Read Chapter 1 of M.T.’s debut novel The Fleshmarket Vampire below for free!

Chapter 1

With the cold night air biting at her lips and cheeks, Mercy soared above Edinburgh’s Old Town, gothic in its splendour and dramatic in its beauty.

Brightly lit sandstone buildings, charred black by centuries of industry pumping soot into the air and coating the town, passed below. Layer upon layer of building and rebuilding throughout the ages had resulted in a mishmash of architectural styles, and a multitude of closes and alleyways which now lead to nowhere. The city was in the process of being enveloped in the haar, the thick, gunky, low laying fog which would often roll in from the North Sea, just a few miles away.

Mercy reached one of her regular darker alleys just off a main road, set herself down, and joined the human revellers. Visibility was diminishing and people in the distance had become misty, poorly outlined silhouettes. Taking in the nightlife on her usual nightly stroll, she stopped outside the Surgeon’s Hall Museum and smiled as she studied the facade; a Neoclassical building in the Greek Revival style, it bore six large pillars as a dramatic welcome to visitors.

I remember when it was just an empty plot of land, before the Surgeons’ and Barbers’ old collection got so big it needed an entirely new building to house their curiosities.

She passed closed shops and the residential flats above which lined the streets, and she smiled at each partial conversation from those passing her, allowing the briefest snapshot of their lives.

She raised her hand in greeting when the familiar figure of Franky appeared from around the corner of the next block. He returned the gesture.

“Hey Franky. Thanks for meeting me tonight. How goes it?”

“No bad. How’s yourself?”

“Aye, fine, just out for a walk. Taking in some air, I love the haar,” she said staring off into the ethereal white bathed in an orange hue from the streetlights. “How are you?”

“Aye, I’m fine. The haar looks nice but the damp air isn’t good for my lungs. I was just checking on some people. You know Auld Bert? He’s dead. Knew him for years,” he said with slumped shoulders.

“When? Any idea of the cause?” she asked.

“You and your sense of empathy, Mercy,” Franky said, shaking his head. “A few weeks ago. I think it was the wee cold snap we just had. I only just found out.”

Mercy pursed her lips and nodded.

“And Auld Bert isn’t the only one. Annie’s dead as well,” Franky said as he ruffled his dishevelled brown hair with his hands.

“What happened to her?”

“Disappeared like the others,” Frank replied.

Fucking hell, Gabriel!

“You know I had nothing to do with it, don’t you?” she asked.

“I know, and I trust you,” he replied. “It’s bad enough when it happens to normal people, but when it happens to mine… you know they can’t fend for themselves. And they’re targeted more than most.”

“I know,” she said, stuffing her cold hands into the pockets of her denim jacket.

“I know we’ve spoken about this before, but I really need you to do something about this. Now more than ever. I don’t know what you can do. You’re such a bloody mystery all the time, but I know that you get things done. Whoever is doing this has to stop.”

“I know, Franky. I know. I’m on it.”

“Good. Anyway,” he said and puffed out his sunken cheeks, “will you have a job for me anytime soon?” he asked with hope in his voice.

“Actually, I do,” she replied. “His name is Thomas Briggs. Forty-five. Lives in Stockbridge, near the supermarket on Comely Bank Road apparently. He’s a person I’m interested in. Find out all about him. The usual. Here is his picture a contact of mine gave me. You’ll find it useful,” she said and handed over a file containing a pen, blank pieces of paper, and a photo.

“Did this contact bring him to your attention?”

“Aye,” she replied. “Call me when you have something for me.”

“Aye, will do.”

“Do you need anything in the meantime?” she asked.

“Some spending money would be handy.”

“Here,” she said, digging into her wallet and producing £100 in 10s.

“Cheers. I’ll be in touch soon,” he said as he took the money and walked away.

Mercy continued her journey, approaching the crossroads between North Bridge and the Royal Mile. The headlights of the cars illuminated those who passed by along with the eerie whiteness of the fog. A car momentarily highlighted the hazy figures of four young men as they stood over a homeless old man sitting cross-legged under a raggedy tartan blanket.

She focused on the conversation as she approached.

The four men were laughing.

“Come on, we’ll find you someone, and if you win, you’ll get… what?” one of them said as he turned to his friends. “£100? Yeah? Does £100 sound good, mate? We’ll make it a fair fight. We’ll find you someone as skinny and haggard as you!” he said as his three friends sniggered.

Mercy picked up her pace as the bully nudged the homeless man with his polished shoe.

“Hey there,” she said, distracting the bully and his friends. She smiled a sweet and friendly smile.

“Well hello darling! What can I do for a fine girl like you?” the bully replied with a grin, sweeping his perfectly coiffed hair to the side.

Mercy maintained her smile. She stared at the three young men behind the bully, smug grins smeared on their faces.

“You three; stand still like statues and stay silent.”

The bully’s three friends stiffened their posture with expressionless faces.

“And you,” she addressed the bully, her smile fading. She pointed at the two-foot-wide portion of brick wall between the large glass windows of the closed shops. “Smash your face off that brick wall with full force repeatedly until I tell you to stop.”

The bully walked to the wall and repeatedly slammed his head against the brickwork.

The delicious smell of blood filled the air. Mercy pulled out her signature vivid red lipstick as the face of the bully started to leave bloody smears on the wall. She reapplied another coat of lipstick using the darkened shop window as a mirror, ensuring there were no smudges, and then straightened her half-up, half-down ponytail. She then turned back to the bully.

“Stop.”

The man stopped and turned to face her. His nose was broken and wedged to the side of his face. There were deep cuts above both eyebrows and blood dripped onto his white shirt.

She licked her lips.

“Where do you live?” she asked.

“The Shore,” the bully replied.

“That’s a few miles away. Take your shoes and socks off and give them to the homeless man.”

The bully complied and removed his expensive leather shoes.

“You three,” she addressed the bully’s friends. “You are all going to go to the centre of St Andrews Square in the New Town, and you’re going to kick the shit out of each other. You’re not going to stop until the police arrive. All four of you are going to forget me and this meeting.”

“Hey! These are size 9s! My size!” the homeless man said, studying his new footwear.

“It must be your lucky day,” she said. “And as for you,” she addressed the barefoot bully whose expensive cotton shirt was becoming increasingly stained red. “You are going to walk home and you are going to kick every lamppost you pass with full force with both feet. If by the time you get home all your toes aren’t broken, you’re going to break them yourself with your own hands. Now, all four of you, fuck off.”

The bully and his three friends walked away in silence without registering one another. They crossed the North Bridge over Waverley Train Station and disappeared into the fog.

Her attention returned to the homeless man who was giggling at the men who were wandering away.

That’s a new face. I don’t recognise him.

“Thank you, young lady!” he said with a broken-toothed smile.

“Young lady?” she asked with a smile as she dipped her hand into her black denim trousers. She withdrew her wallet and produced a crisp £20 note.

“’Old fishwife’ if ye like, hen,” he responded, his smile morphing into a mischievous grin.

“The air is damp tonight. Have you got a place indoors?” she asked as she pressed the note into his palm.

“Emmm, no hen,” he said as he unfurled the note to look at it. “Awww, that’s really generous of ye!”

“Want me to put you in touch with someone?”

“Naw, naw, it’s OK, hen. It’s no too cold tonight,” he said, his smile widening.

The sound of car tyres screeching in the distance and a woman briefly screaming tore her attention from him.

She followed the direction of the sound onto the High Street section of the Royal Mile and onwards to Cockburn Street, pronounced “Coeburn”. She followed the cobblestone-covered road as it wound down a steep slope and turned to the left.

In front of her a black taxi was stopped in the middle of the road, its hazard lights flashing. The driver was hovering over someone as a couple of revellers rushed over.

Mercy casually strolled over to survey the scene, the smell of blood once again fresh in the air. The driver was on the phone and a well-heeled elderly couple were perched over a man in his late teens lying on the cobblestones. Slender in build, with short light brown hair, the man stared intently to his left. He then looked up at Mercy.

His desperation was all too familiar. His heartbeat rang strong in Mercy’s ears.

“Stop… him,” the man said.

Mercy turned her head in the direction the stricken man had been staring: Fleshmarket Close.

She approached the close and peered down the set of steps. In the distance was the unmistakably gothic appearance of Gabriel, walking with his arm around his latest meal.

Gabriel then grabbed the woman and disappeared into the darkness of the night sky.

Sparing a second to ensure there were no eyes on her, Mercy shot into the air. Hovering a few hundred feet above the Old Town, Mercy scanned the skies for Gabriel, but he was gone in the haar. Whilst still in the air, Mercy turned her attention to the man. Now unconscious, with more people having arrived, she continued to stare from her hidden place, cloaked in darkness and fog.

Christ, it was like looking at Josef again. That expression on his face as he looked up at me. Only Josef would have had the guts to go after Gabriel like that. Is this sorry guy the opportunity I’ve been looking for?

“If you live, you’re going to change everything,” she said with a smile as the flashing lights of the ambulance approached the scene.

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