“Cheers! To one bloody awful week, I’m glad is over!” Kate tapped her pint glass against that of her friend Zoe.

“You said it!” Zoe responded. She wiped off the beer running down her hand onto the leg of her trousers from her overly enthusiastic clinking of her glass. She couldn’t stop a little giggle from escaping. She’d already had one glass more than she should have but she just wanted to forget the terrible week she just had. 

Tucking a strand of her shoulder length brown hair behind her ear...

Zoe was sitting on the bed listening to Kate get ready for the day in the nearby bathroom as she swiped through their photos from the night before. They’d snuck a few photos in the catacombs when they thought to. She quickly swiped passed all their silly selfies until she got to the ones at the Eiffel Tower. Kate had gotten it right, it was truly breathtaking.

Just as she was about to turn off her phone a shadow in the background of the last picture caught her eye. Zooming in Zoe felt a chill ra...

It was the cold—a cold that made her bones ache—that finally convinced Zoe that she was not, what—dreaming, hallucinating, tripping on whatever the creep had shot into her veins. 

She opened her eyes, ready to fight, expecting him to still be there; but there was only a thick, impenetrable darkness. She raised her hand, the muscles in her arm hesitant and sluggish, intending to bring it to her face and gauge the true extent of the dark. But her hand moved but six inches before it encountered som...

Half-an-hour later, she stepped out into the four-a.m. quiet of Paris. Her urge to call for help had been replaced by growing dread in the pit of her stomach, and a bone-deep weariness that sapped her will to do more than return to their hotel. She was in shock, or so she told herself.

She entered her location (they’d apparently been taken to the Hospital Hotel-Dieu, right near Notre Dame) into her GPS app, and the Radisson Blu as the destination, then hit “Guide Me There”. If it wasn’t for her ...

More than an hour later, the eastern sky taking on the first hint of dawn’s pinks and oranges, Zoe used her key card to slip through the side entrance of the Radisson, avoiding the front desk. Back in her room, she sat on her bed, the bed she’d shared with Kate to save on expenses for the trip, dazed and exhausted. She found her memories of the attack fading—a flash of a face, a glimpse of blood, pain, and then a falling into darkness. Or had that all been an illusion? Had they been slipped some...

He squinted at the scanned writing on his screen: Was it Ainsyot? Aumyot? Something else?

When his sister Zoe had decided to go to Paris for the weekend he had emailed her the “Craig Evans Paris Miscellany” - a rather scrappy compilation of the places he had enjoyed visiting over the years. He had got the impression that this weekend was (at least as far as her colleague Kate was concerned) not going to be about visiting sites of architectural or historical interest.

Thinking of Paris had, howev...

Craig arrived on time at the Gare du Nord, where he quickly identified Rose Marchant by the sign she held.

“Mr Evans. Sorry to be meeting you like this. I’m Rose Marchant, do call me Rose”

“Please, you can call me Craig. So …”

“I’ll drive us to the IML, the Institut médico-légal, which is the public mortuary. I know this may be difficult but I’ll try to provide what support I can.”

They headed down the escalator to the car park.

“So can you tell me any more about what happened? The police were v...

The Institut médico-légal occupied a sturdy redbrick building by the Seine, not far from the Gare de Lyon. Craig had been through the Gare de Lyon numerous times and while waiting to change trains he had occasionally wandered through the area around. He remembered the early morning as a student, bleary-eyed off an overnight coach that he’d walked through the Parc du Bercy, past the unusual grass-covered Arena and the striking canyon-like fountain to get to the station. He’d sat in the Gare de Ly...

When Craig came round he found himself laid on the floor, several concerned staff around him. He was offered a cup of water which he sipped from. His first feeling was intense embarrassment. He really shouldn’t be fainting all over the place. Gradually he was helped back up into a chair.

“I’m sorry - it was just the shock of it that did it. It’s been a long day,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry. Everyone understands that this has been a very difficult day for you,” Rose said. “I think it might be best...

Zoe had never known this kind of night before. The streets of Paris were shrouded in shadow, but the darkness disintegrated like smoke under her gaze. She saw details at a glance. The dim alleys, the blackness under awnings, the unlit buildings—all revealed themselves to her as readily as if it were day.

The street lamps, on the other hand, were spots of fiery madness. She’d made the mistake of looking directly at them twice. Unpleasant experience. Would not recommend. To be fair, it’s probably ...

The lights of the Rue Chauveau Lagarde snuck past the beige and black curtains of the Hotel de l’Arcade and straight into her eyes. Green eyes, thought Zoe, holding them closed. Green, she told herself, trying to ignore a slight tinge of desperation. Aren’t they?

They’d been green last time she’d seen them in a mirror. Yesterday. The day before? She wasn’t certain of anything anymore. Green eyes, though. She’d always had green eyes. Kate had been envious of them. ‘Green as the ocean, green as th...

She’d worried about how to sneak out of the lobby, with its bright lights and its smirking, watchful desk staff. What must she look like, she wondered? Was she gaunt and pale? Did she have fangs protruding past wine-red lips? Was her T-shirt really a cape? But her teeth felt normal, and her jeans looked just like jeans, and in the end, she’d just walked out. Beyond their usual disdain, the staff hadn’t given her a second glance. The street was empty, the pizza place – full of garlic – across the...

It was surprisingly easy, in the end. Victoria was slighter than she looked, or the hunger had made Zoe stronger. She came along willingly enough, though, pushed along by Zoe’s arm around her waist. In the dark under the trees, Victoria turned her head up, exposing that lovely, soft neck.

Zoe’s teeth bit in, the edges cutting through skin like candy floss, until the blood spurted out in a thick rich spray, coating her tongue, the roof of her mouth, the back of her throat. It left sticky smears o...

Fire surrounded Zoe. It was heat and flames everywhere she looked. Yet the fires didn't burn, and her skin remained ever cool, just as she had risen from the slab. She was not alive, but her senses were lying to her. The hotel was fine. The clean walls were covered in sunlight, not fire. It wasn't direct, as she'd drawn the curtains, and the west side of the room was a wall, but there was ambient sunlight all the same. Though it didn't shine directly on her, she knew for a certainty that it woul...

It was now clear to Zoe that she needed help. The monsters that killed Kate and transformed her into this monstrosity hadn't had the courtesy to leave her with any kind of instruction manual about her new condition. Given how their encounter was gone, she wasn't at all inclined to try to track them down in search of answers. Even if she had been, she had no idea where to begin looking. She certainly wasn't about to wander into the streets of Paris at night again without some sort of plan.

The qu...

LOUIS RAYMOND

Détective

Parle Anglais

Heures d'ouverture 4pm - minuit

Consultations gratuites

451 Rue Favart #103

Zoe's French was far from fluent, but she felt reasonably certain that 'détective' meant 'detective'. A detective who spoke English, had unusually late office hours, and offered free consultations seemed like the best prospect she'd come up with so far. A private detective seemed likely to have seen some strange things in their line of work, particularly one in the habit of working such unusual hours. Part of Zoe still felt uneasy about reaching out to someone about her bizarre circumstances, bu...

€3000. She had some money saved up, even after the downpayment on her new flat, but €3000 was nearly everything she had, assuming she was doing the conversion from pounds correctly in her head.

Zoe reminded herself she was probably never going back to London, to anything. “Not yet” she told herself “wait till you get answers before you assume the worst.” To get answers she needed money to pay the detective she had just hired, and she only had 100 euros in her pocket, the rest was safely stowed i...

The early morning light made everything seem soft and surreal as Raymond rounded the corner from the small Rue Favart onto the already bustling Boulevard des Italiens. The fresh scent of baking bread intermingled with the lightly caramelized and nutty coffee brewing at Merci Jérôme, a bakery he often frequented, especially after having spent the night in his first-floor office just a short walk down the street. It was no Tim Horton’s, but the owner was friendly enough and the service was quick. ...

In all, it was over an hour’s travel through the countryside to Senlis, a picturesque medieval town with vivid history, narrow cobblestoned alleyways, and beautiful Romanesque architecture. Raymond took in the afternoon sun shining brilliantly on the striking surroundings as he and le Fanu sat around a small wrought iron table in her backyard. 

“— and so,” she continued in French, “You must understand, I was very surprised by this request. Never have I hosted a Private Detective in my home. What...

“It sounds like they’re hiding something, Craig.”

“Does it?” Craig scratched the back of his head, a nervous tell he’d been trying to stop ever since university. “Why would they?”

“Because, you dear daft man, they’ve lost your sister’s body.” Jane’s smile wavered, then fell away. “I’m so sorry, darling. That was inconsiderate of me.”

Craig gave her a wan smile. “I wish you were here.”

“Me too,” Jane said, “Me too.

“So, have you decided what you’re going to do? How long you’re going to stay?”

“Ki...

An hour later Craig was quietly crying on a bench by the Seine. He’d always wanted to spend time in Paris, but never had. Now Paris would always equate to death. The pale spring sun reflected off the ripples in the river left by tourist boats. It was warm but he felt chilled and inconsolably sad. He wanted to solve his Zoe’s murder, but hadn’t the faintest idea how to begin. Worse, there were so many things he should have said to her, and now he’d never have the chance. 

What was it the French s...

Craig Walked down to the Jardin de Trocadero and sat by the fountains for a while looking across the Seine at the Eiffel Tower. Paris was beautiful, and he wished he and Zoe had got to see it together. He hadn’t a doubt that she would eventually have become a successful designer, maybe even picked up by one of the famous couturiers in Paris! He grinned at what she’d have said. They’d have been a ‘blimey’ and a ‘fucking hell’ in there somewhere.

He pulled his phone out and dialled Jane. The call ...

Craig supposed it was possible to find a more dangerous and garrulous taxi driver in Paris, but he wouldn’t have bet on it. He was literally shaking as he got out of the taxi in front of the ‘Prefecture De Police’ on the Rue Albert in the 13th arrondissement. A bored looking policeman cradling a submachine gun watched him with disinterest as he paid, then made his way to the entrance.

Craig was pissed off. The attempted pickpocketing and taxi ride aside, he’d been in a reasonable mood when he’d arrived at the Police Station, but it had been an hour before he’d got to talk to anyone, and over three before he finally, and, he gathered, begrudgingly, had been passed onto one of the officers assigned to his sister’s case. Now they were facing each other across a table in an interview room and the officer didn’t seem to want to speak english.

“For the nth time, sir, I don’t speak ...

Bodies don't just disappear, Craig thought to himself. He scrolled through the webpage, his eyes nearly pressed together in a hard squint. The blueish light from his laptop illuminated his face in a sallow glow, the only light in his dim hotel room. Leave it to the bloody French to somehow lose a dead body. Maybe if they pulled their heads out of their baguettes something would get done.

The police dragged their feet, more concerned with where their croissants were than his sister's missing body...

The cab stopped somewhere on the Rue Favart -- somewhere that was not the address. Craig didn't understand the string of French tumbling out of the driver's mouth, but his wide gestures made it clear this was where he had to step out. No amount of pointing could change the driver's mind. Nor did it seem to make a difference when he spoke exaggeratingly slowly, increasing his volume like the remote on a TV.

"Fine," he grudgingly agreed, slamming the door behind him just before the taxi sped off.

...

Raymond reached for the phone and dialed a number. The soft click of the tone gave way to an excitable female voice, "Raymond! Tell me you have good news."

"I have good news."

"Do you now? Well, good! Come on, spill it!"

"Your brother is here in Paris, Ms. Evans, and he's determined to find you."

A pause.

"What?"

Raymond remained impassive. "Craig Evans just left my office, disappointed that he could not secure my services to find you."

"No, I heard that. ... I just ... I thought you said you ha...

Zoe looked around at the high decor of the place. "You don't live here," she said.

The man pursed his lips. "No, but perhaps someone I once was once did."

Zoe found even this hard to believe, but didn't press the point.

When Raymond's call had come in, she had dropped everything.

—You really found someone?

—Blood and all. If you're sure you want to talk to this guy.

—But how did you do it?

—This is Paris. Don't ask.

She hadn't really expected to hear from him. But here she was at midnight out on the Rue de l'Ombre in some part of Paris she had never heard of. The entrance to the address for the meet was through a gated courtyard off the street. It's old wooden doors were wide open when they arrived in spite of ...

"What's your name?" Zoe asked.

Amid all the old stuffed furnishings of the place, the man they had come to meet sat in a straight-back chair — set right in the middle of the room. He was facing away from them when they walked in. "Come," he said, the moment they entered. He did not get up. 

Sitting there, the figure looked like nothing so much as a crow folded down into your favorite dining chair. This was a man you would immediately distrust. Dark, angular features, haggard about the face, his ...

Raymond's head spun. The chair had caught himin the head and the two had gone crashing to the floor. He knew something was happening, but he couldn't see straight. He grabbed what he could and struggled to his hands and knees.

Raymond brought the broken chair leg down with as much force as he could. He needed to hurt this man in order to stop him. But when it struck the man's back, the shaft of the wood met — not so much a wall of bone and sinew as — the crusted carapace of something terrible Ra...

The two figures were stopped on the rise of the bridge. A slender quay ran here and on the far side, a midnight cafe was doing a little light business in the wee hours.

Zoe looked down at the dark vein of water. "There's probably water running underground all over the place."

"Hm. I guess so." He looked at her. "Is it okay we just left him there like that?"

Zoe didn't answer. She'd pulled open the curtains before they left. The morning sun would do the job for them.

"Sorry I killed your best lea...

Raymond looked out the window of his office onto Rue Favart, musing about the situation before him. Until recently he had been blissfully unaware of the existence of the supernatural and tracking down information about them certainly wasn’t a normal part of his job description as a private detective. And if vampires weren’t merely relegated to fantasy, what other terrors that go-bump-in-the-night were a part of his new reality? 

Sitting down at his desk, Raymond began searching for information a...

Raymond gives the screw a final turn. Standing up from his crouch, he admires his handiwork.

“That should do it.”

He closes the door and turns the lock into place. He gives the knob a tug.

“Nomore Invader Ace Defender 9019, let’s hope you do a better job than your predecessor.”

Stooping to pick up the empty box, he scoops up the bits of trash and debris and puts them inside. He drops the box into the bin and sits down heavily on the grey couch adjacent the door. Leaning his head back, he pulls h...

Voices outside the office wake Raymond up from a nap he hadn’t intended to have. He gets up and heads up the hallway. Halfway to the door he realizes he forgot the chopsticks. He opens the door slowly and sees three teenagers arguing on the landing. 

“Can I help you?”

A boy with gel-spiked hair quirks his mouth into a sneer before saying, “We’re looking for Louis Raymond.”

Raymond feels his grip tighten on the doorknob.

“Sorry, I’m not taking on any new clients at the moment.”

He starts to close...

Raymond had always found it difficult to keep his attention from wandering during surveillance He had developed all sorts of mind games to keep his brain focussed so he wouldn’t pass out from boredom. One of his tricks was to create descriptions of his marks using five words or less. Apart from keeping him awake, he found he didn’t need to refer to his photos as often in order to recognise the people later. 

There were not many on today’s list: ‘Seashell Sally’ because of her ears; ‘Bobby Big No...

The vampire went straight to the La Manufacture cafe on Avenue des Gobelins. Raymond began to doubt his choice – if she was a vampire, why go to a cafe? He hesitated, he wanted to get closer to see what she was doing, but if she was a vampire he might place himself at risk. 

He checked his pockets. In his left trouser pocket was his mobile phone, along with two garlic cloves. In his right were two more - he figured he wanted to be able to reach them with either hand. The left pocket of his jacke...

Zoe’s voice came on the other end. As he took a breath, she invited him to leave a message. His message was short, “Found one”. He gave the address two doors up from the cafe and placed his phone back in his pocket. For a moment, he watched the night crowd reflected in the window of the doorway where he stood. He had to work out what to do while he waited for Zoe, especially since he didn’t know how long she’d be. What if the vampire left? He turned to look for somewhere to sit where he could st...

As they stepped into one of the back rooms, Raymond’s phone rang. 

“Is that your female friend? Oh don’t look at me like that. I can hear your heartbeat, don’t think I couldn’t hear the earpiece of your phone.” 

The ringing stopped.

“I wonder if she’s as much fun as you.” 

“Oh, I think you’ll find I’m much more fun”, Zoe’s voice came from the doorway behind them. 

The vampire dropped Raymond’s hand and with a speed that was astonishing to see, leapt towards Zoe, fingers reaching for Zoe’s throat...

Raymond and Zoe sat in the dark of the basement storage room of la Manufacture. Although the sun wasn’t fully up yet, the café above was beginning to be illuminated with the gray of pre-dawn twilight. 

“Well bullocks. Do you think the café owners will find us if we stay here until sundown?” Zoe asked, sitting on a bag of coffee beans. 

Raymond sat against the wall across from her. “We have bigger problems if we wait ‘til then. Who’s to say other vampires won’t show up and be just as friendly as ...

“Are we sure this is safer?” Zoe asked, nervously glancing at the damp tunnel walls. “This place seems like it’d be crawling with vampires.” She and Raymond had broken open a maintenance door on the lowest level of the garage. He’d pulled a torch out of his pocket.

“You’d be more likely to find some of your customers down here. Rave kids and other idiots calling themselves ‘cataphiles’. Lost tourists, sometimes,” Raymond replied, seemingly unphased by the bent over position he had to maintain.

“...

Dirty and educated in the Parisian underground art scene, Zoe and Raymond were eventually lead to Denfert-Rochereau Metro station, emerging in a maintenance tunnel and waving goodbye to Joker.

The two took the 4 line but parted ways at Chatalet, where Zoe transferred to the 14. “I can get home from here,” she told Raymond. “I appreciate your looking out for me, but I’ve already taken your whole day. It’s sundown now. I can make my own way back to the hotel.”

Zoe made it to the Hotel de l’Arcade ...

It had seemed like such a great idea. A few days in Paris. And now Zoe was stuck with the views of the Paris lights and no more. At least she had found Raymond.

Zoe stayed away from the sliver of death ray peeking through the window. They’d have to do something about that after sunset. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. Nothing, again. Not a fucking thing.

At least she had her laptop to keep her entertained until nightfall. After all, she might be undead, but she still had bills to pay. And since her life span appeared to be extended until who knew when, assuming she could avoid death rays and whatever else may kill vampires, she nee...

Raymond rubbed his hands over his eyes. The sandy sensation in his eyes testified to his shear exhaustion. The grit from the last day was seeped into his pours. He needed a solid eight hours of sleep after the night he’d just had. Short of that, he needed a hot shower and a shot of espresso. No, make that two shots. Turns out vampires weren’t anything like Twilight. 

He rested his head on the back of his chair before eyeing his couch ruefully. Why hadn’t he bought a more comfortable one? Would i...

Raymond watched the two men leave his office and took his phone from the desk. The shower and nap would have to wait, but that didn’t mean the coffee had to. He strolled down the street to a little cafe on the corner and grabbed some coffee. The sweet smell of crepes called to his overworked and underfed senses. He grabbed two of them and with the promise of at least one of his most basic needs being met in the near future, he allowed his mind to wander. How had he gotten himself into this posit...

After a few phone calls and more than one awkward hang-up, he had some answers. Not answers that he liked. Far more warnings than he’d expected, but answers non the less.

It was time to make the call he’d been dreading. He pushed the button to connect and stretched his legs out in front of him. He needed to sound calmer than he felt. She had asked him for help. He couldn’t just walk away now.

“Hello?”

Why does everyone always answer their phone like they don’t know who is on the other side? It had been a lifetime since the time before caller id and yet everyone still answered their phone like they didn’t know who was on the other side.

“Hey, Zoe.”

“Oh hi, Raymond...

They had agreed to meet at his office at 10pm in the event that any rays might do Zoe harm. Raymond heard her approach but was busy searching the internet for any other information he could gather on George Gordon or Gordon George. Records were all over the place and his three-hour nap had done nothing to clear his mind or the confusion. This guy was a fucking fairy godmother in some reports and the devils right hand man in others. Raymond had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

When...

Raymond had chosen a small little restaurant next to a busy street. The tables were outside and although the crisp night air should have sent everyone running for indoor tables, the bustling night life kept the people watchers outside. There was a small barrier of plants that kept the restaurant separate from the passing street life, but it would be an easy escape if the moment called for it. They were shown to a table next to the building, with a tall metal fence to one side. They were boxed in...

Zoe shook the outstretched hand and George turned and shook Raymond’s. It was like shaking hands with a block of ice. George signaled for them to take their seats. The feeling of dread still pricked at the base of Raymond’s skull as he pulled out the seat next to him for Zoe to sit. She gracefully poured into her seat before elegantly placing her napkin in her lap. Raymond followed suit and casually glanced around the outdoor restaurant. The tables were filled, but not by romantics taking a late...

Zoe slopped her glass of wine on Kate. “You’re all plot,” she said. “Your arse is so tight you couldn’t take a shit without plotting it out first. For me, a story is — you go in there, you meet your characters and you see where they take you.”

“Right,” Kate said, her voice tight. Zoe expected her to pour white wine, then soda water on the spreading wine stain. From her face, she was damned if he would. Still… cashmere… 

“I mean, look at Nôtre Dame. Who’d have thought there were beehives on the r...

What few shadows Zoe could see through the smoke were long and flickering. She imagined that they were following her. She expected to finally feel warm again from the cathedral fire, but instead her bones and muscles were still cold and a million tiny, burning pinpricks danced on her skin. Kate had often described her anxiety attacks this way. 

Once she passed through the crowds of people staring at the burning cathedral, she saw a pub playing 80s American music ahead. Hell, she was supposed to ...

Oh, daddy dear, don’t be mad. You’re number one.

But gals, they need to have fu-un.

She ordered a rose cocktail, a concoction that Kate had found on an internet post. It was supposedly a 1920’s Parisian favorite. She took an empty seat in the corner, facing the door, and surveyed the room for the person Kate would have been most likely to snog. 

There was a man wearing what she had called the “pimp jumper”, a purple thing from manho.com. Definitely not him. Another looked vaguely like Prince William. Kate would have avoided him like the plague. Her name was already enough to dr...

Some guys take a beautiful gal 

and hide her away from the rest of her pals

I wanna sing and dance and laugh in the sun.

Oh gals, they need to have fu-un

Oh gals just need to ha-ave fun.

Stepping back outside, the pinpricks returned. She rushed through the streets focusing on her destination and putting as much ground between the broken holiday and herself as possible. Arriving at an old building, she walked over time-worn colorful tiles and up a staircase with gracefully twisting Art Nouveau branches carved on the banister. She stopped before a door with an old ceramic cylinder and a Hebrew character – she didn’t know which – on the door post and tried the knob. It was locked. ...

Kate invited Zoe along on the spur of the moment.

“Why don't you come away with me tonight?”

“Where?”

“Paris.”

“Tonight? Oh, I couldn’t…”

“Why not?The hotel’s booked. All you’ll need are your toothbrush and some euros. Two can stay as cheaply as one.” This was not quite true as Kate was relying on Zoe to share the bill. Kate had been extravagant this month and overspent on two pairs of shoes and a bridesmaid’s dress for her cousin’s wedding. That was the problem with working as a buyer of men’s ...

Kate and Zoe arrived at the Gare du Nord several hours later. The train had been delayed at Kings Cross with many stops along the track while they waited in the ominous darkness. Zoe had clutched Kate's hand anxiously. She had suffered from post traumatic stress disorder ever since the deaths of her parents five years ago in a fatal car crash, and it seemed to be getting worse. Kate sympathised but believed Zoe could only overcome her fears by facing up to them.

“Don't worry, we’ll soon be there...

In the lift the women were silent until they reached their floor. 

“Do you think he followed us from the station?”Zoe asked as they entered their room.

“He can't have. He was in the foyer before we arrived.”

“But he knew we were coming here. He's creepy!”

“He was just being polite. The French have different customs to us — like kissing everyone on both cheeks.”

“You're too trusting,” Zoe said.

“Not really. I loved his clothes — especially the hat. I wanted to ask him where he bought everything, ...

They took the elevator downstairs. The concierge confirmed that they were too late to dine at the hotel but that there were plenty of wonderful restaurants open nearby.

Walking down the famous Champs-Élysées, Kate said,

“Isn’t this wonderful. You get on a train and a few hours later you're in an exciting new capital city.”

“I prefer London,” Zoe declared. “And I can’t be doing with all these cobblestones.”

But even Zoe was impressed with the brightly lit shop windows and department stores. They ...

They found a little all-night café on the Rue de Blanche. It was chic with neat little tables and black and red tablecloths. The food was Nouveau Cuisine, which meant you didn't get much for your money. Kate had a mushroom omelette while Zoe had hers plain with a side salad.

The place had been crowded when they arrived, but was emptying out now. In the corner, Kate espiesd a lone figure sitting at a table. He wore dark glasses and a cloak. In his hand he held a glass filled with a red liquid. He...

Somehow, despite consulting the sat-nav on Kate’s phone, they managed to lose their way during the walk back to the hotel.

“How did we get lost? It was only a couple of turnings from the Champs-Élysées,” Zoe said as they found themselves in a dark alleyway filled with rubbish bins.

“Excuse me, mademoiselles. Are you lost? Perhaps I can be of assistance.”

Their exit had been blocked by the Gothic man in the cloak and boots, who now stood before them. He had removed his hat and glasses, and his ey...

Zoe struggled back to consciousness like some prehistoric creature clawing its way to the surface after millions of years fossilised in sedimentary rock. Even conscious, an epoch seemed to pass before she knew who she was, before she was more than raw animal awareness.

She lay still, her eyes closed, letting sensation and memory gather like ants around a fallen apple. Bodily awareness came first: a stiffness so deep it felt as though every muscle had tensed and turned to stone. She tried to conc...

The word “panic” comes from the old god Pan, whose booming voice was said to be so terrifying that it could make his opponents lose all reason and take flight. It was as though his awful voice was booming in Zoe’s ears now, making her head throb and drowning out all thought, as she gasped for breath and wriggled, and screamed, flung herself in all directions, and screamed and screamed, liquid terror coursing through her spine.

By the time she stopped to catch her breath, her struggle had reveale...

She froze. Somewhere beyond her feet, she thought she had heard a voice, but was terrified she’d only imagined it. She tried to slow her ragged breathing so that she could listen. Nothing. She yelled again: “Hello? Help!” Now she could definitely hear movement. There was a clunk. Then a sliding sound, like a long drawer being pulled open. She felt herself moving, sliding along with the sound. Above her, a woman’s voice, urgent, said something in French.

It now occurred to Zoe that whoever was ou...

Zoe staggered, her knees suddenly weak. Someone had cried out - an odd, strangled sort of yelp - and she supposed, by process of elimination, that it must have been her, though it seemed so distant. She doubled up and vomited a thin gruel of bile. The woman stepped forward as though to help her, but she seemed in two minds about it. Zoe saw why: she was still holding the scalpel that she’d pulled from her hand. Instead of dropping it, she held it out in front of her defensively. She couldn’t thi...

Back in her room - her and Kate’s room - at the Radisson Blu Le Metropolitan, Zoe sat at the end of their double bed, head in hands, waiting for her mind to clear, for the parade of images to dissipate - razor teeth, Kate’s flayed body, a streak of blood on a white wall, the dark horror of being on the wrong side of a body bag. She felt the deep body exhaustion of someone who had been crying for a long time.

One of Kate’s bracelets lay on the bedside cabinet, large, silver and Celtic. Feeling a ...

Freshly clothed and smelling of soap, Zoe surveyed the hotel room. She felt numb, unable to process whatever it was that was happening to her. On stepping out of the shower, she had wiped the mirror, expecting to find herself there, to find that it had been a hallucination, a product of what she had been through - but still the mirror was obstinate in its refusal to reflect her.

Perhaps she really was dead, she thought. Perhaps she was a ghost floating through the world that nobody could see. Bu...

Blurry. Everything was blurry.

It wasn’t just Craig’s vision, which would have made sense because he had wondered if he put his contacts in the wrong eyes that morning. It was a sudden and complete disappearance of sensation and thought. The delineations of particles and opinion, of self and matter were of no consequence. The world was formless and empty. This void is all that is or was or ever will be. Craig was lost to everything.

But there was a noise coming from somewhere. It was annoying, a...

Zoe had never known this kind of night before. The streets of Paris were shrouded in shadow, but the darkness disintegrated like smoke under her gaze. She saw details at a glance. The dim alleys, the blackness under awnings, the unlit buildings—all revealed themselves to her as readily as if it were day.

The street lamps, on the other hand, were spots of fiery madness. She’d made the mistake of looking directly at them twice. Unpleasant experience. Would not recommend. To be fair, it’s probably ...

L'Hôtel de l'Arcade was smaller and darker than her previous one, the kind of hotel that had survived the changing fashions by sticking steadfastly to a sort of middle-80's dreariness.

Her room was small, brown, slightly damp. The furnishings felt rickety and ill-fitting. Breathless, like her: a dead room for a dead girl.

She laughed at that, but her laughter sounded cracked and ugly and it scared her. All the novelties of this new, skewed life were scary to her: the mended skin of her corpse-bo...

Zoe opened her eyes to see faint light leaking through a gap in the drapes, and she remembered everything that had happened since the attack with painful clarity. Looking at the sunlight she wondered if the old myths about vampires were true. Would she burn or turn to dust if she touched it? Well, she wasn’t about to try it without someone standing by with a blanket and fire extinguisher. 

She’d already learned that one common myth was true when she had seen no reflection in a mirror, but what a...

Thirty minutes later, Zoe pressed on the shopworn handle of a glass door with a golden palm and Eye of Ra outlined in purple glitter. Jingling bells preceded a wafting wave of acrid sweetness that made her nose twitch from the blend of patchouli, Egyptian sandalwood, and another scent she couldn’t identify. 

Once inside, the deep melody of ethereal, orchestral arrangements and Tibetan Singing Bowls drifted louder. It was a sensory onslaught of incense, music, colors, and textures. Zoe didn’t kno...

Sitting alone in her room, Zoe struggled to think about her situation without panicking. Clearly - though unbelievably - she was a vampire. But what did that mean? Vague memories of films flitted through her mind. Twilight, Dracula… from what she could remember, both seemed to contradict each other while also being absolutely wrong about the finer details of her new state. Okay, she might still be in the early stages, but there wasn’t any sign of her developing super speed or super strength, whi...

“Louis Raymond, private detective - all mysteries solved. English and French spoken, open 10am to 10pm, 12b étage 1, Rue Favart. Tel: 01 57 89 36 29”.

That sounded perfect - no language barrier, late opening, and she could pay him to take her seriously - because she knew exactly how crazy her story would sound. She just hoped he wasn’t too expensive.

Opening her computer, she brought up Raymond’s address. Rue Favart was in the neighbouring 2nd arrondissement, around 15 -20 minutes’ walk away. Okay, the route was through the local theatre-land and was busy, but as she’d only just become what she now was, she still looked healthy enough to pass ...

The Rue Favart seemed eerily quiet when Zoe left the building. The street was like a ghost town, surrounded by and separate from the ambient traffic noise of Paris, punctuated by raucous youthful revelry a street or two away. It looked less attractive in the dark. Bags of rubbish were stacked outside the closed commercial premises, and at both ends of the street the distinctive Parisian architecture of the 2nd Arrondissement was cloaked in scaffolding and protective screening for the extensive p...

The street was oddly empty. Maybe it was just his imagination. According to Ms Evans he and his “kind” were nothing more than cattle. Looking at his watch he realized the street is always empty this time of night. 

“Every time someone wants to meet this late, it’s always bizarre” Raymond muttered to no one. It seemed the only work anyone wanted was “find my lover” or “I need to get out of trouble”. The former never ended … pretty. The latter always made him feel dirty. But this one…

Looking down...

Rain pattered lightly on the windshield of the taxi as it snaked through downtown Paris. Craig stared blankly from the back as the driver of the little grey Toyota Prius drove past cross streets one after another, blending into monotony, past the Arc de Triomphe, and other famous landmarks that became little more than blurs of color in the canvas of consciousness. On any other day, Craig would have been enamoured with the intricacy of the ancient buildings and some of the most renown architectur...

“Oui, monsieur?”

“My name is Craig Evans,” Craig explained impatiently, then continued, rancor evident in his voice, “My sister is Zoe Evans. The woman who was killed and then you lost her body.”

The officer, a stocky woman with a steely expression didn’t budge at Craig’s accusation. She reached over and began looking through a stack of manila folders that were overstuffed with paperwork. “Oui.” He selected one of the folders and looked through its content at a summary sheet, then placed the fol...

Craig Evans needed a drink.

Kate had been dead, no question, but where was Zoe?

The police had been so helpful, so reassuring for the distressed foreigner. “Pardon, monsieur. We do not know, monsieur. We were told she was dead, monsieur. There must have been some mistake. No, we do not know where she is. Perhaps her hotel, monsieur?“

The echo of the inspector washing his hands of the affair had trailed Craig out into the bright sunshine and blaring noise and bustle of Paris traffic.

The hotel ha...

Rue Favart was a strange mixture. In the 2nd arrondissement, only a 15-minute walk from the Louvre, it was a street where thriving cafés stood close to dingy-looking auction houses and osteopaths’ offices. Opposite Place Boieldieu, in front of the majestic Opera Comique building, stood number 10, in a relatively prosperous-looking apartment block. Typically Parisian, its four main stories were topped by the usual garret. The next building along was definitely even more prosperous and one story t...

At the other end of the line the phone rang. Once, twice, three times… Finally Raymond heard a click and a distant voice: “Yes. Who is it?”

“Zoe? Is that you?”

“What? Raymond? I was asleep. What do you want. Have you found them.”

“No. not yet, “ Raymond answered. “I was out earlier looking, but that doesn’t matter now. Your brother was here.”

“What?” Zoe cried. “How?

“Just bad luck as far as I can see,” he answered. “He simply looked for an English-speaking detective and found me. He wanted me t...

“You have?” Raymond clumsily blew smoke into his own eyes as he rushed to stub out his cigarette. “Where?” He stood up, put the receiver on his shoulder and searched for a pen. “Really?” He gave up on the pen and looked up at the ceiling to help himself retain the information. “Okay.” He hung up and immediately dialled again. “Zoe?” He took out another cigarette and lit it.. “Got one.” He patted his pockets for his car keys. “Yep, yes... A young woman.” He fished out the keys and replaced them w...

Zoe and Raymond walked up the street together. They hadn’t spoken for a good few minutes as they both individually processed what they thought was about to happen. 

“I can’t believe she works in the Pharmacy.” Muttered Zoe. “Just like that.” She chewed her bottom lip, nervous. “Ooch!” She sucked in her breath.. “Owww.” She whined and felt her face. She kept forgetting about those ridiculous incisors. She was going to have to stop that nervous habit of hers, she had drawn blood, and now she was g...

Raymond had briefed Zoe in the car. She had been identified as fitting the profile: appearance, demeanour etc etc. His source was pretty certain this young female was, in fact, a Vampire. Their job was to apprehend her and get the information they needed. 

“Hold it!” cried Zoe in the car. “How in hell do you suggest we apprehend her? Aren’t all Vampires like seriously handy? We’ll never be able to hold her down.” 

“Oh, well. WE won’t be doing anything.” Said Raymond, raising his eyebrows. Zoe fr...

They were following the ‘woman’ towards the back of the store, and both had Adrenalin tearing through their bodies. Zoe was convinced she would be able to hear their blood pulsing harder through their veins. It was deafening her, and the build-up was making her panic. They needed to move, capture her. How would she do it? She looked slighter than Zoe, but did that matter when your strength comes from a being a Vampire, not from your own physiology? “You can totally take her.” Raymond had said, u...

Zoe blew the hot tea and wondered how she was going to drink it without it bloody hurting. “So are ANY of them true?” She asked, giving up on the tea.

“Ow should I know?” Said the Vampire, smoothing her perfect shiny hair. “You ‘ear about all of zeez myths, but I’m not about to TRY zem. What if one of them works? For all eternity you’ll be zat complete idiot that went out in ze sunlight for a short stroll and reduced zemselves to a pile of burnt rubble and ash because you thought you might just ...

Raymond wanted to kick something hard, any thing would do, it was so dam frustrating. He looked at the clock again, mid afternoon and still he had not heard anything from the contacts he had been using to get information on George Gordon. He really had expected at least one of them to come back with something useful by now. When he had spoke to them both earlier this morning they had promised an update by lunchtime. My god just thinking about lunch made him realise how hungry he was, he had not ...

Raymond stopped at the food stand and got himself a black coffee and a couple of croissants, he was feeling hungry and after yesterday he thought it best to fuel up while he could. He entered the building and walked slowly upstairs thinking about his current case. Zoe had seemed quite excited by his news and hopeful of some answers that would allow her to start living her life gain, well her undead life, which when he thought about it could be extremely long. It gave him pause for thought, maybe...

Louis lies on his couch, staring up at the ceiling. Noticing cracks he hadn’t noticed before. Had they always been there? Just out of sight, in some corner of the eye where nonubiquitous, uncommon things go unseen. Right there in the peripheral, but unmanaged by the conscious mind. Like many things, it would seem to him, in hindsight. 

There is the sound of metal clicking together coming from outside the door. It bothers him a bit.

Louis searches through his memories for other instances in which...

«Rosamonde calls them beautiful. All of them. And I admit, that was my first impression of them as well. Everything about them seemed otherworldly and pulchritudinous. But I recall something a Hindu guru once said. About the Beautiful Lie. A lie so intriguingly attractive that even if you know it is a lie, you dare not expose it for fear that it may go away. And the beauty would then be lost.»

«I have imagined an ugly revenant. Vampire. And I did not have to alter any objective characteristics o...

The book contained a number of other entries, but no name seemed to appear on the pages. Louis placed the book back into his pocket. He looked over at the building. Small droplets of rain seem to hang in the air around him without actually making anything wet. The sun was starting to go down. And Louis thought to himself: “The beautiful lie? Yeah, that sums up my whole life just perfectly. A beautifully flawless ceiling.”

Raymond shifted in the uncomfortable seat, struggling to stifle a yawn. He’s been sitting here for hours and other than the few humans he followed here, no sign of a vampire. He checked his phone for a second time in ten minutes, rolling his neck around on his shoulders. 

I’ve lost my mind. Sitting here in this bloody car, waiting for a vampire. The fuck is wrong with you?

Eyes alert, Raymond. Last thing you need is to get bitten by one of these blood suckers. 

The door to the large house opened...

Zoe smiled at the gentleman who held the door to the cafe open. She stepped in, eyes darting around for Raymond. He’s not sitting at the bar nor at any of the tables. 

“May I help you?” 

Zoe’s eyes rested on the hostess. 

“A friend of mine is here.” She took another look around. “Only I don’t see him.” 

“What does he look like?” 

“He’s over six foot, short, black hair. Strong.” 

She nodded her head. 

“He was here, but only for a second. He left maybe ten minutes ago.” 

“Merci.” 

Zoe spun around ...

The two grey-coated officiers mortuaires lifted the stretcher with the vampire’s body—the stake tenting the covering sheet like some grotesque erection—and slid it through the rear doors of the grey Citröen van. The fat gendarme slapped the corrugated side panel and the camion mortuaire eased its way into the pre-dawn traffic on the avenue des Gobelins and disappeared around the corner en route to the mortuary that Zoe was familiar with. She shivered, partly because of shock brought on by the ho...

“Holy shit!” said Raymond, looking down on the blood-soaked tableau at the bottom of the stairs. The corpse of the waiter lay twisted beyond recognition on the floor of the washroom, his neck a bloody pulp, his chest torn open, revealing ribs and a still-beating heart. Blood spattered the walls and the ceiling. Raymond’s first thought was the creature crouching over the body, lapping up the last of the pulsing gore, must have been some wild animal escaped from the Jardin zoologique, until she lo...

Google Maps shows two ways of travelling by public transport from the avenue des Gobelins in the 6th Arrondissement to the Hotel de l’Arcade in the 1st. The underground Metro, which would seem the safest means for a vampire making her way across Paris in daylight, involves a change of platform at Les Pyramides to line 14, direction Gare St Lazare to Madeleine, and then a 5 minute walk. Its disadvantage is that the Metro is by far the preferred means of transport for all the vampires of Paris and...

To cut a long story short, the bus trip went smoothly without further incident. They found that vampires could travel across water without difficulty—at least in a bus—and Raymond was able to cross another vampire legend off his iPhone app. Because they were seated unobtrusively at the back of the bus, Zoe was able to raise the bear’s head sufficiently for Raymond to describe the sights of Paris by day. As they crossed the Seine at the Pont St Michel he pointed out the the sights: the stone brid...

One hand on the mouse, the other bent at the elbow holding up his drooping head, Raymond struggled to keep his eyes open. The heat in the office kicked on, lulling him into a state of severe drowsiness. Earlier in the day, he felt exhausted, but the sudden whoosh of warm air brought a new level to his fatigue and caused him to yawn several times in succession. 

Jesus, it’s April. Why is the heat still cranked? 

He remembered turning the heat up when Zoe last visited the office. She always compla...

Raymond arrived at Dimitri’s a few minutes before Zoe. He asked for a table where he could see the door and have no one come up behind him. He watched patrons come and go, some taking out food for an evening at home, others coming in as couples or small groups. He was the only solo diner. As he watched the steady parade of customers, he thought that they might look at him in return and imagine him waiting for a date to arrive. 

As if on cue, Raymond caught sight of Zoe through the far window. Wh...

Zoe slopped her glass of wine on Kate. “You’re all plot,” she said. “Your arse is so tight you couldn’t take a shit without plotting it out first. For me, a story is — you go in there, you meet your characters and you see where they take you.”

“Right,” Kate said, her voice tight. Zoe expected her to pour white wine, then soda water on the spreading wine stain. From her face, she was damned if he would. Still… cashmere… 

“I mean, look at Nôtre Dame. Who’d have thought there were beehives on the r...

Sirens scream. Emergency horns blare . Blue lights flash their warning. The Cathedral of Notre Dame is burning!

The spire, long pointing to heaven, becomes a candle stick of flame. The base succumbing to the heat frightfully buckles and falls into the roof. Hell has come calling. 

Zoe, history’s only haunted vampire and arch enemy of George, shrugs and walks away from the scene singing.  “They fell into a burning ring of fire. They went down down down as the flames reached higher. Burn. Burn Bur...

Away from the maddening crowd, Zoe slowed. He shoulders slumped. The orange of the fire that earlier stole away the black night gave way once more to the dark.  It wrapped itself around her now like a heavy coat. Usually, the black of night was her friend. It gave her comfort. It gave her space to move through time. It offered her opportunity. Usually, in that dismal shroud, she found life.  

That is, until the woman in tears shouted. “She is someone’s daughter!”

The Burn! Burn! Burn! that momen...

Let’s face it. George Gordon was a dork. He was  Zoe’s arch enemy to be sure, but a dork. George was supposed to be the big bad wolf or rather the big bad vampire in charge of the swizzle stick vampires that Zoe managed to off. He was supposed to be invincible . 

I know dear reader.  It is hard to believe that Zoe, even with her hint of pyromania, could kill anyone or anything. I mean she, like everyone, had a sweet mother who taught her wonderful things that would haunt her all her days. Soul t...

While Zoe liked Louis and had more than a few fond memories of her Mom, she was a very straight forward person. While it was near dawn, she still thought a trip to George’s office would be worth it.  

She tried the door. Of course it was locked. So, she broke it. How. A small crowbar. It was going to be her next test instrument on what would certainly be another of George’s swizzle stick vampires. “ Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust.” The stuff Zoe remembered. The stuff her mother said.  Ashes indeed...

Zoe remembered a song her mother loved. “When the Lights Went Out in Georgia.”   She never quite had a since of that song until that moment.  Granted she could see enough of the dawn through the seams of the curtains to know the day and the light of it was about to flood the world. But, at that moment she felt more than lost in her own private dark night.

“Man, you are some kind of hard on a door. That is going to tick off the superintendent having to replace that knob and facing. Why didn’t you just knock?” Louis slams the office door hard against the wall. “You got more plans for that crowbar?” 

Zoe dropped it to the floor. 

Raymond steps to the blinds and holds them at the draw point.  You don’t mind if we put a little light on the subject do you?” 

Zoe screams, “No!”  George Gordon never made it to his feet before the blinds were snatched ope...

Louis helps Zoe to the black leather couch and sits beside her. Leans back.  Relaxes and unbuttons his collar. 

“ You do know that move could have turned me into what we now see of the Big Bad Wolf, don’t you?”

“Zoe. There was no risk. Whether you know it or not. There is more soul left in you than you think.” 

Zoe leans forward.  Looks Louis straight in the face. “Tell you what. Why don’t we open the windows and see what our friend the wind won’t do with the Big Bad Wolf? 

Kate pulls up a chair next to my desk. “You haven’t touched your coffee. That’s unusual of you.”

I wrap my palm around my mug; it’s cold. “I’m thinking of visiting Craig this Easter.” Craig’s girlfriend dumped him earlier this week and it might be nice to keep the poor boy company.

“Why Crystal Palace, of all places?”

I exhale audibly through my nostrils. “Do you expect him to travel to Broadcasting House all the way from our village every day?” Craig keeps the sound systems running while BBC’s ...

I have a confession to make: I’m a rather lousy backpacker. I toss my clothes, toothbrush, comb, phone, water bottle, motorcycle gear and who knows what else into my bag with minimal reshuffling. Craig would roll up his towels in his helmet, conceal his electronic gadgets with his clothes, slot his toiletries into the right pockets inside his bag, and still have enough room for energy bars, potato chips, and anything that comes his way. He’s even replaced his hard plastic water bottle, the trans...

The ferry departs with a booming siren. As the lamps at Dover shrink to nothingness, I feel guilty for leaving Craig behind. Kate and I have decided to remove our phone cards and to use only Wi-fi wherever possible, so I won’t know what he thinks of my weekend away from London until we’ve reached the hotel at around nine tonight, or later. The later we check in, the more danger we’ll be in. Until I joined the workforce and saw the things that go bump in the night, I’d never understood why my juv...

We disembark at Calais, board a train to Paris, and reach the hotel at half past nine. I would still be prying my eyelids open and rubbing them furiously if not for the receptionist insisting that she cannot find our booking at the hotel. Thanks to the hotel manager’s intervention (“Your print confirmation is from a new Internet platform we’re learning to use, the clerk left work early today and missed your booking, please accept our apologies for the inconvenience and oh here’s a €10 coupon for...

I plop face down on my bed. Kate mutters something about seasickness.

The next morning, I draw the white curtains. They resemble bridal dresses — pure and undefiled by the cares of the world. The Eiffel Tower stands erect outside our window. Sunlight penetrates our translucent curtains and shines brightly into our room. Better still, the aroma of instant coffee wafts from the desk where Kate is sitting. I’m certain a thrilling excursion awaits us.

After breakfast, we ride cautiously along a city route Kate’s familiar with. Had we had the liberty of a week or two, ...

As soon as we set foot in the Japanese bar-and-grill, a robotic voice welcomes us with “Irasshaimase.” The dim amber lighting greets me eerily, like the eyes of the cats in the poster for the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, and the bar table is a slab of smooth black marble, like the background colour of that particular poster. Several customers entering the place don white suits, and Kate says something about the colour’s association with certain gangsters in Japan, but I don’t understand the mish...

It was so cold. And she had been sleeping flatly on her back, which was odd, and now the back of her neck was hurting. The trapezoid, was it, that muscle? Zoe turned on her left side and tried to snuggle up a bit, and in doing so she grazed her knees against a cold surface. It sent a shiver down her leg. A cold, metallic surface.

When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see anything. She tried to feel for a light switch in the darkness and, whatever she tried to do, her hands kept hitting the same...

She arrived at her hotel almost at the break of dawn, and the first thing she did was closing the blinds and hanging a “Do not disturb” sign on the door because she really, really needed to lay down. 

She had been walking for two hours in the dead of the night, dressed in medical scrubs and with the most stupid shoes ever. She was cold, and her feet were cold, and it was probably for the best, because they would be killing her otherwise.

She had been lost for a good portion of the time: she’d cr...

Monday morning. 

07:58 am.

Craig feels the strap of his shoulder bag slip. He catches it with his thumb before it can slide down his shoulder. He only takes his eyes off the article he is reading on this phone when the familiar District line train with its red front and red doors rattles into the station.

Craig looks around the platform and sees some faces he knows from years of morning commutes. The man in the suit who could have been his uncle if the man was taller and Craig’s mom had had any brothers; the young Asian t...

08:43 am. Craig steps on the train home from the platform opposite.

09:07 am. Craig books a 1 pm flight from Gatwick airport.

09:13 am. Craig calls L’institut médico-légal to let them know he’ll arrive near the end of their opening hours.

09:18 am. Craig calls Zoe’s number and gets her voicemail.

09:19 am. Craig calls his work and tells his boss he’s not coming into work for a few days.

09:38 am. Craig throws his passport and some clothes in a weekend bag at home.

09:57 am. Craig steps in a District Line train car.

09:59 am. Craig calls Zoe’s number and gets her voicemail.

10:02 am. Craig sends Kate Fisher a message through Facebook.

10:39 am. Craig steps in the Gatwick Express.

10:41 am. Craig calls Zoe’s number and gets her voicemail.

10:42 am. Craig books accommodation in Paris for the night.

11:14 am. Craig arrives at Gatwick Airport.

12:02 pm. Craig sits down at his departure gate.

12:03 pm. Craig calls Zoe’s number and gets her voicemail.

12:38 pm. Craig boards the plane.

3:05 pm. Craig lands at Paris-Charles de Gaulle airport.

3:21 pm. Craig calls Zoe’s number and gets her voicemail.

4:12 pm. Craig steps on the RER train.

5:01 pm. Craig arrives at the Voie Mazas in Paris.

Craig walks towards the main entrance of the L’institut médico-légal. The building is a large square with two-stories made out of faded red brick. It gives the impression there might be a courtyard atrium through the column-flanked, solid double doors. Once inside, Craig stops at a reception window through which he sees a woman in an office area. The woman walks to the window. She looks to be around ten years older than Craig and is dressed in a flattering business casual look. “Bonjour.”

“Bonjo...

06:23 pm. Craig checks into his overnight stay.

06:57 pm. Craig takes a shower to hide his tears in the flow of water.

07:32 pm. Craig falls asleep on the bed.

10:45 pm. Craig leaves in search of late night, unhealthy food.

01:12 am. Craig wanders into his room, smelling of beer.

04:07 am. Craig looks through photos and watches videos of Zoe he has on his phone.

06:23 am. Craig saunters into the city looking forward to coffee and fresh croissants.

At the L’institut médico-légal the receptionist looks deflated as she welcomes Craig and shows him to the same meeting room off the main hall.

Craig is nearly at the reading chairs when Malika Saqqaf enters the room, empty-handed this time, followed by a charismatic man with strands of grey in his black hair. He wears a police uniform.

“Good morning,” says Malika, as they walk towards Craig.

“Good day to you,” he says, as he shakes her hand.

Malika gestures for them to sit down. “This is detecti...

The cool night air brushed against her face as Zoe paced along the boulevards, eager to put space between her and everything that had occurred. After what could easily have been hours, she finally managed to bring herself to a halt to take stock of where she was and where she might be going.

If she really had become a … she couldn’t bear even to think the word … then the one thing that she knew was that she had to be off the street by daybreak. Whenever the hell that was. She fished out her phon...

The hand just lay there waiting. A mechanical pencil falls to the floor. The rhythm of the writing implement bouncing on the stone floor arouses her brain. The waiting hand is her hand. "What am I waiting for?" In her other hand, she has a closed pill bottle. "I must have a headache," she thinks. 

Asserting her will Zoe opens her right hand letting the pill bottle fall. The feeling is exhilarating. The small bottle rolls toward the edge of the table. Zoe rubs the wood enjoying the sensation of q...

Zoe stirred and opened her eyes. The tasteful ornate furniture of her hotel room made her smile, for a second delighted to be in Paris, city of springtime and fashion — real fashion — and the Eiffel Tower and music and...

The stalker guy. The attack. She sat up with a start.

“Oh, hell. Kate.”

Kate’s dead. Her memory was blurred, but not blurred enough. Could it be true? There was no doubt it was all true, it all happened.

Worse: it was still happening. Giving in to her thirst — becoming an attac...

Zoe opened the nightstand next to the bed. A small phonebook nestled underneath the requisite Gideon Bible. How did they manage to infiltrate every high-end hotel and seedy flophouse around the world?

  “Damn it!” Zoe said. “If I touch that I’m going to burst into flames. Or is that demons? I could call down to the front desk to get a night porter. Excuse me, tasty morsel of a human, could you please move the Bible so I don’t burst into flames because I think I’m a bloodsucking vampire?”

  Zoe g...

The door swung shut behind her. She had hoped the Paris air would provide some relief from the stagnant air inside Raymond’s office, but all she could smell was the reek of human effort, sweat and urine and rot—and, of course—blood. She still recognized the smell of blood for the sour, coppery smell she always had known it to be, but suddenly, metallic and bitter and acidic seemed like fine and delicate combination, the kind of fine sauce she’d most hoped to experience in culinary Paris. The tho...

The street was oddly empty. Maybe it was just his imagination. According to Ms Evans he and his “kind” were nothing more than cattle. Looking at his watch he realized the street is always empty this time of night. 

“Every time someone wants to meet this late, it’s always bizarre” Raymond muttered to no one. It seemed the only work anyone wanted was “find my lover” or “I need to get out of trouble”. The former never ended … pretty. The latter always made him feel dirty. But this one…

Looking down...

Rain pattered lightly on the windshield of the taxi as it snaked through downtown Paris. Craig stared blankly from the back as the driver of the little grey Toyota Prius drove past cross streets one after another, blending into monotony, past the Arc de Triomphe, and other famous landmarks that became little more than blurs of color in the canvas of consciousness. On any other day, Craig would have been enamoured with the intricacy of the ancient buildings and some of the most renown architectur...

“Oui, monsieur?”

“My name is Craig Evans,” Craig explained impatiently, then continued, rancor evident in his voice, “My sister is Zoe Evans. The woman who was killed and then you lost her body.”

The officer, a stocky woman with a steely expression didn’t budge at Craig’s accusation. She reached over and began looking through a stack of manila folders that were overstuffed with paperwork. “Oui.” He selected one of the folders and looked through its content at a summary sheet, then placed the fol...

“Garçon!”

Craig called the waiter for the fifth time, only this time with a touch of indignation. There were half a dozen tables outside the Le Pré aux Clercs, and the other five had all been waited on since Craig sat down. The waiter gave no hint of acknowledging him, so Craig was surprised when he finally came over. A rake thin man, dressed strikingly in a black waistcoat, a long white apron, and rolled up shirt sleeves, who flicked at his bow tie, with both his index finger and practiced indi...

A bead of sweat trickled down Craig’s back as he mounted the narrow and rickety staircase to the office of Louis Raymond. rue Favart was only a short walk from the rive droite, and Craig followed Raymond’s directions to get there, which took him through the grand courtyard of the Louvre’s Cour Carrée, and, after crossing the rue de Rivoli, through the delightful Jardin du Palais Royal, with its central pond and fountain. He arrived at rue Favart with a spring in his step and full of hope, albeit...

Crackle and pop, just like the cereal, went Louis Raymond's neck as he leaned back into his chair and stretched. It felt like he had spent hours staring down at the monitor of his old computer. A glance at the clock confirmed his suspicion. It was already late afternoon.

"If only you were a bit faster my old friend." He gave the small PC tower an ironic pat on the top that whirled up a light layer of dust. It was just good enough to run the latest Windows OS, but struggled as soon as Louis ran m...

"Couldn't we have taken a taxi or rented a car to go to the circus?" asked Zoe.

"Don't you care about climate change? Besides the it's cheaper and no one rents a car for an half hour drive."

Zoe made an effort not to roll her eyes. She glanced through the window. Away from central Paris with it's unique French atmosphere, the roads looked just like the roads of any other country. The grey, dreary rooftop landscape she had seen all around the world rushed by. The bus itself was barely half full. ...

Louis was enthralled by the performances, at least for those that weren't done by a supposed vampire. Ms. Evans on the other hand did not seem to enjoy the shows as much as he. As Jugglio's performance started Louis returned to his more serious demeanour. The lights inside the tent went out, the embrace of darkness enveloped the audience. Louis heard faint shudders around him. What came next wasn't necessarily the most spectacular show he had ever seen, if it had been in broad daylight.

Stepping...

Zoe was caught by surprise. She had expected the vampire Trevelyan to yell at her, although she was reasonably sure he wouldn't suddenly burst into flames. Reasonably. He didn't combust, but his yell of pain was more than she had bargained with as she pushed the small silver ring in her gloved hand against his bare chest.

The calm, overbearing expression Trevelyan had worn flashed away as an audible hiss emanated from his chest. "You little bitch!" She felt a sudden pan as her hand was knocked a...

Raymond fumbled in the pockets of his coat, trying to find a lighter. He stood in the middle of his office, the bare receptionist’s desk a not so gentle reminder of his own solitude. He always kept at least one lighter in his coat, but nonetheless, he always seemed to lose them one by one. The lady at the corner store, a teenager he truly believed was judging his spending, didn’t understand why he kept purchasing lighters in packs of five. He gave up and turned back towards the open door of his ...

Paris was generally beautiful in the morning, Raymond thought. But after a rainstorm, he was in love. The sun broke through the clouds in shafts of light as it made its climb above the buildings, rising slowly into the sky. He held a hot cup of coffee in his hand, the steam rising in tendrils to meet his lit cigarette. The walk from his apartment to his office was a peaceful one in the morning. He had slept better knowing that he was closer to answers, and awoken feeling reading to take on the w...

If Raymond had to put an adjective to his current feelings it would be “impatient.”

Raymond was more of an action guy when it came to his work. A lead would come in, or a new question would pop up and he would follow up immediately. Sure, there were times where following a lead meant sitting in a car for a few hours watching a window or fence gate for the slightest sign of movement, but in those instances, even though he was ostensibly doing nothing, he was following a lead; which meant forward ...

After a quick stop at home, Raymond made his way back to his office. Luckily the locksmith had finished his work and, at the very least for now, a brand new deadbolt was between Raymond and the damned. 

Raymond set to work preparing as best as he could for any potential vampirism that could come his way. The north, east and west walls all had crosses on them now. His couch, which was worth approximate €2.50 just ten minutes before was now crammed with solid silver francs, and every end table had...

Raymond hadn’t expected any action before night fell, so he wasn’t surprised when, after the sun had set, a man, dark haired and lithe, emerged from the house across the street. The chill of the night didn’t seem to faze him as he set off down the rue and around the corner. 

Tugging his own collar up against the night air, and God only knew what else, Raymond set off , keeping a casual distance between himself and his quarry. 

Focused on the windows as his prey passed, Raymond’s suspicions were ...

The dark, red blood oozed slowly from the wound in the chest. The silver stake remained firmly planted. The vampire’s cloudy yellow eyes were frozen open, staring wildly at the ceiling. The mouth, open and grimacing, revealed two sharp spikes of eye teeth gone wrong, resembling the fangs of a venomous snake.

Raymond eased back on his haunches and rested his hands on his thighs. He breathed slower now. The battle being over, the corpse was now more a problem of liability. 

He scanned the empty co...

As the car proceeded toward the Seine down the Boulevard de L’hopital, Raymond was surprised to see traffic becoming thicker. It was not common for the early morning hours to see such numbers of cars. Many people were on the sideways, walking in both directions, but it occurred to Raymond that more of them were travelling in the direction of the river. 

“This is strange,” he said to Zoe.

“Hm,” she responded. 

Within another quarter mile, they were stopped completely. Out front, Raymond could see...

Raymond had never felt this tired before. He had once not slept for four days straight and still did not feel as exhausted as he did now. For the past few hours, he had been doing nothing productive except following the shadows cast on his table as the morning sun rose from the horizon. He was on his fifth cup of coffee as he struggled to focus on the documents on his desk but the words ran by in a blur as his eyes slowly closed, then fluttered open, only to then close again. The sixth cup was a...

"What do you think they want from us?" Raymond asked as he ushered Zoe quickly into their office. "The men who came, they were not vampires but there was an eerie coldness about them."

"I suppose we'll find out in a while." Zoe replied. After the men left, Raymond had called Zoe immediately and they arranged to meet at his office to confer about the situation first before heading out to meet the men's boss.

"They did not threaten me but they made it clear as day that they would be able to track ...

Raymond and Zoe entered the restaurant and was led to a table.

"So much for a crowd, huh?" Zoe asked Raymond as they settled into their seats and the waiter handed them the menu. "Today's soup of the day is tomato soup. Let me know when you're ready to order." The waiter bowed slightly and left them to themselves. Ordinarily, the restaurant would be crowded at this hour and there would even be a slight queue outside waiting to come in. However, today the restaurant was hardly filled up, with onl...

As they walked out of the restaurant back towards Raymond's office, it was Raymond who walked with a spring in his steps this time.

"Well, that went much easier that I thought. Did you see him? We could have died today. You made a wise decision. Still, I'm surprised you agreed but it's your case after all so I am in no position to interfere anyway." 

Zoe reached out her hand and grabbed Raymond's arm. "I am thankful that you agreed to help me with the investigation despite the risks it's putting...

April in Paris

Whom can I run to

What have you done to my heart

The words came unbidden into Zoe’s mind. She knew the song well, the duet between Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald, celebrating being in love in Paris in the springtime. But now it had a darker meaning. “Whom can I run to”, indeed. Kate was dead. Zoe didn’t know anyone else in Paris, didn’t know anyone she could run to for help. And she’d turned into a vampire.

The immediate threat was gone, though. The truce with George Gordon g...

Zoe turned her back on the fire. Enough was enough. It was time to get this over with. No more monkeying around with the little guys when she knew who sent them.

The walk took nearly an hour, but it was peaceful this time of night. Zoe breathed it all in. There was a good chance she’d never see any of it again. She couldn’t continue to be the lucky one, surviving when everyone else died. Even the harried woman carrying a screaming infant to a car parked on the street was peace of a sort. A peace...