The Reformed Vampire Support Group (16 page)

‘Against
those
things?’ I couldn’t imagine what he expected us to do. ‘Did you see their claws? And their teeth? They could bite our heads off.
Easily
.’

‘Perhaps they could, at present,’ he conceded. ‘But there may not be two of them by the time they’re done. And even the winner might not be in great shape.’

He was right. We all peered at the gate, analysing the noises that
were drifting through its bars. We heard a raucous chanting. We heard moans of disappointment. And we heard a startled canine yelp, as if a very large dog had just received a nasty shock.

‘Maybe we can hit it over the head when it comes in,’ said Dave. Gloomily, he surveyed his surroundings. ‘Except that there’s nothing in here to hit it
with
.’

‘The bed?’ I suggested. The bed, however, was bolted to the floor – and the heater was out of our reach. Obviously the McKinnons didn’t want to give their captives anything that even remotely resembled ammunition.

‘We could stick Dave’s knife in its neck,’ I began, confident that I would be able to find the jugular on anything. At which point Father Ramon gasped.

‘Oh! Wait!’ he cried, fumbling in his pockets. After a few seconds, he produced a box of matches. ‘Windex is flammable, isn’t it? I’m sure it is,’ he said.

Dave and I stared. ‘What are those for?’ I demanded. ‘You haven’t started smoking, have you?’

‘I like to carry them on me,’ the priest explained, ‘just in case any votive candles burn out.’

‘Oh.’

‘We’ve sheets here, too. And books …’

After a whispered discussion, we decided that we would drench one of the sheets in Windex. Then, if a werewolf did burst into the room, we would ignite the Windex and fling the flaming sheet over our feral opponent’s head.

Dave wanted to try the same trick on Barry McKinnon. But Father Ramon didn’t approve.

‘Barry hasn’t hurt us, Dave,’ the priest objected. ‘You want to set him alight the second he comes in? What if he’s decided to let us go?’

‘Then he won’t come in, will he?’ Dave rejoined. ‘He’ll just open the door.’

‘He might want to discuss things first.’

‘Oh,
please
.’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘He’s got a
gun
, Father.’

‘She’s right,’ said Dave. ‘The minute we see his gun, we’ll know what he really wants to do.’

‘We need to get him before he gets us,’ I insisted. ‘And if Dermid’s with him … well, maybe Dave should use his knife on Dermid.’

‘While you grab the gun, Nina.’ Dave was nodding. ‘Father Ramon can throw the sheet, you can go for the gun, and I’ll stab Dermid.’

‘It’s all right, Father.’ I could see that the priest was about to protest. ‘Even if I do get shot, it won’t be fatal. You’re the one who has to watch out, not me.’

This was a typical Zadia Bloodstone remark. It’s the sort of thing that looks pretty good on paper. But the fact is, I couldn’t say it like Zadia Bloodstone. My voice trembled as I thought about copping a bullet in the gut. While an injury like that wouldn’t trouble Zadia, it could easily ruin
my
life.

The prospect made me feel sick all over again.

Even so, I was able to hold two corners of the soiled, greyish sheet that Father Ramon dragged off the bed. He sprinkled Windex onto the centre of the sheet while Dave held the other two corners; the sheet was then placed midway between the door and the gate, ready for use.

When my atomiser was empty, Dave wrapped it in a blanket and stamped on it. He then distributed the resulting bits of glass between the three of us. According to Dave, they were better than nothing. ‘You never know,’ he said. ‘They may come in handy.’

Though I couldn’t imagine fending off a ravenous werewolf with a tiny sliver of perfume bottle, I tucked one jagged shard
into my pocket. From the pit, a savage roar was followed by a high-pitched squeal. Father Ramon immediately pulled off his jumper, exposing the dog-collar that he wore underneath.

‘They might think twice about harming a minister of the church,’ he conjectured.

By this time Dave was back on the bed, with his head in his hands. I wondered if he was feeling well enough to answer a question.

‘Do you think the stories are true?’ I asked. ‘Do you think were-wolves turn back into human beings when the sun rises?’

‘Who knows?’ Dave mumbled.

‘There’s a full moon tonight,’ I went on, ‘so
that
bit must be true.’ Another troubling thought crossed my mind. ‘Do you think they’re just like us? Do you think they spread the werewolf infection when they bite people?’

‘Maybe,’ said Dave.

‘What happens to a vampire who gets bitten by a werewolf, anyway?’ In
Underworld
, as far as I could recall, such bites were supposed to be fatal – but
Underworld
wasn’t real. ‘And what happens if a vampire bites a werewolf? Would it have any effect?’

‘Don’t ask me.’ Dave didn’t seem particularly interested. ‘You’re the one who writes Dracula spin-offs.’

‘It might have some effect,’ I continued, thinking aloud. ‘It might be worth a try.’

‘Nina – we won’t be fanging anyone if we can help it.’ Dave lifted his head. ‘You know what Sanford always tells us. If you give into that urge—’

‘—it’ll harm you as much as it harms your victim,’ I finished, impatiently quoting Sanford. ‘I realise that. But what if it’s a choice between psychological damage and total dismemberment? What if those things try to
eat
us, Dave?’ (My panic was mounting.) ‘Shouldn’t we at least bite back?’

‘Before you do, you might want to cast an eye over this,’ said Father Ramon. He had picked up one of the books. ‘Someone’s been reading
Harry Potter
. And Philip Pullman. And Terry Pratchett.’ He cast a troubled glance in my direction. ‘I’d be very surprised if any of these books belonged to the McKinnons,’ he added. ‘They look like teenage reading to me.’

Dave groaned. I was struck dumb. Father Ramon squatted down to examine the other books, but found no name scribbled inside them. I watched him leaf through one battered volume after another. The minutes ticked by. I checked my watch; it was already ten past twelve.

By two o’clock, the mob outside was still howling enthusiastically – and I was half-dead from the strain of waiting. My nerves were shredded. The longer we sat there, the less likely it seemed that we would ever have the strength or speed to carry out our ambitious plans. In fact the very sight of Father Ramon filled me with a sudden, overwhelming sense of despair; he was actually reading
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
, as if he had nothing better to do.

‘Maybe we should tell the McKinnons that we’re vampires,’ I blurted out at last. Seeing Dave’s jaw drop, I hurried to demonstrate that I wasn’t going mad. ‘They might not kill us if they think we’re worth money,’ I said. ‘We could offer them some kind of media deal.’

‘I dunno.’ Dave’s tone was doubtful. ‘What makes you think they’d go for the publicity? I didn’t see any posters up in town.’

‘They’ll be making quite enough money from their werewolf fights,’ Father Ramon quietly remarked, looking up from
Harry Potter
. ‘If you tell them who you are, Nina, you might spend the rest of your life as a captive, forced to fight against other vampires.’

‘Or you might be digging your own grave,’ Dave morosely
pointed out. ‘There aren’t many people who’d think twice about killing a vampire.’

‘If I were you, I’d only reveal who you are as a last resort,’ the priest concluded.

No one spoke again for a while after that. The noise from the pit became louder and louder. Dave had to lie down. Father Ramon rose and began to pace the floor, his attention divided between the sinister barred gate and his book. He obviously found the distant crowing just as ominous as I did.

Then all at once silence fell. He stopped in his tracks. We stared at each other, listening hard.

Once a relaxed murmur became audible, I knew. We both knew.

‘It’s finished,’ he hissed.

‘Oh my God.’ I jumped up. ‘Oh my God, oh my God!’

‘Give me that sheet,’ the priest whispered. But Dave said weakly, ‘It’s all right. Don’t panic.’

‘Don’t
panic?
’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘They might send those werewolves back
in here
, Dave!’

‘I don’t think so.’ Dave had been lying with his arm draped across his bloodshot eyes. Now he uncovered them, and scanned the room. ‘Just look at this place,’ he murmured. ‘There are no scratches on the paint. No bite marks on the door.’ He flapped a listless hand. ‘If those things out there ever got in here, they’d tear the place apart. And they haven’t.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ Father Ramon objected. Dave, however, shook his head.

‘It would be too messy,’ he replied. ‘You can’t hose this place off – there’s no drain in the floor. Not like there is out there.’

‘You think we’ll be forced into the
pit?
’ I squeaked.

‘Not if I can help it,’ he assured me. But since he was on his back, in bed, with a raging headache and a pasty complexion, I didn’t
find him very convincing.

Father Ramon fetched the sheet. I went to stand near the door, while Dave sat up and pulled out his Swiss army knife. No one said anything; we were concentrating too fiercely on the sounds drifting into our cell.

Five minutes passed. Then another ten. As the minute hand on my watch slowly measured out a complete circumference, I passed from a state of near hysteria to one of acute anxiety – until the length of our wait took the edge off my fear. Weren’t the McKinnons
ever
going to return? What on earth was happening? ‘Oh, man,’ Dave eventually remarked. He was still sitting on the bed, as if he couldn’t find the strength to get up.

‘What?’ I prompted, after he failed to continue. And he lifted his face to address me.

‘I was just thinking,’ he croaked. ‘Suppose no one comes down here until after sunrise?’

I gasped.

‘Suppose the McKinnons get here and find the pair of us dead to the world?’ Dave continued. ‘We won’t be able help Father Ramon. We won’t be able to do a thing.’

‘Oh, but …’ I checked my watch, for perhaps the hundredth time that night. ‘We still have a good two hours, at least. Anyway, he
said
he’d be back soon.’

‘But what if he isn’t?’ Dave closed his eyes for a moment. ‘What if something’s cropped up?’ he faltered. ‘What are we going to do if the McKinnons walk in and decide that we’re already dead?’

I had no idea. My mind was a blank. And Dave must have had the same problem, because he slumped forward mutely, massaging his eye-sockets.

It was Father Ramon who supplied an answer to Dave’s question.

‘I tell you what
I’m
going to do,’ the priest announced. ‘I’m going
to pretend that I killed you both.’

Dave snorted.

‘I mean it.’ Father Ramon’s tone was perfectly serious. ‘I’ll say that I smothered you to save myself.’

‘What are you
talking
about?’ Dave groaned, and I exclaimed, ‘That’s stupid!’

‘No, it’s not. It’s our best chance.’ Lowering his voice, the priest began to argue his case. ‘We’re only in danger because the McKinnons are worried that we’ll tell the police what they’ve been doing here,’ he said. ‘But if I have
your
deaths on my conscience, I won’t be telling anyone about anything. Will I?’

He went on to explain that he would write a confession, which he would offer to Barry as insurance. Then he would drive away with our ‘corpses’, promising to remain silent about the McKinnons’ activities as long as the McKinnons remained silent about the cold-blooded murders that he had committed to save his own skin.

‘I’ll demand that you be thoroughly wrapped up before we take you outside,’ he finished. ‘I’ll pretend that I’m worried about people seeing you.’

‘But—’

‘It’ll work, Nina. I’m sure it will. In fact, it’s our only hope.’ He frowned. ‘What else are we going to do? What else can I possibly say? Can
you
think of anything?’

I couldn’t. Though I tried and tried, I was unable to come up with an alternative plan.

I was still racking my brain when, at 6.57
AM
, I suddenly blacked out.

I woke up at
5.29
PM
and didn’t know where I was.

That’s always a terrible feeling. It hasn’t happened to me often, thank God, but it’s one of those nasty events more likely to befall a vampire than a normal person (unless, of course, you’re a normal person who’s a drunk or a drug addict). For a second or two I lay in total confusion. My face was covered, and it was very dark.

Then something moved beside me.

‘Who – who’s that?’ I quavered.

There was a brief silence.

‘Nina?’ came the muffled response.

‘Dave?’

‘Shh!’

I could feel him struggling, and when I tried to raise my arms, I understood why. Something was binding them. I was wrapped up like a mummy.

So was Dave, to judge from the way he was thrashing about.

After a moment’s blind panic, I realised that my bonds were fairly loose. I was able to bend my elbows and slide my hands up until they were level with my shoulders. Then I tugged and clawed at the shroud that enfolded me, working away until I’d dragged it off my eyes.

I found myself staring straight up into Dave’s shadowy face.

‘We’re in the van,’ he whispered.

‘What?’

‘Shh!’ He was kneeling beside me, plucking at the rope that encircled my chest. Frantically I began to wriggle out of my cocoon, which had a familiar smell; apparently someone had rolled me up in the Windex-covered bedsheet.

‘Where’s your phone?’ Dave hissed.

‘I don’t know … let me see…’ I thrust aside a great swag of cotton, before searching the pockets of my coat with unsteady hands. ‘It’s gone,’ I informed him, very quietly.

‘So is mine,’ he breathed. ‘Someone’s taken them.’

‘Are you sure this is
our
truck?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Dave, and when I looked around, I had to agree with him. Though my wristwatch didn’t provide much illumination, I could still make out the double doors in front of me, and the sheets of black plastic that lined every other visible surface.