Reality Bites

by Nicola Rhodes

  Stiles looked at her impassively.

  ‘I had to,’ she carried on hastily. ‘I didn’t want to; in fact I’ve rarely been more ashamed of myself; the thing is, vampires use mind control, but they find it much harder to work the mojo on a person who’s drunk. For some reason, they can’t get a grip on a mind that’s all over the place. I was trying to keep you safe; I couldn’t be there all the time, and I knew about your problem, I hated myself for doing it. I’m so – so sorry.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I understand. You did the right thing. On balance, I’d rather be a recovering drunk than dead. I’d like a cigarette though.’

  ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘No, it’s okay, I’m glad you were honest. – About that at least,’ he added quietly.

  ‘So, who’s this guy we’re going to see?’

  They had been going for about two hours now. Trudging through the snow which stretched on featurelessly in all directions. If Kitty knew where they were going, Stiles did not have a clue; he had decided to just go along with it; there did not seem to be much else he could do.

  ‘Just a friend of mine,’ she said. ‘He’s been looking into it for me. I hope he’s found something out by the time we get back. Maybe if we knew why they were after you, we could stop it.’

  ‘That’s what I don’t get. I mean why me? I mean surely I’m no kind of threat, I didn’t even know they existed until today. I’m not sure I believe it even now.’

  ‘I know what you mean. And I’ve seen some strange stuff.’

  ‘What about you? What’s your story? After all, you seem to know a lot about me.’

  ‘No story, I’m just me. I help people.’

  ‘Okay, be like that.’ Stiles was not giving up though, but he had time and he was an expert at getting people to spill their guts. Rule one, don’t push. He would get it out of her, he was sure.

  They had passed a few lonely farms and one solitary inn, but Kitty refused to stop. ‘We travel until nightfall. Then we have to be indoors, that’s when they come out.’

  ‘What if we don’t find anywhere?’

  ‘Don’t worry; I know where I’m going.’

  Stiles gazed around him. ‘How is that possible? It all looks the same, or do you have some special spider-sense that lets you know where to go?’

  ‘Nope.’ She reached into her back pocket. ‘I brought a map.’

  A map? – Of nowhere? ‘Christ I need a cigarette, takes my mind off wanting a drink.’

  Kitty looked away. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Oh it’s not your fault; I took up smoking the first time I gave up drinking. Now I just need to give up smoking.’

  ‘It’s not a good idea out here anyway. It alerts the wildlife.’

  ‘So? We’re in Scotland not Africa. What could be so dangerous out here?’

  ‘You’d be surprised. Not everything has to make sense. Besides where there are vampires, there are wolves – take it from me.’

  ‘Wolves? I haven’t seen any wolves. Anyway wolves don’t attack humans.’

  ‘They do if vampires are controlling them.’

  ‘You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not trying to scare you, you’ll be fine with me; I can handle wolves. But it’d slow us down. Do you carry a gun?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh well, never mind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t shoot an animal anyway.’

  In the distance, getting closer, they heard howling. Kitty smirked. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ~ Chapter Ten ~

  Left alone in the cell, Denny became frantic; there had to be some way to escape. There was a small, barred window, if only there was some way to saw through the bars. He knew he would not have the strength to pull the bars out; he needed Tamar for that kind of stunt. And he was so hungry he could have eaten his own foot.

  Not for the first time, he wished that he had wished for some kind of super powers when he had had the chance. Why had he been so stubborn? How many Djinn had he freed in the last year? How bad could the consequences have been, really? If they had been worse than being locked in a dank cell by a mad man awaiting certain death, he would eat his own underpants. He could not even reach the window to try it; he had broken the only chair. And no chance of dinner either – probably.

  Well, he had wondered how this day could get any worse.

  So think! Where was he? Not in the real world he hoped, things tended to be exactly what they seemed to be in the real world; i.e. a solid wall was indeed a solid wall, ditto a locked door or a barred window. In the real world, things worked. But in other less tangible places matter could be manipulated – as Denny knew from experience. So he tried it; he “drew” a door on the wall with a piece of chalk that he always carried in his pocket these days – just in case. It did not work, what did Tamar always say? ‘It’s never that easy’. Think! Unfortunately, he was now out of ideas. That was it – just the one. ‘I am so useless,’ he berated himself, and sank down on the floor with his head in his hands.

  After an indeterminate length of time, he stopped feeling sorry for himself. Well, okay, he didn’t but he stopped indulging himself in his self-pity. If this was a real cell, he decided, then the only way out was through the door or the window.

  ‘Let’s face it,’ he thought, ‘I just don’t have the time to dig myself out a la “The Count of Monte Cristo”. And he had learned long ago that there are no easy solutions in the real world. ‘Christ, what I wouldn’t give right now for a bottle of Djinn. – Hmm, maybe that’s it, get all the guards drunk and steal the keys.’

  The only problem with this idea was that where there should have been a couple of bored and stupid guards sitting at a small folding table playing poker and ripe for some bamboozling, there was, in fact, a whole lot of nothing.

  He did not have any booze anyway, and the guards in this place were quite likely to be vampires; they probably did not get drunk.

  That only left the window. He decided to try and fix up the bed as a ladder and try to climb up to it.

  He was not too hopeful about this plan; the bars were still iron set in concrete, just as they had been before. But it was something to do.

  He unfolded the bed, which predictably snapped shut on his fingers convincing him once and for all that he was indeed in the real world. He cursed – naturally – and unfolded the bed gingerly, then tugged off the mangled mattress. Something clinked; mattresses do not usually clink* so Denny, naturally, investigated.

  *[Except of course in drug dens, doss houses and the occasional B&B]

  He reached inside the mattress and sliced a finger open. ‘What the hell?’ He ignored the bleeding; there had been so much of it lately that he did not wonder that the vampires were not interested in him. There was probably hardly enough left in him to make an appetiser; he reached inside again with his other hand far more tentatively this time and pulled out a long knife with an intricately engraved handle. It was made of pure silver and had a twisted blade that was so sharp it could have, quite literally, cut the air around him. He recognised it as an Athame, from the word Anathema meaning a thing dedicated to evil (or possibly from the Greek Athéos – without God). A ceremonial knife usually used by demons, often to kill other demons, in theory. It was undoubtedly a magical weapon, so, not the sort of thing usually found a prisoner’s cell. Denny was, therefore, immediately suspicious; somebody had left him this little present then. The only question was, why? So that he could fight his way out? But that was insane! If you want to help somebody escape from prison you give them a key and maybe a disguise. In Denny’s experience wielding a weapon, especially when you are likely to be outnumbered, is a good way to get yourself killed. Denny did not believe for a minute that any friend of his had left this here for him, and he did not doubt that it had been left for him, he had never believed in coincidences. He dropped the Athame. As it fell, it sliced neatly through the metal frame of the bed. Denny stared; he picked it up and examined it. M
aybe there was something he could use it for.

  * * *

  ‘What do you mean, he escaped?’

  The smaller vampire shook with terror. ‘Sir, we left him the Athame, as you instructed, sir. But he did not use it to attack Haleb as we anticipated.’

  The large beefy vampire in charge interrupted him. ‘Haleb?’

  The smaller one pointed at a vampire behind him. ‘The food server sir. The boy was supposed to attack him to try to escape – so that Haleb could have an excuse for our lord when Haleb killed him. But, when Haleb arrived, the boy was not there.’ The smaller vampire closed his eyes and flinched, but the beefy captain held his peace.

  ‘And where?’ he asked.

  ‘Well sir, it seems he used the Athame to, er – cut his way through the bars of the window instead.’

  ‘WHAT?’ The captain grabbed the other by the collar. ‘Did you know he could do that?’

  ‘Technically, yes sir. But – how did he know?’

  The captain let the other go and rubbed a weary claw over his eyes. ‘You couldn’t have just given him an ordinary knife? He was supposed to die anyway.’

  ‘Sorry sir.’

  ‘Ah well, he has outmanoeuvred us, it takes a seasoned fighter to know when to retreat. We underestimated him; that’s all.’

  ‘Perhaps we should have just killed him sir.’

  ‘And how would we have explained that to our lord? Our orders …’

  ‘How are we going to explain this to our lord?’

  ~ Chapter Eleven ~

  ‘We’re not in Scotland at all, are we?’ said Stiles as the howling drew nearer. ‘Where the hell are we, really?’

  ‘Um, perhaps now’s not the time.’ She was rummaging for weapons in her backpack.

  ‘I just want a straight answer – you’re not going to use that?’

  She had brought out a fairly large axe in three pieces, which she screwed together.

  ‘No, you are.’ She threw it to him. ‘I’m using this one.’ And she drew out an even bigger axe, making Stiles wonder if her backpack was some kind of portable TARDIS. He made a mental note to ask her later (one of many such notes – soon there would not be any room left in his head for worrying). Right now, however, the animal rights question was uppermost in his mind. ‘They’re just animals,’ he said. ‘Just doing what they do – I can’t kill them.’

  ‘Well you can’t outrun them. Look I know it’s rough, but look at where you are.’ There were four slavering wolves emerging from the trees. ‘It’s them or us.’

  He could see her point. ‘I see your point,’ he said. ‘But I still don’t think I can do it.’

  ‘You have to.’

  ‘No, I mean I don’t think I can do it. I don’t know how to use one of these things.’

  ‘Like this.’ She swung the axe at the nearest wolf and neatly (apart from all the blood) sliced its head off. ‘See?’

  The remaining three wolves all leaped as one at her throat. Somehow, this galvanised Stiles into action. He took an inept swing at the furry ball of menace, managing to cut off the tip of a tail. The wolf howled and turned on him. ‘Oh hell!’ The other two followed suit.

  Kitty whacked heads and two more fell dead. Stiles got the third in the chest. He was shaking – sure he was going to be sick, but Kitty was perfectly calm.

  ‘Stupid animals,’ she said. ‘They’ll never learn the art of “divide and conquer”.’ She patted Stiles on the arm. ‘Well done,’ she said, as he vomited on her boots.

  It was around two in the afternoon, and they were still a mile or so from the Inn, according to Kitty, when it suddenly started to go dark.

  ‘Storm coming?’ said Stiles.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Kitty, doubtfully. ‘It doesn’t feel like a storm.’

  ‘But it’s only two O’ clock. It doesn’t go dark at two, even in Scotland – if that’s where we are.’

  ‘Shhh – listen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’re being ambushed.’

  The vampires came at them suddenly from three directions. It was already too dark to count them. They had arrived in complete silence – Stiles had not heard a thing; he wondered how Kitty had. She was definitely an unusual girl; to witness, the first thing she did was push Stiles to the ground. ‘Stay down,’ she hissed, ‘I’ll deal with this.

  There then began an eerie and silent battle. Stiles stayed down watching in wonder. The way she moved! She was little more than a blur, and her eyesight must be incredible. “Kitty” was right – she had the night vision of a cat.

  She abruptly tossed him a stake. ‘On your six,’ she called (who talks like that?)

  He stabbed wildly in the dark, how had she known? He couldn’t see a thing. He closed his eyes – he was not sure that he could not see better that way, and he suddenly choked on a cloud of ash that exploded around him. Then he was being helped up and thumped on the back.

  ‘You all right? I think that’s all of them. Let’s get out of here.’

  Stiles wiped his streaming eyes. ‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said. ‘I have to know, who are you?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘What? What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, they sure are determined to get you. You have to wonder why.’

  ‘I told you; I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘All I know is – it’s weird. Vampires, from what I understand, are not the most co-operative of species – more backstabbing than the House of Commons. And yet look at this lot, all working together just to kill one man – you. There must be some compelling reason.’

  ‘Maybe they don’t like my politics.’

  ‘This isn’t funny, you know.’

  ‘I know, believe me, I know.’

  They had reached the inn before Stiles realised that she had quite adroitly avoided his questioning again. Perhaps he was losing his touch; she was a real tough nut to crack. It only made him more curious about her. Who she was, was more of a burning question to his mind than why a bunch of vampires – vampires for God’s sake – wanted to kill him.

  He was mentally listing what he already knew about her. She had lied about her name for some reason that he could not fathom. She had apparently been watching him for some weeks, incognito, before he had met her, so she was secretive, why? Was she afraid he would have heard of her? This was unlikely in the extreme. He had never heard of any woman who was extremely fast and extremely strong, like superhero strong and fast. She had claimed to be a vampire slayer, but had slipped up here and admitted that she herself had not believed in vampires until recently. Put it all together and you had – what? Absolutely no progress whatsoever; she was a conundrum, one that he intended to crack. It was probably a severe character flaw he realised; he just could not stop thinking like a copper.

  He got another clue (there I go again) when they walked into the Inn. “The Stunted Goat” the Landlord appeared nervous of her and yet strangely pleased to have her under his roof. In any case, it was apparent that he recognised her and Stiles intercepted a warning look that she gave him that plainly meant ‘keep your mouth shut’. A few other people looked up from their drinks and stared at her silently as she passed, but since they were all of them men, perhaps there was nothing to infer from this, and yet it did seem as if they too knew her, or knew of her. This was no help either he decided.

  The Stunted Goat was a smoky den type of place, very ye olde. Very, very, actually, it even had straw on the floor and a fireplace so large that a child of at least ten could have stood up in it easily, if they did not mind being incinerated. For some reason, you got the impression that the blazing fire was a permanent feature, like the patrons, (or were they inmates?) It seemed that they had been there from time immemorial and were fossilised in their seats.

  The landlord barely raised an eyebrow when she asked for a single room. But Stiles was distinctly uncomfortable about it. He opened his mouth to object, but with that curious instinct that she
seemed to possess she dug him in the ribs to silence him before he even uttered a word; she had not even looked at him. She pulled him aside.

  ‘Rooms cost money,’ she hissed. ‘Besides, I don’t think I should leave you alone, especially at night.’

  Stiles shrugged. ‘Okay.’

  She handed him the key. ‘You go upstairs,’ she said. ‘I have something to take care of, I won’t be long.’

  He left feeling puzzled. More mystery, what was she up to now?

  The mystery was cleared up pretty quickly when she reappeared in the room five minutes after him and rather sheepishly handed him a grubby packet of cigars. ‘I got these for you,’ she said, almost shyly. ‘They um didn’t have cigarettes and anyway cigars are more … more you, I think.’ Stiles was touched and surprised. ‘You didn’t have to.’ Was all he could say; it sounded wrong – ungrateful.

  ‘Oh, I think I did, because of – you know. And you said … well anyway …’ She looked around. ‘Nice room.’

  It was, in fact, surprisingly un-awful, not at all what the downstairs led you to expect. Of course, it might be riddled with damp by daylight, but by candle and firelight, it looked cosy, with heavy velvet curtains framing a leaded diamond pattern window, and a large easy chair by the fire and a four poster bed with damask curtains. It was embarrassingly like the honeymoon suite in a country retreat.

  Stiles settled in the chair and lit a cigar from a handy candle. ‘Ah.’ He sighed. He ran an impressive line in smoke rings, and she watched for a while, fascinated.

  ‘You take the bed,’ he said, chivalrously. ‘I’ll be fine right here.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she retorted. ‘There’s plenty of room for both of us, we’ll need a proper night’s sleep, if we can get it. I think I can trust you.’

  Stiles looked acutely self-conscious. ‘I don’t think it’s a question of trust,’ he said. ‘I mean, from what I’ve seen, one wrong move and you’d break me in half. Not that I would. It’s just, well – it wouldn’t seem right. I don’t think I …’