by Darren Shan
“I just assumed . . .” I stopped. “You set him up!” “Of course,” Steve chuckled. “With your help. Remember the ticket you gave to Darius? He passed it on. Tommy was opening a sports store, signing autographs. Darius went along and ‘swapped’ his ticket for a signed soccer ball. We still have it lying around somewhere. Could be a collector’s item soon.”
“You’re sick,” I snarled. “Using a child to do your dirty work — disgusting.”
“Not really,” Steve disagreed. “It just shows how highly I value the young.”
Now that I knew Steve had given Tommy the ticket, my mind raced ahead, putting the pieces of his plan together. “You couldn’t have known for sure that Tommy would run into me at the show,” I said.
“No, but I guessed he would. If he hadn’t, I’d have worked out some other way to maneuver you together. I didn’t need to, but I liked the idea. Him being here at the same time as us was providence. I’m just slightly miffed that Alan wasn’t here too — that would have made for a complete reunion.”
“What about my cup ticket? How did you find out about that?”
“I phoned Tommy that morning,” Steve said. “He was astonished — first he bumps into his old pal Darren, then he hears from his old buddy Steve. What a coincidence! I faked astonishment too. I asked all about you. Learned that you were coming to the match. He invited me as well, but I said I couldn’t make it.”
“Very clever,” I complimented him icily.
“Not especially,” Steve said with false modesty. “I simply used his innocence to ensnare you. Manipulating the innocent is child’s play. I’m surprised you didn’t see through it. You need to work on your paranoia, Darren. Suspect everyone, even those beyond suspicion — that’s my motto.”
Vancha edged up close to me. “If you keep him talking, maybe I can slip out back and attack him from the rear,” he whispered.
I nodded my head a fraction and Vancha slid away slowly. “Tommy told me he’d been in contact with you in the past,” I said loudly, hoping to mask the sound of Vancha’s footsteps. “He said there was something about you that he had to tell me the next time we met, after the match.”
“I can guess what that was,” Steve purred.
“Care to share it with me?”
“Not yet,” he said. Then, sharply, “If you take one more step towards that door, Mr. March, the snake-boy dies.” Vancha stopped and shot Steve a look of disgust.
“Leave my son alone!” Evra screamed. He’d been holding himself in check, but Steve’s threat proved too much. “If you harm him, I’ll kill you! I’ll put you through so much agony, you’ll pray for death!”
“My!” Steve cooed. “Such vindictiveness! You seem to have the knack of driving all your friends to violence, Darren. Or do you deliberately surround yourself with violent people?”
“Stuff it!” I grunted. Then, tiring of his verbal games, I said, “Are you going to fight or not?”
“I already answered that question,” Steve said. “We’ll fight soon, have no fear, but this is neither the time nor the place. There’s a rear tunnel — newly carved — that we’ll leave by shortly. By the time you pick your way through the stakes, we’ll be far out of reach.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I snarled. “Get the hell out!”
“Not yet,” Steve said, and his voice was hard now. “There’s the sacrifice to make first. In the old days, a sacrifice was always made before a large battle, to appease the gods. Now, it’s true that the vampaneze don’t have any official gods, but to be on the safe side . . .”
“No!” Evra screamed — it was as clear to him as to the rest of us what Steve meant to do.
“Don’t!” I shouted.
“Gannen!” Vancha roared. “You can’t allow this!” “I have no say in it, brother,” Gannen Harst responded from behind his log. He hadn’t shown his face yet. I had the feeling he was ashamed to show it.
“Ready, R.V.?” Steve asked.
“I’m not sure about this, man,” R.V. replied uneasily.
“Don’t disobey me!” Steve growled. “I made you and I can break you. Now, you bearded, armless freak — are you ready?”
A short pause. Then R.V. answered softly, “Yes.” Vancha cursed and raced forward to force his way through the pit of stakes. Harkat lumbered after him. Alice and Debbie fired on the log protecting Steve, but their bullets couldn’t pierce it. I stood, clutching my knife, thinking desperately.
Then a voice behind me called out shakily, “Dad?” Everybody paused. I looked back. Darius was trembling. “Dad?” he called again. “You’re not really going to kill him, are you?”
“Be quiet!” Steve snapped. “You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“But . . . he’s just a kid . . . like me. You can’t —” “Shut up!” Steve roared. “I’ll explain later! Just —” “No,” I interrupted, sliding up behind Darius. “There won’t be any ‘later.’ If you kill Shancus, I’ll kill Darius.” For the second time that night I felt a dark spirit grow within me, and pressed the blade of my knife to the young boy’s throat. Behind me, Evanna made a small cooing noise. I ignored her.
“You’re bluffing,” Steve jeered. “You couldn’t kill a child.”
“He could,” Debbie answered for me. She stepped away. “Darren was going to kill him earlier. Harkat stopped him. He said we’d need the boy to trade for Shancus. Otherwise Darren would have killed him. Darius — is that the truth?”
“Yes,” Darius moaned. He was weeping. Part of it was fear, but an equal part was horror. His father had raised him on lies and false heroics. Only now was he beginning to realize what sort of monster he’d aligned himself with.
I heard Steve mutter something. He peered out from around his log, studying us from the heights of the stage. I made no threatening moves. I didn’t need to. My determination was clear.
“Very well,” Steve snorted. “Throw away your weapons and we’ll swap the two boys.”
“You think we’ll entrust ourselves to your untender mercies?” Vancha huffed. “Release Shancus and we’ll turn your son over.”
“Not until you shed your weapons,” Steve insisted.
“And allow you to mow us down?” Vancha challenged him.
There was a short pause. Then Steve threw an arrow-gun away, far across the stage. “Gannen,” he said, “am I carrying any other weapons?”
“A sword and two knives,” Gannen Harst replied immediately.
“I don’t mean those,” Steve growled. “Do I have any long-range weapons?”
“No,” Gannen said.
“What about you and R.V.?”
“We have none either.”
“I know you don’t believe a word I say,” Steve shouted to Vancha, “but you trust your own brother, don’t you? He’s a pure vampaneze — he’d kill himself before he’d utter a lie.”
“Aye,” Vancha muttered unhappily.
“Then throw away your weapons,” Steve said. “We won’t attack if you don’t.”
Vancha looked to me for advice. “Do it,” I said. “He’s tied, just like we are. He won’t risk his son’s life.”
Vancha was dubious, but he slipped off his belts of throwing stars and tossed them aside. Debbie threw her pistols away and so, reluctantly, did Alice. Harkat had only an axe, which he laid down on the floor beside him. I kept my knife to Darius’s throat.
Steve stepped out from behind the log. He was grinning. I felt a great temptation to throw my knife at him — I might just have been able to strike him from this distance — but I didn’t. As a Vampire Prince, and one of the hunters of the Vampaneze Lord, I should have. But I couldn’t risk missing and enraging Steve. He’d kill Shancus if I did.
“Out you come, boys,” Steve said. Gannen Harst and R.V. emerged from behind their logs, R.V. shoving the bound Shancus ahead of him. Gannen Harst was typically grim-faced, but R.V. was smiling. At first I thought it was a mocking smile, but then I realized it was a smile of relief �
� he was delighted he hadn’t been called upon to kill the snake-boy. R.V. was a twisted, bitter, crazy man, but I saw then that he wasn’t entirely evil — not like Steve.
“I’ll take the reptile,” Steve said, reaching for Shancus. “You go get the plank and extend it across the pit.”
R.V. handed Shancus to Steve and retreated to the rear of the stage. He started dragging a long plank forward. It was awkward for him — he couldn’t get a decent grip because of the hooks Mr. Tall had torn off. Gannen went to help him, keeping one eye on us. The pair began feeding the plank across the pit, letting it rest on blunt-tipped stakes, which I could now see had been placed there specifically for this purpose.
Steve watched us like a hawk while R.V. and Gannen were busy with the plank. He was holding Shancus in front of him, stroking the snake-boy’s long green hair. I didn’t like the way he was looking at us — I felt as though we were being x-rayed — but I said nothing, willing R.V. and Gannen to hurry up with the plank.
Steve’s eyes lingered on Evra a long moment — he was smiling hopefully, hands half-reaching out to his son — then settled on me. He stopped stroking Shancus’s hair and gently placed a hand on either side of his head. “Remember the games we played when we were children?” he asked craftily.
“What games?” I frowned. I had a terrible feeling — a sense of total doom — but I could do nothing but follow his lead.
“‘Dare’ games,” Steve said, and something in his voice made R.V. and Gannen pause and look around. Steve’s face was expressionless, but his eyes were alive with insane glee. “One of us would say, ‘I dare you to do this,’ and stick his hand in a fire or jab a pin in his leg. The other would have to copy him. Remember?”
“No!” I moaned. I knew what was coming. I knew I couldn’t stop it. I knew I’d been a fool and made a fool’s mistake — I’d assumed Steve was even the slightest bit human.
“I dare you to do this, Darren,” Steve whispered dreadfully. Before I could reply — before anything else could happen — he seized Shancus’s head tightly and twisted it sharply to the left, then the right. Shancus’s neck snapped. Steve dropped him. Shancus fell to the floor. Steve had killed him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
STEVE’S ACT OF PURE, pointless evil caught everyone by gut-wrenching surprise. For a long moment we just stared at him and the lifeless body by his feet. Even Steve looked stunned, as though he’d acted without thinking it through.
Then Evra went wild. “Bastard!” he screamed, hurling himself at the pit of stakes. If Harkat hadn’t reacted and knocked him aside, Evra would have impaled himself on the stakes and died like his son.
“I can’t believe . . .” Alice muttered, face whiter than usual. Then her features hardened and she ran for the pistol she’d discarded.
Debbie sank to her knees, weeping, unable to deal with such wickedness. As hardened as she’d become, nothing in her life had prepared her for this.
Harkat was struggling with Evra, pinning him down, protecting him from his rage. Evra was screaming hysterically and pounding Harkat’s broad grey face with his scaly fists, but Harkat held firm.
Vancha was at the pit of stakes, lurching through them, clambering over the sharpened tips, driving towards the stage like a man possessed.
R.V. and Gannen Harst were staring at Steve, jaws slack.
Evanna was looking on silently. If the murder had shocked her, she was masking it incredibly well.
Darius was stiff with terror, holding his breath, eyes wide.
I was still behind Darius, my knife at his throat. I was the calmest of everyone there (except Evanna). Not because I was in any way unaffected by what had happened, but because I knew what I must do in retaliation. The fierce, hard, hating part within me had flared to life and taken over completely. I saw the world through different eyes. It was a dreadful, wicked place, where only the dreadful and wicked could prosper. To defeat an evil monster like Steve, I had to sink to his depths myself. Mr. Crepsley had warned me not to, but he was wrong. What did it matter if I followed Steve down the road of total evil? Stopping him — getting revenge for all the people he’d killed — was the only thing I cared about now.
While I was thinking all this through, Gannen snapped to his senses and saw that Vancha was closing in on them. He hurried to his Lord, grabbed Steve by the right arm, and spun him towards the exit, cursing foully. R.V. rose shakily and stumbled after them. He stopped, vomited, then reeled ahead.
Alice found her pistol, brought it up, and fired. But there were too many logs between her and the vampaneze. She didn’t even get close to them.
Steve stopped by the tunnel entrance at the rear of the stage. Gannen tried to push him down it, but he shook his protector’s hands away and turned to glare triumphantly — daringly — at me.
“Go on!” Steve screamed. “Show me you can do it! I dare you! I double dare you!”
In that moment, as if our minds were somehow joined, I understood Steve entirely. Part of him was appalled by his brutality. He was hanging dangerously on the edge of outright madness. As the monster within me had grown this night, so had the human within Steve. He needed me to match his evil deeds. If I killed Darius, Steve could justify his cruelty and continue. But if I didn’t respond to his evil with an equally evil act of my own, it would drive home the truth about how far he’d fallen. He might even snap beneath the weight of full realization and go mad. I had the power to destroy him — with mercy.
But I couldn’t find mercy within myself. The fires of fury in my heart and head demanded I kill Darius. Right or wrong, I had to avenge Shancus’s death. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, a life for a life. Out of the corner of one eye I caught sight of Evanna. Her gaze was locked on me. There was no pity in her expression, merely the weariness of one who has seen all the evils of the world and must watch them repeat themselves over and over again.
“Dare accepted,” I said, abandoning myself to my dark destiny, knowing in that moment that I was betraying all my moral beliefs. This was the start of the path to damnation. If I defeated Steve, I would become the Lord of the Shadows, and in the long, blood-red decades and centuries ahead, I’d be able to point back to this night and say, “That was where the monster was born.”
I began to draw my knife across Darius’s throat. This time Debbie didn’t try to stop me — she sensed my damnation, and was powerless to save me. But then I paused. The throat was too impersonal a target. I wanted Steve to really feel this.
Lowering the knife, I cut away Darius’s shirt, revealing his bare, pale chest. I positioned the tip of the knife over his heart and gazed at Steve, no longer blinking against the searing lights, my eyes dark, my lips tight over my teeth.
Steve’s expression steadied. The beast within him had seen its mirror image in me, and was satisfied. He drew back from the madness, becoming his cold, crafty, calculating self again. He smiled.
I drew my arm back to its full extent, so I could strike swiftly with the knife. I meant to stab Darius with all my strength and kill him quickly. I might be a monster, but I wasn’t an entirely heartless one. At least, not yet.
But Steve called out before I pierced his son’s heart. “Be careful, Darren! You don’t know who you’re killing!”
I shouldn’t have hesitated. I knew, if I did, that he’d derail me with some other twisted trick. Listening to demons was dangerous. Better to act in haste and shut your ears to them.
But I couldn’t help myself. There was something darkly inviting about his tone. It was like when someone was about to tell a gruesome but hilarious joke. I could feel the awfulness of it, but also the humor. I had to hear him out.
“Darius,” Steve chuckled, “tell Darren your mother’s name.” Darius gaped at his father, unable to respond. “Darius!” Steve roared. “He’s about to drive a knife through your heart! Tell him your mother’s name — now!”
“Ah-ah-ah-Annie,” Darius wheezed, and I froze. “And her surname?” Steve asked softly, rel
ishing the moment.
“Shan,” Darius whispered uncomprehendingly. “Annie Shan. What about it?”
“You see, Darren,” Steve purred, winking at me before vanishing down the tunnel to freedom, “if you kill Darius, you won’t just be slaughtering my son — you’ll be murdering your nephew!”
TO BE CONCLUDED IN SONS OF DESTINY,THE STUNNING FINALE TO THE CIRQUE DU FREAK SERIES.