Her Vampyrrhic Heart

  Somehow he found the strength to move. Still gripping the phone in one hand, he fled into the forest, not knowing in which direction he was headed. Then, at last, he glimpsed the farm in the distance. That was where Jez lived. It was closer than Kit’s home, so he put his head down and ran. Instinct told him to make for the house of his friend.

  After that, he could take his phone to the police. The phone contained footage of an extraordinary creature. And he’d also caught images of the extraordinary woman who had saved his life. When the police saw that film they’d have to believe him when he told them that Danby-Mask faced the greatest danger in the history of its existence. The vampires were coming. They would bring war and destruction.

  SIXTY-TWO

  In the moonlight, the farm was clearly visible across the snow-covered fields. Kit’s breath erupted from his mouth in billowing explosions of white. Images spun inside his head. Of a creature the size of a truck: how it moved with shark-like grace through the trees. He also saw Freya in his mind’s eye, the thick Rapunzel plait swinging as she tried to stop the creature reaching him.

  Kit climbed fences, sprinted across meadows, his legs hurting from having run so far and so fast. His heart pounded. In his pocket was the phone with the precious footage. Proof that a monster existed in the valley. Somehow he had to get this to the police. What then? They’d call in the army, perhaps? Along with attack helicopters loaded with guided missiles. In any event, Helsvir wouldn’t be his problem any more. By the time he reached the isolated farm he’d slowed to a plodding jog. An upstairs light burned. That was Jez’s bedroom. Thank God, he’s home.

  Just as he entered the farmyard a figure darted from the shadows. He stopped dead, his heart lurching. A moment later he smiled.

  Freya smiled back. For the first time it seemed such a warm, human smile. Kit knew she didn’t have to explain anything. She’d no doubt followed his prints in the snow. In any event, they were together again: that was all that mattered.

  Without having to say a word they walked side-by-side, smiling at one another as they went. Kit decided that there would be a way to help Freya and make her human again. There had to be some method of driving the vampirism from her body. Then they’d be together as two human beings who cared for one another.

  Kit decided to attract Jez’s attention in the same way he’d done when they were boys. He picked up a piece of gravel from the yard, drew back his arm and lightly threw it up at the glass pane. Kit knew that things were looking up. Everything’s going to be OK.

  SIXTY-THREE

  When Jez looked out of the window he knew that everything would be far, far from OK.

  His parents had left the house a short while ago to help repair the milking equipment at the depot half a mile away. Meanwhile, the pain still raged in the snapped bone in his forearm. More vodka and more painkillers had gone down his throat. Sweat poured out of his face, panic crackled through him. As he paced the bedroom every noise made him grab for the shotgun. So when he heard the tap of the stone against the glass he hurled himself at the gun, snatched it up and felt his drug- and booze-fuelled anxiety levels go screaming through the roof.

  Because of the cast, he had to carry the shotgun in one hand as if it were an enormous pistol.

  Jez flung open the window and screamed, ‘Go away! Leave me alone! The accident wasn’t my fault!’

  A surprised voice responded with, ‘Jez. It’s me, Kit. What’s wrong?’

  In his wild paranoia, Jez Pollock believed that the police had sent Kit Bolter to trick him into opening the door. Then the cops would surge in to chain him, before dragging him away to jail for killing the people on the bus.

  But this is Kit, he thought, sweating. Kit’s my friend. I can trust him with my life …

  He leaned forward through the open window. Piercingly cold air drenched his face.

  Then he saw … dear God, he saw … A terrifying figure lurked down there. It stood just to one side of Kit, and a yard or so behind. Bright moonlight clearly revealed a pair of stark, white eyes. The phantom had been a woman once – his drug-muddled brain decided that much. A blond plait hung down over her full breasts. But the eerie whiteness of the skin told him this individual was no longer human. What was more, the way she – it – stared at Kit suggested to Jez Pollock that she would attack.

  ‘Kit! Run!’ Jez rested the gun barrel over’ the cast on his arm. ‘Kit, move out of the way! I’m going to fire!’

  Kit ran forward with his hands held up. ‘Jez! For Godsakes!’

  Jez fired. He’d loaded the gun with bird shot. The weapon now spat a lethal cluster of pellets at hundreds of miles an hour.

  ‘GOT HER!’ Jez yelled in triumph.

  The shotgun blast knocked the she-monster off her feet. She crashed to the ground. What Jez hadn’t anticipated was the way the pellets would spread out as they hurtled through the air. With a cry, Kit flung his hands up to his face.

  When the gun smoke cleared, he saw both the stranger and Kit lying there, motionless in the frozen yard.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  Jez Pollock stood at the bedroom window. His ears still hurt from the loud bang when he fired the shotgun just seconds ago. Lying there, sprawled on the cold earth, his friend Kit and the stranger. Jez stared down at the pair. The woman wasn’t wearing any shoes. In sub-zero temperatures, like this? No shoes … and only a thin orange dress. He swayed drunkenly as he told himself: I killed them both with one shot. A murderer … that’s what I am …

  As if he moved through an eerie dream, he went downstairs, opened the front door and stepped out into the moonlit yard. Everything seemed so still, so silent, so wrapped up in death. First of all, he approached the stranger. She lay flat on her back. Her eyes were closed. Black veins snaked beneath her skin. The creature seemed to gleam whiter than the surrounding snow. A dozen or so marks dotted her face. This would be where the shotgun pellets had struck her.

  ‘Where’s the blood?’ he asked himself, dazed. ‘There should be blood.’

  The prospect of touching the corpse with his bare fingers filled him with disgust, so he prodded her with the gun. Without a sound, she abruptly sat up. Her eyes opened – they were white, all white, apart from strange black pupils.

  Then something even more bizarre happened. When he realized what he saw with his own eyes he thought he’d vomit. Black spots formed on her face. He saw these begin to swell, as if he watched speeded-up film of a branch coming into bud. The spots grew bigger. They bulged. Something grey and rounded emerged from the skin on her cheek.

  What he initially took to be some kind of hard-shelled parasite crawling out of her face was, he realized, a lead pellet. More appeared from the cheeks, forehead and chin. The woman’s flesh was actually pushing out the bullets. He watched with a stomach-churning blend of fascination and horror. The pellets emerged from the wounds before falling into her lap as she sat there.

  Quickly, he chambered another round. An instinct for self-preservation demanded that he blow her head right off. He aimed the gun at her from a distance of ten inches. Her bare arm flashed in the moonlight. He felt an enormous wrench as she swept the shotgun from his hands. The gun clattered away into the shadows.

  Fast as a panther, she leapt to her feet. The creature sped forward. Jez raised his arm with the heavy cast, ready to use it as a club. However, she darted towards Kit. Throwing herself down, she cradled his head in her hands. When she saw the blood on his face she arched her back, her mouth opened wide, revealing glinting teeth. For a moment, she appeared to fight some inner battle. With a sudden shriek of anger, she jumped to her feet. Before Jez had even thought of retrieving the gun she’d fled. At enormous speed, she sprinted across the field in the direction of the forest.

  A groan caught his attention. Kit had raised himself on to one elbow. Blood streamed down his face, soaking his fleece. Jez felt such a surge of relief it was like an explosion in his chest.

  ‘You’ll be alright,’ he panted as he tried to help hi
s friend to his feet. When he pulled with his broken arm Jez felt such agony he screamed. Even though the pain sickened him he knew he couldn’t leave his friend out here. Even if the wound didn’t kill him the cold would.

  Jez grabbed hold of one of Kit’s wrists with his good hand. Jez had grown up moving heavy straw bales and carrying sacks of feed. Now those years of hard physical work on the farm paid off. With one hand, alone, he pulled Kit to the house and through the open front door. Once they were both inside in the warmth he locked the door, grabbed coats from the pegs and covered Kit from head to foot. For a moment, he fumbled with the first-aid kit before realizing he didn’t have a hope in hell of being able to dress Kit’s wounds – his fingers had all the dexterity of a fistful of frozen sausages.

  Instead, he ran to the telephone, and while Kit lay groaning on the hallway floor he made the call.

  ‘Owen!’ He almost cried with relief when he heard his friend’s voice. ‘Owen, listen. Something terrible’s happened … Kit’s been hurt. I shot him, I didn’t mean to … I’ve shot him in the face. You’ve got to help me!’

  SIXTY-FIVE

  The journey to Pollock’s farm would take no more than five minutes. Owen Westonby sat with Eden Taylor in the back of the taxi.

  ‘You didn’t have to come with me,’ Owen told her.

  ‘They’re your friends, so I’ll do what I can to help.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I might come across as a posh girl, but I’m not afraid to get stuck in and do what I can.’

  Owen nodded his thanks. Right at that moment, he could hardly bring himself to speak. When Jez called to say that he’d shot Kit he felt as if his own breath had been blasted out of his lungs. He’d been sitting with Eden in her parents’ impressively lavish kitchen, talking and laughing when – BANG – that devastating call had come. Of course, he decided to head over to Jez’s straight away. Old loyalties were rock solid. If his friends were in trouble then he’d help. No questions asked. No hesitation. Of course, he’d not told the taxi driver the reason for the trip to Pollock’s farm. For most of the journey he and Eden hadn’t said a word. They sat there holding hands while silently wondering what bloody catastrophe awaited them.

  When they arrived at the farm Owen paid the driver and, as the taxi swept away into the night, they ran to the door. Owen pounded the woodwork with his fist.

  When the door swung open Owen flinched at the sight of Jez. The teenager’s face had been shockingly bruised in the accident on Saturday night. Now, a wide-eyed expression of sheer horror made the discoloured face even more shocking.

  ‘Owen … he’s through there. I-I think he’s dying.’ His bloodshot eyes rolled in Eden’s direction.

  ‘This is Eden,’ Owen told him quickly. ‘You can trust her.’

  Jez grunted. ‘I killed the woman. She came back to life. I shot her in the face, and she got up and walked away.’

  ‘OK, Jez. First things first. Where’s Kit?’

  They followed Jez who lurched drunkenly along the hallway. Owen glanced at Eden. He guessed that, like him, she was puzzled by the bizarre statement about a woman coming back to life. However, he knew that Jez had been prescribed strong painkillers; the kid’s brain must be flooded with powerful chemicals that were muddling his thoughts.

  They found Kit Bolter lying on the hallway floor. His face had gone a strange, papery white. Even the texture of the skin appeared different.

  Owen knelt down beside him and touched his face. ‘Damn it … he’s like ice.’

  Eden knelt down at the other side. ‘He’s going into shock.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Jez leaned against the wall. ‘Have you seen the blood?’

  Eden quickly checked the side of Kit’s face, her sharp eyes examining the puncture wounds where the pellets had struck him. ‘Ah …’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Owen’s heart beat faster as fear got its teeth into him.

  Briskly, Eden said, ‘Owen, get me a bowl of hot water. See if you can find a roll of unopened kitchen towel, too, that’ll be cleaner than the one in the holder.’ She noticed the first-aid kit on the floor and began pulling dressings from the box. ‘It’s OK, Owen. I’m a first-aider. I know what I’m doing.’

  ‘I’ll get the water and the tissue.’ He stood up. Eden’s confidence reassured him. ‘Jez, can you use the phone again?’

  ‘Uh?’ The sixteen-year-old appeared to have gone into shock himself.

  ‘Use the phone to call an ambulance.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Kit’s hurt.’

  ‘The police already think I’ve caused that bus crash. What do you think they’ll do when they find out I’ve shot my friend?’

  ‘We’ve got to report this, Jez. You can’t cover up someone getting shot.’

  ‘No, Owen … please don’t get me arrested.’ Jez began to shake violently. ‘Please don’t make me call for an ambulance.’

  ‘Just look at Kit. The poor kid’s got bullet holes in his face!’

  Choking sobs erupted from Jez’s mouth.

  Eden spoke calmly, but firmly. ‘Owen, the water and tissue, please.’

  ‘He needs to go to hospital.’ Owen had begun to tremble, too.

  ‘Let me clean him up first. This might not be as bad as it looks.’

  ‘He’s covered in blood.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure the shot just nicked his skin. There don’t seem to be any pellets in the wounds.’

  Eden’s calm air of authority worked its own magic right then. Jez still sobbed; however, he pulled up a chair and sat down so he could watch over his friend. Owen, meanwhile, went to run hot water into a bowl.

  Within twenty minutes Kit sat on the sofa, propped up with cushions. Blankets covered him as far as his chin. Eden had wiped the blood from his face. In two places he had surgical dressings taped to his cheek. Another one covered his ear where the pellet had sliced away the bottommost tip of his earlobe.

  Kit shook his head. ‘I look like Vincent Van Gogh … you know, after he went …’ He whistled as he made slicing gestures. ‘… you know … with his ear.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Owen asked.

  ‘Funny … funny peculiar … not comedy funny. Uh … right … it’s got to be the shock, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Eden says that the pellets scratched you, rather than hitting you head on.’

  ‘Where’s Freya?’

  ‘Freya?’ Owen frowned.

  ‘You’ve got Eden. I’ve got Freya.’

  ‘Freya’s your girlfriend?’

  ‘Yup.’ Kit rested his head against the cushion. He appeared light-headed.

  ‘Jez is here, and Eden and me. Nobody else.’ Owen glanced back as Jez and Eden entered the room. ‘Jez? Have you seen a girl called Freya?’

  ‘Someone came into the yard with Kit.’ Jez shuddered as he remembered. ‘That’s why I fired the gun.’

  Eden flinched with alarm. ‘You shot Kit’s girlfriend? What on earth for?’

  Jez gave such a grim little chuckle. ‘If you’d seen his girlfriend, you would have pulled the trigger, too.’

  ‘You don’t understand …’ Kit sounded so drowsy he could barely speak. ‘She’s beautiful.’

  ‘She’s not human,’ Jez snapped. ‘How could she be? Barefoot in this. And you should have seen her eyes.’

  Baffled, Owen shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. Neither of you are making any sense.’

  Jez said, ‘I blasted her with the shotgun. She took a faceful of shot. Two minutes later she was back on her feet as if nothing had happened.’

  ‘Thank God,’ murmured Kit, smiling. ‘Thank God she’s alright.’

  Eden asked, ‘Have you known Freya long?’

  ‘Since last night.’ Kit smiled that drowsy smile again. ‘Tonight I shot her …’

  Owen and Eden exchanged glances. Owen knew that they were thinking the same thing: that both Kit and Jez had suddenly gone insane; they were muttering stuff about a woman being shot.

  Still smiling, Kit pulled a phone from under the b
lanket. ‘Shot Freya in a different way … shot her with a camera … I filmed her earlier tonight. Here … proof …’

  Eden took the phone which he held out to her.

  ‘Play the video,’ Kit told her. ‘You’ll see amazing things. There’s Freya … and I also filmed the monster.’

  ‘What monster?’ Eden shook her head in disbelief.

  ‘They know which monster.’ Kit pointed at Owen and Jez. ‘They saw the footage from the automatic camera Owen found. The monster was on that. Last night Jez crashed his truck into it … didn’t hurt it, though. It’ll take more than driving a ton of steel into the thing to hurt it.’

  Owen said gently, ‘You must have dreamt it.’

  ‘OK, press play, and see for yourself … if you dare.’

  SIXTY-SIX

  Tom Westonby spent most of that Monday evening moving from window to window in Skanderberg cottage. From each window he peered out into the night. The forest had become a mass of spiky, black branches. Tree trunks could have been the gigantic soldiers of some supernatural army waiting for the order to attack. Tom rubbed his forehead. He was so tired he realized that strange notions had started to haunt him. Trying to shake off the exhaustion, he walked briskly to the window in his bedroom and scanned the trees out there. So far, there was no sign of vampires. Yet an instinct for danger told him they were close.

  Before Tom left the bedroom he paused to gaze at the carving of Helsvir set into the wall. These thousand-year-old carvings of the creature were part of the fabric of the house. A lucky charm? Or was it a danger sign – a potent warning to the men and women of the Bekk family, who’d once lived here, that neglecting their gods would bring about their doom?

  Tom checked his phone. Owen had sent him a text. According to the information on-screen it was over an hour old. Gone to see Jez, it read. He’s worried and in a lot of pain. Tom replied to his sixteen-year-old brother with what he hoped were reassuring words: I’m sure Jez will be fine. Let me know if I can help. Tom slipped the phone into his pocket to make sure he picked up any further messages from Owen straight away. He couldn’t help but worry about both Owen and Jez. They’d been going through some heavy-duty emotions ever since Jez’s accident.