Absolution - The First Book Of The Vampire Immortalis Trilogy by Elizabeth Mitchell Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Mitchell
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a vampire possession before, but maybe that would mask the smell.
Adam got up from the bench and walked over to Liam. “Hi, I'm Adam,” he said holding out his hand. “I'm on vacation here.”
Liam shook his hand and introduced himself. “You must have a screw loose to want to come to Melrose for your holidays!”
“Well, maybe I do, but I have an aunt here, and my family are originally from Scotland, so I thought it was about time I came over and paid my respects.”
“Good on you,” said Liam, offering one of the bottles of Buckfast to the newcomer. “Here, have some Buckie.”
“Thanks all the same, but I don't drink.”
“You don't drink?” said Muckle with
feigned incredulity. “And people say we are weirdos!”
“Aye, well, in your case, Muckle, they probably aren't far wrong,” said Lisa jokingly. “Where does your aunt live, Adam?”
“Just opposite the golf course.”
“That's not far from me,” said Lisa, who by now had her arms wrapped around Liam's waist. “I live on Fairways, down Chiefswood Road.”
Adam smiled. He had no idea where Fairways or Chiefswood Road was. He was still trying to make up his mind about Liam. The scent of vampire was definitely coming from him, but the hand he had shook was warm and his face was ruddy. There was no getting away from the fact that, at some point, the Hundeprest and Liam had crossed paths, but whether they were one and the same, Adam wasn't so sure.
“You work in the evening?” Adam asked, suspicious that Liam had been absent from the park when the Hundeprest had struck.
“Aye, the shop's open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, so somebody has to. I was only in for six hours today, but from tomorrow I'm on nights, ten till six the next morning. That's a killer.”
I hope it's just the job that's the killer
, Adam said to himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick Webster was looking out of the window of his first floor hotel room. He couldn't care less about the colour television, the coffee and tea tray with complimentary shortbread biscuits, the hairdryer in the top drawer, room service from 7am until 10pm, or any of the other facilities the landlady had waxed lyrically about when showing them to their room. All he wanted was this window.
All Walter Miller wanted was sleep. He was as tired as the hotel's decor. Nick had made him drive through the night, from London to Melrose, scrunched up in an old Nissan Micra. A couple of quick toilet stops and another to buy petrol and that was it. They had then spent the best part of an hour, trailing around Melrose, in the rain, looking for a room to call home for the duration of their stay. Media interest in the murder meant that every hotel and bed and breakfast in the small town was fully booked. They'd only got lucky with this room because of a last minute cancellation.
It was funny how the landlady had simply assumed that the two new guests, with their fancy dan London ways, were journalists. It certainly saved them having to cook up a cover story. It also meant they could ask as many questions as they wanted, without arousing suspicion, because journalists were expected to ask questions. But Nick and Walter didn't work for Fleet Street or the BBC or even the
Mitcham, Morden & Wimbledon Post
. They were in Melrose because they were vampire hunters.
At first glance, you wouldn't think Nick and Walter were capable of hunting anything, let alone vampires. Both were in their forties, balding and overweight. They had actually only been vampire hunters for a matter of months: six in the case of Nick, and three in the case of Walter. This gave Nick seniority over the wet behind the ears Walter, or so Nick said anyway.
Both men had been recruited to the Sabbatarian cause after frequenting the same obscure internet chat room dedicated to vampire hunting. Nick and Walter were exactly what the Battalion Sabbatarian looked for when recruiting cannon fodder. Both were single men with no job and
Adam got up from the bench and walked over to Liam. “Hi, I'm Adam,” he said holding out his hand. “I'm on vacation here.”
Liam shook his hand and introduced himself. “You must have a screw loose to want to come to Melrose for your holidays!”
“Well, maybe I do, but I have an aunt here, and my family are originally from Scotland, so I thought it was about time I came over and paid my respects.”
“Good on you,” said Liam, offering one of the bottles of Buckfast to the newcomer. “Here, have some Buckie.”
“Thanks all the same, but I don't drink.”
“You don't drink?” said Muckle with
feigned incredulity. “And people say we are weirdos!”
“Aye, well, in your case, Muckle, they probably aren't far wrong,” said Lisa jokingly. “Where does your aunt live, Adam?”
“Just opposite the golf course.”
“That's not far from me,” said Lisa, who by now had her arms wrapped around Liam's waist. “I live on Fairways, down Chiefswood Road.”
Adam smiled. He had no idea where Fairways or Chiefswood Road was. He was still trying to make up his mind about Liam. The scent of vampire was definitely coming from him, but the hand he had shook was warm and his face was ruddy. There was no getting away from the fact that, at some point, the Hundeprest and Liam had crossed paths, but whether they were one and the same, Adam wasn't so sure.
“You work in the evening?” Adam asked, suspicious that Liam had been absent from the park when the Hundeprest had struck.
“Aye, the shop's open 24 hours a day, seven days a week, so somebody has to. I was only in for six hours today, but from tomorrow I'm on nights, ten till six the next morning. That's a killer.”
I hope it's just the job that's the killer
, Adam said to himself.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Nick Webster was looking out of the window of his first floor hotel room. He couldn't care less about the colour television, the coffee and tea tray with complimentary shortbread biscuits, the hairdryer in the top drawer, room service from 7am until 10pm, or any of the other facilities the landlady had waxed lyrically about when showing them to their room. All he wanted was this window.
All Walter Miller wanted was sleep. He was as tired as the hotel's decor. Nick had made him drive through the night, from London to Melrose, scrunched up in an old Nissan Micra. A couple of quick toilet stops and another to buy petrol and that was it. They had then spent the best part of an hour, trailing around Melrose, in the rain, looking for a room to call home for the duration of their stay. Media interest in the murder meant that every hotel and bed and breakfast in the small town was fully booked. They'd only got lucky with this room because of a last minute cancellation.
It was funny how the landlady had simply assumed that the two new guests, with their fancy dan London ways, were journalists. It certainly saved them having to cook up a cover story. It also meant they could ask as many questions as they wanted, without arousing suspicion, because journalists were expected to ask questions. But Nick and Walter didn't work for Fleet Street or the BBC or even the
Mitcham, Morden & Wimbledon Post
. They were in Melrose because they were vampire hunters.
At first glance, you wouldn't think Nick and Walter were capable of hunting anything, let alone vampires. Both were in their forties, balding and overweight. They had actually only been vampire hunters for a matter of months: six in the case of Nick, and three in the case of Walter. This gave Nick seniority over the wet behind the ears Walter, or so Nick said anyway.
Both men had been recruited to the Sabbatarian cause after frequenting the same obscure internet chat room dedicated to vampire hunting. Nick and Walter were exactly what the Battalion Sabbatarian looked for when recruiting cannon fodder. Both were single men with no job and
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