Candidate Pool

The traffic light turned red, and the pedestrians milled across the road like bewildered cows.

Ruth Walton swallowed; her throat clicked. She was an old pro at job interviews by now, though not at actually getting the damn job. And yet her hands were sweaty, and her heart rapped its knuckles against the closed casket of her ribs. The thing was, she was desperate. She’d drained her savings to pay the last few months’ rent, and now she needed a paycheck soon. Otherwise, she’d be out on the streets soon. Ruth glanced at her watch as she followed the herd.

Eight thirty-seven.

Most of her interviews also started at nine.

But this was the first one to take place at night.

The rest of the cattle split right and left along the main road.

Ruth squeezed between a kebab shop and an employment agency and took Old Castle Road.

It was a narrow side street wide enough for a motorcycle, but not two side by side. Here, as the path wound its way up the mountain, the buildings were older and wonkier. They leaned over the road like nosy neighbours peering over the garden fence. The buildings gave way to the forest, which was also wonky. In the dense foliage, things rustled, and eyes watched. Strange calls, unrecognisable to the human ear, whispered between bushes. Now and then, a louder cry rent the air. Out here, the town’s streetlight glow failed to penetrate the canopy of the trees. Only thin shafts of moonlight angled between the leaves.

Ruth shivered. She wasn’t scared, but her blazer-and-jumpsuit combo wasn’t the warmest. But she did look damn professional in it. Ruth considered it her lucky suit. She’d worn it to every interview so far. At this point, it was more tradition than strategy.

Through gaps in the trees, the castle came into focus. Its spires jabbed at the heart of the sky. Its glass eyes were aglow, watching Ruth’s progress through the woods. Against the waking stars, it looked like a shadow.

There was a flutter in her belly. Gran had always warned her against coming up here. Gran had also insisted Ruth wear a garlic necklace when she visited, much to Mum’s dismay. And yet the only thing Ruth could think of was: whoever owned such a place must be rich. And rich folk, in her experience, were always unpleasant to the likes of her. If she got this job, would it be a soul-crushing, draining experience?

Well, it wasn’t like she had a choice. And so what if Stigr Boycee was an ancient vampire? Ruth had worked for worse. At least vampires were upfront about their nature. And it seemed unlikely Stigr would follow her on Instagram and like all her holiday pictures.

Ruth emerged from the treeline in a crackle of twigs.

The castle stood, the moon half obscured behind a tower. Atop a rusted weathervane, an owl hooted and then took off. In the courtyard before the main doors, an old water fountain stood, its cherubs lost beneath moss. One of the side doors stood open, spilling golden light across the weathered cobbles.

Ruth whistled. It was a fancy place, all right. With a bit of polish, it could shine. Assuming it didn’t eat the staff. She felt a bolt of confidence. Ruth would be a great choice for this job – she already knew where she’d start. Get the fountain flowing again, fill the courtyard with trickling sounds. She approached the doors.

‘INTER-VIEWS THIS WAYE’ read a handwritten sign with a calligraphic arrow beneath.

Well. That inspired confidence.

Inside was a corridor lined with ornate chairs. Paintings of ancestors who’d been dead since the 1600s hung in carved frames. An old, moth-eaten Persian rug ran the length of the hall. The light came from gaslamps sconced in the walls. A solitary man – more of a boy – sat by himself. He smiled at Ruth from behind his thick glasses. ‘I like to be early,’ he squeaked.

Ruth smiled and took a seat. She nodded to the closed door. ‘Is anyone—?’

‘No,’ said the boy. ‘We’re the first.’ He lifted his flashcards. ‘Do you mind if I practise?’

Ruth shook her head. ‘Go ahead.’

The boy cleared his throat and flipped to the top card. ‘Why do you want this job?’ he said. ‘I want this job because I-I-I—’ He started again, louder this time. ‘I’ve always wanted to support senior leadership in a fast-paced nocturnal environment.’ He swallowed. ‘And I believe my skills would be a valuable addition to the team.’

Ruth blinked.

The boy flipped to the next card, hands trembling. ‘What are your weaknesses?’ He winced. ‘Sometimes I work too hard. Sometimes I care too much.’

Ruth resisted a chuckle.

The smell arrived before the man did. It hit the corridor like a chemical weapon – aftershave layered over something desperate. Shoes click-clacked along the stone, then softened against the rug. ‘So this is the competition, huh?’

Ruth looked up, not wanting to make eye contact with the animal.

The man wore an off-the-rack suit. He had faux-leather shoes, hair slicked back like a goodfella, and a shiny watch that looked more like a clock. He wore enough aftershave to knock out a small elephant. He didn’t sit so much as occupy a chair. ‘Big opportunity here,’ he said. ‘I can feel it.’

Ruth said nothing.

The door at the end of the corridor creaked open. A voice followed – sharp enough to draw blood from the air. ‘First. Enter.’

Ruth’s eyes widened.

The boy squeaked and dropped his flashcards.

Ruth pointed to the boy with her chin. ‘I think he was—’

‘I’ll take it,’ said the man, already on his feet. He flashed finger-guns. ‘Save you both the disappointment.’ He winked. ‘It’s all about confidence. People can smell it on you. Tell ’em what you want and why you deserve it.’

Ruth glanced back at the boy. ‘But—’

He pushed through the door without waiting. ‘Now, here’s what I’m thinking, Vlad—’

Ruth sighed. ‘Fine.’

The scream cut him off. Short. Wet. Final.

Ruth stayed where she was.

Something hit the floor. The boy whimpered. Silence followed. The door opened again. ‘Next.’

She locked eyes with the boy and pointed to the open door. ‘Do you want to?’

The boy shook his head so hard his glasses slipped.

Ruth nodded and rose to her feet. ‘Right.’ She paused beside him. ‘Maybe call someone to pick you up. This place seems pretty cut-throat.’

The boy looked up at her. ‘B-but… I prepared flashcards!’

As if those had ever saved anyone.

Stigr Boycee sat behind his desk, wiping blood from his face. Goodfella – or what remained of him – lay sprawled to the side. The vampire followed her eyes to the body and smiled, a smile with far too many teeth. ‘I do not like that kind,’ he said. ‘Too… full of himself.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Ruth, quieter than she had intended.

He dabbed at his mouth. ‘Now I am full of him.’

Ruth blinked. Flashy confidence had not won him over. This role could be the job she was looking for. Working for a blood-sucking creature would be less painful than customer service. At least Stigr didn’t dress it up to be better than it was.

The vampire gestured to a seat. ‘Sit. Please.’

Ruth sat, smiling. ‘Thanks.’

Stigr steepled his fingers atop the desk. ‘Before we begin,’ he said, ‘you must understand. This is first of three interviews. If you do well, you will work one month. Practice. No pay. We see if you are, how you say, good fit.’

‘O-Oh,’ said Ruth. ‘Unpaid?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

Ruth looked at the body. Then back at him. ‘And if I’m not a good fit?’

Stigr smiled.

Ruth took a breath. Rent. Bills. Silence from every other employer. She straightened her blazer. ‘I’m very excited about the opportunity.’

Stigr’s smile widened. He gestured to the body. ‘Good. We begin with small task.’

Ruth nodded.

‘Of course.’