by Mia James
‘How is she?’
April shrugged as she helped Fiona carry her suitcase up the stairs to her room. ‘I think she’s okay. She’s coping by totally throwing herself into getting all the last-minute details right - like anyone cares about the cakes at a funeral,’ she said with exasperation.
‘What about your grandpa?’
‘He’s not coming until later. But we’ll no doubt have a house full of weird relatives I’ve never met before when we come back here, so it’s good I’ve got someone of my own to hold my hand.’
‘Aren’t you having any of your new friends over, like Caro and Simon? I’m dying to meet them,’ she began, then stopped herself. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Don’t be silly,’ smiled April. ‘It’s just a figure of speech. Anyway, Caro’s coming to the wake - it’s only a small ceremony at the grave. And Mum’s invited Davina and Ben because she wanted to invite Mr and Mrs Osbourne, her new BFF on the social circuit. Anyway, enough about that - can’t we talk about something normal? Tell me what’s happening in Edinburgh.’
They sat on the bed and Fiona filled April in on all the latest gossip: what was happening at school, who’d been spreading rumours about who, which boys Fiona and Julie had seen at the shopping centre and what it all meant. April loved every minute of it, constantly stopping Fiona to eagerly ask for more details. For a little while, it felt as if she had never left Edinburgh and that all these life-and-death scraps of gossip were everything that mattered in the world. If only we had stayed in Scotland, thought April. Then this world Fee’s talking about really would be mine. But it’s not, is it? But her ears still pricked up when Fiona dropped the biggest news of all: that Miranda Cooper was no longer seeing Neil Stevenson.
‘According to Neil’s friend Jake, Neil reckoned she was “too immature”,’ said Fiona. ‘Julie thinks that’s boy-code for “wouldn’t put out”, but either way, he’s single again.’
April tried to look enthusiastic, but the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes.
‘Sorry, April,’ said Fiona, squeezing her knee. ‘I know it’s difficult today.’
‘No, it’s not that,’ said April. ‘I dunno, it just all seems so - no disrespect to you, honey - but all this seems so silly. I really wish I could spend my days worrying about Neil and Miranda, but that’s not where I’m at right now.’
‘I know, you’re making a new life down here,’ said Fiona.
‘No, it’s not the place. It’s all the weird stuff happening to me.’
‘Those photos of the party?’
April shook her head. ‘That’s only part of it. None of it is much on its own, but when you add it to the Isabelle Davis murder and Milo being in hospital and then the whole Gabriel mess, and the police and now this vampire book thing, I don’t know what to do.’
‘Hang on,’ said Fiona, frowning, ‘rewind a bit. In fact, rewind a lot. The Milo in hospital - that’s the one from the party? What’s he doing in hospital? After that, we’ll get to Gabriel and the vampires. Now, spill.’
April smiled. She had been so used to sharing every thought and experience with Fiona, yet since she had been in London so much had happened, and she had got out of the habit. Now she thought about it, they hadn’t had a proper talk since a couple of days after the party and turning her phone off over the last week had left her friend completely out of the loop. So she made up for lost time, filling Fee in on everything: the fight with Layla, the Met-sponsored visit to the pub and the whole Gabriel story, including her growing suspicions, and ending with finding her dad’s notebook in the desk and her visit to Mr Gill.
‘Wow, let’s have a look at the notebook,’ said Fiona eagerly. April slid it out from under her mattress. She had been through it in detail and, although much of it was just a scrawl, it seemed that most of the entries were about two subjects: firstly, various ‘real’ sightings of vampires in Highgate, particularly in the sixties and seventies, and - and this was the exciting part - William’s investigations into Ravenwood School. One particular entry had set her heart thumping: ‘Regent = Ravenwood? Close.’
‘The Vampire Regent’ was the subject of one of the chapters in the book Mr Gill had shown her yesterday evening. The old man had clearly missed his calling; he would have made a brilliant teacher. He had told her how the book described the three vampire nests in London - Highgate, Covent Garden and Spitalfields - and how they were all ruled over by one all-powerful super-vampire known as the Vampire Regent. Mr Gill had emphasised that it was only a myth and that it was possible the author was under the influence of gin or syphilis or both, but he seemed convinced by the idea himself and, anyway, the fact that her father had been taking it seriously was enough for April. She still didn’t know if her dad had actually read the Kingsley-Davis book, but he certainly seemed to know a lot about its contents: the Regent, the nests and the Highgate connection.
‘So when he says “close”, do you think he means that this Vampire Regent - assuming he exists - is close by? Like in Highgate?’ asked Fiona.
‘I’ve been wondering about that,’ said April. ‘Either that, or he felt he was getting close to uncovering the Regent’s identity.’
Fiona flicked through a few more pages. ‘What does this one mean: “Altar in C.F.WDS”?’
April shook her head. ‘I wish I knew. The problem is he was making notes for himself - it wasn’t meant for anyone else to read.’
‘He hid it though, didn’t he? So he must have thought what was in here was important and that it could lead to the people with the answers.’
‘That’s why I want to find out more about the school. He obviously thought whoever’s behind Ravenwood is connected to the Regent. Maybe it was Ravenwood that wanted him out of the way.’
‘So why did he send you there?’ asked Fiona. ‘I mean, if he really thought it was full of vampires?’
April nodded. It was something she had been struggling with too. It was one thing bringing his family to a dangerous area; it was another to send your only child to an establishment you thought might be run by bloodsucking freaks. Which was the strongest reason April had for thinking that her father couldn’t have believed they were real.
‘But whether this vampire stuff is rubbish or not - and it does sound unlikely - you can’t really think Gabriel killed your dad, can you?’ asked Fiona, lowering her voice. ‘I mean, the way you were talking about him, I was expecting you to - you know - shag him, not shop him to the cops.’
April shook her head. ‘Maybe I was wrong about him, Fee. I usually am about boys.’
Fiona made a face. ‘Well, you sure can pick ’em.’
‘What do you mean?’ said April, offended at the implication.
‘Well, remember that I’m your best friend and everything, so don’t shoot the messenger, but you do have a habit of picking the most unattainable boys and then imagining a romance that might not actually be there.’
‘You mean Neil.’
‘Yes, Neil. But there was David Brody before that, and Baz from the market, remember? You were planning the wedding before you’d even had a text from him.’
April cringed. It was true. Maybe I have some sort of deep psychological need to be rejected, she thought. Maybe I deliberately pick boys who mess me around. But I’ve never picked a potential serial killer before.
‘But don’t you think it makes sense about Gabriel?’ she asked.
‘It’s a bit far-fetched, honey,’ said Fiona. ‘Yes, it’s odd that he was there the night of Isabelle Wotsit’s murder, but that doesn’t make him the murderer, does it? And the idea that he’s been planning to trap you in the cemetery in order to strangle you is a bit gothic, even by your standards. Maybe this one actually does want to shag you, ever think of that?’
April threw a pillow at her, but Fee’s opinion did make her feel a little better. It was true she didn’t have any actual evidence against Gabriel apart from supposition and guess-work. After all, he had told her there were
things he couldn’t explain, he had told her he wasn’t going to tell her everything. And she had got it wrong about Gabriel and Layla, hadn’t she? April felt a sudden flutter in her tummy, but she tried to push the feelings away. Okay, so she didn’t have any actual CCTV footage or anything, but there was too much coincidence, too many things linking him to Isabelle, to her dad, to everything. He had to be involved.
Fiona saw the faraway look in her eyes. ‘Okay, Miss Heart-break, back to the vampire book,’ said Fiona with a smirk.
‘Well, apparently this author, Jonathan Kingsley-Davis, was like the Victorian equivalent of my dad,’ said April, ‘and he spent years investigating some dodgy goings-on in the East End.’
‘Jack the Ripper, you mean?’
‘Him, and a bunch of other stuff. Apparently, grisly murders weren’t all that unusual back then. Anyway, this guy claimed it was all down to vampires. And not just any random vamps running around biting people, they were organised into what he called “nests”. There were three “nests” in London - Covent Garden, the East End and Highgate - all ruled over by a Vampire Regent; he gives the orders, chooses the new recruits.’
Fiona gasped. ‘Highgate? So it’s not just one of them hanging out in the cemetery - there’s loads of them?’
April smiled. ‘I thought I was the one with the gothic imagination. That’s if you believe it, of course. His theory was that they’d been living among us for centuries and have been killing at will and using their influence in society to keep it quiet.’
Suddenly April had another thought: if the Vampire Regent existed and was calling the shots, then it followed that he might have ordered her father’s death for getting too close to the truth, whatever that was. Maybe Gabriel had been ordered to kill her dad - and Isabelle and Alix - so maybe it was the Regent she should be chasing. That’s if he even existed.
Fiona was shaking her head. ‘There’s so much to take in, isn’t there?’ she said. ‘What do you think? Do you think that book is right?’
‘I don’t know whether there are vampires or not, or if there’s some king ruling over them all - frankly it could all be complete rubbish. What I’m interested in is why Isabelle Davis wanted the book. It’s more than a bit odd that the last person wanting Kingsley-Davis’s book is the same woman who was brutally murdered in the cemetery.’
‘And maybe your dad saw it too,’ said Fiona quietly.
April was nodding. ‘And now I’ve seen it.’
‘Now I’m scared,’ said Fiona, pulling a queasy expression.
April found to her surprise that she wasn’t at all frightened. The only thing that mattered to her right now was getting to the truth, and if that put her in danger, then so be it.
‘The one thing I keep coming back to is that Isabelle and my dad were investigating the same thing.’ She bit her lip and looked directly at her friend. ‘You see, it doesn’t really matter whether you believe in vampires or not. Clearly the people wrapped up in it do, so we can’t dismiss it entirely.’
Fiona looked at April with dawning understanding, and then made a severe face. ‘You’re not thinking of tracking down Gabriel and confronting him?’ She glanced around and dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘If there’s even a chance he’s your dad’s killer, you want to stay as far away from him as possible.’
‘But Fee, whether he’s the killer or not, he knows more than he’s telling me and I need to know what happened to my dad.’
Fiona put her hand on April’s arm. ‘No, because in teen slasher movies, whenever the kids go after the killer, they always end up dead.’
‘Not in scooby-Doo.’
‘Scooby-Doo is fictional.’
‘So’s Dracula, so are teen slasher movies - so what are you worrying about?’
Fiona’s expression was serious. ‘I’m worried because people are actually being killed here - or haven’t you noticed?’
‘Of course I’ve noticed,’ snapped April, the light-hearted note gone from her voice. ‘My dad is dead and I’ve got to find out who hurt him. I was kneeling down there while he was dying, with his blood all over me,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘The police are clueless and if we don’t get the killer, then I think I might go nuts, Fee. And you know what else? I think more people might die too.’
Fiona grabbed her and held her tight. ‘Okay, honey. We’ll do it. We’ve just got to be careful, okay? No heroics.’
April nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘One thing though?’
‘What?’
‘If this is Scooby-Doo, I’m Daphne.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
The weather was just right for the funeral. Overcast, with spots of rain and a cold wind swirling up the last of the autumn leaves. They all left the house, shoulders hunched, and walked slowly around the square and across South Grove. As April had predicted, she didn’t know many of the people following them on the short walk to St Michael’s church, each one in uniform black, each one looking grave and respectful, some dabbing at tears. April herself could not cry. Somehow it didn’t feel real. But then, there at the end of the aisle was the coffin, covered in flowers, and suddenly her knees felt weak.
‘You okay?’ asked Fiona, taking April’s arm, squeezing her hand tightly. She hadn’t left April’s side since she’d arrived that morning, and for that April was grateful.
April nodded and filed down to her seat at the front next to her mum and grandpa. Time stood still as the vicar went into his eulogy, recalling William’s sense of humour, his dedication, his love for his family, talking as if he were an old friend. April knew he was being kind, trying to help them through this, but she couldn’t help feeling annoyed. You didn’t know him, she thought, he was my dad. He loved me. Even so, she went through the motions, saying the prayers, singing the hymns, but it all felt so remote, like some weird movie she was watching from a distance. It felt so wrong that a man who had been so full of life and excitement could be so quiet and still now. After the readings were over, they all filed out and climbed into a line of shiny black cars for the short drive down to the cemetery. April was glad that the one-way restrictions on Swain’s Lane meant that they had to loop around down West Hill and back up, so she didn’t have to watch the graves passing by on the other side of the road. Instead she concentrated on the rain dotting onto the window, the droplets joining together and forming little rivulets running down the windows. Finally, the hearse and the following car turned through the gates and parked. April stepped out and sucked in the cold air.
Fiona was there beside her, her arm linked with April’s. She smiled and nodded encouragingly. ‘You can do this,’ she whispered. ‘For your dad.’
April nodded. She had to be strong for her mum, too. Silvia was a wreck, walking unsteadily on her high heels, gulping at the air; Grandpa Thomas was virtually holding her up, one huge arm around her. The vicar came over to say a few words to Silvia, then approached April. He had a round face and red cheeks and his eyes were kind.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss, April,’ he said. ‘William was a good man.’
April nodded politely.
‘I always looked forward to our chats,’ said the vicar. The priest saw April’s quizzical expression and smiled slightly. ‘Ah, perhaps he didn’t mention it, but he used to pop by every now and then. A most engaging fellow. And of course, if you ever need to talk, I’m always here.’
He patted her hand and returned to April’s mother, gesturing towards the steps.
What was all that about? thought April, frowning. What ‘chats’? We only moved to Highgate two weeks ago and Dad was never a particularly religious man. Was it something to do with the investigation? She shook her head and forced herself to concentrate on the here and now as the pall-bearers hoisted William’s dark wood coffin onto their shoulders and began to walk up the hill to the tomb. The priest leading the way, chanting the ritual words as he walked. ‘Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and giving life to those in the
tomb …’
April was concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, doing her best not to stumble, silently thanking Fee for persuading her to wear ballet flats not heels. She stared at her feet and tried hard not to think how, on the way back down this hill, she would have said goodbye to her father for the very last time.
She looked up at strangely familiar graves and statues as they slowly climbed the hill. Angels and animals and unhappy renderings of Christ. Where a few days before they had reassured April, today they looked forlorn and powerless. Then she gasped and stumbled against Fiona.
‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘Nothing,’ said April.
But it wasn’t nothing. Standing half-hidden by the foliage twenty metres back from the path, April had seen the man from the little white gatehouse. The one who had disappeared, the one Judith had claimed was a figment of her imagination. April thought about asking Fiona if she could see him, but she dismissed the idea. There’s nothing wrong with me, she thought, I’m fine. But when she looked up again, the man was gone. ‘I look after the graves,’ that was what he had said. April could only hope he was as good as his word, because now she could see William Dunne’s final resting place looming up ahead. The Hamilton vault resembled a tall Greek temple, with pillars to either side of an iron door and a pitched roof. To April, it looked like a miniature bank, and to her surprise the name above the door wasn’t ‘Hamilton’. It read ‘Vladescu’. Of course, her grandpa had told her he’d changed his name, but it was still a shock to see. Is that who I am? thought April miserably. Now he’s gone, is that all I have left? Someone else’s name?