Ravenfall

by Narrelle M. Harris

  ‘Ye shouldnae…’

  ‘Shh, James, shh. I’m fine. You’re fine.’ He kissed James’s brow and finally, James abandoned any protest. He went still and might have been an actual corpse, if it weren’t for his fingers flexing minutely against the worn leather of Gabriel’s coat.

  ‘Thanks,’ said James at last.

  ‘We should go home.’

  ‘No. We need tae go in. Find Grimshaw and West.’

  ‘I know, but–’

  James hauled himself to his feet and straightened his collar, his jacket, checked for bloodstains on his mouth and clothes. His fangs disappeared. He carefully scrutinised Gabriel too, anxiously inspecting his unblemished arm for any sign of lasting harm.

  Gabriel placed a hand reassuringly over James’s. ‘No blood spilled,’ he said, meaning none on his clothes or skin.

  ‘No. It’s too precious to waste,’ said James seriously. Then, changing the subject, he said, ‘There’s something not right in there.’

  ‘Apart from the spectacular exsanguination?’ Gabriel hid his horror beneath a determination to be unwavering, for James’s sake.

  ‘Apart from that, aye.’

  ‘Shall we, then?’

  They walked back inside the house, bracing for a repeat of James’s meltdown, but he was calm, and in control again.

  ‘You okay?’ Gabriel checked anyway.

  ‘Aye. It’s intense, but,’ he smiled oddly, ‘I have precious blood in me now, given freely. That means something.’

  ‘Being a vampire is metaphysical as well as physical?’

  ‘Yes.’ They reached the living room, and James ignored all the wasted blood and inspected the body.

  ‘Oh Christ. It’s Blue,’ said James staring fixedly at the boy’s face.

  ‘Blue?’ Gabriel hugged himself and kept his eyes on James rather than on the carmine-soaked room.

  ‘A lad from the clinic. Peter something. A street kid. He came in for blood tests and a check-up; said he’d found someone to take care of him. I shouldhae realised he was setting up with a vampire. But this doesnae make sense. No vampire would waste blood like that without good reason. I have tae talk to Grimshaw. He must be here somewhere. I can smell him.’

  ‘This is his… coterie, then?’

  James snorted humourlessly. ‘Such as it was.’

  Gabriel grimaced. “Coterie” was a grand name for a vampire and a young man living in a perfectly ordinary middle class terrace house in Clapham.

  James paused. Raised his head. Sniffed.

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘West. It’s faint, but he was here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed Blue to punish Grimshaw for doing such a piss-poor job of luring me in, or for trying to ally himself to me behind West’s back. That’d be his style – killing Grimshaw’s blood supply. Wasting it.’

  Gabriel started to speak, but James held up a hand. He cocked his head, listening intently.

  ‘West?’ mouthed Gabriel.

  James shook his head. ‘West’s long gone.’ For a man already bloodlessly pale, he looked ill. ‘We need to get into the space above the sitting room.’

  They found the hatch into the crawlspace between floors, above the kitchen door. James pulled a chair underneath the hatch, opened it and climbed into the space. Once inside, he offered an arm to Gabriel and pulled him swiftly up.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ he murmured. ‘Though if this is what I think it is, feel free to stay in the kitchen.’

  Gabriel had no intention of leaving James to face whatever this was. He crawled along behind as the vampire made his way across beams in the direction of the living room.

  The body James was seeking was propped up across the beams. Where its head rested, several holes had been drilled.

  ‘Grimshaw?’ James’s voice was very quiet.

  The body made a noise – a groan or a hushed wail. James put a hand out to the head that made the sound without touching it.

  ‘West,’ breathed James. ‘Fucking sadist.’

  Grimshaw groaned in despairing agreement.

  Gabriel didn’t have supernatural eyesight, but soon his eyes adjusted enough to see what James had found.

  Grimshaw – he had to assume it was the Mordecai Grimshaw who had visited their home scant hours ago, because he was almost unrecognisable – was pitiful. He evinced pity. Gabriel wouldn’t even attempt to deny it. Not with the man himself – and he had once been a man, Gabriel reminded himself – lying there, unable to move.

  Legs and arms hacked off; the ragged, unbleeding wounds suggested a simple saw. Eyes intact and permanently staring, with the lids sliced off, maybe with a hard, sharp vampire thumbnail; the same method could have been used to slit Blue’s throat. Tongue cut out, or pulled. A pair of pliers on a crossbeam suggested as much.

  The vampire was toothless as well, every tooth gone, but most obviously the ones that a vampire used to feed. This maiming had been vicious and vindictive.

  Piles of ash heaped around the crawlspace suggested that the removed limbs and organs had reverted to dust soon after each procedure.

  Gabriel, aware suddenly that his knee was embedded in what may once have been an arm, recoiled. Dust puffed up and he tried not to inhale. After that, he remained still, his skin prickling with horror.

  Grimshaw had been maimed and propped up in the roof cavity; holes cut in flooring and his eyelids removed so that he had to watch the murder of his… pet? His friend? As he was James’s?

  James spoke softly to Grimshaw. ‘I can end this. If you want. I’m sorry. I’d no idea he’d do this.’

  Grimshaw moaned softly. He said, ‘Paaaaaahh,’ which Gabriel, nauseated, supposed was what “please” sounded like when you had no tongue and no teeth.

  Gabriel would have preferred to get away as far and as fast as possible, but there was a reason for all of this, and he had to know. If there was a way to do it, they had to stop West’s bizarre vendetta. Six people dead. Seven, with Blue. And now this poor bastard. Gabriel’s flesh crawled right down to the bone with how cruel this was; with how cruel he’d been himself, making snarky comments while Grimshaw writhed with pain in their living room, a garlic- slicked silver blade in his leg.

  ‘Can you tell us anything about West?’ asked James. ‘Where he is? His plans?’

  Grimshaw stared at him. ‘Baaaaaw,’ he said. ‘Haaaa’wa’weeeem Baaaaw. Ahhhwwp Baa’eeee.’

  James patted Grimshaw’s head soothingly. ‘It’s all right. Shh.’

  ‘I think he’s saying Halloween Ball,’ said Gabriel grimly, who had held conversations with the toothless and impaired before. ‘A Halloween Ball.’

  ‘Aaaahhth,’ agreed Grimshaw, nodding.

  ‘Where?’ Gabriel asked.

  Grimshaw tried to oblige. ‘Ahhhwwp Baa’eeee,’ he repeated.

  Gabriel rolled the other sounds round his mouth, holding his tongue out of the way, trying to discover the originating words. ‘Or?’

  Grimshaw scowled. ‘Ahhhwwp Baa’eeee.’

  James tried. ‘Not “or”. There’s a final consonant. Orb? All?’

  ‘Awwwwb. Waaaaawb. Bwaa’heee.’

  ‘Ward?’

  For someone so physically ruined, so appallingly disfigured, Grimshaw managed to convey his disgust and irritation very well with a contortion of his expression. He closed his mouth and hummed instead – an old hymn that made him wince to sing.

  James hummed along, before singing, without similar signs of pain, ‘In pastures green, he leadeth me, the quiet waters by…’

  ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd?’ queried Gabriel. At Grimshaw’s relief, he said, ‘Lord? Lord someone? What Lord? There are hundreds of the bastards.’

  ‘Bwaa’heee.’ It might have been blackly hilarious if it weren’t so completely ugly and awful.

  Gabriel rolled the sound around his mouth. A Lord having a Halloween Party. Lord… Baa’eee. Bwaa’hee. If Waawb was Lo
rd, then… Gabriel tried jamming an L in place of the W. Blaa’hee.

  ‘Christ, you don’t mean Lord Blakely’s annual shindig, do you? Anything else?’

  Grimshaw gave him a look of pure poison.

  ‘And West is up to something there.’

  The tension left Grimshaw’s brutalised body, now that he’d finally made himself understood.

  James turned back to his patient. ‘Do you want us to get you out of here?’

  Grimshaw shook his head.

  ‘You want me to…? Are you sure?’

  The pure poison was turned on James then.

  Gabriel had learned from James that vampires could heal quickly. Any cut, any crush injury, any bullet hole, and a vampire’s body could repair itself. Even the silver-and-garlic wound Grimshaw had suffered that morning in his trespass at Ivy Gardens had healed once the offending substances were cleaned from the wound.

  But a vampire couldn’t replace a severed limb or a removed organ. Granted, most of its organs weren’t necessary to its existence, except the heart and brain. But limbs were quite important. The teeth were vital.

  James patted Grimshaw’s skull again, and Gabriel marvelled at how James Sharpe could still be a doctor while at the same time being a vampire.

  ‘I’m sorry. But I swear, we’ll stop him.’

  Grimshaw gave a shuddering sigh.

  ‘Gabriel, you have the knife?’

  Gabriel pulled the silver blade from his pocket. James took it gingerly and wrapped a handkerchief around the hilt so he could hold it without it itching.

  ‘This will hurt. I’m sorry.’

  Grimshaw rolled his eyes with irritation.

  ‘Gabriel, cover your mouth.’

  Gabriel, keenly not wanting to inhale dead vampire, pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose. James waited until he was ready, then put his hand over Grimshaw’s chest. Once he was happy he’d found the right place, he looked Grimshaw in the eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry about Blue, too.’

  Before Grimshaw could grimace at him about that as well, James plunged the knife in, hard, fast, straight through skin and muscle and into the bloodless heart. He twisted as he stabbed, and pulled out just as fast, destroying the organ. He sat back on his heels.

  Grimshaw’s body quaked briefly then dissolved into dust.

  James frowned at the pile of ash where a person once had been. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘let’s get the fuck out of here. I need a shower. And a cup of fucking tea.’

  They made their way back to the hatch and into the kitchen. James wiped down the surfaces they’d touched, grateful that neither of them had touched the front door handle. He didn’t want to go past Blue again.

  ‘Maybe we should see if we can get out the side way, or over the back fence,’ suggested Gabriel.

  They took the back way out.

  Once home, James retreated to his room while Gabriel showered Grimshaw’s dust off his skin.

  The backyard retreat had been necessary, both of them reluctant to be confronted again with that sweet-stinking bloodbath. For James, it wasn’t only fear of triggering the thirst frenzy. The shame he felt was not solely about having lost control at the Clapham townhouse; or about having fed from Gabriel.

  He could have explained it to Gabriel with a half-truth.

  A house on patrol. The Taliban had killed everyone. Men, women, kids. Blood everywhere. Walls painted red. So much blood.

  But James didn’t know if Gabriel would understand, let alone forgive, the whole truth.

  Cael West killed that family. He offered them to me alive and the father begged me to let his children live. He offered me his throat and I didn’t mean to be the death of him. I only meant to drink a little. I took more than I meant. He was nearly dead of blood loss when I stopped. Too late to save him, but I stopped.

  ‘Yer doing but nae yer choice, Jamie,’ he heard his grandfather’s memory-ghost say.

  But West wasn’t happy with that, Granda. When I refused to finish draining that poor bastard, West killed the whole family, for spite, weans and all. So fast. So fast. He was full of blood and at the peak of his power, and I was a half-starved new vampire and I couldnae stop him. The walls dripped red with wasted blood because I refused to kill.

  ‘Nae yer fault, lad.’

  I tried to kill West. I was so angry. Too angry. I didnae kill him. I missed. He pulled the stick of wood I’d missed with from his gut and told me he had plans. ‘We could have used you in my team,’ he said to me. ‘We’ve got plans back home, we have, me and my mate. You could have been part of it. Remember that, Doc. When it’s too late for you to be part of it.’

  Then the sick shite laughed at me and left me wi’ the dead. Walls painted red. So much blood.

  I failed, Granda. All of these murders and whatever he does next, that’s mae fault. I shouldae killed him and I failed.

  Granda’s memory had nothing to say to that, it seemed.

  James pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, but that never did anything to wipe the blood-soaked memories.

  Well, to hell with all of that blether.

  Cael West was going to a posh Halloween party at a Lord’s house next week, and James Sharpe was going to be there to put a stop to him.

  James’s fangs and clenching fingertips tingled in anticipation.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘Gabriel, this is unexpected.’ Michael in fact sounded far from astonished to hear from his brother, ‘Everything working out splendidly at your new abode?’

  It annoyed Gabriel, how unsurprised his brother could appear on the rare occasions when Gabriel initiated contact. But he couldn’t afford to be annoyed. He needed information.

  ‘Better than splendid, as if you didn’t already know.’ Not a great start. Annoyance was a default setting, apparently, and Michael was always keeping bloody tabs.

  ‘Indeed, but it’s good to have confirmation. What is it you want?’

  ‘Why would I want anything?’

  ‘You have called me precisely three times in the last twelve months. Once from a gallery exhibition to state that, despite expectations to the contrary, someone wanted to buy your paintings and would I please tell the old bastard to stop trying to buy you back with family money you didn’t want. Once when you were drunk to tell me that our father is a complete prick, which I know. And once to get me to send you some of your old clothing that was gathering dust in the attic. You’re not drunk, so you must want something.’

  ‘Fine. I’ve heard that twat Tony Blakely is holding his usual Halloween party next week.’

  ‘Do you mean our county neighbour, Anthony Blakely, Earl of Winchester and Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs?’

  ‘That’s the twat,’ confirmed Gabriel. ‘Is he still a prize tosser who thinks homeless people should be rounded up in camps in Slough to keep London a city fit for heroes?’

  ‘What about the party, Gabriel?’

  ‘Is it at his bloody great mansion in Kings Worthy, or his town residence?’

  ‘Why do you need to know?’

  ‘A customer at the gallery who bought one of my paintings mentioned it. He wants me to bring Helene along to meet some people who want to buy my stuff, support the gallery. I’d rather fry my own bollocks in yak butter, but it’d be good for Helene. I figured if I at least knew which of his gilded halls I’d have to go to, I can plan my escape routes accordingly.’

  ‘Plus you would be delighted to sell your paintings under the nose of the Slough-centric, titled twat?’

  ‘Would I?’

  ‘The function will be held at Kings Worthy. You’ll need an invitation.’

  ‘Maybe I can slide out of the whole rank affair after all.’

  ‘Let us all fervently hope so. Is that all?’

  ‘Until the next time I need something. Or I’m drunk.’

  ‘Quite.’

  But before either of them could hang u
p, Gabriel surprised even himself with, ‘Michael, wait.’ Spoken abruptly, with sudden, unexpected urgency.

  ‘Yes?’ Michael’s tone was cautious.

  ‘Do you remember when I was a kid, how I used to see ghosts?’

  ‘Yes. Of course I do.’

  ‘Did… did you ever see any?’

  Gabriel was the one to break the very long silence. ‘Because I was thinking the other day that sending me away for shock therapy and medication every time I mentioned it was a bit extreme.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘You weren’t home for most of that.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Our old man’s a cockweasel.’

  ‘Yes, Gabriel. He is. And in answer to your question – perhaps. You may not credit it, but I had a very vivid imagination when I was small. Father wouldn’t stand for it, of course, and I stopped seeing them.’

  Gabriel was not sure what to make of that answer, so he ignored it. ‘Right then. Bye.’

  For a time after they’d rung off, Gabriel stared at his unfinished canvas of James Sharpe, and wondered whether or not his older brother had seen the ghosts in their childhood house. And whether he had ever believed they were real.

  James made a few phone calls of his own, to people he hadn’t spoken to in a long time. Old army buddies, mustered or invalided out both before and after his own medical discharge. Most of them didn’t mention the long intervening silence. Everyone knew that war service, and coming home, hit people in different ways.

  Few of them could help, though. Only one had seen Major West in London since their return.

  ‘I thought I saw him hanging around with some squirly Geordie near the British Library one week,’ said former Corporal Sunil Juhekar, ‘But I had to be mistaken. Wasn’t West killed in an ambush like the one that did your head in?’

  ‘They never found his body,’ James said.

  ‘Yeah, well that was West all over, wasn’t it? Creepy bastard never did anything by the book, unless he thought he could do someone over with it. We used to pray he’d get his head shot off on patrol. I’m sure he got Howie and Kele killed that time. Thank fuck General Penry pulled him in to HQ before he got the rest of his unit blown up.’