by Darren Shan
Gavner stared at Larten. His hands were trembling, but he kept them behind his back so that Larten couldn’t see. “I’m ready to fight if we have to,” he said.
“I know.” Larten smiled fleetingly. “But if we are attacked, and Randel is by himself, it will be best if you flee with the women, to ensure their safety. Their lives are more important than mine. Leave me to deal with the vampaneze.”
Gavner nodded with relief. He wasn’t relieved to be spared the dirty business of fighting—he was eager to test himself in battle. But he was glad to see that Larten loved Alicia and Sylva as much as he did, to hear him proclaim that their lives mattered more than his own. Gavner had thought that Larten was cold and unloving. Now he saw that the older vampire simply hid his feelings better than the younger vampire could.
They drew closer to the house in the suburbs. The city was asleep this far out from the center. They passed only a handful of people on the streets, and all were hurrying home to bed. The night was young if you were a vampire, but it was late for humans.
They stopped at the front door and paused for a long, nerve-jangling second. In some ways Gavner didn’t want this moment to end. If the women had been attacked, the darkest discovery of their lives lay ahead of them. Once they entered, there could be no hiding from the truth. Out here they could at least hope.
“Stay alert,” Larten whispered, then fiddled with the lock. The door opened and they slid inside.
It was dark, but not to their eyes. Vampires were creatures of the night and they could see clearly in the hallway. It looked no different than it had several months earlier, that evening after their walk in the park when Gavner had twice been pushed into the pond. Larten felt his heart lift. Surely, if tragedy had befallen this house, there would be signs of struggle, grief, change.
He checked the living room, where Alicia had often read to him on long, wet evenings. Rows of books lined the shelves. Larten couldn’t read the titles, but he knew many of them by heart. He would give three hundred years of his life to have Alicia read to him from one of the leather-bound tomes again.
Sylva’s room was next. The door was ajar. Larten hesitated before pushing it open. She might not be here, he thought. If she is not in her bed, it does not mean that anything is wrong. She may have gone to stay with a friend. Be calm. Do not react hysterically. Believe.
He pushed the door and it creaked as it swung inwards. He was so certain the bed would be empty that at first he didn’t see Sylva. Then, when Gavner sighed happily, he realized she was beneath the covers, lying with her back to them. Her shoulders were rising and falling slowly, and he could hear the soft sound of her breathing.
With shaky smiles the vampires withdrew and gently closed the door.
“Did you hear her breath before we went in?” Gavner whispered.
“No,” Larten answered honestly.
“Me neither. My heart was beating so hard.…”
They shared a rueful chuckle, then edged towards Alicia’s room. Larten had already decided to let the women sleep. There was no guarantee that they were safe—Randel Chayne might be waiting on the roof or in a nearby alley—but Larten didn’t think there would be an attack tonight. He and Gavner would keep watch just in case, but already his fears seemed like a foolish overreaction. It would be bad enough telling Alicia in the morning of the way they had hurried back. She would scold them for letting their imagination run wild. But if they disturbed her sleep she would be truly furious. Alicia could cut with a wicked tongue when she was irritated.
Larten almost didn’t go into her bedroom, but he wanted to see her before he withdrew for the night. He was confident that he had nothing to worry about, but he needed to be certain. He also wanted to make sure that the window was secure.
Alicia’s door creaked even worse than Sylva’s as Larten pushed it. He couldn’t recall the doors creaking so much in the past. He would have to oil them. It wasn’t good to let hinges rust. Alicia normally took care of such details. Then again, she was getting old. Maybe she’d just…
The thought died unfinished as Larten walked into the middle of a horror from his very worst nightmare.
The sheets had been torn from the bed and lay crumpled on the floor. Furniture and a large vase had been shattered and were spread in fragments around the room. There was no sign of Alicia. But above the bed, scrawled on the wall in what might have been red paint but wasn’t, was a series of crooked letters.
“What does it say?” Larten croaked.
Gavner didn’t answer. His eyes were bulging and his mouth was hanging open.
“What does it say!” Larten barked, shaking his assistant.
Before Gavner could respond, someone spoke softly behind them.
“This is what happens to lovers of vampires.”
Gavner spun around, but Larten turned slowly. While he was turning, he struggled to get himself under control. He didn’t entirely succeed, but he managed to keep the worst of his distress from his expression.
Sylva was staring at the tall vampire with the orange hair, her anguished eyes open wide in the gloom of the room. She was dressed in her day clothes, not a nightdress. Larten guessed that she had been expecting them, that she’d maybe lain in these clothes for many nights, only half-sleeping, waiting for the creak of the door to tell her they were here.
“What happened?” Gavner cried, but Sylva ignored him. She had eyes only for the man who had always refused to be a father to her.
“He came in the middle of the night,” she whispered. “The darkest hour, when the world was at rest. I wasn’t here. I had been seeing a young gentleman. Nothing improper, I assure you, but we liked to meet when everybody else was asleep. He’s an amateur ornithologist, especially interested in nocturnal creatures.” She smiled crookedly. “I used to think it would be fun to introduce him to you.”
Gavner had started to cry. Larten couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not until he’d heard the full story. And not until he was alone. He was determined to keep his emotions in check as long as there were witnesses.
“I was coming down the street when he burst out of the house,” Sylva went on, her forehead creasing as she relived the memories. “Patrice—my young gentleman—had left me at the end of the street. He was the perfect escort and didn’t want anyone to see us together, in case they got the wrong idea. So I was alone. All by myself. Defenseless.
“The killer saw me and stopped. I think he was as shocked as I was—he couldn’t have been expecting anyone at such an ungodly hour. He considered my fate and ran a calculating eye over me. I knew that I was dead if he chose to strike.
“But he didn’t. Maybe he didn’t know that I was Alicia’s daughter, or maybe one of us was enough for him. Either way he spared me and fled, leaving me to enter the house alone. I could smell the blood. I knew what to expect, or thought that I did. But I hadn’t imagined the variety of ways that you could rip a person apart, or the writing. I never…”
She stopped and read the words again, silently this time.
Gavner reeled aside and retched against a wall. He used a sheet to wipe his chin and cover the mess. He was sobbing uncontrollably. “What did he look like?” he groaned, but both the elder vampire and the young woman ignored the question. They knew this wasn’t the work of a stranger.
“Mama told me you were a vampire when I was ten years old,” Sylva said. “She thought I was old enough to deal with the truth. I was fascinated. I wanted to learn more about you and maybe join your clan. Mama pushed such ideas from my head. She told me how dangerous your world was. She loved you, but she never trusted your kind. She said that you were creatures of battle… of blood.”
Sylva pointed to the dark red stains on the wall and said bitterly, “If only she’d known how right she was.”
Sylva fell silent, waiting for Larten to speak. The vampire thought for a long time, searching for words that might ease Sylva’s pain, but in the end he could only shake his head. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.
“I want you to tell me you can bring my mother back from the dead!” Sylva screamed. “I want you to say there’s dark magic you can use to restore her soul. I don’t care if she has to return as a monster like you. I just want. Her. BACK!”
Sylva shrieked the words and struck his chest with her fists—she wasn’t tall enough to reach his face. Larten let her vent her fury on him. Gavner watched, stunned, still weeping.
When Sylva stopped howling and threw herself away, Larten considered going to hold her. But he didn’t think she wanted to be touched, at least not by him, so he nodded harshly at Gavner. The younger vampire gulped, then crouched by Sylva’s side and clutched her arms. Sylva whipped away, but when she realized it was Gavner, she smiled apologetically.
“I don’t blame you for this, my dear,” she sighed. “But you’re one of them. A vampire like him.” She growled at Larten as if she were a dog. “You belong to his world, not mine. You can’t help me, much as I know you’d like to. I must mourn for Mama alone.”
“Is she… has she been buried?” Gavner moaned through his tears.
Sylva nodded. “But don’t ask me where. I’ll tell you one night, when you come by yourself, but I don’t want him to know. He doesn’t deserve the chance to pay his last respects.”
“I am sorry,” Larten said quietly. “If I could have done anything to avoid this, I would have. We came as soon as—”
“Don’t!” Gavner cut him short. “You know that isn’t true, so don’t say it.” He started to ask Sylva when Alicia had been murdered, then decided there was no point. What difference did it make?
“I will find and kill the beast who did this,” Larten said, but he took no comfort from the vow, and Sylva didn’t either. Revenge wouldn’t bring Alicia back or make either of them feel any better.
“It would be too easy to tell you that I never want to see you again,” Sylva said, retreating to the window, to open it and breathe fresh air. She addressed the rest of her words to him without looking around. “If you ever loved my mother, you’ll keep in touch with me. I want you to visit every so often, the way you did when Mama was alive. I want to hate you for the rest of my life and be able to direct my hatred at you in person. If you’re any sort of a man, you’ll grant me that opportunity.”
“As you wish,” Larten said stiffly, then strode to the door. He paused and spoke over his shoulder. “You should move to another house. The killer might return. Perhaps another city would be—”
“I’ve already thought of that,” Sylva snapped. “I’m leaving with Patrice soon. We would have gone earlier, but I was sure you’d return. Send Gavner to me before you go, with instructions on how we’re to keep in touch.”
Larten was struck by a sense of déjà vu, but it took him a few seconds to realize why. Then he remembered how Alicia had spoken to him the day she cast him out of her life. Sylva sounded like her mother had then, only Alicia had never despised him so violently.
“Come,” Larten said to Gavner, extending a hand to help him to his feet.
“Maybe I should…” Gavner looked towards Sylva uncertainly.
“No,” Larten said softly. “You can come back later. For now we must leave her to herself. It is perhaps not what she needs, but it is what she desires. We have no right to deny her the solitude she seeks.”
Gavner gulped, then shot Larten a look that was almost as spiteful as Sylva’s. “If you’d flitted…”
Larten had meant to hide his tears until he was alone, but he wasn’t able to stop them from trickling down his cheeks when Gavner cast the accusation at him. The younger vampire saw the tears and stopped, astonished and dismayed. Before he could apologize, Larten scowled and spun away.
“Hurry!” he snapped as he marched down the hallway. “We must ensure that Randel Chayne is not lying in wait. You can berate me later. For now we have Sylva to defend.” He smiled bitterly. “We must not neglect our duty.” Then he was gone, never to return to that room of blood and soul-destroying loss.
Part Two
“So often alone”
Chapter
Eight
Larten Crepsley sat by himself in the Hall of Osca Velm, staring at a long list of names on a large black stone. Although he still hadn’t learned to read, he could recognize certain words. He had seen Gavner Purl write his name many times and knew what the letters looked like. If the young vampire had made the trek to Vampire Mountain for Council, he would have been registered on this list by the guards.
Larten could have searched for Gavner mentally, which would have been quicker and easier, but he preferred this method. It gave him an excuse to be by himself for a while. He had been busier than ever since returning to the mountain some months earlier. He was tired of the endless meetings, spouting the same messages over and over, arguing and cajoling, trying to convince others to join his cause. This would be his only opportunity to relax until he staggered back to his coffin at the end of the night.
He sipped from a bowl of bat broth as he slowly studied the list of names. There was a half-drained mug of ale by the bowl, and although he’d only been here for twenty minutes, this was his third helping. Larten wasn’t a natural spokesman. He found it hard to lecture for hours on end to an ever-changing array of vampires. The ale helped. It loosened his tongue and revived memories of Paris. The more he drank, the angrier he grew, and the words came readily then.
Eight years had passed since Alicia had been so cruelly taken from him. On the one hand they had been long, drawn-out years of suffering and torment, nightmares of Alicia’s murder, oppressive feelings of guilt. But at the same time they’d flown by. He had never been as active as he’d been since Paris. Sometimes, when he was drunk, it seemed like he’d walked in on the horror just a few weeks ago, and every awful detail would be fresh in his mind.
Larten had been desperate to kill Nazis when he left the house. Gavner blamed him for Alicia’s death, and he in turn blamed the soldiers who were pursuing them. If not for the cat-and-mouse chase, he could have flitted and Alicia would be alive. Randel Chayne was the one he hated most, but the sly vampaneze was nowhere to be found. The Nazis, however, were close. They were evil, small-minded despots, only fit for butchery.
Larten once again experienced the cold hatred that he had felt twice before, as a boy when his friend Vur Horston was killed for no good reason, and on the ship when Malora was murdered, again without just cause. In that detached, dark state he wanted only to lash out at the world and crush those who had brought pain into his life. He was older and wiser than when he’d last felt this way, but that wasn’t why he was able to control his anger and spare the Nazis his wrath.
It was Gavner.
“I want to kill them.”
In the Hall of Osca Velm, as Larten lowered the bowl of broth and drank from the mug of ale again, it was as if Gavner were speaking now, face illuminated by the light of the open fires.
“I want to crush those damn Nazis like ants.”
Larten had turned to his assistant and squinted. They’d scouted the area around the house and found no trace of Randel Chayne. Dawn was a few hours away. There was plenty of time to find and deal with the Germans. Larten had been thinking about them since he’d turned his back on the bloodstained wall, trying to decide which methods of murder to employ. But he was surprised to hear Gavner echoing his inner thoughts.
Gavner’s eyes were red and his lips were twisted as he faced Larten. “We could have saved her if we hadn’t been wasting our time on the Nazis. You said we had to—it was our duty—and maybe you were right. But everything’s changed. If we kill them, we can focus on Randel Chayne, hunt him down and make him pay for what he’s done.”
“We do not have to kill them to do that,” Larten said. “We could simply outrun them.”
“But they deserve to be killed,” Gavner snarled, fingers knotted into fists.
Larten felt the same way, but as he studied Gavner’s face, the tempest in his head died down. He saw shades
of himself in his assistant. The young vampire was about to make the same mistakes that Larten had made in the past. If he did, he would have to endure the guilt and shame that had tormented Larten for so many decades.
“It will not take the pain away,” Larten said softly. “Killing them will not bring Alicia back. It will only lower us to Randel Chayne’s level. The Nazis are without honor, but they have not harmed us. Some have wives, children, loved ones of their own. If we slaughter them, others will feel what we are feeling now.”
“Good,” Gavner snapped.
Larten held his gaze. “If we kill them, women will weep. Boys and girls will ask when their father is coming home and nobody will be able to answer. Innocents will suffer. We will bring misery into the lives of people who have done nothing amiss. Is that what you truly desire?”
Gavner blinked. “Of course not, but…”
“We would be doing it for ourselves,” Larten said, “not for Alicia. We would take their lives to make ourselves feel better. We would become mindless animals for a time, and in the heat of the slaughter we would not have to think about our loss or the future. It would be easy. It would be a relief. But it would also be wrong.”
Gavner stared at Larten miserably, fresh tears welling in his eyes. The killer’s sheen had disappeared from them and Larten was proud of the way Gavner could so swiftly turn his back on monstrous temptation. He was a better man than Larten had been at that age.
“You must leave with Sylva before daybreak,” Larten said, setting his dark desires behind him, triumphing over his baser instincts for the first time in his life. “She cannot stay, even for a couple of days. If Randel Chayne or the Nazis found her, they would use her to hurt us.
“Go to her by yourself. She will listen to you when I am not there. Rendezvous with her young beau and travel with them. Take them far away and stay with them until they are safe. I will continue to lead the Nazis astray.”