Bump

1.2: THINGS THAT GO BUMP (part 2)

Rupert stared at the girl on the bed. She had cascading red hair and enchanting green eyes. She had smooth milky skin and a low-cut frilly nightgown. All in all, she was a choice vampiric delicacy. But even Rupert, while not always the sharpest tooth in the gums, could tell there was something fishy going on here.

"Look, you know you'll die, don't you?"

"Of course." The girl betrayed no uneasiness at the idea.

Rupert tried again. "And you won't come back as a vampire." He'd come across girls who thought they would and had all but thrown themselves at him in an attempt to access vampirdom. But, unfortunately for them, that sort of thing didn't happen much any more. Rupert had been born a vampire; he hadn't had to go through that messy dying business first. Vampires only turned humans into their kind on extremely rare occasions, and, Rupert reflected, it'd have to be a darned good human to be worth the bother. Middlers seemed to think that there was one quick bite and that was it: vampire. They were partly right, but what they didn't know about were all the tiresome questions that followed. What did you go and do that for? Who are they? Where are we supposed to put them, this castle's stuffed full as it is... And then there was the paperwork. Too much bother entirely. In fact, there had been an incident in his own family's castle not so long ago which had been disruptive, not to mention upsetting for certain parties. Much too much bother.

He'd had to explain all this to the girls, of course. And when they'd finally realised what he was saying, they'd screamed. And then he'd felt guilty.

"I know."

This earned the girl another long stare.

"Just bite me!"

"But, no, listen-what did you mean about not really wanting me to-"

Apparently the girl had had enough. She leapt out of bed straight into Rupert's arms. He almost fell over in shock.

The girl bared her neck to him. "Let me go!" she cried. "Do not bite me, oh foul fiend of the Night!"

This girl, Rupert decided, was batty. But he could still smell that alluring scent on her. He leaned closer, just to get a good whiff of it...

The door burst in. It was a quick process but managed to be, in Rupert's opinion, needlessly loud, messy, and dramatic.

A wide-shouldered, portly man strode across the wreckage of the door. His face was very red, which was unfortunate given that his stylishly trimmed beard was also very red. His right hand was held aloft, a lone finger quivering righteously. "Halt, servant of shadows!" He aimed the finger at Rupert. "Do not lay one fang upon her, or you shall be sent from this world in terrible pain and agony!"

"Wait-" Rupert began, but his accuser was in full flow.

"Release her, or I shall bring down upon you the fiery wrath of Day's eternal Sun!"

Rupert glanced down at the girl in his arms. She seemed to have fainted. It did look pretty suspicious. "But I didn't... I wasn't... It was her."

"And now you lay blame upon my innocent daughter, she who is the apple of my eye, the candle in the darkness of my life! Lay her down, or I will smite you from this world! Oh, but what have you done to her already, that she lies so still?"

Rupert thought this had gone far enough. He let go of the girl, who dropped limply to the floor in a rustle of lacy nightdress.

"Look," he said, "I haven't done anything. If anyone's done anything, it's her. She jumped at me!"

"You dare to accuse my daughter not only once, but twice? You shall pay for this dearly, creature of the black. I, Lord Winkton, will teach you a lesson you shall never forget, not in all your miserable, parasitic existence!"

Rupert was not going to stand for any more of this. "I have absolutely no idea what's going on here," he told the room in general, "so I'm going to leave. Right now." He turned, ran toward the doors, sprang gracefully off the balcony... and fell.

#

Harriet sat up, scratching at the neckline of her nightdress. She hated lace. It was itchy. "I feel rather sorry for him, you know. He almost guessed."

"Sorry?" Lord Winkton snorted. "Shouldn't feel sorry for them. Evil, murdering leeches."

"But..."

"Don't you 'but' me, child."

"Yes, Father."

They went to look over the balcony. The vampire was spread-eagled on the lawn below.

"Well," the vampire rasped. "That's... never happened before..." His head fell back onto the grass.

"I think he's unconscious," Harriet said.

"Hah, yes," said Winkton. "By no means as invincible as they think they are, the arrogant b-"

"Shouldn't we send someone down to fetch him?" Harriet put in, before her father could launch into one of his tirades.

"Ah, yes, of course." Winkton ducked inside and tugged on a bell-pull by the bed. A moment later a sombre butler appeared in the shattered doorway. "We have another guest, Banforth," Winkton informed him.

"Yes, sir."

"Another vampire."

"Yes, sir. Well done, sir."

"Send Hoggins to fetch him, will you?"

"Of course, sir. And will sir be wanting him in the usual place?"

Winkton smiled. "Yes, Banforth. In the usual place."

The butler vanished in a puff of efficiency. Winkton was on the verge of following when Harriet spoke up. "Father?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think..." She took a breath. "Might Hoggins be your assistant this time?"

Harriet tried not to fidget as her father turned to stare at her.

"And why is it, Harriet, that you do not wish to be present today?"

"I..." Harriet groped for an excuse. "I think I may have caught a chill. I'm not feeling well."

Evidently his daughter's health was not Lord Winkton's top priority. "Nonsense," he told her. "To pass up your duty because of a chill! I won't have it. The experience is crucial to your moral education. And besides, I find that the knowledge one is doing some good in this depraved world is wonderful for bolstering the constitution, not to mention the soul." He fixed her with a gaze she knew all too well. "Now, will you be attending me?"

Harriet looked down at her toes. "Yes, Father."

"Good," said Winkton. "In the fight between the light and the darkness, daughter, there is no room for sniffling."

Harriet watched her father's back as he departed from the room, trampling the ruins of her door. Unbidden, a fragment of memory surfaced in her mind: gentle hands, a soft laugh, the scent of honey. A moment grown hazy over long years.

No room for sniffling, Harriet thought glumly. And no room for love. Not any more.