I turned to look at the woman who’d grabbed my arm.

She was quite young - not much older than me, perhaps early thirties - but her eyes seemed aged beyond her years. They were a pale shade of grey, the whites marbled with red lines, and as such, they were the most distinctive part of her appearance. This was saying a lot, considering that her face was dotted with scars of different shapes, sizes and depths - with so much variation that it was hard to believe that they’d all come from the same source. She wore a long, dark beige trench coat, fraying at its edges, revealing only a pair of large dirty leather boots at her feet.

I tugged my arm away, but was unable to pull myself from her grasp.

‘You’re strong,’ I murmured.

‘So I’m told,’ she replied.

At this moment, the vampire took advantage of the distraction and began to ran away. Instinctively, I moved to chase after her, but the woman stopped me.

‘Leave it,’ she muttered.

‘It’s a vamp!’ I retorted, my face twisting with incredulity.

‘Leave it!’ the woman repeated, more forceful this time.

‘Why?’ I replied, also raising my voice.

The woman stared at me for a moment before replying, looking me up and down as though sizing me up. ‘Company orders.’

I looked over as the vampire dashed around a corner, out of sight. To think I’d hurt myself so badly chasing after a vamp, only to be told I had to let it go…

I turned back to the woman, nostrils flared.

‘Looks like you’re hurt,’ she commented, nodding to my hand. I looked down at it; the skin was white from how tightly I was still gripping the stake, but lines of red ran down it, dripping off my fingers and the wooden point of the weapon. With a tip... tap the blood trickled down onto the hard concrete on which the fairground had been erected, some of the drops splashing on to my shoes.

‘It’s nothing,’ I lied.

The woman pulled a roll of bandage from her coat and began to unravel some, ripping an appropriate amount off with her teeth. When she saw me staring, she added, ‘I come prepared.’

When she pulled back my sleeve, we both saw the amount of broken glass still wedged into my skin.

She sighed, shook her head, and said, ‘I can’t patch this up here. You’ll need to come in.’

‘Come in?’ I asked. ‘Come in where?’

‘You know where. Siren. If you don’t come back, I can’t-’

My eyes glazed over. ‘I’ll tell you what I told them: I’m not interested. And I don’t even know you, mate, what makes you think I’m gonna do what you tell me to?’

She took a step back, signed to herself. ‘You’re right. I’ve started this badly; I’ll admit when I’m in the wrong.’

The woman stuck out her hand so forcefully that it felt like a challenge.

‘Ava Ondieka. Head of Special Division at Siren.’

I took her hand, shook it.

‘I don’t suppose there’s any point in me introducing myself, is there?’

Ava shook her head. ‘There is not.’

We released hands and a silence came over us. I remained still, not speaking - feeling as though Ava was challenging me to speak first. Finally, she buckled.

‘You’re going to come in eventually, you know.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, am I?’

She pressed her lips into a smile. ‘So I am told. With great authority, supposedly.’

‘You’re referring to this prophecy they were chatting about?’

‘I am,’ she replied, and once again let a silence sweep over us.

In the distance, I could hear the sound of traffic passing down Mile End Road - all the honks, horns and screeches that come with driving in central London.

Ava took out a pack of cigarettes and a zippa, lighting the former using the latter with all the finesse and flourish it deserved.

‘Look, I don’t know much about it. Just what they tell me,’ she finally said.

‘And what’s that?’

She shrugged, took a puff of her cigarette. ‘Normally? Only what I need to know. All I apparently need to know about this prophecy is that it says that you’ll be joining us. Tonight.’

I pulled a face. ‘Oh yeah? Who says? I dunno about you, but to me, the whole idea of a prophecy sounds like a load of shit.’

‘Ahh…,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I used to think this too. But, without fail, every prophecy I have ever encountered has come true. This one will, too.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘What?’

‘Make your case.’

‘I’m no salesman,’ she replied.

‘I gathered.’

She said nothing, instead approaching me, and gently grabbing my hand. She pulled it - and the stake it was holding - up to her face.

‘You whittle this yourself?’

‘Yeah.’

Next, she reached towards my neck. I recoiled slightly, but, not wanting to demonstrate any sign of fear in front of this woman, forced myself to remain steady. Ava slipped her gloved hand down the back of my neck, and pulled forth my necklace - silver, with a large Christian cross at the front.

‘Snap,’ she murmured, pulling forwards her own necklace with her free hand. ‘Although, mine isn’t silver; I’m not a fan.’

Ava let go of both necklaces, allowing them to fall to our chests.

‘Do you know why vampires are repelled by them? It’s not what people normally assume, that-’

‘It’s not because they’re infused with religious power, or faith, or whatever,’ I continued for her. ‘They’re not. In fact, it’s precisely for this reason that vampires hate them so much. They represent something much more powerful than them - that something as seemingly insignificant as a lump of silver can hold so much meaning for so many. It’s that which vampires can’t abide.’

‘In a word?’ Ava prompted me.

I tried and failed to repress the smile that crossed my face. ‘Love.’

Ava returned the smile. ‘Exactly.’

And then, without hesitation, having lulled me into a false sense of security, she dropped the bombshell.

‘Your Mum taught you well. I bet you’d want to find the vamp that killed her, eh?’

With the mention of my mother, any semblance of happiness left my face. ‘Don’t.’

‘That’s the thing about Siren, you see. There’s no end to the amount of supernatural information they have at their disposal. It’s beyond even your wildest dreams. If you were to have any chance of finding this vamp, then-’

‘I’ll find him. By myself,’ I replied, but even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew that they were a lie.

‘No, Myles, you won’t. And this is exactly why you’ll follow me.’

With that, Ava turned her back on me, and began walking out of the park. I remained still for a moment, watching her go, but as she was about to leave my sight, I found myself following her.

God damn it.

 

Ava drove a fully equipped BMW, which purred near-silently along the roads of London. At this time of night, the streets were quiet, and I got to witness the full experience of being in such a high-end vehicle. We glided down the main roads back to Soho, taking us through the city, with those tall, glass skyscrapers refracting the very first of the morning light, and then past Trafalgar Square, under the gaze of the pigeons and the early-starting tourists.

We finally pulled in around the back of St Paul’s Church - a few minutes’ walk from the Siren office, but apparently also the only parking spot that Ava had been able to reserve on a daily basis. We walked in silence down New Row, between the old pubs and the new coffee chains, until we arrived at the Siren office on St Martin’s Lane.

‘Welcome back, John,’ the receptionist greeted me. It took me a moment to realise that this was the same man from the first time I’d walked in here - under far from sincere pretences. I smiled back at him and wished him well, while Ava shot me a bemused expression. I signed my name - John, in this case - and was waived through.

At the elevators, Ava turned to me. ‘This is where I leave you.’

‘What? Why?’ I asked.

‘You’ve got an interview to go to.’

I raised an eyebrow and glanced down at my informal all-black outfit. ‘Thanks for warning me.’

‘No problem,’ Ava replied, as though I’d been being sincere. ‘It’ll be no problem for you, I’m sure - even without sleep.’

This wasn’t a particularly helpful reminder of the growing aching in my thighs.

‘I’ll be fine. This won’t be the first night I haven’t slept.’

Ava pulled a face and stepped into the elevator. ‘Fourth floor,’ she called out as the doors closed between us.

OK…

I pressed the button, calling another elevator to my floor. I glanced over to the man on security, and he flashed me another smile.

When I arrived on the fourth floor, I stepped out into a quiet atrium, lined with long sofas at its perimeter. Several people, who were dotted, alone, around the room, eyed me up warily.

Are these… interviewees?

Not knowing quite where I was supposed to go next, I sat down at the edge of the nearest sofa - at the opposite end of it to an older man who looked at me with what I could only describe as a snarl. He picked up his bag, put it on his lap, and slid about as far away from me as he could while still remaining on the same sofa.

What’s his problem? Was it the way I was dressed? Or the big, black rings around my eyes?

Opposite, a young woman was sitting watching the situation unfold over her glasses and the top of a large, leather-bound book. I made eye contact with her and pulled a face which I’d hoped said something along the lines of “get a load of this guy!”

Instead of responding, smiling, or even expressing anything of any kind, the woman simply looked back down at her book and continued to read.

‘Big laugh you lot are,’ I murmured, and this, at least, elicited an expression from the woman opposite - one of irritation. Her scowled penetrated me for a few seconds, and I stared her down, looking right back into those cold, blue eyes.

It wasn’t long before someone arrived who actually seemed to know what was going on. It was an older gentleman, who hobbled in from a room supported by a cane, and had the general vibe, aura, and fashion sense of a geography teacher. He held with him a wad of papers.

‘Welcome! Welcome!’ he announced, before slowly sitting down on the nearest sofa, gasping as he took his weight off his feet. ‘I trust you have all been explained how we operate our interviews here at Siren PR. I will be your first-’

‘I haven’t been explained anything,’ I blurted out.

The older gentleman’s head turned to face me. ‘Ah. OK…’ He began to leaf slowly through the papers he was grasping. ‘Let’s see here… You’ll have to forgive me, I’m old, you see - it’s all pen and paper with me.’

He continued to thumb through the papers, while the other interviewees glared at me. Finally, the man reached the end of his stack.

‘I don’t seem to have your file. You are…’

‘Myles. Abiel,’ I replied.

‘Ah!’ the man responded, a metaphorical light bulb illuminating over his head. ‘You’re that candidate. Ava was supposed to…’

He trailed off for a moment.

‘Never mind,’ he said, throwing out his previous train of thought. ‘Here is the short version: At Siren, we put our interviewees through a series of tasks - most as a group, some individual. We’ll monitor how you each respond to the problems put in front of you, and by the end of the day, will have a decision made on who to hire, and who… not to.’

The man looked over to me and gave me a wink.

‘But a man with a prophecy behind him should do just fine.’

I could feel the young woman’s glare without having to look over at her - but I did anyway.

Once again, she met my gaze for a moment before dropping it.

Myles 2 - 0 weird woman.

The man began to pull himself to his feet. The woman, who was closest to him, managed to beat the rest of us in rushing to his aid.

Suck up.

As the man began to walk towards a nearby door, he waved for us to follow. ‘The reason you’ve been sent up to the fourth floor? It’s where we keep our library.’

The man tapped on the doors behind him.

‘Just behind these doors is a near-infinite library of supernatural knowledge, amassed over centuries by the finest minds that this world has to offer. In here, you will begin your first test, set by myself, Percy Ilandor, Head of Research and Classification here at Siren.’

Percy paused, and flashed us a wide smile. ‘Ready or not…’

He opened the doors and waved us all inside. The woman who’d been glaring was the first in, followed by another, older woman who I hadn’t met yet. Following her, the man who had pulled away from me on the sofa, and then - last but not least - myself.

This room was indeed a library - but not how I imagined it. Where I had pictured tall, dusty bookshelves, filled with ageing tomes, there was instead huge screens displaying vast quantities on information. Where I had imagined large desks with dim lamps, there were touch screen computers. Where I had imagined a massive librarian’s desk in the middle of the room, there was only a roaring minotaur bound to a pillar.

Huh.

It was just like the legends: half man, half bull, but its temperament was more like the latter. Huge, sharp horns protruded from it head, scratching at the pillar as it tossed and turned.

When it noticed us, it roared again, louder than before, spitting saliva onto the floor in front. The older woman staggered backwards slightly, caught off-guard by the sight before her.

At our rear, the door bolted shut - huge electronic locks clicking into place. The man watched it happen with his mouth screwed up, and then turned to the rest of us.

‘Well, shit,’ he said.

I nodded. ‘Took the words out of my mouth.’

Percy’s voice began echoing around the room through the speakers planted in each corner. ‘Your first task: use the knowledge contained in this room to kill that minotaur.’

The young woman raised her hand to speak. Before she had a chance to begin, Percy interrupted her.

‘Yes, miss King. This one is evil. This one you’re allowed to kill. But can you?’