Chapter Three

Chapter Three

It’s hard to convince yourself it was only a dream when you’re washing fresh dirt off your feet in the shower.

Was it sleepwalking? Sleep-running? Was it really a strawberry fuelled hallucination that sent me out into the street in nothing but a flimsy satin slip?

Who knows, but I slept with the light on for the rest of the night, tossing and turning even worse than before.

Sleep eventually found me again, and this time Hans did not. I woke up to the sound of a car horn tooting on the street. With a groggy head, I pinched myself hard, half-expecting Hans Weyer to step out from my wardrobe. But no.

Just a dream.

My housemates were at work when I pulled myself out from under the covers at just gone midday. The house was empty, and I was like a ghost as I mulled around, getting myself a breakfast-lunch. I most definitely avoided jam. Strawberries could leave me alone for the foreseeable. Possibly for ever.

My toes were still sore from the pounding on cobbles, and I felt like I really had run a marathon. All of my muscles were aching. It was crazy, what I’d done, running around the streets in nothing but a satin slip. I wondered if I’d been seen, flashing myself as I ran. I could have been arrested – or worse.

I was shaking when I got dressed for work, trying to talk rational sense into my stupid imagination.

The dream wasn’t real. Hans Weyer wasn’t chasing me. Hans Weyer didn’t hit the spot. Hans Weyer most definitely isn’t a vampire. Vampires don’t even exist.

I buttoned up my freshly washed and ironed crip white blouse. I made sure my bun was tight and neat, and made sure my foundation was solid enough to keep my skin glowing, as though I hadn’t just spent a night on the run.

I wished it was summer as I set off on my way to Regency. The nights were already drawing in, and the air was chilling more every day. It was especially eerie when I reached the cobbled street, and I made a dash for it on instinct, despite getting strange looks from passers-by.

I figured I’d calm down when I reached the other side without anyone chasing me, but I jumped a mile when a bus pulled up and a group of girls climbed off, cackling and dressed up as witches.

I needed to get a hold of myself before I got to the bar. I’d be the worst barmaid in creation if I was wide-eyed in panic, too shaky to so much as hand over a beer. Eliza would probably fire me on the spot if I spilt red wine over someone’s tailored suit across the bar.

Red wine.

Blood-red wine.

Hans Weyer drinking blood-red wine.

I could have screamed at myself. On some level I even wished my grandma was standing there next to me, pulling her usual nasty face about how stupid my fairytale reality was.

I did my best to imitate her.

Katherine, grow up. You’re being a fool over a ridiculous night terror.

You probably embarrassed yourself in front of half of Hyde Street. They were likely peeping through their curtains at you. Stupid girl.

I gathered myself at the staff door of Regency, my last chance at coming back to my senses. I took a breath and braced myself, pasting on the closest attempt at a natural smile I could manage.

I stepped into the hall, closed the door heavily and hurried to the staffroom. I hung up my coat on the hanger, hung up my bag alongside it, and then I made my entrance into the bar, praying to hell I didn’t look as scatter-brained as I felt.

Here goes…

I was ready to face it…

Face him…

But no. There was nothing to face.

The anti-climax was powerful. Hans was nowhere to be seen. Neither were Frederick, or Benjamin, or Stephan or Max or the gang. The place was virtually empty, with Eliza serving a solitary George Miller his regular whisky.

“Where is everyone?” I asked her when she was done.

She shrugged. “You tell me. Something must be happening somewhere else in the city. The place has been dead since I opened the door.”

I wanted to feel relief, but I didn’t. I got the most bizarre sense of disappointment as I scouted the empty seats, a distant part of me aching to see my dream stalker.

Stupid girl.

I shrugged it off along with Eliza.

“Maybe there was a polo game over in Cirencester?”

She shook her head. “Nope. I checked the calendar.”

“Is it someone’s birthday? One of the Barons?”

“Not that I know of. We’d normally get to know in advance.”

“Strange,” I said.

“Very,” she agreed.

George Miller was known as an eccentric, but I’d never heard him laugh as he laughed across the bar at us. His grin was almost feral as his hand clutched his whisky.

“They’ve been barred,” he cackled. “All of them, forbidden.”

Eliza pulled a face at him.

“Forbidden from here? Who?”

“Everyone.” He kept on laughing. “But I like breaking the rules.”

She walked on up to him, with genuine concern on her face.

“Are you feeling ok, George? Do you want a mineral water instead of your whisky?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m not drunk, just wise. Or maybe stupid. One or the other.”

It was me who took hold of the conversation, the prickles coming back to me as I met his gaze.

“Who barred everyone, George?”

He looked right back at me, then rolled his eyes.

“You know who. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Eliza shot daggers at me.

“Did you know anything about this, Katherine?”

“No!” I said. “I don’t know what George is talking about.”

George cackled some more. A guy in his 80s, laughing so hard he was leaning on the bar to stay upright.

“Honestly!” I insisted to Eliza. “I know nothing more than you do.”

“Hmm,” she said, obviously suspicious. “I’ll head on out the back and make a call to the management myself to be sure.”

I almost asked her to stay, the prickles were so bad, but she probably wouldn’t have heeded my request if I had. She paced away with her arms swinging, and I stayed mute, still reeling from the situation as much as she was.

George was staring at me. He stopped laughing as soon as she was out of view, and beckoned me over. I did as I was told and stepped up close.

His eyes were beady and dark. Not the guy I’d come to know at all. He seemed older than his 80s, skin drawn and pale, like he was made-up for Halloween and not for the Regency club, without the costume. His words were a whisper.

“Do you want to see him?” he asked me.

“Who?” I replied, and he laughed again, just a little.

“You know who. Stop playing dumb.”

I felt static in the air, senses tingling. I knew exactly who he meant, even though it felt like I was in a world gone crazy. I wanted to pinch myself to make sure this wasn’t another dream gone wild.

“Answer me,” he said. “The clock is ticking. Tick tock.”

I should have said no. I could hear both my mum and grandma in my head, demanding I stop being a stupid girl and get some common sense into me, but I was on autopilot, unable to deny the truth.

“Yes,” I told George. “I want to see him.”

“Excellent,” he said.

He clicked his fingers, and all at once the front door opened and a big crowd of members came bustling inside.

Max and Stephan and the gang stepped in first, in suits this time, not costumes. Richard Scott, and Baron Taylor, and the Westminster trio close behind them. Mr Kelly, and Edward Warren, and Killian, and Cedric Quentin, too. And then finally, bringing up the rear, were Benjamin and Frederick.

…And Hans Jacob Weyer to follow.

My heart leapt and it was like a switch had been flicked, the bar back to life just the same as it would usually be. People took their regular seats and spoke in their regular voices, and George looked like George again, sipping on his whisky.

Eliza came dashing back in at the sound of clients, looking at surprised as I was, but she hid it better. She put on her smile and got to service, supplying people with beverages as quickly as she could.

I felt like an idiot struggling alongside her. My hands were jittery, making me a clumsy clutz as I tried to pass myself off as normal.

I served the Westminster trio first, and then Edward, Killian and Cedric, but I was burning up like a beacon as Hans took a seat at the bar alongside Frederick, just a few seats down from George.

I couldn’t look at him.

I couldn’t dare face him.

I kept on serving and smiling, with a rush of crazy, silent gratitude as Eliza handled their orders instead of me.

The rush at the bar died down after a few long minutes, but still I kept my distance from the men at the end, glad when Eliza beckoned me over with a grin on her face.

“You were right, there was a polo match. The coach just got back in from Cirencester. It was quite a day of it.”

“Who told you that?” I asked her.

“Baron Taylor,” she replied. “He was telling me what a good match it was. The Wesleydales won.”

I knew little about polo games, apart from the fact that the players rode on horses, but I smiled like I was pleased at the news.

“Excellent. That explains it, then.”

“Yes,” she said. “Thank God for that. I thought we were facing some kind of management crisis, or some Halloween terror had cursed our club!”

I laughed too loudly, but she didn’t seem to notice it was fake.

“I’ll handle the lounge,” she told me. “Stay here and take care of the bar.”

I did as I was told. I cut up lemon after lemon and stocked the ice trays back to full. I cleaned down the sides, and cut up yet more lemons, and the whole time I was as flushed and tingly as I could be.

I tried to summon Mum and Grandma’s voices some more, telling myself I was being a ridiculous girl with a fantasy brain, and it may just have been beginning to work for me – until Frederick got up to make his way to the bathroom and Hans summoned me over.

“A merlot for me, please,” he said.

Blood-red…

“No problem, coming right up,” I replied, but he called me back with a wait a moment, Katherine.

The only other person in earshot was George.

“You seem a little uneasy tonight,” Hans said. “Are you feeling unwell?”

I shrugged it off, screaming inside that I was nothing but crazy, and that Hans Weyer was just Hans Weyer, a normal human. The newest member of our club and nothing more.

“No,” I assured him. “I’m fine, thank you.”

I thought that would appease him, but it didn’t. He kept his bright green eyes fixed right on mine.

“Are you sure about that? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. As if you’re living in some horrible night terror.”

I thought I’d known prickles before, but they were nothing like these fresh ones. The room started spinning, and the only thing that was steady was Hans’ beautiful white smile.

“Did you have a nightmare?” he asked me. “Honestly, Katherine, if you aren’t feeling well, you should go home.”

I swallowed and braced myself on the bar.

The prickles were hot and fierce. The memories of racing across the cobblestones came back with a vengeance, but Hans’ words still transfixed me, surpassing it all.

I’m interested in YOU.

His vampire fangs, his perfect touch, the way he kissed me so fiercely.

His hand…

Stop!

My voice found itself, and the world stopped spinning. My spirit held firm in my body.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I told him. “I didn’t have a nightmare.”

“No?” he asked. “Are you sure about that? They call night terrors terrors for a reason.”

I held his stare, even though it was eating me up.

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” I said, and my words sounded more assured than I thought they would. “I had a dream last night, and nothing more.”

I poured his merlot, confident, even though my fingers were shaking. I handed it over with a smile.

“Thank you,” Hans raised his glass to me. “Here’s to more sweet dreams, Katherine. We all have plenty of them. A whole world of dreams out there worth living for.”

And dying for.

That’s the voice that came into my mind.

His voice.

Some dreams are worth dying for.

The question was…

Were mine?