The Vampire's Assistant and Other Tales from the Cirque Du Freak

by Darren Shan

  “Hey, Lefty!” I shouted. “How’s it going?” The small figure in the blue hooded cape didn’t answer — he never did — but he patted his stomach, which was the sign we needed more food.

  “Lefty says to keep going,” I told Evra.

  “Figures,” he sighed.

  As I prowled for another rat, I spotted a small silver cross in the garbage. I picked it up and brushed off the dirt. Studying the cross, I smiled. To think I used to believe vampires were terrified of crosses! Most of that stuff in old movies and books is crap. Crosses, holy water, garlic: none of those matter to vampires. We can cross running water. We don’t have to be invited into a house before entering. We cast shadows and reflections (though a full vampire can’t be photographed — something to do with bouncing atoms). We can’t change shape or fly.

  A stake through the heart will kill a vampire. But so will a well-placed bullet, or fire, or a heavy falling object. We’re harder to kill than humans, but we aren’t immortal. Far from it.

  I placed the cross on the ground and stood back. Focusing my will, I tried making it jump into my left hand. I stared hard for all of a minute, then clicked the fingers of my right hand.

  Nothing happened.

  I tried again but still couldn’t do it. I’d been trying for months, with no success. Mr. Crepsley made it look simple — one click of his fingers and an object would be in his hand, even if it was several feet away — but I hadn’t been able to copy him.

  I was getting along pretty well with Mr. Crepsley. He wasn’t such a bad guy. We weren’t friends, but I’d accepted him as a teacher and no longer hated him like I did when he first turned me into a half-vampire.

  I put the cross in my pocket and proceeded with the hunt. After a while I found a half-starved cat in the remains of an old microwave oven. It was after rats, too.

  The cat hissed at me and the hair on its neck raised. I pretended to turn my back on it, then spun quickly, grabbed it by the neck, and twisted. It gave a strangled little cry and then went limp. I stuck it in the bag and went to see how Evra was doing.

  I didn’t enjoy killing animals, but hunting was part of my nature. Anyway, I had no sympathy for cats. The blood of cats is poisonous to vampires. Drinking from one wouldn’t have killed me, but it would have made me sick. And cats are hunters, too. The way I saw it, the less cats there were, the more rats there’d be.

  That night, back in camp, I tried moving the cross with my mind again. I’d finished my jobs for the day, and the show wouldn’t be starting for another couple of hours, so I had lots of time to kill.

  It was a cold late-November night. There hadn’t been any snow yet, but it was threatening. I was dressed in my colorful pirate costume: a light green shirt, dark purple pants, a gold-and-blue jacket, a red satin cloth around my waist, a brown hat with a feather in it, and soft shoes with toes that curled in on themselves.

  I wandered away from the vans and tents and found a secluded spot around the side of the old mill.

  I stuck the cross on a piece of wood in front of me, took a deep breath, concentrated on the cross, and willed it into the palm of my outstretched hand.

  No good.

  I shuffled closer, so my hand was only inches away from the cross.

  “I command you to move,” I said, clicking my fingers. “I order you to move.” Click. “Move.” Click. “Move!”

  I shouted this last word louder than I meant to and stomped my foot in anger.

  “What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked behind me.

  Looking up, I saw Mr. Crepsley emerging out of the shadows.

  “Nothing,” I said, trying to hide the cross.

  “What is that?” he asked. His eyes missed nothing.

  “Just a cross I found while Evra and me were hunting,” I said, holding it out.

  “What were you doing with it?” Mr. Crepsley asked suspiciously.

  “Trying to make it move,” I said, deciding it was time to ask the vampire about his magic secrets. “How do you do it?”

  A smile spread across his face, causing the long scar that ran down the left side to crinkle. “So that is what has been bothering you.” He chuckled. He stretched out a hand and clicked his fingers, causing me to blink. Next thing I knew, the cross was in his hand.

  “How’s it done?” I asked. “Can only full vampires do it?”

  “I will demonstrate again. Watch closely this time.”

  Replacing the cross on the piece of wood, he stood back and clicked his fingers. Once again it disappeared and turned up in his hand. “Did you see?”

  “See what?” I was confused.

  “One final time,” he said. “Try not to blink.”

  I focused on the small silver piece. I heard his fingers clicking and — keeping my eyes wide open — thought I saw the slightest blur darting between me and the cross.

  When I turned to look at him, he was tossing the cross from hand to hand and smiling. “Figured me out yet?” he asked.

  I frowned. “I thought I saw . . . it looked like . . .” My face lit up. “You didn’t move the cross!” I yelled excitedly. “You moved!”

  He beamed. “Not as dull as you appear,” he complimented me is his usual sarcastic manner.

  “Do it again,” I said. This time I didn’t look at the cross: I watched the vampire. I wasn’t able to track his movements — he was too fast — but I caught brief glimpses of him as he darted forward, snatched up the cross, and leaped back.

  “So you’re not able to move things with your mind?” I asked.

  “Of course not.” He laughed.

  “Then why the click of the fingers?”

  “To distract the eye,” he explained.

  “Then it’s a trick,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with being a vampire.”

  He shrugged. “I could not move so fast if I were human, but yes, it is a trick. I dabbled with illusions before I became a vampire, and I still like to practice.”

  “Could I learn to do it?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” he said. “You cannot move as fast as I can, but you could get away with it if the object was close to hand. You would have to practice hard — but if you wish, I can teach you.”

  “I always wanted to be a magician,” I said. “But . . . hold on. . . .” I remembered a couple of occasions when Mr. Crepsley had opened locks with a click of his fingers. “What about locks?” I asked.

  “Those are different. You understand what static energy is?” My face was a blank. “Have you ever brushed a comb through your hair and held it up to a thin sheet of paper?”

  “Yeah!” I said. “The paper sticks to it.”

  “That is static energy,” he explained. “When a vampire flits, a very strong static charge builds up. I have learned to harness that charge. Thus I am able to force open any lock you care to mention.”

  I thought about that. “And the click of your fingers?” I asked.

  “Old habits die hard.” He smiled.

  “But old vampires die easy!” a voice growled behind us, and before I knew what was happening, someone had reached around the two of us and pressed a pair of razor-sharp knives to the soft flesh of our throats!

  Chapter Two

  I FROZE AT THE TOUCH of the blade and the threatening voice, but Mr. Crepsley didn’t even blink. He pushed the knife gently away from his throat, then tossed the silver cross to me.

  “Gavner, Gavner, Gavner.” Mr. Crepsley sighed. “I always could hear you coming from half a mile away.”

  “Not true!” the voice said resentfully, as the blade drew back from my throat. “You couldn’t have heard.”

  “Why not?” Mr. Crepsley said. “Nobody in the world breathes as heavily as you. I could pick you out blindfolded in a crowd of thousands.”

  “One night, Larten,” the stranger muttered. “One night I’ll surprise you. We’ll see how smart you are then.”

  “Upon that night I shall retire in disgrace.” Mr. Crepsley chuckled.

  Mr
. Crepsley cocked an eyebrow at me, amused to see I was still stiff and half afraid, even though I’d figured out our lives weren’t in danger.

  “Shame on you, Gavner Purl,” Mr. Crepsley said. “You have frightened the boy.”

  “Seems all I’m good for.” The stranger grunted. “Scaring children and little old ladies.”

  Turning slowly, I came face to face with the man called Gavner Purl. He wasn’t very tall, but he was wide, built like a wrestler. His face was a mass of scars and dark patches, and the rims around his eyes were extremely black. His brown hair was cut short, and he was dressed in an ordinary pair of jeans and a baggy white shirt. He had a broad smile and glittering yellow teeth.

  It was only when I glanced down at his fingertips and spotted ten scars that I realized he was a vampire. That’s how most vampires are created: vampire blood is pumped into them through the soft flesh at the ends of their fingers.

  “Darren, this is Gavner Purl,” Mr. Crepsley introduced us. “An old, trusted, rather clumsy friend. Gavner, this is Darren Shan.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” the vampire said, shaking my hand. “You didn’t hear me coming, did you?”

  “No,” I answered honestly.

  “There!” he boomed proudly. “See?”

  “Congratulations,” Mr. Crepsley said dryly. “If you are ever called upon to sneak into a nursery, you should have no problems.”

  Gavner grimaced. “I see time hasn’t sweetened you,” he noted. “As cutting as ever. How long has it been? Fourteen years? Fifteen?”

  “Seventeen next February,” Mr. Crepsley answered promptly.

  “Seventeen!” Gavner whistled. “Longer than I thought. Seventeen years and as sour as ever.” He nudged me in the ribs. “Does he still complain like a grumpy old woman when he wakes up?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I giggled.

  “I could never get a positive word out of him until midnight. I had to share a coffin with him once for four whole months.” He shivered at the memory. “Longest four months of my life.”

  “You shared a coffin?” I asked in awe.

  “Had to,” he said. “We were being hunted. We had to stick together. I wouldn’t do it again, though. I’d rather face the sun and burn.”

  “You were not the only one with cause for complaint.” Mr. Crepsley grunted. “Your snoring nearly drove me to face the sun myself.” His lips were twitching, and I could tell he was having a hard time not smiling.

  “Why were you being hunted?” I asked.

  “Never mind,” Mr. Crepsley snapped before Gavner could answer, then glared at his ex-partner.

  Gavner made a face. “It was nearly sixty years ago, Larten,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was classified information.”

  “The boy is not interested in the past,” Mr. Crepsley said firmly. (I most certainly was!) “You are on my soil, Gavner Purl. I would ask you to respect my wishes.”

  “Stuffy old bat,” Gavner grumbled, but he gave in with a nod of his head. “So, Darren,” he said, “what do you do at the Cirque Du Freak?”

  “Odd jobs,” I told him. “I gather food for the Little People and help the performers get ready for —”

  “The Little People still travel with the Cirque?” Gavner interrupted.

  “More of them than ever,” Mr. Crepsley answered. “There are twenty with us at the moment.”

  The vampires shared a knowing glance but said no more about it. I could tell Gavner was troubled by the way his scars knit together into a fierce-looking frown.

  “How goes it with the Generals?” Mr. Crepsley enquired.

  “Usual old routine,” Gavner said.

  “Gavner is a Vampire General,” Mr. Crepsley told me. That sparked my interest. I’d heard of the Vampire Generals, but nobody had told me exactly who or what they were.

  “Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s a Vampire General? What do they do?”

  “We keep an eye on scoundrels like this,” Gavner laughed, nudging Mr. Crepsley. “We make sure they’re not up to mischief.”

  “The Vampire Generals monitor the behavior of the vampire clan,” Mr. Crepsley added. “They make sure none of us kill innocents or use our powers for evil.”

  “How do they do that?” I asked.

  “If they discover a vampire who has turned bad,” Mr. Crepsley said, “they kill him.”

  “Oh.” I stared at Gavner Purl. He didn’t look like a killer, but then again, there were all those scars. . . .

  “It’s a boring job most of the time,” Gavner said. “I’m more like a village policeman than a soldier. I never did like the term ‘Vampire Generals.’ Far too pompous.”

  “It is not just evil vampires that Generals clamp down on,” Mr. Crepsley said. “It is also their business to crack down on foolish or weak vampires.” He sighed. “I have been expecting this visit. Shall we retire to my tent, Gavner, to discuss the matter?”

  “You’ve been expecting me?” Gavner looked startled.

  “Word was bound to leak out sooner or later,” Mr. Crepsley said. “I have made no attempt to hide the boy or suppress the truth. Note that please: I will use it during my trial, when I am called upon to defend myself.”

  “Trial? Truth? The boy?” Gavner was bewildered. Glancing down at my hands, he spotted the vampire marks on my fingertips and his jaw dropped. “The boy’s a vampire?” he shrieked.

  “Of course,” Mr. Crepsley frowned. “But surely you knew.”

  “I knew nothing of the kind!” Gavner protested. He looked into my eyes and concentrated hard. “The blood is weak in him,” he mused aloud. “He is only a half-vampire.”

  “Naturally,” Mr. Crepsley said. “It is not our custom to make full vampires of our assistants.”

  “Nor to make assistants of children!” Gavner Purl snapped, sounding more authoritative than he had before. “What were you thinking?” he asked Mr. Crepsley. “A boy! When did this happen? Why haven’t you informed anybody?”

  “It has been nearly a year and a half since I blooded Darren,” Mr. Crepsley said. “Why I did it is a long story. As for why I have not yet told anyone, that is simpler to answer: you are the first of our kind we have encountered. I would have taken him to the next Council if I had not run into a General beforehand. Now that will not be necessary.”

  “It certainly will be!” Gavner snorted.

  “Why?” Mr. Crepsley asked. “You can judge my actions and pass verdict.”

  “Me? Judge you?” Gavner laughed. “No thanks. I’ll leave you to the Council. The last thing I need is to get involved in something like this.”

  “Excuse me,” I said again, “but what’s this all about? Why are you talking about being judged? And who or what is the Council?”

  “I shall tell you later,” Mr. Crepsley said, waving my questions aside. He studied Gavner curiously. “If you are not here about the boy, why have you come? I thought I made it clear when last we met that I wanted no more to do with the Generals.”

  “You made it crystal clear,” Gavner agreed. “Maybe I’m just here to discuss old times.”

  Mr. Crepsley smiled cynically. “After seventeen years of leaving me to my own devices? I think not, Gavner.”

  The Vampire General coughed discreetly. “There is trouble brewing. Nothing to do with the Generals,” he added quickly. “This is personal. I’ve come because I feel there’s something you should know.” He paused.

  “Go on,” Mr. Crepsley urged him.

  Gavner looked at me and cleared his throat. “I have no objections to speaking in front of Darren,” he said, “but you seemed anxious to steer him clear of certain areas when we were discussing our past a while ago. What I have to tell you may not be for his ears.”

  “Darren,” Mr. Crepsley said immediately, “Gavner and I shall continue our discussion in my quarters, alone. Please find Mr. Tall and tell him I shall be unable to perform tonight.”

  I wasn’t happy — I wanted to hear what Gavner had to say: he was the first vam
pire I’d met other than Mr. Crepsley — but from his stern expression, I knew his mind was made up. I turned to leave.

  “And Darren,” Mr. Crepsley called back. “I know you are curious by nature, but I warn you: do not attempt to eavesdrop. I shall take a dim view of it if you do.”

  “What do you think I am?” I said. “You treat me like —”

  “Darren!” he snapped. “No eavesdropping!”

  I nodded glumly. “All right.”

  “Cheer up,” Gavner Purl said as I walked away dejectedly. “I’ll tell you all about it, as soon as Larten’s back is turned.”

  As Mr. Crepsley spun around, with fire in his eyes, the Vampire General quickly raised his hands and laughed. “Only joking!”

  Chapter Three

  I DECIDED TO DO THE ACT with Madam Octa — Mr. Crepsley’s spider — by myself. I was totally able to handle her. Besides, it was fun to take over from Mr. Crepsley. I’d been on stage with him a bunch of times, but always as his sidekick.

  I went on after Hans Hands — a man who could run a hundred yards on his hands in less that eight seconds — and had great fun. The audience cheered, and later I sold a bunch of candy spiders to clamoring customers.

  I hung out with Evra after the show. I told him about Gavner Purl and asked what he knew about Vampire Generals.

  “Not much,” he said. “I know they exist, but I’ve never met one.”

  “What about the Council?” I asked.

  “I think that’s a huge meeting they have every ten or fifteen years,” he said. “A big conference where they get together and discuss things.”

  That was all he could tell me.

  A few hours before dawn, while Evra was tending to his snake, Gavner Purl appeared from Mr. Crepsley’s van — the vampire preferred to sleep in the basements of buildings, but there had been no suitable rooms in the old mill — and asked me to walk with him awhile.

  The Vampire General walked slowly, rubbing the scars on his face, like Mr. Crepsley did a lot when he was thinking.