struck, opening the man’s throat. Terror and agony coated
Richard’s palate with hot, slick copper.
Richard’s eyelids fluttered shut.
The human’s heart fluttered its last.
Host and vampire invigorated; Richard effortlessly
flowed to his feet. He bounded lightly from wall to roof,
covering ground and gaining height until he landed on the
bell platform in the church steeple a quarter mile away.
Up here the tang of the River Thames was
unmistakable. The turning tide exposed the pungent mud
and lowered jostling vessels at the watermark. Ropes and
timbers creaked. Canvas sails salted the air and pulled
memories from forgotten parts of his mind. He turned his
back.
Jasmine, intoxicating in its purity, drenched him.
The scent was so powerful he could almost see the tiny
white flecks of perfume twirling towards him, beckoning.
Promising much.
In pursuit of that promise, he stepped over the
carved stone balustrade. He tracked it for almost half a
mile, leaving the desperate over-crowding behind and
coming to a halt beside pale, sedate Georgian dignity.
Three floors of wide windows, presided over by narrow
stone and wrought-iron balconies, edged all sides of the
affluent residential square like a well-drilled battalion.
A small lamp; wick faintly smoking; flame gently
breathing, lit the second-floor room. He closed his eyes.
Painted the picture inside the sanctuary from keen senses
and keener memories.
The young lady within had not long bathed.
91