Family Stakes
The following takes place following: Travers Rising
In her old neighbourhood of Wexley, Fiona Malone moved quietly along the narrow ginnel behind the terraces. Her leather coat creaked in the cold, damp air. A streetlamp flickered somewhere above, casting long, thin shadows across the brick.
She stopped behind one particular house and slipped silently into the back garden. From the gate, she could hear raised voices. Stealthily moving closer, she glided up to the back living-room window and focused her vampire senses. Inside, her daughter Tina and her mother Kathy were arguing.
Tina: “But me friends are waiting!”
Kathy: “Your granddad and I have said no and that’s final. You can see them at school.”
Tina: “I’m 17! I’m old enough to look after meself! Why can’t you just let me live my life!? I hate this place!”
Kathy: “We’ve been over this. It’s not safe, luv. Not after dark… not for any of us. Doesn’t matter how old you are… not even your—”
Kathy broke down, covering her mouth. Tina hesitated, then softened and moved to comfort her.
Kathy: “I’m sorry, luv. I hate keeping you locked up here every night. You shouldn’t have to live like this… I just… with your mum… I couldn’t bear to lose you too.”
Tina: “I know. I miss her too, Gran. I miss Mum so much…”
Tina began to sob in her grandmother’s arms. Outside, Fiona felt tears sting her eyes. She stepped toward the back door, hand half-raised to knock… but stopped. Her fingers curled back.
After a moment, she turned away and headed for the gate, lighting a cigarette with unsteady hands as she slipped back into the ginnel.
As Fiona moved away from the house, a voice slipped out of the darkness behind her.
Voice: “Well, isn’t this a picture. Lady Felicia, haunting alleyways like a Victorian gutter ghost.”
She jerked, spinning toward him with a hiss before catching herself. A vampire stepped into the weak halo of a back-door light — immaculate coat, smug grin.
Fiona: “Bloody hell, Lucian. What’re you doing here?”
Lucian: “Oh, y’know. Slumming it... Nah, only kidding. The Master was looking for you. He’s calling a meeting. Seems rather uptight about all this election business… What about you? What brings you to this charming shithole?”
Fiona: “I grew up in this charming shithole.”
Lucian: “Ah, that explains a lot. And I take it that’s your family home?”
Fiona didn’t answer; instead she started walking. Lucian followed.
Lucian: “You seem in a fouler mood than usual. Come on, let’s go grab a bite before we head back to HQ. I saw a couple of horny teenagers round the corner — a teenage pregnancy waiting to happen, no doubt. You can have your pick.”
Fiona: “Thanks, but am not hungry.”
Lucian: “I don’t believe that. You look like you haven’t eaten in days.”
Fiona: “Am on a diet. Watching me figure.”
Lucian: “Fine, have it your way — but at least come for the kill. It’ll put some colour back in your cheeks, figuratively speaking…”
She stopped and turned to him.
Fiona: “What the hell is the matter with you? You want to just kill them for fun?”
Lucian: “Yeah… What do you do for fun?”
Fiona: “Not bloody murdering folk, that’s for sure.”
Lucian: “Murder? Please. What are you — some kind of animal rights activist?”
Fiona: “No. I just don’t think we have the right to go around preying on people like that. I do my best not to kill when I feed. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard, y’know?”
Lucian: “I’m quite sure I have no idea. Frankly, that’s the saddest, most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”
Fiona: “Whatever. You do you…”
Lucian: “Fine, be that way. But I am curious — your family house. Instead of visiting, you were skulking around outside like a stray cat. What? Afraid they won’t invite you in?”
She stopped and turned to him.
Fiona: “Not that it’s any of your business, but av not seen ’em since—”
Lucian: “Since you were sired? And why not?”
Fiona: “Because I don’t trust meself around them. Don’t want to hurt them.”
Lucian: “Pfft. Living in this dump, I’m sure you’d be doing them a favour. Put them out of their misery.”
Fiona suddenly punched him hard in the face. He groaned, clutching his jaw.
Lucian: “Ow! What the bloody hell was that for??”
Fiona: “Don’t you dare talk that kind of shit about my family.”
Lucian: “They’re not your family. Not anymore. We are. But look — if you’re still really hung up on these inferior mortals, then why not just turn them?”
Fiona: “NO! I’m not doing that. I… I don’t want this life for them. And you? You’re nothing to me — just some toff twat who thinks he’s superior because of where he comes from. I put up with bastards like you looking down on me and my people when I was human. Well, not anymore!”
Lucian: “Class war — how adorable. Well, newsflash, kitten: we are superior beings. It’s just a fact, and the sooner you get it into that thick red head of yours, the better…”
Fiona: “…”
Lucian: “Frankly, the others won’t like you clinging to this human rubbish. They’ll think you’re confused. Weak.”
Fiona: “I don’t care. I’m done with this conversation.”
Lucian: “I’m trying to help you. The sooner you shake off this baggage, the better. Look — how about this? We go back there, you get us invited in, and we do them quick. You’ll feel free once it’s over.”
Fiona’s eyes flared.
Fiona: “You stay the fuck away from my family or I swear to Ed I will fucking kill you.”
Lucian: “Ha ha! Oh, please. Little Miss ‘I’m too good to kill humans’ is going to threaten me? You’re not fooling anyone. Clearly you’re too soft for this so maybe I’ll just come back later then and—”
Fiona didn’t hesitate. She ripped a loose plank from a nearby garden fence and rammed it into his chest. Lucian froze, eyes wide — then collapsed into a drifting cloud of ash. She stared at the settling ash, chest tight, the reality of what she’d done catching up in a cold wave. Then she forced herself to move, kicking the remains thinly along the ground until they vanished into the damp bricks. Looking over her shoulder, she hurried off into the night.
****
V.A.M.P. Headquarters:
The room was cast in shadow, the only light coming from the massive television mounted on the wall. Harris Travers’ rally dominated the broadcast, his image larger than life as he waved a copy of the Waldopolis Chronicle, gesticulating wildly to punctuate his words. The crowd behind him roared with approval as he danced a ridiculous little jig, tapping his heels together.
At the head of the table, Viktor Alaric clenched the remote control, his knuckles whitening. With a sharp exhale, he jabbed the mute button, silencing the screen. The muffled hum of frustration from the gathered vampires filled the void.
Vampire 1: “This moustached little dwarf is unravelling everything we’ve built. Weeks of careful planning, undone by—by him! And we still can’t touch him!”
Vampire 2: “Maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d finished the job at the trial.”
He glared at Alaric, the words hanging in the air like a challenge. Alaric’s expression darkened, and his glare sliced across the room.
Alaric: “You’d presume to teach me political strategy? Need I remind you we’d all still be skulking in the shadows if it weren’t for me. We rule this city thanks to my vision — don’t forget that. As for Mr Travers… making him a martyr at the time would have been a far greater risk. But clearly, some of us lack the foresight to understand such things.”
The second vampire sank back in his chair, muttering under his breath. Tension still clung to the room when Fiona slipped inside and sat at the far end of the table.
Alaric: “Ah. Felicia, my dear. So good of you to join us. Tell me — did you happen to see Lucian on your travels? I sent him out looking for you.”
Fiona: (shrugging) “No. Haven’t seen him.”
Alaric: “Hmm. He’s probably out indulging himself somewhere…”
The boardroom erupted again in groans and bickering. Fiona’s eyes drifted to the TV. Travers was still dancing, his absurd little jig looping silently. A faint smile tugged at her lips — barely there, but unmistakable.
Alaric: “Any ideas, Fiona?”
She blinked, pulled out of her thoughts, her expression shifting from wistful to mildly irritated.
Fiona: “What?”
Alaric: “Do you have any ideas? How do we take Mr Travers down — publicly?”
She leaned back, shoulders loose, tone casual.
Fiona: “He’s popular. And he’s got the truth on his side.”
The room erupted in hisses and growls, the word truth hanging like smoke.
Alaric: “Truth?? The truth is irrelevant! This is about perception. About power. And right now, he has both.”
Vampire 3: “We should send someone on Newsnight. Smear him again. Hammer him on his record, his biases. Paint him for what he is — a dangerous bigot.”
Alaric: (nodding) “Well, it’s better than nothing, I suppose. But not me. He’s already made me a lightning rod for his hate. It’s wiser if I stay out of the press for now.”
A brief pause — then Fiona’s voice cut through the murmurs.
Fiona: “I’ll do it.”
All heads snapped toward her. For the first time, Alaric’s composure wavered, suspicion tightening his eyes.
Alaric: “You?”
Fiona: “Why not? Someone’s got to. Besides… maybe this could be my political comeback.”
Alaric stared, trying to read her, then finally nodded.
Alaric: “Very well… Percival. Make the call.”
The Waldoverse continues in TBD