Chapter 1

First chapter

London, May 2015

"Chloe! Where the hell is she? Chloe!"
I looked at Ben, who stared at me with dark, worried eyes. We had sneaked out for a quick ciggie, but someone was obviously not having it.
"Coming," I replied, planting the guilty butt in a pot of geranium. I smiled to Ben, sweet Ben, my only comfort in this moronic job.
I walked into the kitchen and prepped myself for one of Angie's delirious roastings.
She was standing there, her face framed with bleached blonde daggers, arms folded on an aggressive neon pink top.
"Sorry to interrupt your unauthorized break, but I have something to ask. What do I pay you for? Smoking in the garden with my cook? Standing next to a table, gaping in the air while a poor dude waits for his lunch? Or for mindlessly chatting away, here and there? Please tell me cause I'm getting seriously confused..."
I sighed. Didn't she just love her daily tantrums.
"Well, for the chatting, you asked me to be more friendly to the clients, so there you are... Friendly me!" I winked.
"Wait for friendly ME to get fed up with your bullshit, and see what happens," Angie hissed, stiletto stabbing the wooden floor as she exited her imaginary stage.

I left the Blue Tree and walked to the bus stop. It was about 3pm and a nice day, lots of people were out, pacing up and down Hampstead High Street, eagerly absorbing those sunrays. Spring had finally decided to show up, and London rejoiced.
I got on the 168 and sat by the window. I spotted that old woman two rows down from mine and took my sketchbook out. She would make a good portrait. Wrinkles and shiny eyes.
Of course the bus got stuck in traffic, and I lifted my pencil for a second to look out the window. I immediately focused on a specific figure. One in a crowd. Gosh, artists do have an eye for beauty.
I saw the dark hair on pale skin, flopping over his eye, the sharp, longish nose, the tired vintage suit, the long arms and legs moving with otherworldly elegance. Pure grace. I am a sucker for gracious things, cause they are so rare. But I'm also never dating again, so I just stared at my drawing. Not bad. I looked up again to compare with my model, but she had got up and I couldn't see her face. I looked out again and he was there, walking more or less at the same speed as the bus, hands in his pockets, staring ahead. He was smiling a little, it seemed, as if his own little planet was a lot more fun than ours. I am a sucker for that too, so I started drawing the lady's hair, one at a time. No space for thoughts. Thinking of someone sounds pretty innocent, but that's where it all begins, really. And you never know where it's gonna end. In deluges of tears for me before, so no thank you. The bus driver agreed with me I think, as we took speed and left pretty boy behind.


I got off at Chalk Farm and walked past the Monarch, noticing Steve's leaflet in the window. 'Stardust, Saturday 11pm. Stylish, psychedelich groove with top Camden DJ'. He has managed to book the best place for his club, I thought, smiling at the thought of him and his 70es, stripy suits. Another one you would never catch in a pair of jeans.
I turned left and started walking up Harmood street, under the tall plane trees.
I knew I was close to home when I heard The Red Telephone, by Love, playing in the distance.

"Hi Rob," I said, dropping my bag on the kitchen table and lowering the sound of the stereo.
"Hi Clo, did you get me some honey crumbles?"
"Honey crumbles? What's that?"
"Come on, the cereals, you know? Like cornflakes, but with honey? Maybe they're not called that, actually... What's the official name? I'll ask Steve, wait..." He started dialling a number on his phone.
"Don't bother, I didn't get them," I said. "You never asked for them, mind you..."
I knew that dramatic face when I saw it. We had a situation here.
"You have no idea how hungry I am. There's no food in here, nothing at all... I know I didn't ask, but it would be nice if you were thoughtful, sometimes, you know. Since you were out anyway. What am I supposed to do? Go to the shops, first thing in the morning?"
Best. Flatmate. Ever.
"FYI, it's 4pm. For some reason, most people have had breakfast by now... You're not working today?"
Rob switched to popstar mode.
"I can't do everything and be everywhere. We have a rehearsal in two hours, I need to be fresh. And inspired. It's not gonna happen after a day at the office, is it? It's all about priorities..."
"Of course. You're lucky to have a cool manager, I guess."
"Fan of the Magic Willows, that's all. Said he can't wait to see me back on stage."
I decided to cut the conversation short. His ex-band. The 'almost famous' story. How long can you cling to the past for, before boring everyone to death? And yet, it seemed that those years were still paying off, since Rob could get us in any club or gig for free. Everyone knew him. It was just hard to imagine him as a popstar. He was more the teddybear type, a big teddy with fluffy coats and curly hair. And from my nineteen years, I felt older than his twenty-eight.
"I'm gonna go online and try to find a job," I said. "Can't stand Angie anymore."
"Come and work with me, at the office. All of Camden is there."
"I know, but spending all day bothering people on the phone is even worse than that crazy woman!"
"As you wish. Anyway, why don't you come now? You'll hear our new songs, tell us what you think, and then we're off to the pub."
I didn't need to think that one over for too long.
"Why not?" I replied. The jobs would still be there tomorrow. I pushed to a faraway corner of my head the realisation that I had probably said that hundreds of times before.

The next day, there was no seat on the bus. Still, like an idiot, I managed to bend and peer through the window all the way until Chalk Farm.
As a punishment for my stupid behaviour, I decided to spend the rest of the day online, job hunting. As if I couldn't have mature, intelligent activities...

At around 7pm, my phone rang.
"Hi Vick."
"Hi Clo. I'm at the Lock Tavern with Rob and Steve, later going to the Underworld for some gig. Want to join us?"
"Yeah, great, I'll come in a while. What gig are you seeing?"
"Jeff's new band, The Everlasting Ones. They're quite good, apparently."
"Do you have passes?"
"Of course."
"Cool. I'll see you in a bit."
"Alright, bye."

I needed a shower first, to shake off two hours of desperate efforts to convince myself I could be a perfect secretary, or store manager, or whatever else was on offer.
All I had ever wanted was a studio and time to paint, and someone buying my art, from time to time. I didn't think that was too much to ask for. Then again, renting a studio on a waitress' s wage was always going to be a challenge.

I came out of the bathroom with wet hair and decided to let it dry in the breeze that was flowing in from my open window. The air, surprisingly, smelt of flowers, leaves and grass, and I remembered my childhood and the summer evenings spent in the garden with my mum. She would read her book and I would draw. Every day of the year smelt wonderful in Somerset, but still, I'd rather breathe toxic fumes in London than watch life passing by in my clean, pretty village.

I picked a dress found a few days earlier, in a vintage shop. Sleeveless, ivory lace, very 1930es. I am a sucker for ivory lace. And for vintage dresses. As long as worn with the right shoes.
I put the dress on, and chose a pair of ivory and black Mary Jane heels. Perfect match. Light make-up, and final look in the mirror.
The problem with white lace, if you have fair, wavy hair and grey eyes like me, is that you will end up looking too angelic. Like now. My solution to that is deep red lipstick. There. Ange fatal.

After a while at the Lock Tavern, we walked to the Underworld. As we were waiting for our drinks at the bar, Steve asked:
"Why do I look so much like Jagger? The barmaid called me Mick... Again!"
"There's worse," I replied. Everyone knew Steve cultivated this early Rolling Stones look, and then pretended to be annoyed by the slight resemblance.
"Change your clothes, cut your hair and stop pouting, then," Vicky said, always direct. Once again, she had put together the weirdest pieces of clothing and, miraculously, she looked great. She had been favouring lilac tones lately, after adding purple strands to her dark hair - as well as silver jewellery, lots of it, and men's shoes. No one but her could have pulled off this look.
"Oh yeah? It's that simple, you think?" Steve asked, offended.
I couldn't help smiling at their bickering, as I handed Vick half a pint of lager.
"Cheers," she said, lifting her glass. "Let's move forward."
The club was busy but not full, and we stood at perfect distance from the stage.
A few minutes later, the room darkened and clouds of artificial smoke rose in the blue spotlight. Drums, bass and guitar sounds emerged from the mist, as if the instruments were played by ghosts.
After a while, another silhouette made its way to the front of the stage, still engulfed in a blue cloud, and started singing. Now, there is singing and singing. Everyday popstars, and the ones that melt your soul there and then. It was that kind. Perfect voice, deep and intense, sending every word it sang straight to your heart.
I glanced at Rob and Vick, and our eyes, wide open, met. We didn't need words to understand each other.
Halfway through the song the smoke vanished, the ghosts took a human form, and my mouth dropped. No, no, no, I thought. No way.
There he was, tall in his white shirt and dark suit, messy black hair across his face, casually staring at his audience.
"Oh my, look at this..." I heard Vicky murmur.
To me, this was unacceptable. The gorgeous guy from the bus was one thing, but that was an entirely different story. Perfect voice, mesmerising presence and charismatic as hell, how fair was that? I was angry, for no bloody reason, and scared also, very scared. I kept staring at him the whole time, in total panic.

Then the gig was over. Everyone looked around, in various stages of stupefaction.
"Wow... That singer..." was all I managed to say.
"Hadrian? Yeah... Amazing. I had not seen him in ages," Vicky replied.
I choked a little.
"Do you... know him?"
"Everyone in Camden does. Or did, rather. He used to hang out with my sister's friends, eight or nine years ago."
"Really? He must have been pretty young..."
She gave me a weird look.
"Sweetie, he's an undead. Isn't it obvious?"
I was turning into a fish whose mouth would never close.
"So ladies, what do you think?" asked Rob, turning his attention to us. "That much, hey..." he added, looking at me, a little startled by my koi face. "Great band. Hadrian is a top singer, I have to say," he went on.
"Chloe hadn't realised he was an undead," Vicky stated matter of factly.
"Really, Clo? You're funny. He's an undead with a bad reputation, from all I know. Anyway, who's coming backstage? Jeff's waiting for me."
I followed him mechanically, trying to process the shocking news.
Undead... I had seen undeads in newspapers and on TV, never in real life. They were all scientists, politicians, movie stars, etc., as far as I knew. They were the ones in charge of peace, global affairs and so on.
My mum had explained to me, years ago, that I would have to give blood every six months, to feed these important people, who were not quite like us.
They did not believe in religions, they lived forever, and they were much wiser than us. That's what I knew.
Plus the Court of Order, of course, which managed the coexistence of living and undead creatures, and laid out the rules. They had to give their consent for a human to be turned into one of them, and these days, the rumour was that they refused all requests. There were enough of them, I guess.
Anyway, what did all this have to do with this club, this gig, and that guy?

We entered the backstage room, which was pretty crowded. It only took me a second, though, to see that he was not there, and I thanked God for it.
"I need a drink," I told Rob.
"Yeah, let's go," he replied, dragging me towards a small table with bottles. I noticed that Vick was not with us, and it bothered me.
"What will you have?" Rob asked. "Whisky, gin, vodka?"
I looked around for juices or sodas, but there was nothing.
"I'll have a whisky, with ice please."
"You mean, on the rocks?" Rob asked. Like I cared about how to call an ice cube.
"Yeah, whatever."
He had the same and we clinked our glasses. I took a long sip of liquid fire.
"Hey Rob, how's it going?"
"Jeffrey, man, how are you?"
I recognized the guitarist who was on stage a while earlier.
"Fantastic gig, really fantastic," Rob went on. "I loved every minute of it."
"Thanks mate, thanks. It felt good to play live again, you know..."
"Sure. By the way, have you met Chloe, my flatmate?"
"Not yet. Hi there, I'm Jeff," he said shaking my hand.
"Chloe. Nice to meet you. I agree with Rob, it was an amazing concert, very impressive..." I said, before nervously taking another sip.
"Why don't you come and tell me about it?" asked a voice behind me.
I turned around and a mixture of blood and whisky rushed to my head.
He was facing me, staring in my eyes with a slight smile.
In half a second my brain registered every perfect little detail about him and sent the data straight to my heart, in tiny, painful blasts. Then I panicked, again.
I had to speak.
"I saw you walking down the street yesterday," I said, listening as words came out of my mouth, like free, crazy little birdies.
He looked surprised.
"Really? Where about?" he asked, imperceptibly tilting his head sideways. Please don't do that. I'm a sucker for guys who tilt their head when they speak to you.
"Hampstead High Street. I was on the bus, but you looked so gracious I couldn't have missed you," the little birdies chirped.
"Hadrian, it's been a while... Nice to see you again, mate," Rob interrupted, pushing me slightly to the side.
"Hey Rob, you're ok?" Hadrian replied. He was still looking at me, unfortunately.
"Yes, I'm great. What happened with your singing?" Rob blabbered. "It's nothing like before! Tell me..."
As Hadrian, Jeff and Rob started talking, I walked away, searching for a place to hide for the rest of my pathetic existence.
'You looked so gracious I couldn't have missed you!' What on Earth was wrong with me? Was that the only thing I had to say? Or rather, did I have to EVER talk to him at all?
I wanted to leave right away, sleep, forget I was such a weirdo and pray to never meet him again.

"What's up, Clo? Are you alright? Too many drinks?" asked Vicky, coming out of nowhere.
"Yes, I think so. I'd better go home." I was happy to find her. She was clever. I was drunk. That explained everything. I was drunkenly stupid, or stupidly drunk, whatever, that's all there was to it. Could happen to anyone.
"You really don't need much, do you?" Vicky laughed.
"I know, I know. Are you staying?"
"Yes, we'll probably go to the Monarch later. Come with us. You might feel better by then and it's on your way home, in any case."
No no. The Monarch was no hiding spot.
"I don't think so. Please tell Rob I've left," I said. Bloody Rob. He had heard my crazy rambles, and he would never let me forget about it. I was in for years and years of sarcasms. I had surely earned them, mind you.
"Will you take a cab?"
"Maybe, I'll see how I feel outside. Don't worry about me. Have fun, bye!"


I walked towards the exit, but there were people I knew on my way, and I had to stop and chat. As I finally pushed the door to the stairs, I felt a presence next to me.
"Why leaving so early? The night is still young, and so are we... Young and gracious..." Hadrian said, a smile on his face. I looked for traces of irony in his eyes but did not find any. He just seemed curious, and quite sweet.
I had to leave. Fast.
"Good night Hadrian," I muttered, heading towards the stairs.
"Wait wait wait! You know my name, but I don't know yours. That's unfair. Let's meet officially."
I stopped and extended my arm for a handshake:
"Chloe, lovely to meet you. And goodnight."
He ignored my hand and gave me a light kiss on the cheek, before whispering in my ear:
"Hadrian Maher. And I would love it if you stayed."
His voice was a velvet ribbon, wrapping itself around my heart. I fought the sinking feeling in my chest.
"I can't, I must leave," I murmured. The panic had left me, I simply felt sad. I could not deal with all this.
A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, but was immediately replaced by a casual expression.
"We'll meet again, then. Goodnight, Chloe," he said, turning his back to me and walking back into the crowd.

I slept so well that night. Typical. The worse I felt, the better I slept. Always. It was my way out of reality.
I was trying my best not to think, because I knew that the minute I would let thoughts enter my brain, they would be of him. S**t. I liked him and that was the last thing I needed.
My shift passed by in a haze. Either I was too strange or the people were too normal, but somehow we did not belong to the same dimension and it was hard to connect.
John came to me as I was about to leave. Although he owned the Blue Tree, Angie had him wrapped so tightly around her little finger that he didn't have a say in anything anymore.
"I hope you feel better tomorrow. I can see that today's not your day..." he said. He was being nice about me being totally spaced out, and I appreciated it.
"Yeah, sorry about that, I'm not myself today. I didn't think it showed."
"Well, it did," interrupted the harpy from the kitchen. "I think you should stick to drinking on week-ends only, you know."
"That's not the problem. I don't drink. I'm just distracted, I'll be fine tomorrow," I said, making my way out. I was in no mood for her today.
"Yes, I should hope so," I heard her shout behind me.

Back at the flat, I knocked on Rob's bedroom door.
"What?" The voice was three times deeper than usual.
"Are you not getting up?"
"Don't know. What's the time?"
"3.30."
"Pm?"
I sighed.
"Pm indeed. I've brought you some honey thingies."
"Have you??"
I heard some movement in the room and the door opened. Rob buttoned his velvet flare pants, while his eyes tried to adjust to the daylight. It looked painful.
"Hey man," I said pleasantly.
"Hi. Don't... speak to me. Yet. Please."

After two bowls of cereals, he was almost back to normal.
"Did you go to the Monarch, then?" I asked.
"Yes. There and elsewhere."
"Was Vicky with you?"
"Yes, but she left early."
"Who was at the Monarch?"
"What is it to you?" Rob grumbled. "If you want to know something, just ask."
Big grumpy bear, with a bad hangover.
"What's up? You're never in a bad mood..."
"No, only when I witness some ridiculous behaviour. Like yours last night."
Damned, he remembered.
"What exactly do you mean?" I tried.
Rob sighed heavily.
"You know what I mean. You do what you want and it's none of my business. Fine. But that's different. I can't let it happen."
"Let what happen?" I couldn't remember the last time Rob had sounded serious.
"You and Hadrian. Not an option."
"We barely spoke, relax. I'm sure he's forgotten all about me, by now."
"I doubt it. He's not the type to forget, especially if he runs after someone."
"He didn't run after me!"
"Yes he did. I was watching him."
What was that glitter storm in my chest? Silly, silly me.
"In any case, he's an undead. I would never..."
"Yes you would. I saw you then, I see you now. It's only a matter of time."
I didn't like this. As if there was some inevitable fate. As if Rob knew me that well.
"You have no idea about who I am, then," I simply said.
There was a silence, the heavy type.
"Listen, I've known Hadrian for a long time. And there are stories about him," Rob finally said, giving the box of honey crumbles a gloomy look.
"What stories?"
"Well, I've heard that he has spent the last five years locked up somewhere. A sentence from the Court of Order, very rare. Why do you think they did that?"
I shrugged. I didn't want to care.
"I don't know. Do you?"
"No I don't, but..."
"So end of the discussion," I said, annoyed.
Why had I started this conversation in the first place? I thought, leaving the kitchen. I was trying to be angry with Rob, but I was the one exasperating myself, really.

Author's Note

Do you think this is a good opening chapter? Does it grab your attention? What about the style? Many thanks for your honest opinion.