Reality Bites

by Nicola Rhodes

  ‘KILL HIM, KILL HIM,’ they yelled. ‘FINISH HIM.’

  As the beaten man raised a hand in supplication, Denny stepped back, the crowd roared, and the bell went again. Tamar walked back outside to wait.

  Denny appeared outside shortly afterwards, looking slightly guilty.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘thought you’d be out here.’

  She smiled. ‘I needed some air,’ she said. ‘It’s kind of smoky in there.’

  ‘You’re not angry?’ said Denny, surprised. ‘Disgusted? Disappointed?’

  ‘No, why should I be?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You have to get rid of your aggression somehow, all men do. Some women too. And you – well, you’ve had a lot of unresolved issues lately, I understand. At least you’re not out mugging old ladies or beating up innocent bystanders in the streets. Or worse, bringing it home with you. It’s better this way; at least these guys signed up for it. On the whole, I approve.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, real men pick on someone their own size, so to speak. At least you’re not a cowardly wife beater.’

  ‘I would never hit a woman.’

  ‘That’s what I mean, but a lot of men would.’

  ‘I’d like to see the poor bugger who tried to hit you.’

  ‘Okay, so I’m an exception, but even if I wasn’t, I know that you would never lay a finger on me, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. If you were that type of man, you’d be out beating up, oh I don’t know, people who couldn’t defend themselves. And tonight, I saw you show mercy to that man, I never doubted that you would.’

  ‘Christ, I thought you’d be furious.’

  ‘I suppose that’s why you came running out here after me without putting your shirt back on?’

  ‘What?’ Denny looked down self-consciously. ‘Oh, yes, I hadn’t even noticed, I’d better um, just go and …’ He stopped and with sudden viciousness, slapped his hand against the wall. ‘Moth,’ he said. ‘Hate the little buggers.’

  She slipped her arm through his. ‘Let’s just go home,’ she said, ‘unless you’re not finished here?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I am, let’s go.’

  * * *

  Denny was training. He thought it best to keep in shape in case he lost his new source of power. Besides, he needed the release now more than ever, he felt so angry all the time.

  Stiles and Tamar were discussing whether or not to go to the witch, Mrs Pittencherry, over the top of the pounding music that Denny was playing with a fine disregard for the neighbours. At the very least, she would be another ally. And if she were one of the faithful, and did some top class grovelling, maybe she could get Hecaté to help, although Stiles was dubious about this. ‘Do witches grovel?’ he asked. It was something he found hard to imagine.

  ‘Not so much,’ conceded Tamar. ‘But I could probably persuade her. The real question is – would it be worth it?’

  She glanced at Denny, who was now staring moodily out of the window. Stiles followed her gaze. ‘What is he looking at? Its pitch dark out there.’

  ‘I think that’s what he’s looking at,’ she said. ‘I think he’s worried about it. I told you about the dreams. That’s probably why he’s not been himself lately. I mean, how many people get to watch their worst nightmares coming true – literally?’

  Stiles was thoughtful. ‘You know, you’re probably right. I hadn’t thought of that, poor guy.’

  ‘Denny?’ Tamar called over to him.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘H’ mm, wha?’

  ‘Denny!’ Tamar was getting exasperated; all conversations with Denny were getting to be like this.

  ‘Ehm, mmm?’

  Tamar rolled her eyes. ‘It must be wonderful to have a second language,’ she jibbed. Stiles smiled. ‘I speak three languages myself,’ he said. ‘According to my late wife – “English”, “Irish” and “Rubbish”,’

  Tamar laughed. ‘Denny’s fluent in “Bollocks” and “Grunting” – apparently.’

  ‘And what do you speak?’

  Ah, that would be the highly advanced “Total Bollocks” and a smattering of that language usually known only to men – “Drunken Drivel”. I’m not fluent, but I can communicate the basics.

  ‘Which one are we speaking now, do you think?’

  ‘The lesser known “Utter Codswallop”.’

  ‘And to think, I never knew I was multilingual.’

  ‘Sounds painful, isn’t there a cure?’

  ‘Shutting up.’

  There was a knock at the door; Denny turned round and caught Tamar’s eye. They smiled at each other. ‘Landlord,’ they both said.

  ‘I’ll deal with it,’ she said. ‘It’s my turn.’

  She rose and shimmied to the door; it was amazing, Stiles thought, admiring her. She moved like oiled silk (whereas Denny reminded him more of boiled milk.) She never stumbled or did anything clumsy or inelegant. He glanced round; Denny was watching him, watching her, with a sardonic air.

  ‘Okay, mate,’ said Denny. ‘No charge for looking.’

  Tamar opened the door; outside was the white faced man. He gave a gleaming smile, the most observable feature of which, were the extremely sharp incisors.

  ‘Well now,’ he said. ‘As it turns out, I think we might be of some use to each other. Can I come in?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘Can you?’

  The vampire smiled. ‘Ah ha ha, well – I only want to talk.’ He spread his hands. ‘I am alone.’

  Mount Rushmore could not have been stonier faced than Tamar. Denny and Stiles were rooted to the spot.

  ‘Very well,’ said the vampire. ‘We have, I believe, a common enemy. Ran-Kur, at least that’s what he calls himself, my name is Ecriep.

  ‘That’s a funny name,’ said Stiles rudely, but Tamar was laughing.

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said eventually wiping the mirth from her eyes. She turned to the others. ‘The vampire’s most fatal flaw,’ she explained, while their visitor looked murderously at her. ‘More than stakes and crosses and garlic or any of that gibberish, is the unfounded belief that no one will recognise their name if they only spell it backwards. Isn’t that right – Peirce?’

  ‘Not that any of us have ever heard of you anyway,’ she added maliciously. ‘But you vampires are nothing if not arrogant aren’t you? Or do you have some other reason for wanting to conceal your identity?’

  ‘Oh all right,’ he muttered. ‘My name is Peirce. And if you were a vampire called Peirce, you wouldn’t like to admit it either. So, no jokes I beg you, after five hundred years, I assure you, I have heard them all.’

  Denny stirred. ‘Except the final one,’ he said, manifesting a stake.

  ‘A ha ha, yes, indeed. Well?’

  ‘Oh, come in,’ said Denny.

  Tamar stared.

  ‘What?’ said Stiles. ‘Just like that?’

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ Denny assured him. ‘Like he said, he’s alone. Besides, what have we got to lose? We’re running out of options here.’

  ‘What have we got to lose?’ exclaimed Stiles. ‘Several pints of blood perhaps?’

  ‘He’s in a lot more danger than we are,’ opined Denny. ‘And he knows it, so he must have some strong reason for coming here. I think we should hear what it is.’

  Peirce nodded. ‘That’s right.’ He came in. As he passed Denny, he looked at him in some surprise. ‘Rough night?’ he asked.

  Denny turned away; Peirce turned to Tamar. What’s happened to him?’ he asked, in a low voice. ‘He looks like one of my boys has been at him.’

  Since Peirce had last seen him, Denny had indeed changed. He looked meaner; his features were somewhat handsomer but, also somehow paler and sharper. His pale blond hair was greasy and looked darker, and it no longer fell messily over his eyes, but was slicked back, and his once warm eyes were hard and cold like pieces of flint.


  Incredibly, Tamar had not noticed the change in him. ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  Peirce gave her a curious look. ‘I dunno; he just looks different, he’s got that sleek ‘n’ evil look about him, he hasn’t suddenly gone off garlic, has he?’

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ she said. ‘He’s just been having a bad time lately.’

  Peirce shrugged. ‘It’s none of my business,’ he said. ‘But I should keep an eye on him if I were you.’

  Tamar narrowed her eyes – gods had quailed before that look. ‘What did you want again?’

  ‘Bloody Mary would be nice.’ he said imperturbably. ‘Hold the Mary – or just knock her out, a ha ha – er …’

  Three pairs of eyes bored into him. ‘Okay, okay, maybe not. But we should get settled; this could take some time.’

  Denny grinned at Tamar and raised his eyebrows; the complete lack of fangs in his smile reassured her.

  Stiles was concerned about the mind control issue, but Tamar explained that she, at least, would be unaffected. They were not sure about Denny, but since Peirce seemed to be afraid of him in some strange way, they decided to risk it. It was too late now anyway.

  They plonked Peirce down on a wooden chair and ranged themselves around him, still standing.

  ‘Okay, so spill,’ said Denny.

  Peirce gulped. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘How much do you know?’ He glanced at Stiles. ‘Do you know about the prophecy?’

  Denny leaned in and brought his face menacingly close to Peirce. ‘Try again,’ he said. ‘We’re on to that one.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Peirce, nervously. ‘That’s good; I want to get this straight, I don’t believe it, not at all, it’s rubbish – okay?’

  ‘So what?’ said Tamar.

  Peirce shifted uncomfortably and pulled at his collar, twitchily. ‘So, I well – look, a lot of vampires do believe it, you see. And this Ran-Kur.’ Here he spat on the floor. ‘He’s making use of it; he’s got them all running around like a bunch of headless humans. He’s got them all convinced that he’s their salvation – their god.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘Of course not. A god of vampires? It’s ridiculous; I never believed in all that hot air. I don’t know who this guy really is, but he’s not Ran-Kur. Ran-Kur’s a myth.’

  Denny raised his eyebrows. ‘An atheist vampire, who would have believed it?’

  ‘I don’t know what he’s up to,’ continued Peirce. ‘But I don’t like it. Vampires don’t like being ruled, we like to be the rulers, and he’s used this prophecy to set himself up in charge, that’s all. He’s got them all bowing and scraping; it’s not natural! So I want to help you to get rid of him, get things back to how they should be.’

  ‘Restore the unnatural order sort of thing?’ said Tamar.

  Denny grinned.

  ‘And why exactly do we need you?’ she continued.

  ‘Got a plan, have you?’ asked Peirce. ‘Know what you’re dealing with, do you?’

  ‘And you do?’ said Stiles.

  ‘Well … we’d have a better chance working together; I have a small group who are with me. Fifteen good lads.’

  ‘Vampires?’

  ‘Of course, what else?’

  ‘And you’re leading them?’ asked Denny, sardonically.

  Peirce shrugged. ‘Old habits.’

  Tamar cut in. ‘We need to talk about this.’

  Peirce nodded. ‘Yes I understand. Can I smoke while I wait?’

  Tamar glanced at Stiles, who had been creating a permanent fog since his arrival. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m going for death by sun bed.’

  They turned away.

  ‘What about him?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘What about him?’ said Denny. ‘He came to us didn’t he? He won’t go anywhere. This was incontrovertible. ‘Besides, who cares if he does?’

  Nobody did. They went into the kitchen to talk.

  ‘Why should we trust him?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘We shouldn’t,’ said Denny. ‘That’s not the point, the point is – he has a point. So far we’ve got Jack -.’

  ‘What?’ asked Stiles, whose attention was wandering to the other room.

  Denny paused. ‘What?’

  ‘What?’ said Stiles, again.

  ‘I don’t want him here,’ said Tamar. She was twitchy and pale; apparently Peirce still made her nervous for some reason. Denny asked her about it. ‘You aren’t bothered by other vampires, what is it about him?’

  ‘I don’t know, just the way he looks at me, as if … as if he would turn me if he got a chance.’

  ‘But why should that bother you? It’s not as if he could, you’re immortal. You can’t be un-dead if you can’t die.’

  ‘But I can die. A vampire could kill me, he wouldn’t find it easy, I’m pretty hard to kill, my powers do protect me to a certain extent, but technically, it is possible. Being immortal means I’ll never grow any older or get sick or die naturally, but it’s entirely possible for me to suffer an unnatural death, I’m human now. I’m not afraid of death, but I couldn’t bear to be a vampire and lose my soul. That’s why he makes me edgy, and the others don’t.’

  Stiles and Denny, both were stunned by this information.

  Denny was the first to find his voice. ‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘I always thought, I mean I assumed …’ he stopped. ‘What makes you think he wants to turn you?’

  ‘Just a feeling, I know it doesn’t make much sense.’

  ‘Well that’s it, he’s out of here!’ Denny pronounced. ‘I’ve learned to trust your intuition.’

  ‘No,’ said Tamar, ‘he’s been invited in now. Maybe we should keep him here, where we can keep an eye on him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Denny. ‘If I’d known …’

  ‘Never mind, maybe it’s for the best. He might have some useful information; you never know.’

  ‘Do you think he’s right about the prophecy?’ Stiles was hopeful about this aspect of it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Tamar. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? As long as he means it when he says he doesn’t believe in it.’

  ‘And if he’s lying?’

  ‘I don’t think he’s lying,’ she said. ‘But he’s not telling us everything.’

  ‘So we question him further?’ asked Stiles.

  ‘I think if we decide to take him on, that’s going to be a given,’ she said.

  ‘But are we?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Denny.

  ‘What, just like that?’ said Stiles.

  ‘What have we got to lose?’

  ‘You know, you keep saying that.’

  ‘Because I’m right. Look, he wouldn’t have come here, if he didn’t want the same thing as us. Why would he risk it? And he got us out of that situation with the terrorists – didn’t he?’ He looked at Tamar.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘He just didn’t get in our way. He was the one who got us into that mess anyway.’

  ‘We should ask him about that too,’ said Denny.

  ‘So, we’re agreed then?’ said Tamar. ‘Back to the interrogation?’

  Peirce was waiting for them exactly where they had left him.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ said Denny, indicating two leather sofas. ‘We have some questions for you, make yourself comfortable.’

  Peirce grinned; he was “in”. ‘Can I smoke now?’ he asked.

  As it turned out, Peirce had quite a lot to tell them. He started by explaining the terrorist fiasco. ‘Oh that,’ he said, when Tamar asked him about it.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? I was trying to stall you, and it worked beautifully too – for a while.’

  ‘Why were you trying to stall me? I thought you didn’t believe in the prophecy.’

  ‘I don’t, and I never did. And so you’re wondering why I interfered since that would seem to put me in the Ran-Kur camp?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You good guys can be so stupid; not a devious mind among you, is
there? Okay, evil plotting 101 – for beginners: first – misdirection – no? Okay – so, Ran-Kur, or whoever he is, has ordered this man’s death, right? So he brought a whole lot of vampires through the veil to grab him, yes? Practically every vampire from here to Lithuania is under his direct control. He has a power over vampire kind that is unprecedented. But if Mr. Stiles here were to die, well – problem solved – no more prophecy, nothing more to fear. This whole thing is about power, not some bogus prophecy. So I tried to stop you from saving him. This served a double purpose when you think about it; on the one hand, I look as if I’m doing my best for the vampire cause – kudos to me. On the other hand, the reality is that the death of Mr. Stiles would precede the downfall of the impostor, see?’

  ‘And make you a hero to vampires everywhere,’ said Denny cynically.

  ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ objected Stiles.

  ‘It does once you know the rest,’ said Peirce. ‘Firstly, I couldn’t get near enough to Ran-Kur to kill him; he’s better protected than a schoolgirl’s diary. And secondly, I let you escape because I had orders to. Top secret orders, which can only mean one thing.’ He looked at them to see if they had got the point.

  ‘Ran-Kur wanted Tamar there to protect Jack,’ said Denny.

  ‘That’s how I read it,’ agreed Peirce. ‘It may even have been he who sent you.’ He turned to Tamar. ‘At the very least, he knew that someone would. That’s classic evil plotting, that is. Sending a bunch of assassins after some innocent Joe, while at the same time, sending out a champion to ensure that the assassins fail, keeping the balance of power in your hands – brilliant. You have to give him credit.’

  ‘I’d rather give him a long sword in the guts,’ said Denny, viciously.

  ‘You don’t still want to kill me, do you?’ asked Stiles, edgily.

  ‘No, don’t panic, it’s too late for that now. Besides she wouldn’t let me.’