Hide Me In Plain Sight

Spring 1964

Life turns on the littlest moments, even for lives that last for centuries. He thought that he had read that in a book somewhere once, but perhaps he was paraphrasing. He’d never thought much of it, as he thought that a life lived for so long would run down all of those little moments, like a jagged piece of glass worn smooth by the sea. The moments that could cut deep would mellow themselves out over the aeons and wouldn’t be able to hurt anymore. He’d seen it in the life his father lived, and in the stories that his grandfather told. Why should his life be any different?

*

Soho on a Friday night was a melting pot of the most beautiful and bizarre in humanity. Max loved it; this wonderful place that he was lucky enough to call his home.

It was 10.30 at night, and he and Rich were avoiding puddles and other pedestrians as they walked through the streets. The old cobblestones were wet and treacherously slippery underfoot as it had been raining all day, and the centuries old buildings were shining in the mist of the streetlights behind the curtain of drizzle still dripping from the leaden darkness above their heads. In better weather, he might have stopped to admire them a little more. It was one of the many things that Max loved about London; that he could step from one street to another and seemingly shift through the centuries. Yet most Londoners didn’t bat an eyelid at the thought. Only the oldest of his kind, those who had practically returned to the fabric of the earth, would be able to remember when some of these structures were built, if they had cared to draw out their existence for that long.

He weaved past a drunk who had just been turfed out of a pub and was doggedly trying to talk his way back inside, past the bouncer blocking the way. At this time of night, most of the bars and pubs of the city were closing up, and the clubs were just getting started, ready to go until the early hours of the morning. Max was in one of those anticipatory moods tonight, he couldn’t wait to see what lay waiting for him in the hazy atmosphere of London’s club scene.

According to Rich, tonight, that which awaited him was Isobel.

They reached the famous Green Ink blues bar and club and headed straight inside. They didn’t need to wait in the queue at the door as the bouncer knew them both and waved them straight inside. The music in the club was playing low but clear, adding a beautiful dark ambience to the smoky interior, lit softly with dark blue up lights in strategic places around the room.

Along one of the walls were booths filled with people talking and drinking, sitting a little closer than perhaps was necessary in order to hear each other, lips brushing against ears to make themselves understood. The live band was set up in the corner, playing delta blues, and a small dancefloor in front of that was full of early doors couples and groups, already swaying upon the shiny surface, bodies moving sensuously to the beat. Most of them would leave within the hour to find a more private place.

Max loved it here. Apart from being one of the best places he’d found to get good whiskey this side of the Atlantic, it was also one of the better blues bars he’d been to. The whiskey they served here was the closest thing he’d tasted to bourbon since he’d come to England which, as far as he was concerned, was the best compliment he could give to the establishment’s liquor. He walked up to the bar, leaning on the polished surface and caught the bartenders’ eye, simply holding up two fingers in his direction. The bartender grinned his wolfish smile and nodded in recognition of his order. A few moments later, two tumblers of whiskey on the rocks were pushed across the bar top, and a handful of coins went the other way. Max knocked one of the glasses along the bar towards Rich, who picked it up with a grin and a mock salute.

‘Alright then,’ Max said, after taking a sip and relishing the beautiful burn in the back of his throat. ‘This Isobel I’ve heard so much about; where is she?’

‘The VIP area over there,’ said Rich, gesturing with his free hand. ‘It’s where I met her last time.’

‘How did you know she’d be here tonight?’ Max asked. ‘I’ve been here before and not seen her.’

‘Insider tip,’ said Rich was a shrug. ‘She likes to go to clubs, and the clubs like to have her around. Once word gets around that Isobel’s in residence… well, you saw the queues outside.’

‘Huh,’ he said, eyebrows raised. He wondered what could possibly be so special about this woman that the clubs wanted her around that much. There were plenty of “It” people around London, and clubs paid a pretty penny to have the in their establishments. He’d met several of them in his time, and none had particularly stuck in his mind. They were famous for partying and for spending money, and not a lot else, which didn’t exactly make for a stellar personality or interesting conversation. Perhaps this Isobel was different.

‘She sounds like some girl,’ said Max sceptically. Rich just grinned at him before punching him on the arm for his sarcasm. The look on his face simply said you’ll see. With that, his friend walked away towards the VIP area at the back of the club, which enjoyed a great view of the band, without being in full view of the rest of the club. The entrance was up a few steps and two more bouncers stood either side of it, allowing only those deemed apparently worthy to pass the velvet rope.

‘Come on then,’ said Rich coming back. ‘Prepare to have your life changed, forever.’

Max laughed, following him. ‘Dude, she can’t be that amazing. You’re just setting yourself up for failure here.’

‘Just you wait!’ Rich said gleefully as he practically danced up the steps and quickly said something to one of the security guards. The bouncers let them through with a nod. Max took another sip of his drink as he waited for Rich to move out of the way and shot a relaxed smile at the bouncer as he sidestepped the burly man and into the VIP area.

The sequence of events that followed would be etched on the surface of his brain until the day he was unmade.

He immediately saw her. Isobel was sat on a black velvet ottoman, her bare legs drawn up into a neat curl underneath her. Her long dark hair was almost black in the low light of the club. Her dress was short, dark; a simple cocktail dress, and she was wearing few other embellishments, as there were none needed. It wasn’t simply her general prettiness that took him aback; he’d seen plenty of pretty women in his time and she was just one of the many who could claim that accolade. No, it wasn’t that.

It was the exquisite golden spun wings that emerged from above her backless dress, seeming to hug around the sides of her body that stopped him in his tracks. They looked as if they could be made of spiders’ webs, covered in the crystals of a morning dew as they caught the light of the sunrise. That was the closest he could get to describing them, even when he thought about the moment in the years afterwards. He imagined he could spend years, decades even, trying to imagine the words to describe Isobel’s wings.

In that moment he knew he must look like a fool; stood stock still and staring, but he couldn’t help it. He was utterly dazzled.

‘Holy shit,’ he breathed when he’d collected himself enough to look at Rich who was stood beside him, a knowing grin on his face. ‘She’s a Fae?’

‘I told you man, didn’t you?! Didn’t I tell you? I said she’d blow your mind!’ crowed Rich, cackling gleefully.

Max’s jaw was still on the floor as his eyes swept over the woman again and again, momentarily wondering if he’d become trapped in some weird kind of eternal return. He’d never seen a Fae before, never heard of anyone he’d ever known seeing a Fae. His father had gone so far as to say that they were probably extinct by now, as they seemed to be confined to stories or old wives’ tales. And yet, despite all that, here she was, evidence to the contrary in front of his own eyes.

Then, her gaze flicked up and observed the pair of them, her face lighting up as she spoke. ‘Rich! How lovely to see you again; how are you, my friend?’

Rich instantly hurried forward and dropped to his knees alongside her seat, kissing her outstretched fingers. Max was still awestruck. Somehow, even though her voice sounded normal, there was something in it that seemed to hook deep into the pit of his belly and draw him close. It was like the sound of the sea; normally a mundane sound, and yet one that he could listen to, over and over again. A sound that might draw an unwary sailor to his death if he wasn’t careful, like the Greek myths of old.

‘And who is this?’ Isobel asked Rich, her eyes moving steadily over Max’s form. ‘I don’t believe we’ve met?’

‘Um, no ma’am, er miss,’ stumbled Max, and then frowned. Rich smirked at him as he stumbled over his words. That just didn’t happen. He had a reputation amongst his acquaintances as being the smoothest talker this side of the Thames. Slick, Rich sometimes called him, as a joke.

She smiled gently, as if amused. ‘It’s alright. I know it can be a shock. Come closer, so I can get a better look at you.’

He stepped up and lingered next to her seat, unsure as to whether he should kneel like Rich, or remain standing.

‘You’re very tall,’ she said, as her warm eyes swept over him, taking him all in. He felt very large and ungainly next to her smaller form; self-conscious and admired in the same glance.

‘I get that a lot,’ he said with a nervous chuckle. ‘I’m Max.’

‘Do sit down,’ she offered, moving her legs so there was a little room next to her on the ottoman. He sat down, being careful not to touch her. Rich was still on the floor and didn’t seem to mind that Max had been invited to sit on the ottoman beside her. Then again, Max thought, Rich looked like he wouldn’t mind anything ever again, as long as he could continue to look at Isobel.

‘You’re a Fae?’ asked Max awkwardly. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, that’s a stupid question, of course you are, but -,’

‘It’s alright,’ she smiled, laying a gentle hand on his arm, making him relax because if she was smiling, then everything must be alright. ‘People usually get a bit tongue-tied the first time they see a Fae.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, unsure exactly what he was apologising for, but feeling like it was necessary.

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Don’t be worried. I know that there are hardly any of us, and most people have never seen another. It can sometimes feel a little lonely. At least that’s what I think it is. How, to be the only one, even when you’re surrounded by other people, can feel alone?’

He didn’t know of her exact situation. There were vampires everywhere he went. But when it came to his family, he certainly knew loneliness, despite their numbers. It was part of the reason why he’d put himself forward to come to London because of business, and why he so desperately wanted to stay. He had never been acceptable to his family, and they always looked to his brother to pick up the slack.

Silently, he took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She smiled softly at him, her soft brown eyes sparkling in the low light of the club.

That was how he met Isobel, and how, a handful of weeks later, he found himself waking up beside her in her bed. They’d started sleeping together soon after meeting. He’d returned to the club each night it was open to sit with her, talk, and to just be around her. One night, not long after that first meeting, she’d invited him home at the end of the night. It really was that simple.

He made it his business to learn as much about her as possible. He’d never felt like this before. He told her all about his family in America, and in turn she told him about how his parents had immigrated to Britain from Asia, her mother from China, her father from Vietnam. It felt like he could talk to Isobel for ages, something he often did well into the small hours of the morning. Something in her put him at his ease and he felt his unspooling in her company, relaxed and laid bare.

He didn’t tell Rich about how these events transpired, as he thought the other man might explode with jealousy if he knew that he was spending most nights in Isobel’s bed. Rich knew he’d gone back to see her several times and was gleeful that he had been proved right; that Max had fallen hook, line, and sinker for the Fae. How could he not? It didn’t seem like there had ever been another option from the moment that he laid eyes on her.

It was different, having sex with a Fae. He’d never experienced anything like it; he’d slept with plenty of people over the years, but she was different. She gave off this incredible energy that imbued his entire being when they slept together. It was hundred times more powerful than he’d felt, like every part of his body was vibrating with energy. He couldn’t explain what it meant, or how it worked, but he knew it in every part of himself. It was difficult to describe the sheer power that she radiated. It filled him up; nourished him, both physically and emotionally.

He was drinking less of the blood bottles that were his usual fare to substitute the real thing. Of course, that was to do with the other thing.

She allowed him to drink from her.

The first time, he’d been scared; an emotion he wasn’t overly used to. It was a very rare occurrence that he got blood from the vein. When he did, it was usually because he’d visited a club where people wanted vampires to drink from them; they enjoyed it or got off on it. He’d had a lover in the past who’d offered up his veins, but he’d only indulged once or twice. And now, here was Isobel. This woman who set his blood on fire, offering herself up to him.

Initially he desisted. He didn’t want to hurt her. He could only imagine what her blood would do to him, if it was anything like their other experiences. The sex, the energy, the connection they shared. What if he couldn’t stop once he’d started?

She was far more relaxed about it than he was, and eventually she talked him into it, calming his nerves and assuaging his fears. He was powerless against her really, she just had to twitch that beguiling smile and he was gone.

The first time, they’d been in her apartment bedroom on the chaise longue beneath the window. He’d drawn her into his lap, with her hair pushed back off her neck. He could smell the blood just underneath the surface of her skin, the sweetness of that rushing life, and it made his fangs extend almost involuntarily. He knew that in that moment he looked like the monster of legend; dark eyes, with dark veins around them, the jaw of death where his mouth should be. She seemed unperturbed, calm even. She simply tilted her head and waited, an invitation to the most exquisite of meals.

He'd bitten her, and it had felt like fireworks going off inside his skull. It felt like he was going to explode out of his form because of the sheer power that was cascading over his tongue and down his throat. He’d gripped her tightly around the waist, pulling her body flush against his as he drank, her racing heartbeat filling his ears, the sweetness of her taking over every sense. It felt as fantastic as the sex they’d shared, and the best moment of his life all wrapped into one. It was a powerful drug and his favourite meal, combined with an adrenaline high. He wasn’t sure even that that did the feeling justice.

With the combination of sex and blood, he felt like the most powerful being on earth. He was sure that he couldn’t be far wrong in that regard; nothing could come close to this, nothing could touch this feeling, nothing could touch him.

He’d always known the difference between near immortality and invincibility, and that despite his manifestation he was still vulnerable to an eventual undoing at the hands of fate, or to the slow decay into the elements of the earth. With Isobel by his side, he felt like that difference could go to hell; he was invincible, he would never decay. He was unstoppable, powerful, and a terrible force of nature. As long as she was there, he could do anything.

But then she disappeared.