Prologue
The lesser vampire, Homo Vampiris Inferioris and the greater vampire, Homo Vampiris Superioris have been firmly assigned by the indisputable facts of science to the annals of folklore. Once, however, vampires were a commonly held belief around the world. Why would such a superstition have such universal appeal? Could it be that they were nothing more than ignorant stories conceived in the dead of night to explain sudden clusters of deaths and disease? Perhaps we can draw some comfort in this, as science seems to bear witness to these facts, suggesting that they most likely derive from accounts of poor souls suffering from a rare blood disorder called 'porphyria'. These patients are driven by a lust for haem, an iron pigment found in abundance in the blood.
It might therefore come as some surprise, and perhaps with a little reluctance, to accept that these stories are indeed true. Vampires walk the earth, just as you and I do, and have done so since the dawn of time. That they have passed out of common belief is not a coincidence, for we have been exterminating other species of Homo ever since the Neanderthal had the temerity to challenge us for dominance of this planet. This is my account of how I met a vampire called Hymee (pronounced HI-ME) and whilst few will believe it, I lay out the facts before you as accurately as I can recall.
Part 1
I remember the day well. The earth was frozen and a thin layer of snow lay on the grass that the bright morning sun was unable to melt. Verglas lay on the corrugated iron roof of my shed hanging down in great spikes, and beyond that, hoarfrost gripped the trees in my estate. Frost too steamed on my breath, for these country houses were poorly insulated and difficult to heat.
The house had been in my family for as long as anyone could remember, handed down to the firstborn so that it would never be split into ever diminishing estates. My father, Reginald Wallace had told me that one day I would inherit the house and with it the responsibilities and duties of that position. He had died just a week ago and his loss still weighed heavily on me. Today when I signed the papers, I would become the official owner of 50,000 acres of woodland together with a smattering of lakes, ponds and in the low lying areas, bogs.
The doorbell chimed. I hurried downstairs along creaking floorboards and opened the old wooden door. Once upon a time, we had servants to tend to these duties, but in recent years, like many people up and down the country, the family had fallen on hard times.
"Hello," I said.
A young lady in her twenties looked up at me. She was blonde with shoulder-length hair, and a pretty smile.
"Mr Luke Wallace? Your taxi, sir."
"Ah, you must be Natasha," I said, remembering a letter that I received a couple of days ago, "you're from Briggs and Mortimer? You're here about the papers?"
"Yes, Sir," she said in a chirpy voice and began leading the way to the limousine. It was one of those stretch affairs with tinted windows. Briggs and Mortimer sure knew how to put on a show to impress their clients. Even Natasha no doubt had been hand-picked. She was more than attractive and as she skipped down the stone steps her large breasts bounced enticingly under her white blouse. Her tight skirt left little to the imagination and I admired how her peachy backside swayed seductively as she walked to the car. She opened the door to let me in, and then moved to the passenger side and slid in beside me. Her leg brushed mine as she reached down for her briefcase sending a thrill through my body. She was indeed stunning and sadly I lamented how long it had been since I had last known a woman. Two years? Maybe three. I forget now. My social phobia had gotten the better of me almost a decade ago making me drop out of medical practice. It was so bad now that I found it difficult to make new friends let alone date. She didn't seem to notice how close we were in the car and without a concern in the world she lay a pile of papers out on her lap.
"So these are what we're going over today," Natasha said, "just legalise to say that you're the heir of Reginald Wallace and will take over the proprietorship of the property, Windholem Estates I believe it's formally called."
She handed the papers to me and then dug into her briefcase again.
"And these are the keys to your other property up in Scotland."
"Another property?" I asked.
"Yes, your father had a summer residence in the highlands that he used when on business for his Scottish office, but he didn't use it so much once that part of the business folded. Still, it's a sizeable estate that would be worth a good amount on the property market if it wasn't to your requirements."
The family had struggled with the rising cost of maintaining the estate in the last few years of my father's life, so I was more than a little surprised by this news. Why had he hung onto the property even at the cost of dismissing all the staff? Why had he never told me about a second house? Was it something to do with mother? My father had told me that she was not my biological parent. She had died when I was still a baby so I had no memory of her, but father had described her as warm, and generous. Judging from the paintings in the hall, a beauty with pale skin, coal-black hair and piercing blue eyes. She had loved the wild places, and above all, she had loved the glens and mountains of Scotland.
The car drew up to an impressive tenement office and Natasha led me into the waiting room. Almost immediately I was buzzed into a large office adorned with the nameplate 'Mr Mortimer'. He sat behind an old fashioned heavy desk and beckoned me to sit on a leather two-seater settee.
"Mr Wallace, let me express my condolences for your loss," he said with the oiled voice of a seasoned lawyer. "It came as a shock to us all when your father passed so suddenly."
Mr Mortimer was right -- my father had been in good health until one morning, he had not woken up. An autopsy was not performed so I didn't know the cause of death and never had a chance to question it as his body had been whisked away by the undertaker who was an old friend of the family. He had been buried the next day at a small service attended by myself, my aunt, Mr Briggs and Mr Mortimer. No others had been invited to the service although I knew that my father had many friends and business associates.
"Thank you," I smiled.
"Now if it's not too indelicate a question, I believe that Natasha has shown you the documents? There's nothing in them that you need worry about, just formal transfer of the deeds, legal stuff that we lawyers ten d to get excited about."
He paused, judging my response, and when none was forthcoming he continued, "there's just one small matter that I need to draw your attention to, that's clause 14.1 which states that the proprietor of Windholem Estates will own the property in perpetuity and shall never sell or split it up."
Again he paused and I asked, "When you say Windholem Estates, are you referring to both my home residence and the property in Scotland?"
"That's right," he said, "both estates are subject to the terms and conditions of the clause. It's been a family tradition since when the land was purchased."
I wasn't entirely surprised by this news as I knew that my home had never been divided amongst past generations of siblings, but that this clause should apply to the Scottish house too was unexpected. Clearly, I needed to visit my second home in Scotland.
On the way home I had the opportunity again to admire Natasha's breasts. Her blouse was stretched tight forcing a gap between the buttons revealing her pale pink bra. I desperately wanted to ask her out on a date, but when I plucked up the courage, all that I could muster was a professional, "So how long have you been with Briggs and Mortimer?"
"Oh, let me think," she said, looking up and off to the right in thought, "three years? Yes, just over three years now. I came to Briggs and Mortimer when I graduated in law."
Her voice was like honeyed silk with a beautiful cadence of aristocratic English society, and the enthusiasm of a little girl who still marvelled at the wonders of the world. She smelt faintly of honeysuckle and jasmine that intoxicated me.
