Refuge by Kirsty Ferry Read Free Book Online Page B

nothing loving about it? Did they even have feelings?
                    The smell of gore and decay was getting stronger in the warm afternoon as the house heated up and the sun filtered through the shutters at the back. He had to work quickly before he vomited. He didn’t think he would be disturbed; on some level, he trusted that the man on Lindisfarne had been the hub of the activity in this house and that man was, of course, no longer a danger. Kester wondered why he had killed his servants though, as well as the dinner guests. Had they seen too much, or had his friends become greedy? Or were the guests, indeed, the main course? He didn’t want to think about it too deeply. He felt around in the desk and pulled more bits of paper out; nothing. He stared around the study, thwarted; then he remembered the couple pushing something through the letterbox, moments before he had confronted them.
                    ‘That’s it!’ Kester cried. His voice echoed around the house, breaking the incessant buzzing of the bluebottles. The letterbox; his stomach churned at the thought of going too near the body of the footman, but he had no choice.
                    Kester made his way down the stairs, the bile rising in his throat with every step. He saw the footman propped up by the door and pulled a face, trying not to inhale as he leant down to pick up the letter. Inches away from the bloodied corpse, he caught sight of a movement out of the corner of his eye. He yelled as the footman’s hand suddenly reached out, the fingers curling tightly around his wrist.
    The footman laughed and began to stand up, almost pulling Kester to the floor. Kester’s foot slipped in a pool of blood; he knew that if he fell now, he would have no chance at all. The footman, or whatever he was, would be at an advantage.
    ‘Too late for ‘em,’ rasped the vampire. ‘They got ‘em. They got ‘em all except me. I disturbed ‘em, you see, but they didn’t finish me off. They’d been too well fed. Not much feeding left here now.’ The vampire shook Kester like a puppet, dangling him a few inches up in the air, then dropping him down and so he skidded around on the bloody floor.
    ‘They were disturbed before they could finish me off, you see. I’ve been eatin’ up their leftovers, just waitin’ here on my own; but fresh blood is better. You’ll do for fresh blood. I’ve finished with them gentlefolks now.’
    Kester writhed, held fast by his wrist. Swearing and shouting, he struggled against the clearly insane footman, who was now laughing at him in delight. ‘You’re lively, nice and lively,’ the footman was saying. ‘You’ll make a good meal, you will.’ Kester twisted once more and managed to reach across his torso. He grabbed the dagger with his left hand and wasted no time in plunging it into the footman’s body. The vampire looked startled and the pressure on Kester’s wrist disappeared as the creature evaporated into dust. Kester, breathing heavily, stared at the heap of ash. His idea of a clever, elegant person was challenged. An apparently newborn vampire left to fend for itself, seemingly had no more social skills than the next person. This problem was possibly more widespread than he had ever imagined.
    Kester listened to the silence of the house which was overlaid with the beating of his heart and the repulsive buzzing of the flies. He prayed that no more vampires would appear in that beautiful, yet evil, residence. He tried to calm himself, telling himself that there was nothing there now except human death. He must focus on his task and for that, he would need the letter. Stepping across the remains of the footman, he picked up the envelope, opened it and began to read the gracefully formed script. The author had been astute. There was no address and no name: but, reading between the lines, Kester formed his own opinion of what the letter