Night Life

Chapter 2: Chiropteramorphs

The city of Redgate lay on the coast in the north of England. A thousand years ago, it had been little more than an insignificant fishing village, supplying food to the residents of the nearby Harkstone Castle. Throughout the middle ages, Redgate grew and grew. Then the industrial revolution hit, and the city began to sprawl out into a bastion of commerce and innovation, while Harkstone Castle fell to ruins. Now, Redgate could easily compete with cities like Manchester and Leeds for the title of 'The London Of The North'. It was a city constantly alive at all times of the day and night; a haven for business, pleasure and everything in between. Redgate was the perfect hunting ground, so it's no surprise so many Chiropteramorphs chose to make it their home.

These creatures seemed indistinguishable from humans at a cursory glance, yet there were a number of key differences. Chiros were stronger than even the most dedicated weightlifter could ever hope to be and fast enough to run twenty laps in the time it would take an Olympic athlete to run one. They were not without their weaknesses, however, as their skin instantly burned when coming into direct contact with sunlight. Because of this, they could only ever venture out at night. They were also unable to consume ordinary food, instead needing to drink human blood to survive. While most Chiros went completely unrecognised by humans throughout history, hiding in the shadows and blending in with the crowd, a few of them had been both figuratively and literally brought out into the light. Accounts of blood-sucking monsters were mostly relegated to folklore and legend, leading humans to believe that these 'vampires' were purely fictional. They were wrong.

As Victor Kent and Stephanie Delacour walked through the bustling streets of Redgate, on their way to Steph's apartment, another Chiro stared out at the city. Unlike the investigator and her tag along, Shelley Harkstone was not ducking through back alleys or navigating drunken street brawls. She was gazing out of a huge, arched window and swirling a wine glass of dark red blood. She took a delicate sip, savouring the rich, metallic taste, with subtle hints of sweetness. It was delicious. Almost as good as drinking it fresh. Almost.

Harkstone House was an enormous mansion that stood on a hill in the outskirts of the city, overlooking the streets below. It spoke to the absurd levels of wealth which the Harkstone family had enjoyed, that they had considered this huge manor to be a small city dwelling for when they had to visit Redgate on business. They had always considered Harkstone Castle to be their primary place of residence. Now though, it had been a very long time since the ruined castle had been home to anything more than mice and moss.

Shelley sighed, watching as her breath misted up the clear glass of the window, obscuring her view of the city she ruled over. She had so much power. There were people out there who had fought and killed to gain power like she had. But she felt nothing. No pride. No sense of control. She was just another puppet, strung up by tradition and unable to make any real decision on her own. At least she got to pretend she was in charge. The position of Pharaoh was not one she had wanted. She hadn't been waiting in the wings, desperate to take control and force Redgate down a new path, towards a brighter future. She'd taken this job, fought tooth and nail for it, because she knew what the other options were. She knew how tyrants like Warrington and Lancet would have brought ruin upon their city. Their greed would have sucked every last ounce of goodness and heart from Redgate, leaving them fat and wealthy while the rest of the city died beneath them.

Shelley's enhanced hearing alerted her to the sound of the door being opened only half a second after the handle started to turn. She took another sip from her glass and let her gaze linger on the city for a moment longer, before turning to meet her visitor. The man who walked in was one she'd known for almost as long as she'd been a Chiro. He was quite possibly her oldest friend in the world. Richmond Stine was tall, thin and handsome. He walked with the practised elegance of someone who had every confidence in their movements. He stopped a few feet away from Harkstone and bowed his head, clasping both hands together in front of himself. It was understated as far as bows went, but still showed great respect. Harkstone had to force herself not to roll her eyes. She hated all this. Bows and curtseys were pointless in her eyes. Why couldn't people just say what they wanted to say, without all this meaningless posturing?