Page 48 of You’re So Vein

That’s it. I smile down at Hannah as I take out my favourite fountain pen. I’ll let Chirag decide if I’m a good fit for his daughter. If it turns out that we’re as ill-suited as I suspect, then he’ll toss my resume aside and Komal need not even know.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s filling in forms.

16Komal

Gideon: Each Conclave representative will present us with a challenge relating to their court. For each challenge our champion successfully completes, that court will hear their proposed law changes. Only vampires can participate in the challenges, so you’re not in any danger. All we want you to do is smile at them and show that Argleton is different, that humans and vampires can and should change the rules of co-existence.

Why all the questions? Are you concerned about the imminent bloody demise of a certain emotionally repressed Upyr with tragic self-control and a sparkly wristwatch?

“AND IF YOU LOOK OUT to your right, you’ll see the standing stones called Long Bess and Her Daughters,” I say as I angle the helicopter down towards the site. “This stone circle was built in the Neolithic Period, circa 3000 BC, which makes it older than the pyramids. Local legend says that Bess and her daughters used to perform witchcraft on that hilltop, but one day a jealous wizard cast a spell upon them, turning them to stone. The stones are still used today by local New Age groups for magical rituals…”

… and by the Nevermore Murder Club and Smutty Book Coven for our initiation ceremonies, and once when we decided to hex Isis’s ex-girlfriend.

My passengers – a family of Australian tourists all wearing “VOTE FOR KOMAL” pins on their kitsch Union Jack t-shirts – crane their necks towards the windows to get a good look. I grin as I hover over the hilltop, basking in their sounds of delight as if I were the one who raised the stones myself, although my eyes flicker to the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. I should have plenty of time to return them to the village before that weather hits, but I don’t like to take risks with my passengers. That’s why I have a 4.8 star rating.

Of course, part of it is that I love flying. Every time I sit down behind the controls, I feel a sense of calm wash over me. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. From the moment I took off today, the mayoral race and my crazy family and even Augustin bloody Durant faded away. Nothing exists but me and the clouds and the beautiful world, far, far below.

And, unlike my RAF days, no one is shooting at me. Always a plus.

“Strewth, they’re big. Can you set us down to have a look?” the father, who introduced himself as “Bazza”, asks.

“Not today,” I answer, turning us back towards the village. “You can hike up there from the village, although it’s a fair walk and the weather forecast looks pretty bad this week. A far better use of your time would be curling up in a corner of the Rose & Wimple pub with a hot toddy and a good book.”

The weather has been abysmal lately, even by British drizzly autumn standards. I’ve had to cancel my two other bookings this week, and despite defying Augustin’s shop closure orders, I’ve had few bookings for my Argleton walking tours. Maisie suggested we could put together a night-time ghost tour, which would be amazing if I could stomach the idea of working at night.

Minutes later, we touch back down on my helipad. The Aussies wait in the van while I put Aishwarya (yes, one should always name their aircraft, so I named mine after my favourite Bollywood actress, Aishwarya Rai Bachchan) back in the hanger, and then I drive them back to the village, directing them to the pub as it’s getting dark and gloomy outside. My stomach growls – I’m in desperate need of Indian comfort food to reassure myself that this whole vampire Conclave thing isn’t going to be a huge disaster ending in Augustin’s death, so I pop over to Chirag’s Takeaways.

The familiar scent of my favourite spices hits me as soon as I step through the door. Sunita Auntie is working the till, chatting up a male customer and his son (hopefully not handing out Komal cards), and I can hear other aunties and uncles and friends of the family singing along to Bollywood songs in the kitchen. A lump forms in my throat. Papa may not be here, but his spirit is everywhere in the shop.

I pay for my food and turn around to choose a table, only to see my friends gathered around a booth in the corner. Winnie, Beth, Isis, Celeste, Maisie, Dora and Mina are sorting through a stack of papers, holding them up and discussing each one with violent hand gestures.

What are they doing here?

“Not him!” Beth tears a page from Winnie’s hands. “He’s a podcaster. She’ll never go for that.”

“I think the twitcher is a maybe.” Isis holds up a paper with a border of bright-coloured birds. “He might be a little odd, but he sounds sweet. And if nothing else, he’ll be entertaining.”

“We can’t choose Komal’s future husband based on who amuses us most.” Dora glares at her sister.

“Why not? You know if the roles were reversed, that’s exactly what she’d do. Remember in Year Thirteen, when she set me up with her cousin, the harmonica player?”

Dora makes a face as she takes the paper from Isis and places it in a small pile to her left.

“What’s this?” I ask as I sink into a seat. My friends jump. The remnants of a large butter chicken (British people! Such bland palettes. Why choose butter chicken when biryani is right there?) and two half-eaten garlic naans have been relegated to a corner of the table so they can spread out the papers. “Have we found a new clue in the husker case? Or is this about the elections?”

“Nope. This is even better.” Beth sets down a stack in front of me. “Your dad is so busy planning your launch party that he’s delegated your future husband to us.”

I stare at the stack in horror. They’re the marriage resumes Papa was perusing. “You… you can’t.”

“On the contrary, who better to choose your future husband than the friends who know you best? Plus, your dad has scribbled helpful notes in the margins.” Maisie picks up the top one. “This eligible bachelor lives with his mother. In a treehouse. You do like heights.”

I drop my face into my hands.

“Now that you’re here, it’s going to make our jobs easier. Tell us what you’re looking for in a life partner.” Beth taps the stack of resumes still to be perused. “He should be able to dance. That’s obvious. And he can’t feel threatened when you dominate the conversation with all your brilliant ideas.”

“And he must be able to assemble IKEA furniture without weeping,” adds Isis. “I learned that one the hard way.”

“He should be kind,” adds Dora. “Steadfast. Trustworthy.”