered sarcastically. What was it? Some great publicity stunt? Those who 'knew' remembered how the good side sang peace and

harmony from the top of their lungs…and where were they now? Things have not changed much since the wonderful 'Battle'.

'They really haven't changed one friggin' bit," he thought bitterly, wishing he could wipe out the entire Nightworld off the face of the Earth with a single blow.

*******

He drove into the deserted car park, surveying the area carefully for prying eyes. Detecting none, he got out of the car and swiftly leaped over the old concrete wall that divided the innocuous looking car park from the Premises. Brushing some dust off himself, he traced a gloved finger over the feint outline of the opening to the Gate.

"Iris," he murmured impatiently in a frequency outside human threshold, wishing the Leader would just hurry up and hear his report. What's the whole deal with the security crap? It's not as if any stupid intruder would barge in anyway…or have they become so pathetic and minute that they are in fear and awe of the Daybreakers?

Suddenly the concrete grated open at his feet, and he descended down the stone steps quickly, coming face to face with the Leader himself.

"Sire! I thought perhaps the Committee Meeting has not yet finished…"

The leader tilted his head and smirked haughtily, pleased that he had yet another under his power, another one to call him 'sire'.

"It has member. How are operations proceeding?"

"Fine, if you're inquiring about amenities. Thanks for the vehicles by the way. Not everyone gets a Ferrari and a Harley Da…"

"I'm asking about operations, not the goddamned car!"

"It's only the first day sire…oh actually, I'm happy to inform you that I have one possible suspect in mind…"

"Ah, now you're getting somewhere. Well what can you tell me?" asked the Leader attentively.

"I've suspected that devil for a while. Was on first name terms at one time. Cripes! I thought he'd look like either of his parents, but no, he doesn't! I'd chop him up and boil him alive even if he isn't the one."

The leader laughed coolly, patting his employee on the shoulder. Maybe this one can accomplish the task. He is as ruthless as his parents once were. The same beautiful, black blood. The perfect match for the job description.

He was relieved to see the approval in the Leader's eyes. This alone took him one step closer to his ultimate goal.

"Do whatever it takes to destroy the freak. I've heard about your…dream young man. No results and you're fired. Get it right, and you get what you want. Is that clear?"

"Yes sire," he bowed briefly to the Leader, who faded into the depths of the makeshift enclave.

"I sure damn will," he thought, eyes glinting menacingly; the hidden embers within at once sparking with longing.

*******