My pet vampire

“Hey sexy!’ the man says suggestively, fully expecting the woman to get scared. Every woman who walks into a dark and abandoned alley at night would. But to his surprise, the sharply dressed woman answers him in the same tone of voice:

‘Well hello there, you’re not too bad either’.

The man, dressed in a not so expensive suit, is a little taken aback. Prey should be scared, not flirty. Especially not if the prey does not look like a woman of pleasure. Somehow his unconsciousness associates her more with pain. It’s probably the sharp cut of her white dress.

‘Maybe you and your friend on the fire escape are willing to accompany a defenseless woman home safely?’’ she suggests enticingly.

The second man jumps from the fire escape onto the woman, showing his fangs. He, however, seems to have miscalculated his landing, and lands with his foot in a sewer grate. The others hear his bone snap.

The woman grins. ‘Be careful, you might get hurt,’ she says with a smile.

The two men look at each other, not knowing how to react. The injured man awkwardly stretches his leg. Though his trouser leg is bloody, it does not seem to hurt him too much. Somehow, they find themselves escorting the lady home. They don’t exactly remember what happened inside, but they do know they liked it.

**Two nights later**

‘Dingdong’

Patricia looks at the cameras. An unknown man in a designer suit. Her facial recognition software identifies him as mister Clark, vampire, primogen of clan Ventrue of Antwerp. She syncs the images with the main security system supervised by Levi, alerting him that something out of the ordinary is happening. Just like a good little technocrat is supposed to. Then she pushes the button to open the door.

The man is very confident and a little condescending. ‘Hello miss. My name is mister Clark. I am here for a complaint.’

Patricia smiles. ‘Nice to meet you, mister Cl... ‘

The guy doesn’t even allow her to finish: ‘We had an agreement. Our kind and your kind. You broke it. I expect compensation.’

‘My kind?’

‘Mages, yes. Don’t pretend you are not one of them, I’m not that stupid. The deal was: You leave us alone and we leave you alone. You broke that deal. My men came home hurt. I expect compensation.’

Patricia suppresses a grin, sneaking an apologetic look at a security camera. “I must say I admire your courage, to come here all alone, if you think I am a mage. Do come in though, have a drink. I’m sure we can come to an agreement.’

The man finds himself in her living room, with a nice fresh glass of blood. “I’m sorry, that is very friendly of you, but my tastes are quite particular.’

“Do try, please”

After a sip, the vampire realizes she accidentally managed to get him the only kind of blood he likes. He realizes this should be a cause for concern. He keeps his tastes secret for a reason. But the mage is so friendly, so inviting, that he decides not to care.

In the early morning hours, the vampire feels he is completely compensated for his troubles. That little mage offered him a deal too good to refuse.

**Three years later**

The deal is working out well above expectations. That naive little mage is able to get him and his clanmates into some nice parties. The kind of high society parties the Toreador like to frequent and keep to themselves. The kind of parties that give you a lot of clout in the human world afterwards. The mage doesn’t seem to realize this. She is too inexperienced to realize how valuable these images can be. She just likes the pictures and video images for herself. Especially the ones of rich kids venturing out in this environment for the first time. Mr Clarke himself prefers the mature partygoers. Or mature. Depraved would be better word here. They have influential jobs. The vampire knows he has managed to gain advantage upon advantage in the vampire court thanks to this. The primogen of Antwerp has climbed the ladder and is now senechal of Flanders. All thanks to his lovely little mage thrall.

**One morning**

A women, dressed unobtrusively in a white winter coat walks through Antwerp Centre. She watches as the first rays of the sun enhance the golden beauty of the main square in front of the town hall. She greets a tired art student, who is guarding his camera that is making a 24h image of the beautiful square. It’s for an art project for a local museum, a future exhibition about the intertwining of science and art. The greeting startles the dozing student. He accidentally hits the sound recording button of the camera.

Two mercedesses drop off their owners at the town hall.

‘Thank God, there you are. You’re late.’

‘I’m sorry, I lost my watch. Last night was a bit busy. Had to drop something off in Brussel, you know, but it didn’t go as planned.’ The man pulls his sleeve over some scratches.

The other one nods. ‘I saw you leave with a boy, yes. I hoped you’d be here early, I need a favour. I had to pick up my wife from the hospital last night. She had an … accident. I think the doctor is going to be clever, I’ve met him before. But can you keep an eye out for me?’

‘Of course, don’t worry about it. We are both in this together, I have your back.’

The woman checks her messages: Thanks. Wife of mayor in hospital with bruising due to domestic abuse. Report copied by nurse. Pictures of chief of police with underage boy are very nice too. See you tonight, my dear.

Patricia looks at the police files of a 10 year old refugee boy, taken into custody two days before. The file, signed by the chief of police, says it is because he was under the influence of something. Since there was no guardian to be found, the boy was taken to the police station and was supposed to be sent to a refugee centre. However, the kid ran when the officer stopped for fuel.

**The next week**

The boy, speaking very little English and no Dutch or French, finds himself in an orphanage. He has no clue how he got here, but they take good care of him and the other kids. After a few days, when the ill effects of the drugs are gone and they figured out which language he speaks, he is questioned about the last few days. He only remembers pulling of a watch of someone.

The artstudent uploads his raw data into the cloud. Of course the settings are private. Since he only has to use the images, he doesn't even turn on the speakers.