Page 53 of Only Fangs

“You’re taking notes?” Brody asks me.

“Absolutely,” I reply, already engrossed in writing down as many of the questions as I can remember. We’ll need to make sure we’re prepared for the big pitch and I’m not going to fuck this up by once again not doing my homework. “This isn’t like that bank loan that was all forms and spreadsheets. This is about winning hearts and minds.”

I send Brody out to get us lunch just before midday. Having a normie employee certainly has a benefit for the lunch run. I love Sangers, but they don’t employ a vampire greeter and so I have to hover around outside until someone notices me and invites me inside. It’s normally OK when it isn’t busy, but if there’s a queue it can take forever.

Clara rings me while Brody’s out. “I’ve managed to get you the meeting with Daddy,” she says without any kind of preamble. “Tomorrow morning at ten. Can you be ready by then?”

I cast my eyes around the flat in a panic. At the boards we haven’t prepared and the questions I’ve written down we can’t answer yet. At the frozen image of a business tycoon on the TV screen where I paused the show in the middle of a particularly vicious take down of Jenny from Margate’s dream of starting a rabbit jumper boutique. As in jumpers for rabbits rather than made of rabbit wool. Fucking batshit.

“Earth to Ari,” Clara says.

“Sorry. I… errr…”

“Daddy says if you can make tomorrow then he can get you a slot with the High Council next month. Otherwise it’ll be sometime in the summer.”

“Oh.” The summer is too late. Far far too late. But why is every meeting about Only Fangs always so last minute? Perhaps I’m cursed. I swallow and then put on a fake happy voice. “Tomorrow is fine.” My voice squeaks a little on the last word.

“Great. I’ll let Marjorie know.” Marjorie is her father’s long suffering PA. She’s been doing the job since Clara and I were little and I have no idea why she didn’t retire a century ago, she’s certainly earned her freedom. Ivan always says that masochism is a well-documented vampire trait and she’s the text book case.

Brody returns with the sandwiches to find me pacing up and down the tiny flat.

“Everything OK?” he asks as he hands me the bag from Sangers.

“Clara called. The meeting’s tomorrow morning.”

I watch as his cheery demeanour crumbles. “But we’re not ready.”

“No. But it’s tomorrow or never.”

“Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow.” Each repetition is quieter, the final “wow” barely audible as he slowly sinks onto the sofa. But then he snaps back to standing as if a switch has been flicked. “Right then. We’d better eat our lunch to give us the quick energy we’re going to need.” He grins at me, the edges slightly maniacal.

“There isn’t time, is there?” It’s a question, but also not a question, there’s obviously not enough time for us to prepare.

“Do you believe in Only Fangs?” he asks me.

“Of course.”

“That’s the only thing that matters. We do our best to prepare and then you wow him with passion and creativity. Plus, you have me remember. And I don’t like to brag but I’m kind of a genius.”

I can’t help but smile as I look at his earnest little face. “Does this mean you’ll come with me to pitch?”

“I will be there. Sweating and trying not to throw up in front of Andrei Hele. As long as you promise he won’t lose his shit if he figures out I’m human.”

“He won’t figure it out,” I tell him. It isn’t the question he asked, but I don’t think he can handle that particular truth and I don’t want him too terrified.

Chapter 28

Brody

The Hele Group – because of course Andrei Hele would name his company after himself – has an office right in the centre of Exeter, close to the cathedral. It looks like a Georgian terraced house from the outside with a discrete plaque by the glossy front door bearing the company name. You’d think it was the office of a small conveyancing company, or firm of chartered accountants – something dull and unassuming and totally benign.

As we approach the entrance, a man in a starched uniform, like a bellhop at a fancy hotel, swings the door open. “Welcome to the Hele Group. Please come inside.” He sounds friendly, but there’s no smile on his face; in fact there’s no expression at all. It’s like he’s a robot.

“What’s wrong with the doorman?” I whisper out the side of my mouth, quietly enough that he won’t hear the question I’m asking Ari.

“Andrei likes to employ humans, but he dislikes emotion. People who work for him learn pretty quickly to wear a professional mask.”

It sends a chill down my spine. It feels a little too much like conditioning for my liking. I wonder what he threatens them with, although I suppose the answer is really pretty obvious.