“I doubt I’ll ever find the stranger who took me up against the wall in the depths of the nightclub,” I respond, to see if I can get any sort of response out of Dominik again. “He banged me good and proper, and that was it.”
Dominik doesn’t move. His eyes don’t leave mine. Do I detect his hand clenching next to his thigh? I’m not sure.
“But in response to your proposal, let me go think it over for twenty-four hours, and I’ll let you know.”
What am I even saying? I’ll think about it?
I must be desperate.
Lucy
I could have leftBudapest if I wanted to. Dominik agreed I could think over his proposal, and true to his word, he let me leave, albeit insisting I check into a hotel down the street from his nest. His big Rolls whisked me there in what seemed like seconds.
I have my passport. I have cash. I have all my luggage. Nothing is stopping me from jumping on the next train or hiring a car.
But I haven’t done either of those things.
Instead, after being shown to my room and dumping my luggage, I take a tram down to the central market hall, the name unpronounceable in my pidgin Hungarian. It was one of the places I wanted to visit while I was here.
Not somewhere which held any interest to my friends, who currently are bantering away in the group chat, no doubt thinking I’m on a plane back to London.
They’re spending the day shopping on Vaci Ucta before flying home on Ferenc’s private jet tomorrow. And, in any event, I don’t want to upset them. I dearly love them all, but I also don’t want to tell them what I actually do…what I have done. Not when I’ve kept it a secret from them for all this time.
If I lose my friends, I will lose everything I hold dear, everything which has kept me sane up until now. Admitting I’m part of those who persecute monsters is not going to go down well. I’ll need to come up with an explanation at some point…
Or I could take Dominik up on his offer. Spend the next seven months here in Budapest, have my baby…pretend this is all real…pretend I am not a Van Helsing.
I enter the huge market hall, the glass ceiling allowing plenty of light to filter past the spiderweb of ironwork holding it together into the bustling market below. Individual stalls selling tourist pleasers such as bags of ruddy paprika and little carved wooden scoops sit side by side with butchers selling pigs’ feet and delis selling long, scented, salami.
I make my way through the stalls, enjoying the life and the color of the place, before making my way up to the wide balcony which runs around the hall and is filled to the brim with more tourist items, beautiful table cloths, intricately made by hand, leather goods, and amber.
The air is heavy with the scent of cooking lángos, a fried dough which can be eaten sweet or savory and I’ve already discovered is incredibly more-ish. There are also a couple of little cafes, and I take a seat at one, ordering a decaf coffee and turning to watch what takes place below me.
I’m completely lost in thought about Dominik’s offer and how many reasons there are to refuse when I see some movement below me which catches my eye.
I’ve been trained to spot a vampire. How they move, what they do, and what I can see moving through the crowds of tourists and locals below are most definitely vampires.
In the middle of the day, in a place filled with daylight.
This is not normal. In fact, it is downright concerning. Especially as the four I’ve spotted are making their way to the staircase leading up to the balcony.
I mean, no one other than Dominik knows a vampire hunter is here in Budapest, and given our recentchatand his offer, it seems unlikely he’d have sent vampires here for me.
Plus, a daywalking vampire is rare. They’re usually very old, and even then they generally prefer not to.
Creatures of the night.
My uncle used to mock them for their desire to hide in the dark. But not everything from the dark is bad, I’ve learnt.
But these ones are walking in the day, and they seem pretty concentrated on getting to the balcony. It could all be a coincidence. I mean, maybe they’re having a tea party and need some fancy table linen from the stalls selling beautiful cloths and place settings, but I very much doubt it. My senses, long since honed in vampire hunting and attending my idiotic clients in police stations, are tingling with danger.
I grab the passing waitress who took my earlier order.
“Excuse me,” I say, not even attempting Hungarian this time, “I am pregnant.” I cover my stomach with my hand. “I feel unwell because it’s so busy. Is there another way out? A quick way into the fresh air?” I fan myself.
She gives me a concerned look. “Come with me,” she says in English, and I thank my lucky stars she understands me.
The young woman ushers me through to the back of the cafe, speaking in rapid Hungarian to the person behind the counter who responds with a shrug of his shoulders.
