"Yeah, probably," he grinned, making not the slightest effort to hide them at all. I shook my head in mock disapproval.
"Let's go."
We strolled through the house towards the front door, only to find Fergus waiting there for us.
"Picked him up a few minutes ago on the security system," he explained briefly. I nodded. I didn't need to ask him why he hadn't let us know. Fergus knew that Oliver and I would have picked up his thoughts before he made it anywhere near the front door.
"I think he's going to ask us for help," said Oliver as I opened the door and stepped outside. "There's no aggression or malice in his thoughts. Not to us anyway."
"Oh good," said Fergus dryly, as he and Oliver followed me outside into the grey, wintry afternoon. We stood on the gravel that skirted the house and waited, motionless.
He stepped out from behind a few elderly trees just to the south of the house, fifty metres from where we stood. He remained standing just in front of those trees, watching us cautiously. There was no need for him to come closer. Our iron-enhanced visual acuity meant we could see him as clearly as if he stood a few metres away from us.
He cradled two bulky shotguns, one in each arm, holding them casually as if they were extensions of his own body. He was tall and strong looking, but what struck me like a hammer was his resemblance to Mark. He had the same wheat blonde hair and sky blue eyes. He looked like Mark would in a few years' time, and then for a couple of centuries after that.
And then I realised who this vampire was, and more importantly, why he was here.