by William Hill
“Morning, Liam,” she said.
He grunted, which Larissa knew was the best she was likely to get from him.
In her room, Larissa apathetically flipped through Emma for the next couple of hours, her mind on anything but Jane Austen. She made herself some lunch, downloaded some music, lay on her bed, paced around her bedroom, and generally killed time until it was time to go to the fair. Her father was getting out of his car when she stepped out of the house, and he waved a halfhearted greeting at her. She returned it with an equal lack of enthusiasm, and he stopped her as she passed him.
“Are you OK?” he asked, peering at her from sleepy, hooded eyes.
“I’m fine, Dad,” she snapped. “What about you? Are you OK?”
Her father looked at her, then dropped his gaze.
“That’s what I thought,” she said, and walked down the driveway and out onto the street, the heels of her boots clicking furiously along the pavement.
The fair was an annual event, beloved by the town’s teenagers and children alike. The kids loved the bumper cars, the small roller coaster, the Barrel Roll, and the Chair-O-Planes; the teenagers loved the neon lights, the dark corners where they could kiss, the games and the arcades. It was, in truth, little more than a collection of sideshows with two or three half-decent rides, but the strips of lights mingled with the scents of cotton candy and roasting nuts and the tinny sound track to create something that was slightly magical.
All this was lost on Larissa’s friend Amber, who was enthusiastically kissing a boy from their history class, her back pressed against the wall of the coconut-shy booth, her hands holding his firmly at his sides so he didn’t get any ideas about putting them anywhere else. The rest of the girls had wandered off to smoke a spliff behind the bumper cars, and Larissa found herself alone. She waited a few minutes for Amber to disentangle herself from the boy, who had greasy hair and acne, but Amber seemed in no hurry to do so, even though he was the third boy she had kissed in the little over an hour they had been at the fair. Eventually Larissa wandered away.
She walked down the fair’s main street and out into the darkness of the park, following the fence that separated the fields from the main road. Cars sped past her, their headlights blazing, snatches of music floating from open windows, and she was overcome with a sense of sorrow and loss. Her hands shook as she dragged a pack of Marlboro Lights from her pocket, pulled one from the box, and applied the small yellow flame of her lighter to the tip.
“Those things will kill you.”
Larissa jumped, her heart lurching in her chest, at the sound of the old man’s voice. She knew it was him even as she was turning toward the source of the words; the voice was extraordinary, unlike any other she had ever heard. It rolled and swooned, as deep as a double bass and as smooth as honey, full of whispered promises and dark secrets. She turned to the fence and saw the old man on the other side of it, standing on the pavement with his hands in his pockets. For the first time since she had seen him two days ago, standing quietly on the corner of her road as she walked home from the library, he was not smiling. Instead he was looking at her with an expression of great sadness.
The fence between them was more than six feet high, green metal topped with wicked spikes, and it emboldened her. She took a step toward the old man.
“Why are you following me?” she asked, her voice sharp. “What the hell were you doing in my garden this morning?”
The old man’s smile returned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You look like someone I used to know.”
She opened her mouth to ask who, but before she could form the words, the old man moved. He stepped into the air, as casually as most people would climb a staircase, and floated up and over the fence. His coat billowed out behind him, the sleeves riding up, and Larissa caught sight of a narrow black V tattooed on the inside of his left forearm, before he landed gently in front of her. She opened her mouth to scream, but he closed the distance between them impossibly quickly and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his breath hot in her ear. “I truly am.” Then he buried his face in her neck. She felt pain, so sharp it was almost sweet, and then she was gone.
It was still dark when Larissa awoke. She was lying on the grass beneath an oak tree, and she was cold and damp with dew. Her head felt heavy, and she struggled to her feet. She walked through the quiet stalls and rides of the fair, kicking through piles of litter and abandoned food, heading toward the park gates.
She remembered nothing about the previous night, nothing after she left her father standing in their driveway. Where were Amber and the rest of the girls? How could they just leave without her—hadn’t any of them bothered to look for her when they left? In the back of her head, a deep, gentle voice told her that everything was going to be all right, but she didn’t think it was.
She didn’t think that was even close to the truth.
The house was dark as she turned into the driveway, shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her. She hoped that her parents were worried out of their minds, but she knew they would probably not have even noticed that she hadn’t come home.
She crept up the stairs, not because she cared if she woke anyone up, but because she didn’t want to be asked questions that she had no answers to. She would get some real sleep in a proper bed, then phone Amber and find out what had happened. Larissa undressed, lay down on her bed, pulling her duvet around her like a cocoon, and was asleep in less than a minute.
An hour later, she awoke and buried her face in her pillow so she didn’t scream. Her head was splitting in two, a huge thunderbolt of agony running through her forehead, as though someone had buried an axe in it. She rolled over, the pillow clamped to her face, her eyes wide with pain and terror, and then the hunger hit her, and she doubled up into a fetal ball. It was like nothing she had ever felt before, a pain so huge it felt as though it must have come from somewhere outside the universe, an enormous, howling emptiness that filled her entire body. She screamed into the pillow, her body convulsing, thrashing back and forth as though she was having a seizure. She screamed and screamed, and after what felt like an infinity of time, but was probably no more than a minute, the hunger subsided.
Larissa pushed the pillow away from her face. She felt as weak as an infant, and saliva was running down her cheeks and chin in sticky rivulets. Pushing the duvet away, she rolled over and flopped out of bed and didn’t hit her bedroom floor.
She floated a foot above the carpet.
Incomprehension flooded through her, and she was overcome by a terror so profound she felt her eyes begin to roll back in her head, as unconsciousness fought to claim her. She thrust her hands down and felt rough material under her fingers, and her vision cleared. The floor was still there; at least that was something. She twisted in the air, tears of panic springing involuntarily into the corners of her eyes and spilling down her cheeks, and she spun slowly, rotating so she was looking down at the floor. Then suddenly, whatever was holding her in the air was gone, and she thudded face down on to the ground.
Larissa pushed herself to her feet, weeping openly, and stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. She had barely closed the door behind her when the hunger struck again, driving her to her knees. The vacuum in her stomach and chest reared open, spilling waves of agony through her body, and she shoved her fist into her mouth and screamed around it, a muffled shriek that tore at her throat. She flopped to the bathroom floor and writhed on the cold tiles, her body spasming, her mind emptied by the enormity of the pain. She twitched and convulsed and waited, desperately, pleadingly, for it to pass.
Eventually it did. She gripped the sink and pulled herself up in front of the mirror. It took her a few seconds to recognize the reflection in the mirror as her own; her skin was pale and beaded with sweat, her body was visibly trembling, and when she looked closely at her eyes, she jammed the fist back into her mouth and screamed again.
Dark red was spreading f
rom the corners of her eyes, as though blood was being dripped slowly into them. The crimson was slowly diffusing through the white of her eyeballs and darkening her irises to a shiny black. Her vision was clear, and as she watched her eyes change, she wished it wasn’t; the red in her eyes seemed to be almost alive, swirling and spinning like an oil slick, darkening and pulsing in lazy motions that turned her stomach.
The hunger hit again, a sledgehammer of agony and emptiness, and she bit down on the fist in her mouth, involuntarily spilling blood into her mouth. And instantly, the hunger was gone, replaced by a pleasure so enormous it was heavenly. Her blood ran down her throat, and she felt her knees weaken as a feeling beyond anything she had ever felt overwhelmed her; she felt as though she could push down walls, run for a hundred miles, leap, and fly like a bird.
She felt like there was nothing she couldn’t do.
Then the feeling was gone, and she slumped back to her knees. She hungrily sucked more blood from her hand, but the pleasure did not return. But although she didn’t know what had happened to her, although the part of her that was still recognizably Larissa was frightened beyond measure, she realized she now knew one thing, knew it with great certainty.
Blood had taken the pain away. And if her own no longer worked, she would need some from somebody else.
Larissa staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the bathroom. Then she crossed the landing and turned the handle on the door to her brother’s bedroom. He had thrown the covers off during the night, and his skin was pale, bathed in a shaft of moonlight that was creeping in between the curtains above his bed. She could see the veins in his neck pulsing steadily, and the hunger screamed and thrashed in her head, driving rational thought almost entirely out of her, bellowing for her to feed, screeching and cursing in her reeling mind. She took a step toward him without even meaning to, then stopped.
It was Liam lying there; her annoying, infuriating, beautiful, funny little brother, who had never hurt her on purpose, never hurt anyone as far as she knew. She summoned up the last of her dwindling strength and ran from his room, slamming the door shut behind her. She heard him rise from his slumber, grumbling something inarticulate, then she was gone, sprinting down the stairs and through the front door, the street outside still dark, and she was running, away from the people she loved, away from the only home she had ever known.
29
A CALCULATED RISK
“ I just want to say again how unhappy I am about this,” said Morris.
“Do you really have to?” asked Jamie. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear already.”
Jamie had explained his plan to Morris on their way down through the levels of the Blacklight base; he had listened incredulously before telling Jamie that there was no chance that Admiral Seward would allow it. The two were standing in the corridor outside the cellblock, waiting for Frankenstein. The monster was making his way down and had ordered them to do nothing without him present.
“I just don’t understand why you trust this girl so much,” said Morris. “She tried to kill you, and she ran with Alexandru. I know she’s pretty, but—”
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” interrupted Jamie, anger flashing in his eyes. “And I don’t trust her, not really. But I think someone she knows has information that I need, and I think she’ll take us to them if we play along with her. I don’t know why, before you ask. I just think she will.”
Jamie was lying to Morris about one thing; he was starting to trust Larissa. When he thought about her, which was increasingly often, he was starting to see the teenage girl she had been, whose biggest problems had been her friends and her parents until she had wandered off on her own at the fair, and her life had been thrown into darkness.
“I hope you’re right,” said Morris.
“No you don’t,” snapped Jamie.
“Don’t what?” rumbled Frankenstein’s voice.
The huge man rounded the corner and stood, towering over Jamie and Morris.
“Nothing,” said Jamie. “Don’t worry about it.”
Frankenstein gave the teenager a long look, then turned his attention to Morris. “Why are you carrying that?” he asked, pointing to a belt slung over the man’s shoulder.
Morris slipped the belt down into his hands and didn’t reply.
“I told him to bring it,” said Jamie.
“And why would you have done that?” Frankenstein asked, his voice low and ominous.
“Larissa says she can take us to someone who will know where my mother is.”
“And you’re actually stupid enough to believe her?”
Jamie flushed a deep red and fingered the bandage on his neck. “I do believe her. And to be honest, I don’t see how listening to her could be any worse than listening to you.”
Frankenstein went very still, so still he appeared to be holding his breath. “Excuse me?” he said, in a voice like ice.
“You heard me,” said Jamie. “Following you got me nothing, apart from this burn on my neck and a lot of wasted time. I’m pretty sure wherever Larissa takes us can’t be any worse.”
Morris shuffled his feet and looked desperately from the teenager to the monster and back again. “Why don’t we just make her tell—”
“Shut up, Tom,” said Frankenstein, not taking his eyes off Jamie. “So. Even if I believed this vampire has any information that might be useful, which I don’t, you’re asking me to directly disobey Admiral Seward’s orders and take her off base? Or were you just planning to try and sneak her out?”
“I need to know what she knows,” replied Jamie. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself. You can try and stop me if you want.”
“This isn’t necessary,” said Morris, an anguished look on his face. “We can just—”
“Didn’t you hear me, Tom?” said Frankenstein. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, be quiet.”
He turned back to the teenager. “This is how it’s going to be?” he asked.
Jamie shrugged. “I need to get my mother back,” he said. “Nothing else matters. I thought you understood that.”
For a long moment, no one said anything. Frankenstein appeared deep in thought, Jamie was standing defiantly, his head upright, his eyes wide open, and Morris was glancing furtively between them. Eventually, Frankenstein spoke again.
“Give me the belt,” he said, extending a hand toward Morris, who eagerly placed it in the huge gray palm. Frankenstein tossed it lightly up and down, then looked at Jamie.
“I’m going to help you do this,” he said. “On one condition: When she fails to tell you anything that helps us find your mother, you will take your lead from me for the remainder of this mission, without objection. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” replied Jamie. His face was twisted, as though the word had tasted bitter as he said it.
The monster nodded. “Let’s put this on her then,” he said, and strode into the cellblock.
“Let me give it to her,” said Jamie quietly, as they approached Larissa’s cell.
Frankenstein held on to the belt for a moment, then passed it to him. “You’re not trying to save her, are you?” asked the monster, as they walked between the rows of empty cells.
Jamie didn’t answer.
They stopped in front of the vampire girl’s cell. Larissa was sitting on the floor at the back of the square room, her arms resting across her raised knees. She smiled as they appeared.
“You brought some friends with you,” she said, her red lips curled back from her gleaming white teeth. “Don’t you trust yourself to be alone with me?”
Morris said something under his breath, and she widened her eyes in mock offence. “Don’t be jealous,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Jealous?” snorted Morris. “Of a foul creature like you? Please.”
Larissa’s smile returned, and she fixed her gaze on the belt in Jamie’s hand. “Have you brought me a present?” she asked.
�
��It’s a restraining belt,” said Jamie, his face slightly red. “You need to put it on before we can take you out of here.”
She stared at him, then slid liquidly to her feet and crossed the cell to stand in front of Jamie. The UV field was all that separated them.
“Throw it to me,” she said.
Jamie raised his arm to do as she asked, but Frankenstein stepped forward and stopped him.
“Before he gives this to you,” he said, “there are some things I need to make clear. If you try to remove the belt, if you even give me the suspicion that you are intending to do so, I’ll stake you where you stand. Is that clear?”
“Why, yes,” said Larissa. “It’s perfectly clear.”
“Good. Secondly, if you endanger Jamie, or any of us, in any way, I’ll tear you to pieces with my bare hands. Is that also clear?”
“Abundantly so.”
Frankenstein released his grip on Jamie’s arm. He threw the belt through the field, and Larissa plucked it out of the air. She set it on the floor by her feet, then started lifting her shirt, her eyes never leaving Jamie’s.
He turned away, looking down at the floor, as Morris and Frankenstein did the same.
“You can watch if you want,” said Larissa. “I don’t mind.” Jamie didn’t answer. He could feel his face burning as blood flooded into his cheeks.
“You can look,” she said, and the three turned back toward the cell. The belt was safely hidden beneath her shirt, two raised areas at the shoulders the only clues she was wearing it at all.
The restraining belt was made of two loops of material that crossed in the front. Where they met, a flat round explosive chamber was attached to the material, positioned so it would rest directly over her heart. A small red light flashed steadily on the top of the chamber, signifying that the explosive was live. The charge was controlled by a small cylindrical detonator that Morris was holding in one slightly trembling hand. If the button on the top of the detonator was pressed, there would be a wide ring of blood and flesh where Larissa had been standing.