Pretty Young Things

by Dominic McDonagh

  It was a pity that phoning the police would be far more trouble than it was worth, given Chelsea’s forwarding address and car theft, among other things. The skinny, faintly androgynous girl she’d hit in the face with a car door was probably lucky she was still alive, though she probably wouldn’t feel that way herself. Watching her neck snap back and teeth scatter out of her mouth had been almost as alarming to Jay as the thought of being dragged back into that cellar. Chelsea had winged the redhead hard enough to knock her down as well, and he had been astonished that she’d got back up. He really didn’t want to think about what her friends might have done to him and Chelsea if they’d caught up with the two of them. Jay’s main motive in calling Leonard rather than taking a trip to casualty had been that he didn’t want to run the risk of meeting either of them there, or even worse, any of their friends who hadn’t been hurt.

  ‘Some of those are going to scar,’ Leonard said. Jay shrugged. He wasn’t in the habit of going around without a shirt on anyway.

  ‘Any tips on dealing with blood loss?’ he asked, trying to change the subject. He suspected that Leonard had read his motive. At times, Leonard’s generally arch demeanour could come across as incredibly snide and patronising. A mere raise of his eyebrows often gave the impression that he was reminding you how he was a lot more perceptive than you were. As a burned-out one-time child prodigy, Jay always resented being reminded that someone was smarter than he was, and Leonard was one of the smartest people he’d ever met. The fact that Leonard hadn’t been quite smart enough to refrain from writing dubious prescriptions often enough to arouse the ire of the BMA and get struck off was scant consolation.

  ‘Lots of orange juice and red meat,’ Leonard said. ‘Lots of fluids in general. You should probably take a bit more salt than usual with your next few meals, as well.’

  ‘As far as the blood sports go,’ Leonard continued, ‘what’s that girl’s problem? Are the rest of them like that?’

  ‘Like what?’ Jay asked. A lot of the previous night’s events had flown over his head, and the rest were starting to take on the texture of a fever dream or a hallucination in hindsight, as his mind blotted out or edited facts that were incompatible with his appraisal of reality. Still, a few details of his escape from that big Victorian pile in Faulchion Close were probably going to stay with him for the rest of his life, and certainly looked likely to be a fixture of his nightmares for the next few months. He still felt tired and woozy, to say the least. He was warming to the notion of eating and then going to bed for the rest of the day, though the idea of red meat didn’t much appeal at that moment. Just thinking about it made his stomach turn cartwheels.

  ‘Scared of daylight,’ Leonard said. He didn’t bother to add anything about the blood sample he’d taken, or the way the puncture into the girl’s hand had closed almost immediately. No way was that going to mean a thing to Jared, anyway. Jay’s field was computers, not biology. ‘Did you know she’s gone to sleep? She flaked out very quickly once it started getting lighter. Practically collapsed, in fact.’

  ‘I hope she’s moved the guitar first, then,’ Jared said. He’d left his Strat leaning against the bed on his way out. It was an expensive guitar, far more so than his ability to play it warranted, and the thought of the neck getting broken because it had been pushed over was troubling. The guitar wasn’t really the main thing on his mind at the moment, though. He was more concerned with whether or not Len had just skipped a beat before answering. He probably wouldn’t seriously pause for thought unless somebody dropped a brick on his head or something, but Jay was sure that he’d hesitated, however briefly.

  ‘Are they all scared of daylight?’ Len said. Obviously he was unwilling to let the point go.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Jay said. ‘I did only see them at night, but then I was only there for a day or so.’ He didn’t want to mention that he’d spent most of it hanging upside-down, watching the daylight fade through the skylight that used to be a coal chute, feeling the dull pain from the jagged cuts that had been made all over his back and chest come to be dwarfed by the feeling of agony in the small of his back and his knees and ankles as his weight pulled on them all day, before they came back and started cutting him again. Some things you don’t want to talk about.

  Leonard nodded. ‘I’ll get rid of that car for you. There’s still more of them, even minus your girlfriend, assuming you’re stupid enough to trust her, so you should probably be careful. Keep an eye on her. If she could get you past the rest of them, she can turn you into mincemeat, if she puts her mind to it.’

  Outside, before starting up the wrecked Audi, Leonard paused to make a phone call. He still had a few contacts at the City General, and he got a promise from one of them, a former colleague named Hilary, to analyse the blood he’d taken from the girl, who he strongly suspected was some sort of freak of nature. Not just the standard tests with warfarin and oxidants, but the most thorough run-around they could manage. He wanted to know what the hell was going on with her blood, and as quickly as possible. Hilary promised that she’d send it to the biochemistry lab at UMIST, and that suited Leonard fine. He’d be very interested to see what they found.

  Jay gave up on the scrambled eggs he’d been pushing around his plate, washed down a couple of vitamin tablets with the carton of orange juice he’d more or less emptied since getting in, and decided to go to bed for a few hours himself.

  Leonard, it seemed, hadn’t been kidding about Chelsea. She was completely crashed out on the bed, with just one pale hand protruding from beneath the duvet. The Strat was lying flat on its back in a corner of the room, so at least it hadn’t had its neck broken, or even stressed. She was obviously more concerned about breaking his property than she was about damaging her former housemates. Jay had an unsettling feeling that he had a dangerous sociopath hiding in his bed. Still, at least she hadn’t tried to hurt him. Maybe Len had moved the guitar, if she’d been whacked out and needed helping into bed.

  ‘Chelsea?’ Jay said. ‘Can we talk?’ There was no answer. Either she was asleep or she didn’t feel talkative. Jay sighed, undressed and slid into bed next to her. Chelsea seemed to have stopped snoring at some point during the previous five years.

  As he drifted into a troubled sleep, Jay noticed the small, red dot Leonard’s syringe had left on the back of Chelsea’s hand. By the time he roused himself again, it had faded away to nothing, along with the nasty cut on her forehead.

  Jay got up after six hours. Chelsea didn’t. He sighed and left her to it, then phoned Robert and asked about borrowing a gun. This struck him as a good idea, with Chelsea’s erstwhile housemates running around loose. He also mentioned that he might be interested in scoring some dope and E, to make sure that Robert would actually bother to turn up. Robert promised to come around that evening. The sleep had helped Jay’s appetite, so he ate a steak sandwich on a round of white toast, realised he was still ravenous, and made himself another. He was sore all over and a couple of his cuts hurt like sin, which was hopefully a sign that they were healing, rather than a sign that they were getting infected. He went out and did a little shopping, hoping the exercise would help. At least Len had got rid of the car from outside.

  Shopping didn’t take that long, and Jared was pleased that he’d been carrying only a bank card in his now-missing wallet, rather than any of his other plastic. He’d have to cancel that tomorrow. He couldn’t lose more than 400 quid off it, yesterday and today, and they didn’t know his PIN anyway. He was more concerned about the possibility of somebody finding his address, but couldn’t recall what he’d left in his wallet and jacket that could lead back to him. He didn’t think there was anything, but stranger things had happened. Jared wondered if Chelsea would be up by the time Robert appeared. Probably, he thought, assuming she was still there when he got back. Jared was pretty sure she would be.

  Losing a bank card that could be cancelled and the 50 or
so pounds he’d had left in his wallet was probably worth learning that Chelsea wasn’t dead, but he was a bit annoyed that she hadn’t even tried to contact him. Still, she could have left him chained to the ceiling in her cellar, being snacked on by her housemates. She’d definitely burned her bridges over him, so there still seemed to be something there.

  Jared wished he knew what. He was looking forward to talking to her and finding out. He paid for his shopping and paused to buy the Observer and the Sunday Sport before leaving the supermarket.

  Coral had held an emergency meeting, which had been cut short only by the imminent threat of dawn. She had been in a livid, overheated fury that was unlikely to have mellowed any by the time her girls started moving again. Sophie hadn’t been a lot more pleased. Rowena had been almost incandescent with rage. Only her jaw getting messed up had kept her out of the shouting match, but she’d obviously been even angrier than Coral. She wasn’t so much incapable of talking as rendered mush-mouthed by the damage to her jaw and teeth, and so had kept out of the debate, seething to herself. Lucinda had been tactless enough to make some comment about Rowena sticking one end of a straw into her next bloodcalf, and had been lucky to escape with her own jaw unbroken. Rowena had belted the American hard in her tummy and her throat before being dragged off by Michelle and Rachael. Lucinda had been about to retaliate when Coral had finally lost it and started screaming, ordering everybody to call it a night and stating that they’d discuss the situation the following evening.

  Hayley was terrified. She’d woken up in a cold sweat three or four times now. She really didn’t want to speculate about what was going to happen next. It was probably a fair bet that that the screaming the previous night had been only a prelude to the row that was lurking in the wings, waiting for its cue. They hadn’t had the time to get going properly, with it getting grey outside, but they would, there was no doubt about that. Hayley rolled onto her side and tried to get back to sleep. Her belly was full of blood and she should be sleeping like a stone, but she wasn’t. She fretted and twisted and turned and occasionally sweated blood. She probably wasn’t the only one having a bad day’s sleep. Coral’s outrage and bad temper crackled through the house: static electricity waiting impatiently for a chance to ground itself as a lightning bolt. Chelsea had taken most of her stuff with her, and had apparently gone through Coral’s and Rachael’s room looking for money and valuables on her way out. She obviously wasn’t planning to come back, but Hayley had a horrible suspicion that they’d be going after her.

  Hayley really wasn’t looking forwards to getting up that evening. There’d be other things on the agenda than prick-teasing potential bloodcalves in nightclubs, she suspected.

  4: Not Even Starcrossed

  ‘You’re not dead, then.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  Robert didn’t seem all that pleased to see Chelsea again. Jay had always got the impression that he didn’t particularly like her. Possibly she’d brushed him off at some point: Jay knew she wasn’t always one of the ascended masters of tact and diplomacy.

  Chelsea proved this again when, on learning that Robert was still working as Phil Roscoe’s joey, she laughed out loud. ‘It’s been six years,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you even dealing your own drugs now?’ Robert bristled, like a cat who’d just been barked at by a collie.

  Jay sighed. Given the events of the previous few days, he didn’t think he’d sleep easily until he had a nine under his pillow, even in the semi-reassuring presence of a photophobic blonde who moved as smoothly as oiled silk and couldn’t digest solid food. Chelsea had claimed that there were eight more of them, which Jay wasn’t going to argue with. He’d seen at least half a dozen, besides Chelsea and Sophie. A house that size could have accommodated a dozen more, let alone another couple, particularly if they were willing to sleep more than one to a bedroom.

  ‘Play nicely, children,’ Jay said, drawing dirty looks from both of them. ‘Do you have a gun, Rob?’

  Robert shrugged, his bony shoulders flexing under the leather parka he hadn’t removed. Oddly for somebody in his line of work, he tended to dress goth rather than in baggy denim clown trousers, big trainers and sportswear. He’d probably be quite impressed if he found out about Chelsea’s affliction. Jay wasn’t going to mention it to him if she wasn’t though. He hadn’t quite wrapped his head around it. Whenever the word ‘vampire’ flitted through his mind, he quickly dismissed it, reminding himself that there were some intestinal diseases that could stop people from digesting solid food. He was having to be very careful to overlook the fact that they were all either congenital or caused by having most of the intestines removed.

  ‘I do. I also have a couple of eighths of hash.’

  ‘Grand. I’ll pay you for those, then you can lend me the other. I appreciate this.’

  ‘Give you the gun and push off, you mean?’ Robert said. Jay could live with that, as he didn’t think this was anything his baby gangster associate wanted to get mixed up in; but doubtless Robert would take offence at the implication. Robert was a big, hard man these days, and never tired of bragging about having kneecapped somebody with a crowbar. The fact that the somebody in question had been an engineering student, and that the kneecapping had been the culmination of a petty argument over ten tabs of ketamine, with Robert accompanied by a bunch of a knuckle-scraping cronies, was rarely something he bothered to raise.

  Chelsea’s attitude seemed a bit more direct. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Tool us up, hand over the dope and push off.’ Jay watched Robert’s lips stiffen and heard his breath hissing through them like steam blowing out of a kettle.

  Robert rounded on Chelsea. Jay had a horrible suspicion that his hand was on the gun in his pocket. He had another suspicion that if Robert tried to pull it, he was going to have to pay to hire a carpet cleaner.

  ‘Chelsea, shut up,’ Jay said. ‘The hash, Robert?’

  It was Chelsea’s turn to look peeved. Robert dug into an inner pocket of his jacket and removed a zip-lock containing a wad of small, resinous blocks. He laid two out on the kitchen tabletop and ostentatiously fidgeted while Jay slipped a couple of notes out of the back pocket of his jeans.

  Chelsea and Robert were still glaring daggers at each other. Jay didn’t want a fight to start. ‘Why don’t we smoke some of this and try to chill out a bit?’ he asked. Apart from anything else, he’d be interested to see if the stuff still had any impact on Chelsea now that she was …

  (a vampire)

  … now that she had an aversion to daylight and that her reflexes were jacked up into orbit by some sort of metabolic disorder. Perhaps she had acquired a brain tumour, which would explain her ability to pick up people who weighed more than she did and throw them about one-handed.

  Playing with the rizlas, the contents of a couple of Silk Cut and the dope at least kept Robert quiet. Jay had told him to use a couple of papers and make the joint a really big one. He was now hunched over the table and his brow was furrowed with concentration. Given that he sold dope for a living, it was a little strange, Jay felt, that he was so bad at rolling joints. The really hilarious part was that he took offence if anybody offered to help him with it.

  ‘I could have got some skunk,’ Robert said, as he always did.

  ‘Can’t stand the stuff,’ Jay replied. That was usual as well.

  ‘Really?’ Chelsea asked. She was watching Robert rolling up with a lot more interest than she’d shown in him thus far. Presumably she could get something out of dope still. That was good to know.

  ‘Yeah,’ Robert said, the swagger slipping back into his voice. ‘Really good hydroponic shit. The sticky stuff.’

  ‘Pity you didn’t bring any.’

  ‘I never buy it off him,’ Jay said. ‘Not since watching him and his mate Roscoe ripping open tea bags to make it go further.’

  ‘I wouldn’t pull that on a friend,’
Robert said, offended.

  ‘I doubt that you set any to one side for favoured customers, somehow.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Robert said.

  ‘Anyway, the stuff gives me migraines. Even if it doesn’t have any tea in it.’

  ‘I’m a bit surprised you didn’t want any E,’ Robert said, leering at Chelsea. ‘It’s brilliant for sex.’

  ‘I overdid that stuff the other night,’ Jay said.

  Robert was putting the finishing touches on his masterpiece by poking loose fragments of tobacco back into the joint with the end of a match. As with rolling the thing, this was a process that took him a lot longer than it would anybody else. At least the end result was a decent-sized and perfectly respectable spliff.

  ‘You don’t believe that crap about depleted neurotransmitters, do you?’ Robert said. ‘You’ve been spending too much time talking to Len.’

  The fit of sniggering that Chelsea had been controlling watching him roll the spliff finally escaped her. ‘Neurotransmitters!’ she said. ‘That’s a big word!’

  ‘Why don’t you spark that thing up?’ Jay said quickly as Robert glowered at Chelsea. He really didn’t want a fight to start. Robert reversed his match and struck it, but didn’t get to apply it to the end of the spliff. While he had his back to the window, a vampire came crashing through it and slammed him into the table face first.