Michael

twenty-two

Passage taken from the English Standard Translation of the Bible.

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The scenes showing on the entertainment screen were dire to say the least. The old quarter in its entirety was now cut off and designated a no-go area. Militia troops were being flown over the border to strategic sites in the corridor. The ancient treaty was being ripped into shreds. Violence had already spilled out and, just to highlight this grim fact, an image flashed up of row after row of filled body-bags.

Michael kept the sound muted until the news report moved on and two photographs appeared. They were both head-and-shoulders shots; one was of an older man, perhaps in his late forties, with a craggy, scarred face that for all its calm expression screamed 'don't screw with me or you'll regret it'. The second was Liz in full SC uniform.

He picked up the remote and raised the volume.

"...the Special Constabulary, and the Chief Constable in particular, are under investigation for perverting the cause of peace and justice. The allegations against Chief Constable Cabrera include those of collusion with the renegade constable Elizabeth Grant-a known empath-whose appointment has been a contentious issue for the SC ever since she took up a position within the once elite division.

"The wide-ranging consequences of these allegations for the Special Constabulary cannot be underestimated, particularly at this time of escalating tensions between the human and vampire populations. The Department for Civil Defence and the Lady High Constable's office are refusing to comment at this time, citing the inappropriateness of doing so while an active investigation is under way. In the meantime, and as an interim measure, the Privy Council have elected the militia to step in to continue the hunt for the feral vampire, Michael Thane."

His image replaced Cabrera's. It was from earlier in the day and taken within the quadrangle of the agricultural utilities plant. He'd thought Liz was dead and his expression reflected his savage frame of mind. The image panned back to reveal the carnage he'd wrought. They showed a video sequence of an abortive attempt by the militia to run him down.

The newscaster came back on screen, embellishing the report with further details of what had happened at the plant. When he heard the shower shut off from the bathroom next door, Michael lowered the volume back down.

"Something smells good," said Liz, emerging from the bathroom and into the bedroom. The perfume of the shower gel she'd used wafted out after her.

The bedroom was small. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed. He had to move his legs so she could slide past him. She'd dried off with the towels they'd found. Dampness still clung to her skin though, giving her a dewy look. Her wet hair had been combed back from her face. There were dark circles under her eyes from tiredness and strain. Regardless, she still managed to make his heart beat faster.

He kept his tone casual by dint of effort. "I've got stew heating in the kitchen. It should be ready in about half an hour. Hungry?"

"Actually, I am," she sounded surprised. "Stew sounds great." Something in his expression must have given him away. Her gaze slid shyly away from his to settle on the screen. "So, what are they saying about us this time?"

"The same old story. You're a renegade empath and I'm a feral vampire."

"Hah. They're behind the times. I'm decidedly unempathic at the moment." She folded herself into an old armchair with lumpy cushions and a sagging seat. The chair was jammed into the corner by the window and next to a battered dresser. She tucked her bare feet under her hip.

"Do you miss it?" he asked her.

Liz hesitated. "Sometimes," she smiled wryly, "Although, my gift was never reliable when I really wanted it."