The Making of Gabriel Davenport

by Beverley Lee

  Noah occupied the other sofa. His eyes were closed but he wasn’t sleeping. The angry brand on his forehead glistened in the lamp light.

  ‘Ah, Gabriel.’ Clove pretended he had just noticed Gabe was awake, although Gabe suspected he had known the moment his eyes were open.

  ‘Moth, why don’t you get acquainted?’ Clove inclined his head. Moth and Teal sat on the floor by the French doors, the closest they could get to outside.

  If there was anyone in the room Gabe didn’t want to get acquainted with, it was Moth. He sat up and swivelled his legs onto the floor. His ploy was to insert himself between Ollie and Carver so that if Moth did come closer, he would at least have company. But he only managed two steps before his knees buckled. Clove caught him before he hit the floor.

  Gabe found himself swept up, powerless to stop the momentum that ended with him being deposited beside Moth.

  ‘Play nicely. There’s enough to worry about outside this room without any more antagonism.’

  It was a sensible and truthful statement with which neither Gabe nor Moth could argue.

  Clove pulled Teal to his feet and inspected the book still clutched to his side. He pointed to the leather chair by the hearth, giving Teal permission to indulge. Teal didn’t need to be told again. He nearly skipped to the chair, opening the pages before he curled up onto the seat.

  Which left Gabe alone with Moth. There was a long, awkward silence. Gabe could feel the resentment bristling from the young vampire. And it went both ways. He hugged his knees and stared straight ahead, but Moth was in his peripheral vision. The fine layer of dust on his skin and in his hair made it look as if he had been in some kind of desert storm. He didn’t look much older than Gabe was, but that didn’t mean anything—he was a vampire. The word clanged in Gabe’s head like a warning bell. Wasn’t he supposed to be running from the danger outside, not creating new ones inside?

  Moth dropped his head onto his knees then turned to stare at him. Moth’s eyes were strange, one grey and one dormouse brown. Now it was Gabe’s turn to stare, but the anger that flared up made him drop his gaze.

  ‘Why did you pull us into your mess?’ The venom dripped from Moth’s tongue.

  For a second, Gabe was speechless—but only for a second. A white hot flash of anger surged up from his stomach and hurled itself out of his mouth. He forgot about what Moth was. He forgot about anything but the fact that he was trying his fucking hardest, but that never seemed to be enough.

  ‘I didn’t “pull” anyone. I never asked for Clove’s help and I sure as hell didn’t ask for yours. It might have escaped your grasp, but there’s enough going on here without me bothering about whatever little grudge you’ve got against me.’

  Moth shrugged as Gabe’s fury settled over him in a cloud of hissed words. Clove watched them both whilst carrying on a conversation with Carver.

  ‘A grudge? Is that what you think this is?’ Moth’s eyes darkened.

  ‘What else am I supposed to think?’ Gabe was all out of being nice and all out of being intimidated. If Moth and he were truly alone he might have curtailed his feelings, but with Clove here it was hardly likely that Moth would bite back. He laughed at that thought and Moth shot him another black glance.

  ‘Your kind and my kind don’t mix. This isn’t one of those pathetic stories where we all find peace and harmony. I’d rather rip your throat out than make small talk.’

  ‘Moth. Enough.’ A sharp retort from Clove clammed up anything else Moth was going to say.

  Gabe was physically shaking. It took all of his self-control not to launch himself at Moth. ‘Thanks for the honesty. At least I know where I stand. I doubt whether you had much more compassion when you were alive.’ His words were meant to hurt and for an instant, that emotion registered on Moth’s face before being replaced by the hard mask.

  ‘Gabe?’ Noah’s hoarse voice came from the sofa. ‘Come over here.’ A hand appeared above the sofa arm and beckoned him.

  Gabe didn’t need any more encouragement. He left Moth to brood and settled himself by Noah. He had nearly forgotten about Noah’s ordeal, which was unforgiveable. Gabe clasped his hand.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ It was a stupid question. The man had been attacked by something that shouldn’t exist. How did that even feel when all your faith was in God?

  Noah wet his lips with the tip of his tongue.

  ‘Don’t waste your focus on Moth—or anything else in this room, Gabriel.’ His eyelids fluttered as though he was having trouble keeping them open. ‘The evil out there wants you. Don’t assume they can—or will—help.’

  The glass rattled in the windows as a hard gust of wind blasted against it. Gabe jumped and saw Moth smirking. Noah squeezed his fingers tightly.

  A cold dread settled itself around Gabe’s shoulders. The odds in his favour had dropped again. Now there were two things baying for his blood.

  ***

  Aka Maga hesitated at the top of the staircase. The young vampires were prowling downstairs but they were insignificant and proved no threat. It had tested the meeker one in case his quietness held a reserved power, but it found him weak and pitiful.

  The rest, including its prize, were bundled together in one room. Safety in numbers, they assumed. The thought of the master vampire caused a deep heat to well up inside its life force and its new heart swelled, not with blood but with centuries of negative energy.

  After all of the years of waiting for a perfect host, it would not compromise success by taking Gabriel when the vampire was present and on guard. Let them all wait and wonder. The power of fear grew stronger when imagination over ran common sense, it knew that all too well.

  Aka Maga basked in its newfound strength, testing the forces cavorting inside its form by splitting and reforming, scattering its atoms throughout the upper storey of the house then pulling them back into the concentrated ball of black power. Deep inside its rotting core, it was exhilarated. It was more than ready.

  The grandfather clock chimed the hour. 2 a.m. A little beyond the witching hour this place revolved around.

  For once, it was waiting for the light—for the minutes right before dawn when the vampires would have to retreat, skulking away like dogs with their tails between their legs, into their black holes.

  Then, at that moment when they were powerless, it would enter Gabriel Davenport, making sure they all saw his surrender, his terror. It would thank the man, Carver, for nurturing its host so well. It would laugh in the face of the priest who lay broken in spirit. It would make Gabriel scream his new name for all to hear.

  Then, it would instruct him to kill them all.

  It slid under a door, a black churning mass of hate and shadow.

  And it waited.

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Ollie excused himself by saying he was slipping upstairs to grab his phone charger. The look Clove gave him nearly incinerated him in his tracks.

  He was excited, more excited than he could ever remember. Things he had believed in all of his life were actually true! It was if fate had vindicated all of the hours he had spent looking for that one perfect clue. The thing that would open the door to other worlds. But it was tempered by a dull hollow of concern for his sister and for Gabe. Those two emotions didn’t play nicely together and he wanted to get away to clear his head. Under Clove’s watchful eye, even thinking seemed to have no privacy.

  He ran up the stairs, glad that someone had left the lamp on the console table lit. Someone moved along the hallway below and he spun round, staring through the open balustrades. It was Moth, no doubt sent by Clove. The way he was looking was anything but friendly. A memory flashed through Ollie’s mind of Purr Snicketty stalking a mouse in the graveyard last Easter. It had been a beautiful spring day, daffodils brushing against old tombstones in the warm, balmy wind.

  Ollie slipped inside the nearest room—Olivia’s—wanting to be out of view from any downstairs scrutiny. Her towel lay crumpled across the bed from her mornin
g shower and unpartnered shoes lay scattered on the floor. She was the untidy one; Ollie had a bad case of OCD. And people say twins are the same. The smell of her perfume still hung in the air and a pang of distress shot through his chest.

  He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands, pressing his fingertips under his glasses, against his eyelids. He wanted not to think for just a few minutes.

  The scent from the perfume pressed against his senses, deep and woody with a hint of smoke. Olivia didn’t wear florals; she preferred something with strength and attitude. She called it her ‘don’t fuck with me’ calling card.

  His head throbbed, even his bones ached. Downstairs were vampires. Freaking vampires. He should be asking questions and documenting, studying their reactions and their conversation. This was proof his whole life wasn’t wasted, that his decision to enter the research of the paranormal wasn’t the decision of a deluded mind that would have curled up and died with a normal nine-to-five job.

  His stomach churned and he swallowed the urge to be sick. The scent clung to the inside of his nostrils. When did he last eat? The pizza? No, he hadn’t eaten any. That seemed like days ago. In the kitchen, before the storm with Gabe...

  Ollie’s fingers tingled as he remembered the pressure of Gabe’s head against his chest and his warm hands clinging onto Ollie’s shirt. The way the sun had caught the planes of his face, highlighting the tears on his cheeks. His fingers clutched the sheets and he groaned, rocking backwards and forwards, letting his imagination run riot. Kissing Gabe would be like tasting honey straight from the comb. Nothing should taste that good and be natural.

  His hand went to the front of his jeans, popping the buttons and freeing himself. He lay down on his sister’s bed with her perfume in his lungs and imagined slipping his tongue between Gabe’s lips, nudging him to respond. He imagined the sounds he would make, the soft moans and the urgent begging. A new train of thought burst through the fog in his mind: maybe this was all Gabe’s fault. Olivia leaving was linked to the box, and the box was linked to Gabe. The house had been fine until he caught Gabe lurking down near the vault. Yes, it was making more sense now.

  The thought receded, leaving only the intense, almost painful pleasure of a hard on he had tried to bury all day. This time there was no gentle kissing. Gabe writhed underneath him, slick with sweat, his innocence falling away like water. This time, Ollie mentally fucked Gabe until he made him bleed.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Olivia clung onto the grab handle above the passenger door like a drowning woman hanging onto a rock. Her teeth were clenched together so tightly she thought they might all disintegrate if she relaxed. Her body, already battered and bruised by the accident, was taking another onslaught as the 4x4 bounced its way over the ruts in the field.

  Tom hadn’t let the sinkhole faze him for long. She had followed him, climbing into the car with a rage she hadn’t thought possible, a string of expletives tripping from her tongue. He had stared at her, twisting his mouth into a grimace.

  ‘You could run a small country on the energy you put into cussing, Miss Olivia.’

  Whilst she was digesting that statement, he crunched the 4x4 into first and calmly drove through the five-bar gate on their right. Splinters of wood hit the windscreen and she ducked. Her head hit the interior of the roof as the vehicle lurched and she grabbed the handle, looking at him as if he was a madman. Or a saviour. Or both.

  She thought any hope of getting to The Manor was sunk into the depths of that hole, but here was Tom again, coming to her rescue. The vehicle slid sideways as they listed down the hill towards the beck, which ran between two fields. The climb resumed until the field levelled out as it ran towards the boundary of the house. She’d walked this way countless times, but it was all new and unsettling in the damp darkness. To their right was the wood with its army of silver birches, standing sentinel on the hill.

  ‘I owe you, Tom.’ The words chattered through her teeth as they bounced over the churned-up ruts from the tractor. She wanted to say much more, but maybe that would come later when all this was over, when they were safe. If that time ever came. She bit her lip and stared hard out of the windscreen, her eyes on the bouncing headlight beams.

  ‘There’s good in you, girl, underneath all those prickles. Reminds me of my Betty.’

  She didn’t look across, but she knew there were tears in his eyes.

  Tom stopped at the base of the hill. The beck, which was usually no more than a trickling stream, had tripled in size and the water ran quickly. Debris, washed down from the slopes, littered the water with windfall branches. A dry stone wall that separated the pastures had partially collapsed, and sizeable stones jutted out of the stream bed.

  They sat in silence with only the sweep of the wiper blades as a background.

  ‘Can you get through that?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem. I’m just giving the old beast a breather. She hasn’t worked this hard since that snowstorm.’

  That snowstorm, the one fifteen years ago. All the locals called it that. Anything since was only a flurry, even if it lasted for days. Everything always went back to that time, she thought.

  Tom started up the engine, but this time it coughed as it spluttered into life. He studied the dials on the dashboard and grunted. Slowly, he edged towards the fast-moving water, his eyes scanning for a crossing point. She pointed to a place where only a few rocks poked out. The slope at the other side looked like a mountain.

  The 4x4 lurched into the water and shifted sideways with the flow. Tom corrected it, keeping his foot down on the accelerator so it didn’t stall. One wheel hit a rock. She held her breath and almost cheered as the tyre found grip and scrabbled over. Only a few more feet and they would make the opposite bank.

  The engine whined in protest as Tom asked for more power. The inside of the cab began to steam up with their breath. Olivia leaned forward and rubbed the windscreen clear with her hand. The smell of burning wires wafted up through the vents.

  A sudden surge of water carried them downstream for a moment and the 4x4 hit the side of a fallen log hidden under the current. Tom wrestled with the wheel.

  ‘Come on, come on, just a bit more, old girl.’

  Olivia repeated it in her head. If sheer will could get them across, they would fly.

  The revs of the engine juddered and paused, then juddered again. It cut out for the final time, its last breath belching out of the exhaust pipe in a cloud of smoke.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Moth was taking too long.

  Clove sat with his back to the door, watching Carver and Noah deep in conversation. Their voices were hushed but he could hear every word. It didn’t seem important that they know that. Noah’s eyes darted to Clove occasionally. For a man of God, there was too much uncertainty in their depths.

  Clove listened for Moth’s footfall and found it in Gabriel’s bedroom, but Ollie wasn’t with him. Clove’s mouth narrowed. After this was over, he would have to make an example of Moth. He must know his place. Their survival depended on following rules, and right now, Moth appeared to be flaunting every single one.

  The animosity between Gabriel and Moth concerned him. He hadn’t anticipated a bond— far from it—but this active dislike was trouble waiting to happen. As was this waiting. He fully expected a confrontation with the demon before now. It was too full of rage to back away for long, and too powerful to be intimidated by his presence ad infinitum. But he could feel it prowling and smell its decay wafting through the house.

  Teal had abandoned his book for now, although he still carried it under one arm. He was standing in front of an oil painting—a village scene—his expression one of rapt pleasure. He reached out his hand and touched the surface of the oils, his finger tracing the tiny dips and swirls.

  Clove knew taking Teal under his wing could be seen by some as a mistake. He was weak, an unnecessary burden, and the runt of the vampire litter he had hunted down. But there was something about those
eyes, a uniqueness that picked away at the back of Clove’s mind, something that didn’t give him any pleasure. But right now, he kept Moth in check and gave him something to look after.

  Gabriel sat huddled in a chair, as far away from everyone that he could get. Although he appeared to be brooding, Clove knew that the boy was aware of every tiny movement in the room. What was it like for him, waiting to be taken, waiting to die? Something that could have been empathy fluttered in his chest, but it vanished in an instant. The boy was brave; going outside like that took courage. Clove had told Gabriel he would help in the fight against the demon, but if it came down to it, the most important thing was destroying it. If Gabriel got caught in the crossfire, he would have to be a necessary casualty.

  Clove’s patience was wearing thin. He was beginning to tire of being the pawn in this battle.

  Gabriel glanced up as Ollie’s shadow darkened the door. There was no sign of a phone charger in his hand.

  Clove studied his face. Ollie was sweating, the small beads of perspiration glistening on his brow and upper lip. Clove inhaled and caught the chlorine tang of semen. That was strange. There was no one else upstairs but Moth.

  Ollie wiped the back of his hand over his face as Gabriel beckoned him over. ‘Did you find your charger?’

  ‘No...I looked, but Olivia must have it.’ The lie was so obvious that even Carver and Noah stopped talking for a moment. Ollie chewed the edge of his thumbnail and shuffled his feet, before leaning down and whispering something in Gabriel’s ear.

  ‘Anyone want a drink?’ Gabriel was out of the chair and halfway out of the room with Ollie at his heels.

  The hairs at the nape of Clove’s neck bristled. He lowered his breathing rate and ran his tongue over the edge of one sharp fang. Gabriel stood in front of the fridge with the door open. He picked up a can from the top shelf and handed it to Ollie, before taking one for himself. Everything appeared normal, but something seemed to be drawing all the air from the room.