David nudged Brenden on the arm to get his attention, but it took another go to retrieve the boy from his thoughts as Adam’s words had driven him to consider what sort of life he could have in the outside world.
“Hey, B-man! What do you say?”
“Sorry?” replied Brenden without knowing what question had been asked of him. “I don’t know, I guess, I just don’t really know.”
***
Flecks of rust came off in Amanda’s hands as she forced open the gate to the house of one Samuel Packard, the man who had been listed in the third Radcliff vampire file. It had taken her some time to find the gate as it was hidden somewhat by the mass of overgrown bushes and trees that surrounded the property; she had almost given up on finding the thing when, finally, she spotted it through an arch in a mass of untended hedges. As she tried to remove the red-brown rust from her skin, she could feel herself starting to lose her patience with the situation; perhaps, she considered, it would be better to postpone her visit to Packard and return another time. However, just as she was about to return to her car, she heard something move not too far away from her in the dark expanse of the unfamiliar garden. In a flash, Amanda fished around in her leather bag to find her phone, turned on its LED light and held the device out before her.
“Samuel?” she called out.
This time, she heard a rustling noise behind her and spun around to see if she could catch sight of whatever had made the sound. However, nothing was visible except for the mix of light grey-greens and browns of the overgrown garden. With the assistance of the light from her phone, Amanda followed a yorkstone path up to the main entrance of the gothic, Victorian, red-brick house and knocked on the door, causing flecks of dark green paint to fall to the floor.
The door was answered immediately by a slightly surprised and handsome man dressed in a long black coat, who on closer inspection appeared to be a little too thin and somewhere in his mid-20s. He gave Amanda a serious nod as if to tell her to get on with her business, before fixing his dark-brown eyes on her in a hard stare.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” said Amanda, feeling a little uneasy due to the demeanour of the man before her. “I’m looking for a Samuel Packard.”
The man did not respond to Amanda for just long enough to make her feel even more ill at ease, but not so long that she felt it was appropriate to break the silence. When he did respond, he did not do so in words. Instead, when he felt the moment was right, he merely gestured to Amanda that she should come inside and make her way into the living room; a space which turned out to be dimly lit, lined with lilac velvet wallpaper and filled with a cluster of worn, green leather armchairs, an assortment of mahogany furniture as well as the faint scent of tobacco. After following the instructions given to her, Amanda noticed the man had not entered with her; after a nervous inspection, she discovered he was not even to be found outside in the hall. Unsure of what to do, Amanda paced around the threadbare carpet for several minutes and sat down in one of the leather chairs, concluding that as she was there, it was better just to wait it out. As time passed by, Amanda kept on telling herself that the situation was getting ridiculous and that under other circumstances she would have already endeavoured to find her missing host or even left.
However, the strange behaviour of her host led her to believe there was a chance that he would return in his own time. Indeed, there was more than a little evidence around her to suggest she was in the house of a vampire whose time as a member of the undead predated even his school file, which had first been put together in the early 1920s. If the evidence was an indicator of the truth, Amanda considered that it would be not so surprising for the man, who she hoped was Samuel, to take an inordinate amount of time to do anything; why would anyone rush if they not only knew they could see a hundred years pass by without ageing a day but had experienced what such a thing was like.
A light thud announced the man’s return; Amanda looked over to see that he had brought a silver tray with him, upon which sat two bone china cups. Without a word, the host placed the tray down on a dark wood table, before handing Amanda one of the cups, which was filled with blood. The novice detective was suddenly glad she had resisted the urge to leave, it was not often she was treated to an unexpected and free supply of blood and she had no intention of turning it down.
“Please, forgive me,” the man said finally in a voice that was surprisingly clear and firm for someone that had previously been so silent. “I was not expecting any visitors today; unfortunately, you just happened to catch me as I was in the middle of something. But do not worry about that, it’ll be attended to.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask you this,” replied Amanda, “but are you Samuel Packard?”
“I am. And may I ask for your name?”
“Amanda. I’m just here to ask…”
“About the boy, Amanda?” interrupted Packard.
“Yes,” replied Amanda, a little taken aback. “I’ve been sent by the Tithonus School to ask if you know anything about the attack.”
“Of course you have, my dear. Why else would you be here in the home of one of
