The Cross

Chapter Forty-Five

London

Ash slipped on a pair of designer shades as he crossed the dark car park and walked inside the brightly-lit foyer of the Schuessler & Schuessler legal firm. He kept a tight grip on the attache case, feeling strangely naked without his sword.

It was well after five, but the place was showing no sign of slowing down. Ash had never before set foot in this kind of bustling professional environment: smartly-dressed people dashing back and forth clutching files and papers, receptionists busy on phones, fat business types sitting on plush sofas scouring the Financial Times. Another time, and he’d have walked over to the shits and snapped their necks just to watch them die. Maybe some other day. He had better things to do right now.

Nobody took the least bit notice of him as he crossed the spacious, shiny-floored lobby and headed for the lifts. In his sharp suit and with the expensive calf leather case in his hand, he could have passed for any one of the thousand high-rolling legal executives who swarmed in and out of the firm’s offices every day. The worst anyone could have thought of him was that he was the kind of flash prick who thought it was cool to wear sunglasses indoors — but then, people at Schuessler & Schuessler were pretty used to those.

Ash pretended to consult his phone as he waited for a chattering crowd of executives and secretaries to exit the lift. When it was empty, he slipped quickly inside and prodded the button for the fourth floor. The lift whooshed quietly upwards. It was his first ever ride in one, and he disliked the sensation. He studied his strangely-attired reflection in the polished steel of the door and ran through in his mind the exacting instructions he’d been given.

With an electronic ping, the lift stopped at the fourth floor and the reflective steel slid aside to reveal a small, bare landing that contrasted noticeably with the plush decor of the legal firm downstairs. Ash made his way towards a sign that said ‘KEILLER VYSE INVESTMENTS’. He didn’t try to enter, knowing that the door would be locked. Beside it was a silver intercom with a little mesh speaker and a button. Security cameras watched him from above. He straightened his tie, pressed the intercom button, and calmly spoke the words he’d been told to say:

‘Barry Renfield, from Northwood Estate Management. I have an appointment with a Mr Kelby.’

The woman’s voice on the intercom sounded bemused, and for a few moments Ash was sure the ruse wouldn’t work. He’d never liked the idea anyway. So much easier just to chop down the door with the sword and get to work.

But after a few seconds’ waiting, a buzzer sounded and the door opened with a clunk. Ash found himself in a long windowless corridor, walls and floor gleaming white. At the far end was another door, which swung open as he approached. He was met by an austere-looking female in a dark suit, her hair scraped tightly back in a bun. The nameplate on her desk said simply ‘QUECK’. Behind her was another set of closed doors that looked like they belonged in a bank vault. Ash realised that maybe the ruse was necessary after all.

‘Mr—?’

‘Renfield,’ he repeated. ‘Barry Renfield, Northwood Estate Management. As you know, my company represents the owners of the building.’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘I’d prefer to speak to Mr Kelby,’ Ash said, noticing the way she kept glancing at his neck. She was flushing a little, pupils dilating. He smiled inwardly. You want to drink my blood, bitch? You have no idea what’s coming to you.

‘Mr Kelby is in a meeting right now,’ she told him curtly. ‘I can’t find any record of an appointment.’

‘I have a card.’ He showed it to her, and she frowned at it. ‘It is rather important,’ he said. ‘There’s been an issue with the rent payments.’ The irritation in his voice was genuine. Doing all this talking was making his mouth sore.

‘Nobody notified us about this,’ she said. With a sigh, she went back to her desk and pressed a button. ‘This is Miss Queck. I have a gentleman here to see Mr Kelby. It seems important,’ she added, glancing frostily up at Ash.

‘Thank you, Miss Queck,’ Ash said with a smile as they waited. He pointed to his case. ‘May I?’ She narrowed her eyes as he laid it down flat on her desk and turned the little wheels of the combination locks. The number was 666. He smiled and flipped open the catches, but left the lid shut. Queck was staring at him.

A moment later, the massive security door whooshed open and a tall, dark-haired man stepped out to greet Ash. ‘I’m Cornelius Kelby,’ he said, looking a little perplexed. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Nope,’ Ash said. ‘And nobody can help you either.’

Then he reached casually out and opened the lid of the case.

Twenty miles away to the south-west, Gabriel Stone was pacing up and down the length of The Ridings’ wine cellar as Lillith lounged nearby in an antique velvet chair, sipping absently on a cup of blood and leafing through a fashion magazine.

She looked up and tutted irritably. ‘Gabriel, you’re making me all dizzy with your pacing.’

‘Hmm?’ he said, snapping out of his reverie.

‘Relax, brother. You’re wearing a trench in the middle of the floor.’

‘Did Elspeth, Rolando and Petroc depart as I instructed?’

‘The minute the sun went down,’ Lillith said, and took another long, lazy swig. ‘All taken care of. Though,’ she added, ‘I don’t think Rolando’s much of a pilot.’

‘I believe I showed him all he needed to know in order to operate the machine,’ Gabriel said testily. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked, only now noticing the cup in her hand.

She clicked her tongue. ‘Oh, Gabriel. From one of the humans we put in the basement, silly. Remember? It was your idea.’

‘Lillith, those are not for helping yourself to whenever the whim takes you. How is one properly supposed to organise a celebration party if you persist in—’

‘All right, all right, I’m sorry. It was just a little nip. I couldn’t resist. Anyway, who’s counting? One here, one there. There’ll be plenty to go around. Zachary brought home another one last night. Some local girl, I think — on her way home from a discotheque, or whatever they call them nowadays.’

‘I see. Splendid, splendid,’ Gabriel muttered distractedly, his mind already moving on as he started pacing again, feeling for the phone in the pocket of the cream silk waistcoat he was wearing loose over his white shirt. Under normal circumstances, he disliked telephones and preferred to have as little to do with them as possible — but he kept toying with it, willing it to ring with the news he was expecting.

‘It’s not often I see you in such a taking,’ Lillith said. ‘Look at you. Grinning to yourself like a boy.’

‘If all goes according to plan,’ he told her, ‘this should prove to be a historic day. Marking the destruction of the Federation, once and for all. Heralding the dawning of a new era for our kind. The age of the vampire is about to be reborn.’

‘About time, too,’ Lillith said, and returned to her magazine.