FicWad

The fires had long since been extinguished, but the acrid smell of smoke and smouldering timber lingered in the air. There was little left of the mansion that could be considered recognisable; one crumbling outer wall and the occasional outline shell of a room and a few charred sticks of furniture. The day’s newspapers had announced the destruction of Beckett’s mansion with the dull objectivity of a media that either had no knowledge of who William Beckett was or was hiding it from the world. The headline duly stated:

Local Man Killed In Fire

To add insult to injury, it hadn’t even made front-page news. Beckett read:

Shortly after dawn, fire crews were called to the nineteenth-century mansion of local man, William Beckett, who died in the blaze. The police suspect arson.

Refusing to read any more, Beckett crumpled the newspaper in his hands and pushed it into Brendon’s chest.

“So, I died, did I?” Beckett heaved an angry sigh.
“Master William,” Brendon straightened the newspaper before folding it, his sense of always looking his best never leaving him for a moment. “I fed that story to one of our servants in the media. It’s best if you’re believed to be dead.”
“Why?” Beckett growled, not taking his eyes from the ruins of his home for a moment.
“You’re vulnerable at the moment, William… other covens, they…”

Beckett turned, frowning at Brendon before nodding his agreement.

“You’re right, of course, and with a brand new coven, I will remain vulnerable. I need strong vampires at my side.”
“Master… I…”
“My dear Brendon,” Beckett cupped Brendon’s cheek. “You are my right hand vampire, I owe my life to you, but you must understand that I will need more than you to rebuild my coven.”
“What about me?” a voice asked from behind the pair.

Beckett turned slowly, surprised to see Mike Carden, a senior member of his coven, having survived the blaze. His first reaction was one of suspicion, but that was soon pushed aside; Beckett knew the cause of the fire and that he should be quietly grateful that any of them had survived.

“Michael?” Beckett raised his eyebrows. “How did you escape?”
“You don’t know?” Mike asked with a bitter tone to his voice.

Beckett frowned. Yes, he was grateful for another survivor, but he wasn’t used to his vampires being so discourteous and he knew that he definitely didn’t like it.

“Michael, I warn you…”
“Save it!” Mike snapped. “I lay in that dungeon, bleeding with my throat torn and you left me to it, abandoned me to heal slowly. You could have helped me, you could have healed me, but no!”

Beckett drew his lips into a thin line as Mike continued his tirade.

“Turns out, you did me a favour. The dungeons were the only places in the mansion safe from the fire. So, here I am and now you need me! You need all the help you can get right now but you can’t even be civil! What can you offer me? What will I get for being more loyal to you than you were to me? Well? Tell me… William.”

Beckett curled his fingers into a fist as Mike dared address him by his name. Mike believed he had reason to feel betrayed. He had, perhaps foolishly, gloated to Pete that he expected Beckett to reward his assistance with Pete’s capture by making him his new Second. Instead, Brendon had been reinstated and Mike had been left bleeding on the floor of the dungeon, having been attacked by the newly turned Patrick. He had been humiliated. Not just by Beckett’s lack of interest in him, but that a fledgling vampire had got the better of him. At first he had wanted only to redeem himself in Beckett’s eyes, but an opportunity had presented itself whereby Beckett was backed into a corner and actually needed him. It wasn’t something he intended to let slip by.

“What do you want?” Beckett spat through gritted teeth.
“I want power, real power,” Mike insisted.
“Power?” Beckett mused.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. He believed that he had lost everything, but it wasn’t all gone, not completely. He still had position, he still had servants and most of all, he still commanded power. Beckett nodded slowly; it was time to take control, of not only the streets, but the city.

“Very well,” he agreed. “How would you like to run this city?”

Brendon snapped a surprised glance at Beckett at the words. Carden? In charge of the city? Was William serious?

“William? Are you…?”
“Trust me, Brendon,” Beckett turned a sincere expression towards his Second. “You must trust me.”

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Beckett’s insistence on his trust seemed to hit home and Brendon realised that they weren’t just empty words. Beckett continued:

“We have vampire and human servants in many different professions, many with great power. Now is the time to call them into service. Gentlemen, a new style Coven is born, one with both preternatural and social strength.”
“And how exactly do I get to run the city?” Mike asked eagerly. “You want me to… ah… convince the Mayor to do what I ask?”
Beckett gave a small cruel laugh. “As convincing as I know you could be, I think this city is ready for a new Mayor, don’t you? One that… in the interests of humans, of course… will curtail their lives so much that they will rebel.”
“How will that help?” Mike asked curtly.
“When we explain that the reason for all their problems is the vampire hunters, I’m quite certain that our four friends will feel suddenly very isolated.” Beckett grinned. “With the Chief of Police, many police officers, doctors, lawyers, politicians, priests and media either vampires or our servants, I don’t see it as a difficult matter to convince the public of anything we wish. On top of which, I think I’ve just solved our living arrangements problem.”

Mike grinned; seeing himself as Mayor raised the broadest smile to his lips and even Brendon found himself joining him. Beckett was rising like a phoenix, literally from the ashes. Somehow reinventing himself and making himself possibly even more powerful than before; Beckett’s influence infected the city like a plague and he was not willing to relinquish his position, no matter what had happened.

*

Joe turned his head sleepily and smiled broadly at the sight of the pretty brunette sleeping peacefully next to him. They had fallen asleep in each other’s arms and barely moved all day. Lifting his left arm, he curled it around her back and pulled her closer. Her own smile widened and she snaked her arm over his chest, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she slept.

“Sorry, my love,” he spoke softly, kissing her head, eliciting a small soft sigh. “I have to get up.”

Pushing his legs out of the bed, Joe reached for his pants and pulled them on. Flashing a quick smile at the still sleeping Andrea, he slipped on a shirt and headed for Patrick’s room. Even before he opened the door, he could hear the muffled, slightly echoing sounds of singing from within. Opening the door slowly, Joe looked down at the steel cabinet lying on its back on the floor. The locks still intact, Patrick was singing inside.

“Joe?” he asked as he heard the door open.
“Yeah, Trick, it’s me,” Joe laughed as he pulled the key from his pocket. “You okay?”
“I’m a bit hungry,” came the call from within the cabinet.
“Uh…” Joe replied hesitantly.
“I’m not that hungry, Joe,” Patrick groaned in reply.
“Okay, okay! I had to check.”

Pushing back one of the cabinet doors, Joe looked inside. How strange that he was doing the same thing that Patrick had done for Pete so many times since his return. He wondered if the same uncertainties and concerns had ever crossed Patrick’s mind when he had released Pete from his own cabinet.

“Yeah, Joe, you’re no different,” Patrick commented casually as he pushed the other door aside and sat up.
“Uh… Patrick,” Joe began with a degree of uncertainty. “You gotta stop doing that.”
“What?” Patrick looked up innocently.
“Reading my mind, I don’t like it.”
“Wh… what? You didn’t speak?” Patrick frowned.
“No, I didn’t,” Joe snapped back, sounding much more harsh than he had intended.

Patrick looked down regretfully. So much was so new and unfamiliar to him. Unintentionally, he now read that Joe was more worried about Patrick reading his more personal thoughts about how he felt about Andrea. Without admitting that he had done it again, Patrick was at a loss to reassure him.

“I’m sorry, Joe, I don’t mean to. It’s so new to me. I… I’ll try to keep it under control, okay?”
“You do that,” Joe replied, his cheeks slightly flushed as he wondered if Patrick was still listening.

Patrick made a determined effort not to respond with even the slightest word or gesture.

“Thanks,” Joe smiled.
“For what?” Patrick asked now confused.
“It can’t be easy for you,” Joe shrugged. “You know, the whole being a vampire thing.”
“It’s new, it’s different, and I’m hoping I’m over the hard bit.”

Joe smiled again and pulled his friend into a hug. Breathing in his scent, almost immediately Patrick pushed Joe away, at first to his dismay.

“N… no,” he stammered. “How can I expect you to trust me, if I can’t even trust myself!”
“You will, in time,” Joe replied with a voice that sounded calmer than he felt.

Patrick raised a thin smile at Joe’s response, while being especially careful not to read his thoughts.

“Come on, let’s go wake up Pete and I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Three drops of…”
“I know,” Joe grinned, “we read the recipe, remember? Tasted like chicken.”

Patrick nodded again; they were good friends. No, they were the best.

*

He was young in human years and only a little less than two as a vampire, but he was already awake. He voiced his concerns for his ears only.

“Master, he thinks your dead, but I know you’re not. I’ll help you rise again and destroy him. I promise you.”