by Helen Harper
He doesn’t answer. Instead of repeating my instructions, however, I’m forced into silence as I see the familiar Michael-shaped silhouette appear at the building’s edge. He must have heard the shot. He springs upwards, not bothering to hide his approach. Two heads appear and the unmistakable shape of a long-barrelled gun swings in his direction. The daemons squeeze off three shots in quick succession.
I hold my breath, my heart in my mouth, but I needn’t have worried. Michael’s a far older and more powerful vampire than I am. He flies up into the air like Batman on speed. That’s a nifty trick, being fast enough to dodge a bullet; I wonder if he can teach it to me. He lands beside the two shooters before they can fire again. In the blink of an eye he grabs the gun, flinging it over the edge of the building. Then he lifts them both by the scruff of their necks and dangles them over the side. I can see his mouth moving but he’s too far away for me to hear the words or lip read. Satisfied that he has things under control, I turn back to Rogu3.
‘We’re going…’ My voice falters as I take in his pale sweating skin and dilated pupils. I realise I’m soaked in blood – and it’s definitely not mine.
Frantically, I search for the wound. I pull up his shirt and stare at the mess of blood. No, no, no, no, no.
‘Stay with me, Rogu3,’ I say, pulling out my phone. ‘I’m going to get an ambulance.’
His eyes catch mine and I can sense the life draining from him. His lips move but there’s no sound. I stare down at the ragged flesh in his side. The bullet caught him at an angle and must have penetrated his stomach. There’s no coming back from this.
I hear a loud thump from near the building, followed quickly by another. ‘Michael!’ I scream.
I press my palms to the wound, trying to staunch the blood as best as I can. I keep my eyes trained on Rogu3 but I see the movement in my peripheral vision as Michael scales back down the school building and runs towards me.
‘It’s okay. I’ve got a plan.’ I whisper to Rogu3. I don’t know whether he hears me or not.
The second Michael’s foot lands on the concrete of the grandstand, I yell, ‘What do I do? How do I turn him?’
He’s by my side in a flash, leaning over Rogu3’s body. I pull my hand away from the leaking, gaping hole long enough for Michael to see it. His voice is grim. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Tell me what to do to turn him. If he’s a vampire, he’ll heal. There’s no other way.’
‘Bo.’ Michael’s voice is gentle. ‘You can’t.’
‘Of course I fucking can! I drink from him, he drinks from me, then drinks from a human. I just need to make sure I do it right.’
‘The chances of him surviving the turn are too slight. And you can’t turn someone without their agreement.’
‘You did it to me,’ I snarl.
‘That was different.’ He puts his hand on my arm. ‘Even if he wanted to be recruited and even if he had a good chance of surviving, it’s against the law to turn a child.’
‘He’s fourteen. He’s not a little kid.’
‘But he is still a kid. You can’t do it. The laws are in place for a reason. You can’t just recruit someone because you feel like it. There’s a process.’
I stare at him. Maybe there is but Michael doesn’t know what I do. I’ve got the cure. I pick Rogu3 up in my arms.
‘What are you doing?’
‘If you won’t help, then I’ll take him to a hospital.’
His face is full of sympathy. ‘The wound is too serious. He won’t…’
‘Get out of my way.’
He sighs deeply but he steps aside. Holding Rogu3’s dying body as carefully as I can, I run. Again.
*
Unable to use the bike and hold Rogu3 at the same time, I smash the window of the first parked car I come to. I’ve never hotwired a vehicle before but I understand the mechanics of it. I’m about to put Rogu3 down so my hands are free when there’s a jangle of metal and a set of keys lands next to me. I look up and realise it’s the teacher.
‘Take it. Get him help.’
Our eyes meet in understanding then she quickly turns away to deal with the rest of the still-cowering pupils. I open the passenger door and lay Rogu3 inside, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. The last time I did this, it was for O’Shea. He made it out to the other side – but then he has stubborn daemon blood running through his veins. I rev the engine and drive off, calling the office as I do.
‘You’ve reached New Order, how may I help you?’ Matt’s voice is chirpy.
‘I need Connor,’ I growl.
‘Bo? Are you okay? There’s a video of you at the Agathos court…’
‘Find Connor and tell him to wait outside my flat.’ I hang up, swerve round the corner and double check in the mirror that Rogu3 is still with me. He’s still breathing. I put my foot down.
I don’t bother to park the car, I just stop it in the street outside the office and retrieve Rogu3’s limp body. Three protestors are still there, clearly shocked at what they see. No doubt they’ll call the police, the press and even the army in to deal with me. I won’t have much time.
We make it up the stairs to my flat. Connor is already there, his eyes wide.
‘Stay there for now,’ I command. I kick open the door and lay Rogu3 down on the sofa. I don’t know if I’m doing this correctly but I don’t have a choice. I brush away his air and, without even thinking, sink my fangs into his neck.
His blood tastes tainted. I can only think it’s something to do with the weakening of his body. I suck for about as long as I think Michael did when he started to turn me. Then I bite my own wrist and offer it up to Rogu3’s mouth.
‘Drink,’ I tell him. He doesn’t respond. I press my wrist closer. ‘Drink, damn you!’
For a heart-faltering moment, I think he won’t do it. But, somehow, primeval instinct takes over and his mouth moves. There’s no pain although the sensation is oddly uncomfortable. I count in my head and, when I reach twenty and can see Rogu3’s eyes starting to roll back in his head as the unconscious coma of the turn affects him, I yell for Connor. He bursts in.
Connor’s eyes fall on Rogu3 and the wound on my wrist. ‘Bo, what have you done?’ he whispers. ‘You’re not allowed…’
‘Give him your blood.’ I’m calm now but I know there’s not much time left. ‘Now, Connor.’
I don’t know if this will work. Typically, after receiving a vampire’s blood, a human falls unconscious for up to three days. That’s not going to help me; I need to speed up the change, which means I need Rogu3 to sip from Connor before it’s too late and he can no longer manage it.
Connor’s indecision is clear. He knows the ramifications of what I’m doing. ‘It’s alright. This is my decision and I have a plan. You just need to trust me.’
He swallows. ‘Okay.’ He offers me his wrist. ‘Here. You’ll need to break the skin.’
My disgust at drinking blood has vanished. I waste no time in opening up Connor’s vein and gently guiding it to Rogu3’s mouth – but he’s already out cold. I curse and slap his cheeks. He doesn’t respond. I do it again and he jolts, eyelids flickering.
‘Come on, Rogu3. Just a tiny bit. That’s all it’ll take.’ I hope. ‘You can do it, Alistair.’
Connor looks at me. ‘He’s drinking.’
I breathe a sigh of relief. As soon as I’m sure he’s swallowed some blood, I tell Connor to leave. ‘You don’t want to be here for this.’
‘But…’
‘I mean it, Connor. Get out. In fact, go down to the office and get everyone out.’
‘It’s only Matt. The others have gone home already.’
‘Good,’ I say grimly. ‘The two of you wait outside. If the police arrive, try to stall them.’
‘The police?’ He’s alarmed.
>
‘It’s okay,’ I soothe. ‘You’ve not done anything wrong. I have.’ I glance down at Rogu3 and smooth my hand over his damp hair. ‘Go,’ I repeat.
Connor leaves, closing the door behind him. I listen carefully until I hear his footsteps heading back down then I run to the fridge. I take out the chocolate, throw it aside and grab X’s vial. Unstoppering it, I sniff. It still seems alright but I don’t know if this will work. It might be too soon – Rogu3’s not turned properly yet. I might be forcing a process that should take up to full lunar month into minutes. I can’t risk waiting, however. This is Rogu3’s only chance.
I look at his stomach wound: it’s already healing. The combination of my blood, Connor’s blood and the start of the turn is making fast work of knitting the flesh back together. I hold the vial next to his pale lips, praying there will be enough time. Rogu3 whimpers and I hush him gently.
‘It won’t be long now.’ I stare at the clock on the wall, watching the second hand tick round. The seconds stretch into minutes. The police will be overstretched with what has happened at the Agathos court and the school. In fact, so much time passes that I’m starting to think they won’t involve themselves because it’s a vampire matter. When I finally hear the sirens, however, I know they’re not going to let the opportunity slip to show the world just how monstrous bloodguzzlers are. I wait until the cars pull up outside, then I tilt back Rogu3’s head.
‘It’s now or never,’ I tell him. I let every last drop of X’s blood slide into Rogu3’s mouth. It gurgles in the back of the throat but he eventually swallows. When I’m sure he’s taken it all, I stand up, brush myself down and head out to face the music.
Chapter Twenty: Plea Bargain
I’m fully aware of the gravity of my situation but I’m still shocked at the number of people outside New Order. There are six panda cars in an arc around the teacher’s abandoned vehicle. To the right, I count five photographers and eight journalists. To the left, the protestors’ numbers have swelled. I guess they have their buddies on speed dial. Connor and Matt are facing them all. It’s hard not to smile at the relief on their faces when I emerge.
‘Hello,’ I say feebly. There’s an explosion of camera flashes.
One of the police officers steps forward. With a sinking feeling, I recognise Nicholls. Great. ‘From hero to villain in less than three hours, Ms Blackman,’ she tells me. ‘That’s rather impressive.’
I’m not sure where she’s pulled the hero part from but I have no difficulty in understanding why she’s called me a villain. I decide to cooperate openly. ‘Take me in,’ I say. ‘Put the damn vampire handcuffs on me and lock me in a cell. I’ll answer your questions.’
‘Did you kill a fourteen-year-old boy, Bo?’ one of the journalists shouts. I’m disturbed by his use of my first name.
‘I should qualify that by saying I will answer the police’s questions,’ I say.
‘Well, then,’ Nicholls drawls, ‘did you kill Alistair Jones?’
I meet her eyes. ‘No. He was shot by a daemon. There are about two hundred witnesses who will attest to that fact.’
‘Is he dead?’
I don’t know. Every fibre of my being is praying that he’s not. ‘I don’t think so,’ I mumble. Apparently she wants my interrogation to take place in full view of the world. To add weight, a camera crew arrives and start videoing the action.
‘Where is he?’ someone calls.
An engine roars and Michael appears, straddling my bike. He turns it off and examines me coolly. I wonder what he’s thinking.
A ripple of hushed whispers runs through the crowd at his arrival. Ignoring them, his expression alters and he fixes me with a viciously angry glare. ‘Did you do it?’ he demands.
Nicholls whips her head round to face him. ‘Do what? What did she do?’
‘Bo,’ he says, not moving an inch, ‘you know I can’t help you if you did. You were going to take him to a hospital.’
I straighten my shoulders. ‘There wasn’t time.’
‘Send a team inside,’ Nicholls mutters.
Several police officers peel off and, giving me a wide berth, head towards the entrance. Nicholls steps forward. I have to give the policewoman her due – she’s not intimidated in the slightest by me or Michael. A set of shiny cuffs dangles from her hands. ‘Turn round,’ she tells me.
‘Wait!’ There’s a quiet voice from behind.
Everyone freezes. I slowly turn and see Rogu3 leaning weakly against the door frame. His face is pale but he’s upright and he obviously made it down the stairs under his own steam.
I rush forward to help him. As soon as I get close, I scan him carefully. His eyes look normal and there’s nothing to suggest he’s a bloodguzzler. His t-shirt is still soaked in blood and, when I look down, he gives me a small nod. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll still need stitches, but it’s fine.’
In a shaky voice, he says loudly, ‘I was shot. Bo helped me.’ He smiles. ‘I’m lucky it was only a flesh wound. Thank you all for your concern but I really should be getting home. My parents will be splenetic.’
I notice a couple of the journalists exchanging glances. One of them asks, ‘What does splenetic mean?’
I stifle my smile, reach over and give Rogu3 a tight hug. He winces and I immediately withdraw but he pats my shoulder in reassurance. ‘I’m okay, Bo.’ He leans towards me and whispers, ‘I know what you did and I’m grateful.’
I stiffen. How much does he know? X killed O’Connell because I told him the truth about the cure. My relief changes quickly to hot, tense worry.
‘We’ll get you to hospital and then home, Alistair,’ Nicholls says briskly, throwing me a look that suggests she’s not finished with me yet. She takes him gently by the arm and guides him towards a police car.
‘Don’t ever call me that again, will you?’ Rogu3 mutters as he passes.
I flash him a quick grin. Then my gaze falls on Michael, who is staring at me with an expression as cold as granite. I look away hastily.
One of the protestors shakes his head. ‘He was unconscious and dripping with blood. She’s done something. Turned him into some kind of…’
‘Shut up,’ Nicholls tells him. She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘I appreciate it has been a long night for you, Ms Blackman. We do have a number of questions, however, about both the boy and the courthouse.’
‘Agathos daemons,’ I blurt out. ‘There may still be some around. They obviously have resources. You need to put a guard on Ro―, I mean Alistair. And Nisha Patel, Devlin O’Shea. Probably Harry D’Argneau too.’ I remember he wasn’t at the courthouse when the attack happened. ‘Wait! Harry! He could be…’
‘He’s fine. We’ve spoken to him.’
I sag in relief, pointedly ignoring Michael’s dark look. ‘The danger’s not over. They could still attack again.’
Several people look over their shoulder as if an attack is imminent. For all I know, it could be. Nicholls jerks her head towards the door and I nod. We walk inside, away from curious ears.
‘We’ve tracked the terrorists to a flat in Camden,’ she informs me. ‘About ten minutes after attack on the school was over, a helicopter took off from that area. There was no recorded flight plan but we tracked it to a small airfield near Brighton. They’re currently in the air and apparently on their way to Venezuela. The ones who are still alive.’
‘No extradition treaty.’
Her mouth turns down. ‘Indeed.’
‘Are you sure that’s all of them?’
‘No. But we have enough CCTV footage and evidence from the flat to piece the story together fairly quickly. We’ll know within the next twenty-four hours.’
‘They’re not terrorists,’ I tell her.
‘They bombed the Agathos court and invaded a school. They’re certainly sp
reading terror.’
I shake my head. ‘No, that’s not their motive. It’s to do with Tobias Renfrew.’
‘I already heard that theory.’ She sniffs.
‘You don’t believe it?’
She gazes at me speculatively. ‘These days I don’t know what to believe. You’re free from any charges, Ms Blackman, although I would like to talk you in more detail at the station.’
‘I can come by after dark tomorrow.’
‘That will suffice. And there are guards in place for most of the potential targets.’
‘Most?’
She quirks an eyebrow. ‘Would you like one too?’
‘Uh, no, I’m good.’
‘I thought you’d say that.’
‘We can’t let them get away with this,’ I say, as much to myself as to her.
‘We won’t. I guarantee it.’ To my surprise, she holds out her hand. I shake it.
‘Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?’ I ask her suspiciously.
‘I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of the Red Angel.’
I blink. ‘The what?’
She smirks. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Blackman.’ Nicholls pivots and leaves. I watch from the open doorway as she gestures at the other police officers and they all get into their cars and depart.
Matt and Connor bounce up. ‘That was hairy!’ Connor says. Despite his light tone, he’s obviously unsettled by the events upstairs. I want to reassure him but Michael’s dark figure looms behind them.
‘A word, Bo?’
I nod and turn, leading him upstairs to the flat. The sofa is still soaked in Rogu3’s blood. He eyes it silently for a moment and then looks at me. ‘What happened?’ he asks quietly.
I lick my lips. ‘The wound wasn’t as bad as we thought.’
His expression is derisive. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. That boy was dying. What did you do?’