by Helen Harper
Even with the mysterious powder which is keeping the worst of my bloodlust at bay, I feel the desperate cravings. With only two days to go until the end of the lunar month and the full moon, I’m sure I can make it. It’s not easy, though. One moment I break into cold sweats, then hot flushes the next. More alarmingly, my hands have developed an almost permanent tremor which makes holding anything, even a glass of water, incredibly difficult. I’ve not slept for what seems like weeks. I have no idea whether that’s down to guilt for not identifying Boris’s role sooner, or whether it’s a result of the cravings. Either way, I’m getting weaker by the day.
I’ve been to see Michael several times, both to check on the progress of the hunt for Boris and to plead with him to let me go outside to join it. He appears sympathetic but remains adamant that I need to be kept inside for my own good. One look at my shaking hands is enough to remind me of that. It occurs to me that by joining the ranks of the Montserrat Family I’ve become much more emasculated than I ever was under my grandfather’s thumb or working for Tam.
The lack of progress becomes more terrifying when I go to visit Matt. After almost two weeks of slipping in and out of consciousness, he finally seems to be recovering. Recovering from his hanging, though not from the twisted version of O’Shea’s spell. When I see him, he’s sitting on an infirmary bed flicking through what appears to be a children’s book.
‘Hey, Matt,’ I say softly.
He looks up and gives me a huge grin. ‘Bo! It’s so good to see you!’
I’m taken aback by his genuine happiness. ‘You look … pleased,’ I tell him cautiously.
‘Lord Montserrat told me I should be less grumpy.’ His grin stretches wider. ‘So now I’m not grumpy at all.’
‘What else did he tell you?’
Matt shrugs. ‘Not much. He wanted to know why I’d said your name when I woke up.’ His grin turns beatific. ‘You were singing the Bee Gees and I wanted to hear more. I wanted you to come and sing more.’
I have an appalling singing voice. Sympathy for the large, muscled ex-soldier builds inside me. ‘Matt?’
‘Yes?’
‘If I asked you to do twenty push-ups right now, what would you do?’
It is a rhetorical question but Matt doesn’t treat it that way. He springs off the bed and drops to the floor to start pumping out push-ups. He’s reached three before, horrified, I stop him.
‘I can keep going, Bo. I’ll do as many as you want.’
Sickened, I turn away. The tentacles of the passivity spell have wormed their way into his psyche. As much as I disliked him before, my pity for his condition now is overwhelming. He’s acting like a brain-damaged child. I wonder if he’ll ever recover.
Montserrat is kind when I bump into him a few minutes later as I high tail it away from Matt’s room and back to my own quarters. It seems he’s been looking for me, because he’s not in the habit of wandering the recruits’ corridors. It is hard to ignore the zing I feel in my heart at that thought. I immediately put it down to the annoying side effects from having been turned by him personally and move quickly towards him to express my anxiety at Matt’s condition. Unfortunately I’m hit by a sudden wave of dizziness that makes me stagger and fall. He reaches out with lightning-fast reflexes, catching me before I hit the ground, then pulls me to his chest. The top of my head barely reaches his chin.
‘Are you alright?’
I step back out of his embrace. He offers no resistance. ‘I’m fine.’ I’m embarrassed to appear so weak.
He stares down at me with a mixture of empathy and frustration, then opens his mouth to say something. Abruptly he closes it again, leaving me wondering. ‘Good.’ Without saying any more, he turns and leaves.
I remain where I am, gazing after him, thoroughly confused. He obviously wanted something and thought better of it. The frustrating thing is that I have no idea what he was after.
I find myself wandering through the crooked paths of the Montserrat garden a couple of hours later. I’m looking up at the pregnant moon, as if I can will it to reach full status, when I’m interrupted by Ursus and Ria. I wait for them to come close then paste on a smile.
‘The professor and the PA,’ I say, in an attempt to be charming.
Ursus’s expression doesn’t flicker although Ria raises a single eyebrow. ‘The recruit with a well of hidden secrets.’
‘Well, they wouldn’t be secrets if they weren’t hidden,’ I murmur. She doesn’t look impressed.
‘We want to know what’s going on,’ Ursus says, ignoring the byplay between Ria and me.
I shrug. ‘Ask Lord Montserrat.’
‘He’s been closeted in a meeting all day with the other Heads. This is our Family. You’re not even a proper vampire and yet you have access to information that we need to keep our Family safe.’ Ursus takes a threatening step towards me. ‘You’re going to tell us what you know.’
‘And if I don’t?’ I inquire mildly.
A twisted snarl crosses Ria’s face. I can empathise with them. Despite their relatively youthful exteriors, they’ve probably been trusted members of the Montserrat inner circle for decades. Now vampires are going missing from all the Families, and they’re being kept out of the loop. But doubtful as it seems, there is still the danger that one or both of them is involved in the treachery. It’s certainly not my place to tell them what’s going on. But it must be frustrating for them to see me, a complete nonentity, with their Lord’s ear. I’d like to tell them it’s simply my bad luck that has put me in this position but by the look on their faces, I don’t think they’ll accept that.
‘You’re going to begin by telling us how you escaped the bloodlust.’
I was wondering when that little matter would come up again. I’m surprised more hasn’t been made of it before now. ‘You’re the experts,’ I say. ‘I was pretty much out of it. I don’t know what happened.’
‘Nobody’s ever come out of the bloodlust. In fact, within hours of it starting, we normally give the sufferers blood to bring them out. Lord Montserrat wouldn’t let us give you any.’ Ursus’s eyes are hard. ‘Why?’
I feel a rush of warmth towards Michael at that little titbit. He must have known it would be almost impossible for me to survive the cravings once I fell unconscious. And yet he hung on, avoiding forcing me to drink blood because he knew I didn’t want to become a real vampire.
‘Not just that,’ Ria adds, ‘but there’s not been an intake since the eighteenth century where there were still three recruits who’d not drunk less than forty-eight hours before the full moon.’
‘Nicky and Peter are nothing to do with me,’ I say, although I ponder her words carefully. It is strange that they remain in the odd twilight world of half human and half vampire. I’ve got my magic powder to help me: what do they have?
‘We’ve been through your stuff. Are you Christian? Is that it?’
I frown. They’ve nosed through my belongings? ‘What do you mean, you’ve been through my stuff?’
‘You don’t think we just throw away the things you enter with, do you?’ Ursus leans forward until I can feel his hot breath on my face. ‘Why do you have a crucifix?’
Oh. I suddenly remember that I scooped up Peter’s after he left it behind during that first meeting with the Family. ‘It’s not mine,’ I tell them.
‘You’re just keeping it for a friend?’ Ria is sarcastic.
‘Actually, yes. And what in the hell are you doing going through my things?’
‘You’re one of us now. What’s yours is ours.’
‘Somehow I don’t think that works in reverse,’ I mutter.
‘Where’s the daemon?’
I honestly have no idea. I’ve not seen or heard anything of O’Shea since my recruitment. He’s probably still holed up in Michael’s palatial penthouse.
‘Who’s this Boris fellow?’
Ursus grabs my arm. ‘Has he been killing our friends?’
I pull back. Enough is enough.
‘You’re asking a hundred questions that I can’t answer. Like I said, if you want to know what’s going on, ask Lord Montserrat.’
‘We’re asking you.’
Something in Ria’s eyes snaps. I recognise her loss of control just in time and flip right to avoid her attack. ‘We’re Family members now,’ I say, keeping out of her reach. ‘Are you supposed to attack your sister?’
‘You’re no sister of mine. You’ve not drunk yet, remember? That makes you fair game.’
Fear runs down my spine. Ria’s words may be melodramatic but I can sense the anger in them. And people – or vampires – who are hurt and angry don’t think straight. And I’m no match physically for them .
Realising that I’m not going to be able to talk my way out, I opt for flight. Both Ursus and Ria can outrun me, but they won’t dare make a move in the presence of others. I need to get back inside to the relative safety of the mansion where other people might be wandering the corridors. I open my mouth as if to speak, then bolt, scarpering past them towards the door. Instead of a direct line, I zigzag in order to throw them off.
It takes less than a couple of heartbeats for the pair to react. I don’t turn round but I hear Ria’s hiss of frustration. I run as fast as my legs will carry me but with all the symptoms of the bloodlust coursing through my body, I don’t make it very far before one of them grabs hold of my jumpsuit collar and yanks me backwards. I know instinctively that neither of them genuinely want to hurt me. Indeed, if they were thinking more rationally they wouldn’t be trying this on in the first place. Out of options, I let my body go limp. If defensive thanatosis – playing possum – works in the animal world, I’m going to make it work for me too. I roll my eyes into the back of my head and slow down my breathing. Then I hope for the best.
To begin with, I don’t think it works. With my vision obscured, one of them – I can’t tell which – body-slams me. It takes every ounce of self-control not to cry out at the pain. I just about manage it, hopeful that they might leave me alone, when I hear a grunt of dissatisfaction.
‘She’s out cold,’ Ursus says, in a deep and unhappy rumble. ‘This was a stupid idea. He’ll be pissed off if he realises we confronted her.’
‘He shouldn’t have compromised himself by sleeping with a fucking recruit.’
I have to concentrate to keep my body still at those words. They must think I’m winning myself favours by sleeping my way to the top. I should be flattered, I suppose, that both Ria and Ursus believe my feminine wiles are so alluring. Instead I’m rather annoyed that they think the only way I can be in Lord Montserrat’s confidence is by shagging him.
‘What should we do with her?’
‘Leave her. She’ll wake up sooner or later. With any luck, she won’t go blabbing about this.’ I hear some of the tension leave Ria’s voice and relief trickles through me.
‘That’s not going to happen. This was a stupid idea, Ria.’
‘What choice did we have?’
I feel their frustration. I’m certainly not going to snitch on them. Quite frankly, I think the entire Montserrat Family has bigger problems than dealing with a few irate bloodguzzlers who are trying to take matters into their own hands.
They give up and leave, their feet crunching away on the gravelled path. I stay where I am for several long moments, counting slowly to two hundred in my head. Then I sit up carefully, trying to look as if I’ve just come round in case they are watching from a distance. It’s not hard. If I felt shaky before my encounter with them, I’m now like an alcoholic before her first drink of the day. Even my legs are trembling.
It takes me some time to stagger to my feet. I hit my head pretty hard when I went down and cut it on something. When I put my hand up, it comes away wet and bloody. I sniff curiously. Apparently my own blood does nothing for me. Just in case, however, I wipe the blood off on my thighs rather than licking it off. I can’t be too careful. With a sigh, I limp slowly back inside.
I’m almost back at the staircase when I spot the familiar shape of Peter coming towards me. He’s shuffling along, bouncing off the walls as if drunk. I give a humourless smirk. We must look like a right pair.
‘Hey Pete,’ I call out.
He barely registers it. Painfully, I drag myself over to him and peer up into his face. ‘Hey, Pete,’ I say again.
He jerks his head, his eyes focusing on me as if he’s surprised to find me standing there. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘There’s no need to be so effusive,’ I comment with a half grin.
He looks puzzled. This is not the same man who I sat beside three weeks ago; physically, he’s a pale shadow of himself. He’s really starting to worry me. ‘You don’t look good,’ I tell him.
He chokes out a laugh. ‘Neither do you.’
He probably has a point. Right now, I’m finding it difficult to stand up straight. I pull my shoulders back in an attempt to look more alive. Peter doesn’t even try.
‘There are only two days to go,’ I say softly. ‘You can change your mind about all this. It’s not too late.’
He reaches up to his neck, as if searching for something that isn’t there. His hand drops down to his side when he doesn’t find it. ‘You’re holding out for some thunderclap that will happen when you make it to the end of the month and you’re still human. That’s because you’ve got reason to care. You want to live.’
I wonder how someone in Peter’s mental state managed to get onto the final list of recruits. It’d be easy to put down his current state of mind to the bloodlust but he wasn’t much happier when I first met him. He must have some mad skills that the Montserrat Family is after.
‘Why are you here? You’re obviously not after longevity. You said you deserved to suffer and you’re definitely doing that, but…’
He turns away. ‘I’ve already made it clear I don’t want to talk about it.’
I curse myself for prying. I’m trying to make him feel better, not alienate him. Really, I should know better by now.
‘I have to go,’ he says, shuffling off.
I watch him go, wishing there was something I could do to help him. My thoughts are foggy and it’s hard to grasp anything clearly but, eventually, I realise what his hand was unconsciously seeking around his neck. The same thing that Ria and Ursus mistakenly thought was mine: his crucifix. He abandoned it when he entered the Montserrat mansion. Perhaps by returning it to him, I can make him feel a bit more connected to reality. Until now I’d forgotten all about it; I suppose I have Ria and Ursus’s attack to thank for reminding me. Even if Peter doesn’t want it back, tracking it down will give me something to focus on. Not blood. Not crazy-ass vampires. Not Boris and his very personal betrayal. Just a little golden cross. I nod decisively and head back down the corridor to find where our belongings are being kept.
Chapter Twenty Six: The Clock Face
I’ve been cooped up in the Montserrat mansion for long enough to know where our belongings definitely are not. I’ve respected the caveat about not entering any doors with ribbons tied around them but I’m pretty sure I know what most of them contain. From what I’ve seen of the comings and goings, the higher levels are bedrooms and dormitories, with a few social areas. Not many of the Montserrat vampires stay here, but I guess it helps to have spare accommodation should it be required for those unhappy souls like Ria and Ursus who are expected to stick around to advance the recruits. The middle floors include various laboratories and offices, while the main meeting areas and Michael’s office are on the ground floor. It makes sense that the storage areas will either be very high up in the loft space, or very low down in the basement. The thought of climbing several sets of stairs on my shaky legs puts the fear of God into me, so I search for steps leading downwards instead.
Using my scant knowledge of old buildings, I figure that any staircase leading to a dim basement area would have originally been used by servants. That means it is probably in the kitchen area towards the back of house. Thankfully, that’s not
far away so I lurch over with little difficulty. Matters deteriorate when I enter the large kitchen, however. Vampires eat solid food from time to time, but it’s more out of pleasure in the taste and habit rather than physical necessity. As a result, the kitchen is neat, tidy and very empty. I open and close at least half a dozen cupboards and doors before I find one that leads to a set of spiral steps.
I peer down into the gloom. There must be a light switch somewhere but I can’t see it. I sigh and brace my arms against the walls then slowly feel my way downwards. At one point, my foot slips and I almost crash down. Fortunately, I manage to right myself by grabbing the banister and clinging on for dear life. Once I regain my equilibrium, I continue with my descent. If this turns out to be a waste of time, I’m going to be very pissed off.
When my tentative edging forward tells me that there are no more steps, I loosen my grip on the banister and fumble around the walls. I find a light switch fairly quickly, managing to illuminate the room in weak electric light from an old fluorescent strip. As well as the light, however, it also immediately starts a low and continuous buzz, as if I’ve managed to get an annoying flying insect stuck in my ear. At least it seems that I’ve found the right place. There are rows and rows of neatly stacked shelves containing boxes labelled with names.
I walk down one aisle, expecting to find everything in alphabetical order. It doesn’t take long to realise that’s not the case. Judging by the boxes in the first aisle – worn, faded and very dusty – each shelf is organised by the date of recruitment. I must be wandering amongst those belonging to the oldest vampires. I keep a curious eye out for Michael Montserrat’s box. It’s not that I particularly want to snoop through his things but after his evasion about his real age, I’m interested in finding it out. Feeling even slight traces of lust for someone who by rights should be little more than dust in a box buried six feet under doesn’t sit well with me. My attempt is half-hearted, however. I don’t have the energy to scour the whole place so, when I don’t see his name immediately, I shuffle back to find the more recent additions.