The Reformed Vampire Support Group (30 page)

Perhaps, when you hit a man with a rifle butt, the guilt is easier to bear if you depersonalise him afterwards by referring to him as ‘the other one’.

‘Can’t we just follow you?’ Horace asked. He had also risen, having satisfied himself that there was no need to sit on Barry any more.
‘I mean, Nina could help me with Dermid – couldn’t you, Nina?’

‘No.’ Dave shook his head. ‘Nina will bring the rifle.’

‘But—’

‘She can hide it under this cape,’ Dave concluded, before passing the cape and the rifle to me. I suddenly found myself with two loaded firearms – though not for very long. Horace quickly relieved me of the pistol as Dave and Reuben wrestled with Barry’s unwieldy limbs.

Then Dave told Horace to turn on the lights.

‘If anyone comes knocking while I’m not here,’ advised Dave, reeling slightly under the weight he’d just shouldered, ‘you should say that Nefley’s been having a party. And he wouldn’t be having a party with the lights off.’

‘Depends what sort of party it is,’ Horace observed, under his breath. But the rest of us ignored him. We had other things on our minds.

‘What if they actually want to talk to Nefley?’ I asked Dave. ‘What should I tell them?’

‘Tell them … I dunno.’ Dave had run out of answers. It was Reuben who came to his rescue.

‘Tell ’em that Nefley’s too drunk to talk,’ Reuben suggested cheerfully. Despite his somewhat battered appearance, he exuded an aura so vibrant and vigorous that it made every vampire in the vicinity look wan – as if he’d sucked all the vitality right out of us. ‘Who
is
this Nefley guy, anyhow? Is he a frienda yours?’

‘No,’ Dave replied shortly. Dismissing the subject, he then turned to Horace. ‘Don’t make trouble for Nina,’ he instructed. ‘She’s the one who should be talking to the neighbours. In fact I don’t want anyone laying eyes on you. Understand?’

Horace pulled a face. But he also nodded, and that nod was enough to satisfy Dave – who moved towards the front door, trying
to match his pace with Reuben’s. The two of them were just about to make their exit together, on either side of Barry’s limp form, when Horace asked, ‘Where are we going, by the way?’

Dave stopped. ‘Where do you think?’ he said, before yanking the door open. He was referring to my mother’s house, and my heart sank as I contemplated her reaction to yet another bunch of unwelcome guests. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even wish him good luck.

Instead I shut the front door behind his retreating back, flicked on the overhead light, and wordlessly occupied myself with various minor chores: picking up the empty syringe, for example, and donning the satin cape. Horace didn’t make any kind of effort to help me. Instead he stood peering down at Dermid, who was beginning to snore.

‘What are we going to do with this pair when we get them to your house?’ Horace finally asked.

‘I dunno.’

‘Does Dave really believe that Sanford can
counsel
them into submission?’

‘I don’t know, Horace!’ His sarcastic tone was getting on my nerves. ‘Maybe you should have figured that out yourself, before you decided to come here!’

I might have continued in the same vein, if a sharp rapping sound hadn’t interrupted me. Catching my breath, I stared at Horace. Then we both glanced towards the kitchen.

Someone was knocking on the back door.

‘Oh, no,’ I breathed, because I knew full well that Dave hadn’t returned. For one thing, it was too soon – and for another, he had a key.

‘Quick.’ Horace gave me a push. ‘Quick, go and answer it. Before they call the police.’

‘My cape—’

‘That’s okay. It’s meant to be a party.’ He began to roll Dermid towards the bedroom. ‘Just don’t let them in, whatever happens!’

I did as I was told, too panicked to think straight. I rushed into the kitchen. I answered the knock. On Nefley’s back steps I encountered a short, heavy, middle-aged woman in a dressing-gown, whose angry expression dissolved into one of surprise when she saw me.

‘Who are you?’ she queried

‘Ah – um – I’m a friend of Nefley’s.’

‘Is he here?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Then tell him, be quiet. All of you be quiet.’ Her English was heavily accented. ‘It’s too late. Three o’clock. Not fair.’

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

‘Too much banging. Too much shouting. You tell him that.’

‘I will.’

The woman sniffed. I suspect that she had more to say, and would have said it if she’d been able to express herself with greater fluency. But her English wasn’t good enough. So she swung around and marched off, heading for one of the other flats. And it was at this point, suddenly, that my mind went
click
.

I realised that I had left Horace Whittaker alone with a non-vampire.

When Horace heard
me enter the living room, he raised his head.

His mouth was full of blood.

Blood trickled down his chin and dripped onto his cravat. Smears of blood were visible under his nose, around his jaw, on his fingers. His pupils looked enormous, like railway tunnels. As I stared at him – paralysed with shock – he wiped his bloody lips on his sleeve.

‘It’s the only solution,’ he said, thickly and hoarsely. ‘If they’re vampires, they won’t come after us. They won’t be
able
to. Problem solved.’

My gaze drifted down to where Dermid lay, on his side. The fang marks weren’t visible from where I stood; all I could see was the big, purpling bruise on his forehead. Then the smell reached me – that unmistakeable smell of fresh human blood, straight from the jugular – and I had to get out. Fast.

I stepped back into the kitchen and slammed the door. My legs were starting to shake. A tingling in my teeth prompted me to move my right hand, firmly and deliberately, away from the doorknob. Placing both palms flat against the painted surface of the door, I leaned against it, propping myself up. For several seconds I didn’t move. I just stood there, braced against the pounding of my own
pulse, licking my lips over and over and over again. My mouth was so dry that I could almost
feel
the gums receding.

I didn’t even turn around when Dave unlocked the door behind me.

‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered, moments after I’d heard the scraping of footsteps, and the
snick-snick
of a latch. My sense of relief was indescribable. For one thing, it was Dave who’d entered, and not some vampire-hating friend of Nefley Irving’s. For another thing, I knew that I was no longer at risk of any vampirish behaviour. With Dave around, there wasn’t a chance that I would succumb. He had stopped me before, and could easily do it again.

‘Oh my God.’ He caught his breath. ‘Is that—?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ My voice cracked on a sob. Looking over my shoulder, I saw that Dave was aware of the smell. Though faint, it was still discernible – at least to a vampire. No doubt it had drifted through the keyhole, or under the door. ‘Someone came around the back,’ I quavered. ‘A neighbour. I had to talk to her in here … I forgot about Horace … I’m so
sorry
…’

‘Jesus.’ Dave’s hands were pressed to his brow. Despair and horror were written all over his face.

‘It was so quick,’ I said. ‘Two minutes at the most…’

‘I shouldn’t have left you.’

‘What are we going to
do?
’

‘Get out of here,’ he croaked. ‘All of us. Now.’

‘But—’

‘You have to help me. We have to help each other.’ There was more than a hint of panic in his tone. ‘Please? Nina? I – I can’t do this by myself.’

‘You won’t have to.’ All at once I regained control over my own impulses. My vision cleared. My hands stopped trembling. There was something about his lost expression that stiffened my spine and
drove away every ominous sign of impending delirium. ‘The trouble is, I left those guns with Horace,’ I reminded him. ‘If he decides that he doesn’t want to come …’ And I trailed off, remembering what Sanford had always said about the effect of fresh human blood on a vampire’s energy levels.

Dave swallowed.

‘The sooner we tackle him, the better our chances will be,’ was his strained response.

‘Couldn’t you call Sanford?’

‘Too late for that.’

Then it occurred to me: what if Horace had already left through the front door? What if he was
heading for Dave’s car?
If Horace had decided to search for another target, Reuben would be the obvious choice.

‘Dave,’ I said, ‘what about Reuben?’

We stared at each other in sheer dismay. Then, as Dave lunged for the door, I yanked it open – and we burst into the living room, shoulder to shoulder.

Dermid was still lying motionless on the floor. But Horace was nowhere to be seen.

‘Oh God …’ I croaked.

‘Stay here. Don’t move.’ Dave didn’t waste time on superfluous instructions. He charged into the foyer, shutting the front door behind him, and I was left feeling slightly winded. For a moment I just stood there, gathering my scattered wits. Then it occurred to me that Dermid might need my help.

You may recall that I had never, until that time, witnessed what Sanford likes to call a ‘transformation’. The last one I’d experienced had been my own – and I didn’t remember much about that. So I approached Dermid anxiously, not really knowing what to expect. I was afraid that he might be having a fit of some kind.

Happily, he wasn’t. When I squatted beside him, Dermid didn’t so much as flutter an eyelid. He wasn’t even twitching, let alone foaming, and every muscle in his body seemed completely relaxed.

But he was a terrible colour. I noticed that straight away. His complexion was livid, and his fingernails were a nasty greenish shade. As for the fang marks on his throat, they were already turning black. I remembered
that
, all right: how my own bite mark had become the most frightful, festering wound, full of pus and dead flesh and strange, reddish powder.

The recollection made me feel ill. Nevertheless, I ignored my heaving stomach and started to examine Dermid’s injured head. Since the
TV
was still tuned to a noisy cop show, I didn’t hear any retching sounds. And if I had, I probably would have assumed that the on-screen action had shifted to a pub, or maybe a rehab clinic.

When I went to fetch a damp towel for Dermid’s neck, I was completely unprepared to find Horace in the bathroom.

‘
Horace?
’ I halted on the threshold, staring down at his hunched form. He was drooling into the toilet bowl. ‘What’s wrong?’

He didn’t reply. I don’t think he was capable of speech, at that point – and I couldn’t understand why. Fresh human blood is supposed to make you feel better, not worse.

‘Did you stick your finger down your throat or something?’ I demanded.

He lifted his head, gazing up at me with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

‘Drug,’ he gasped.

‘What?’

‘He’s
drugged
.’

‘Oh.’ The penny dropped. Of course! Dermid’s bloodstream was full of anaesthetic. ‘You mean the drug’s making you sick?’

‘Grrggh.’

I can’t pretend that I was sympathetic. On the contrary, I was relieved.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’m
glad
it’s making you sick. I hope it makes you even sicker.’ Almost hysterical with fear, shock, and righteous indignation, I really let him have it. ‘I hope you rupture something, Horace! I hope you’re in bed for a week! Don’t you realise what you’ve
done?
You’ve
infected
someone!’

‘It was your idea,’ he responded hoarsely.

‘
What?
’

‘Zadia Bloodstone always fangs the bad guys,’ he pointed out – then gagged, and turned his face away.

He was still vomiting when I heard the back door open again. This time, however, I wasn’t taken my surprise. In fact, I hurried out of the bathroom, keen to reassure Dave that Horace wasn’t rampaging through Sydney in search of more victims to chew on.

Imagine my astonishment when Father Ramon walked into the living room.

‘Father?’ I squeaked, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead he crossed himself, his attention riveted to the body on the floor.

Dave was hovering just behind him.

‘You’ll have to take this guy too,’ he said to the priest. ‘
And
the rest of them. I’ll start driving round the neighbourhood, to see if I can spot Horace.’

‘Dave,’ I began, but was roundly ignored.

‘He can’t have got far,’ Dave continued, still addressing Father Ramon. ‘Even if he is firing on all cylinders—’

‘
Dave
.’ I raised my voice. ‘Horace is still here.’

The two men goggled at me.

‘He’s in the bathroom. Throwing up,’ I revealed. ‘He’s had a bad reaction to the tranquilliser.’

Dave’s whole body slumped. Father Ramon closed his eyes,
heaving a sigh so deep that it made him stagger.

‘Thank God,’ said Dave. ‘Thank
God
.’

‘Did you just get here?’ I asked the priest, who promptly informed me that he’d arrived back at Mum’s place only to be sent straight to Nefley’s. Sanford would have come too, if he hadn’t been setting Nefley’s broken arm. As for Mum, she had actually been tricked into staying.

‘We asked her to fetch a hammer from the shed,’ Father Ramon admitted, in regretful tones, ‘and I left while she was still out the back. Sanford didn’t want her involved. Not at her age.’

‘No.’ I could understand that. ‘She’ll be mad, though.’

‘She’ll be furious,’ Father Ramon agreed, and for an instant we both gloomily contemplated the sort of welcome we could expect when we returned to confront my mother. Meanwhile, Dave disappeared into the bathroom. He emerged again before I could pursue him, supporting a very sluggish and submissive Horace – whose bloodstained teeth caused the priest to blanch and cover his own mouth.

For someone who had just slaked an ancient, instinctual thirst, Horace looked surprisingly ill. His gait was unsteady, his face was swollen, and his expression was dazed. It was clear that he would need help, and that I was the one who would have to help him – since Dave and Father Ramon would be fully occupied with Dermid. Dave told me to leave the rifle. He announced that Reuben, Barry and Father Ramon should stay well clear of Horace, who would be travelling in Dave’s car. Then, having outlined his escape plan, Dave bent down to retrieve the handgun – which he tucked into his belt.