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turned and began to hurry back to the crowds of workers. Kester sent a prayer of thanks up to God and prayed for forgiveness for lying to the man. It was for the greater good, though. He had probably just saved the foreman’s life. Catching his breath again, he began to run towards the sea. He rounded a corner and the man who had travelled across the causeway with him appeared from behind a broken-down fisherman’s shack. Kester stopped suddenly, inches from the man. Their eyes met, a mutual hatred registering between them.
                    ‘You should not have come here,’ said the man. His face was still smeared with blood from the original kill – the man who had allegedly fallen into the lime kiln. ‘You will be next. You know more than these folk do.’ He bared his teeth in a snarl and Kester started as he saw the fangs. His courage must not fail him. His fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger.
                    ‘ You should not have come here,’ Kester replied. ‘This is a holy place. There is no room for creatures such as yourself.’
                    ‘A holy place! Ha! I have travelled here from London town. I have killed in the very churchyard of St Paul’s in Knightsbridge, just streets from my home. Holiness does not matter to me.’
                    ‘London?’ said Kester, unable to stop himself. He remembered Summer, desperate to go to the family house in Grosvenor Square. Life is more exciting there , he remembered her saying, I have friends there .
    The man laughed. ‘I do not have to make conversation with you,’ he said. ‘You are worthless. I shall kill you, then kill the inhabitants of this pathetic little island one by one. The lime kilns can hide so much. The sea can wash away dead bodies. And maybe, if there is too much feasting to be had for myself alone, I shall summon my friends. Then, as I sit in my comfortable house replete, I might recall this little place fondly. I might even consider visiting another desolate, cut-off place. I hear the Scottish Isles are sparsely populated. I can spend quite some time there without drawing too much attention to myself.’ He laughed. ‘It is unfortunate, perhaps, that you have discovered me. Maybe I was rash. But I was hungry.’ He shrugged his elegant shoulders. ‘As I said, the time for conversation is over. It is time for you to die...’ He lunged at Kester, who swiftly ripped the dagger out of his waistband.
                    Kester felt the breath of the vampire on his face and smelled the rusty odour of metallic, salty blood as it came near to him. But he was quick. He raised the dagger, just as the creature’s hands grabbed his shoulders. Kester plunged the dagger into its body and threw himself to the side as the vampire screeched, disintegrating into dust only inches away from him.
                    ‘I’m not here for conversation,’ Kester said. He stared at the ash on the ground. At least he had killed this one. And the other one in London. He knew he could do it. And he felt a trip to Knightsbridge was imminent.
    ***
    Kester’s family had a house in Grosvenor Square, in London. Situated in Mayfair, it was one of the most prestigious addresses in the Capital. The Lawson’s owned a relatively small property in the Square, but it was still Grosvenor Square. Dukes, Duchesses and Members of Parliament were their neighbours. Summer had often been overwhelmed by the grandeur of the place. The carriages that rolled past the windows of the house transporting beautiful ladies and smart gentlemen had her in raptures. The houses seemed to swarm with servants, and the Lawson’s servants always seemed pleased to welcome the family, especially when they went to London for the Season. It still tugged at Kester’s heart strings when he remembered how excited his sister had been about her coming-out ball. It was to be held in London, and there,