Her Vampyrrhic Heart (20 page)

She moved so fast she was a blur. One moment she had her back to him, the next her face blasted out of the shadows to within three inches of his.

The face at the other side of the bars belonged to a nightmare. He'd seen photographs of faces similar to this – they'd been of dead people. Kit stopped breathing; he stopped moving – he couldn't move – not so much as a finger. The sight of that nightmare face froze his muscles. The beautiful stranger stared at him. At first glance this seemed to be a girl of around his age, sixteen or so. Yet she didn't appear to be entirely human. The whiteness of that skin was uncanny. Unnatural. Her eyes? Well, they had no colour at all. They were completely white apart from the black pupils. The pupils contracted to fierce, black points. Concentrations of hatred.

That's when something incredible happened. Kit Bolter's mind broke free of the world. The breeze that made an eerie moan as it blew through the barn faded to silence. At the same instant, however, he heard things that are impossible for a human to hear. Nevertheless, those impossible sounds reached his ears.

Because Kit heard the soft sigh of dust falling through the dead air of ancient tombs. His gaze remained locked on to the stark, white face of the beautiful stranger. And yet it seemed to him that he saw through her eyes, for he looked into his own face, with its dark, melancholy eyes. He saw the anxiety there for his mother's health, which forever haunted him. And he recognized the sadness over the death of his friendship with Owen Westonby.

Then he was seeing the girl again. A spectral blue appeared in her eyes. She inhaled as if she hadn't breathed in years. Gently, she took both his hands in hers. The face began to look less like a horror mask. Truly, she was beautiful.

Her lips parted. ‘Help me,' she whispered.

‘What do you want me to do?'

‘Help me to be like you.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Help me be
alive
like you.'

Anguish savagely stabbed him in the heart. He grimaced with the sheer hurt of wanting to help her but not knowing how.

‘I'm sorry I locked you in there,' he said – and in a searing blast of revelation he thought: I LOVE YOU. I'LL DO ANYTHING TO HELP. ANYTHING. ‘I'll open the gate and let you out.'

She didn't release his hands. In fact, the grip became tighter. Just then, he found himself believing the impossible – that they'd remain together, joined like this, for ever and ever. ‘Will you help me?' she whispered. ‘Do you promise?'

‘Yes, of course.'

‘My name is Freya. I … I've been ill, or … or lost …' The ghostly blue colouring began to fade from her eyes. ‘Lost in the dark …'

‘My name is Kit Bolter. I promise to help you.' His absolute love for her … his impetuous, impossibly strong love meant that he would promise anything. ‘Let me open the gate.'

‘No, Kit … if you let me out I'll hurt you.'

‘Not now you won't: we're friends.'

She said nothing. Her eyes seemed to stare through his face into his brain.

Kit found himself making a confession. ‘I know what it's like to be a prisoner of your own bad feelings. I grew up knowing that my mother drank too much. She used the bottle to damp down her misery. You see, my father had a compulsion to provoke fights with men for no other reason than his own gratification. He'd come home singing to himself – so happy with what he'd done. He'd say, “Kit, I knocked a guy clean off his feet. When I punched his face it felt soft as a baby's. Ha! By the time I'd finished he was crying like a baby, as well.”' Kit felt such enormous affection for the stranger. ‘At home there was always an atmosphere of violence. As I got older I felt it more and more. When my father came home I'd get pains in my stomach – it was the tension. My muscles got tighter and tighter. It felt like I was standing next to a bomb that was just about to explode.'

Freya gazed into his face. ‘We can help each other. I'm sure we can.'

‘I'll let you out.'

‘Don't open the gate yet, Kit.'

‘Why?'

‘Like I said, I might hurt you. I don't want to, but I might not be able to stop myself.'

Being with this beautiful girl intoxicated him, so he didn't question such a peculiar admission that she might attack him.

‘But how will you get out of there?' he asked.

Freya examined the gate's locking mechanism. ‘Good,' she said. ‘I can't reach the bolt with my hands.'

‘Why's that good?'

‘Because me not being able to reach it has just saved your life.'

He smiled and felt his head spin with love for her. ‘So, you like me?' OK, the question sounded needy. He needed to ask it nonetheless.

‘Yes, I do, Kit.' The white eyes fixed on him. ‘I can tell you're not like other boys.'

He suddenly stood taller. Those were the nicest words he'd ever heard. ‘Let me open the gate.'

‘No. Pass me that piece of string on the floor.'

‘Why do you need string?'

‘It'll take me a little while to tie a loop. Then I can sort of lasso the bolt and pull it back. That will unlock the gate, won't it?'

‘Sure.' He handed her the string.

‘Thanks, Kit.'

‘My pleasure, Freya.'

They smiled at each other.

‘Kit, go back to the house. Lock the doors. Don't come out again until its daylight. Not even if I ask you to.'

‘OK.'

‘Run, Kit, run!' She began to form a loop in one end of the string. ‘I'll find you again soon.'

He loped back to the house, a massive grin of sheer happiness filling his face. The oddness of the situation didn't trouble him. Love is truly blind.

B
y ten o'clock on that Sunday night everyone appeared relaxed in the cottage known as Skanderberg. The living room walls reflected the golden firelight. Tom sat in an armchair, enjoying the pleasant fragrance of logs burning in the hearth. A cosy atmosphere enfolded them like a warm, fleece blanket.

Of course, the world outside was a different matter. The forest remained a cold, dark, forbidding place. As he sipped strong coffee, he glanced at the fireplace. Flames roared up the cavernous throat of the chimney. At any moment, a figure might drop down into the flames. It had happened two nights ago; that figure might make the same unorthodox entrance again.

‘So you've seen our famous dragon?' Owen asked June as they sat chatting together on the sofa.

‘The dragon?' She shot Tom a startled glance, clearly wondering how much Owen knew about the creatures that haunted the forest. ‘What dragon?'

‘This one.' Owen stood up in order to point at the carving set into the wall. ‘His name's Helsvir. There are legends that Viking gods made a dragon out of corpses. Tom found this under some wood panelling when he rebuilt the cottage.'

‘Oh …' June made a point of smiling. ‘Your brother mentioned something about it. Isn't it the local version of the Loch Ness Monster?'

‘Something like that. Viking dragons tend not to blow fire out of their mouths or fly. They're still vicious though, and prefer to live in wet, slimy places.' Owen laughed. ‘You know, parents still scare their children with stories about Helsvir.'

‘So you don't believe in him?'

‘No way. There's lots of stuff on the Internet about Helsvir, like some people believe he's real.'

‘There are rumours that something big's been seen in the valley.' Tom decided to test Owen's disbelief. After all, he knew that Jez had told him about driving the truck into some monster of an animal just twenty-four hours ago.

Owen, however, clearly preferred rational explanations. ‘People see wild ponies, or stags, or even an escaped cow; everything gets exaggerated.' Owen tapped the carving with his finger. ‘They say that picture of Helsvir was made over a thousand years ago. Look, you can see he's made up of dead bodies … a kind of Frankenstein dragon. See these circles? Those are supposed to be human heads. And all these lines coming out of the body are people's legs that have somehow been grafted on. If anything, it shows that our ancestors had a wild imagination.'

June said, ‘Believing in things, sometimes even in impossible things, help people live better lives.'

‘You mean like angels and good luck charms?' Owen shrugged. ‘Give me science any day. What do you say, Tom?'

Tom smiled. ‘There's a powerful force that can't be dissected or tested in a laboratory.'

‘Nuclear fusion?'

‘Love.'

Owen blushed. ‘If you're going to get soppy …'

‘No. Think about it. People fall in love during wars. They love their children and do everything they can to make their lives better. If there's a famine or a natural disaster people strive to help their loved ones to survive. Love is the motor that drives the human race.'

‘I agree, Tom.' June slapped her hands down on to her lap. ‘Love keeps the human race alive.'

Owen grinned. ‘Now you're both getting soppy. Uh.' His phone chirped. ‘'Scuse me folks.' He read the text. ‘It's from Jez. He says they've given him more painkillers and he's going to ride the moon later.'

‘Ride the moon?' echoed June puzzled.

‘Local slang for being high or drunk,' Tom explained. He'd already told June about the accident involving a friend of Owen's called Jez Pollock.

Owen's expression became grave. ‘Jez is worried about what the police will say tomorrow. He thinks they'll charge him with causing the minibus to crash.'

‘I'll make some more coffee.' June headed for the kitchen.

June must have guessed that Owen would like to speak to Tom in private, so she'd made an excuse about the coffee.

‘Do you think Jez will go to prison?' asked Owen.

‘He says he drove at an animal, not the bus.'

‘But who'll believe that?'

‘The woman from the bus backs his story up.'

‘Their heads were all screwed up with shock.' Owen looked worried. ‘I can't imagine Jez in prison. For God's sake, he's still at school. Prison will crap up his life, won't it? Everyone will condemn him as the kid who killed a bus full of people.'

‘They haven't found the passengers yet,' Tom reminded him.

‘But everyone's saying that the bus ended up where the road fords a stream, and that the bodies have been carried away.'

Tom felt for his brother. The misery on his face tugged at Tom's heart. He wished he could say something that would make him feel better. ‘The accident investigators will find there's no paint from the bus on the truck. They'll have ways of knowing that Jez didn't cause the accident.'

Owen shook his head. Tom knew that his words didn't reassure him.

A chirp signalled that Owen had received another text. ‘This is from Kit.' Owen frowned. ‘He says he's got himself a girlfriend. Her name's Freya.'

‘That's some good news.' Tom smiled.

‘Is it? When guys get girls, does it always end in them losing their best friends?'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘I had an argument with Kit today over Eden. In fact, it almost became a fight.'

‘I'm sure you'll stay friends. After all, you both had a shock over Jez's accident. Emotions are bound to be running high.'

Owen nodded. ‘I'll get the blanket and pillows for the sofa.'

‘No, use my bedroom. I'll take the sofa.'

‘No way. Why do you want to give up your bed?'

‘You've been through a tough time. You need a good night's sleep.'

‘Oh, I get it.' A smile played around his lips. ‘'Nuff said, bro.'

Tom planned to stay awake in the lounge in case any more visitors arrived via the chimney. Of course now Owen thought that Tom had come up with a sneaky plan. That he would stay downstairs until Owen was asleep before tiptoeing to the spare bedroom occupied by June.

At that moment, June returned with more coffee. The pair of them were determined to stay awake tonight. There was a chance the vampires would return. Both wanted to be wide awake if they did. Equally, both were determined to keep Owen oblivious of the vampires unless circumstances made it impossible.

Tom's phone did the chirping this time; a text from the local police. Tom had been requested to help find the minibus passengers. Specifically, the police wanted him to make an underwater search of part of the river nearest where the road forded the stream, and where the wrecked bus had been found. Tom knew that this meant the rescue services had given up hope of finding live survivors. This would now be an operation to recover the dead. Tom would help in the search, of course, but he didn't want to add to Owen's worries about Jez, so he said something about the text being from an old friend who had a diving school in Greece.

Owen yawned. ‘I'm going to call it a day. Sleep well, you two.'

‘Thank you.' June smiled. ‘Good night.'

Playfully, he ruffled Tom's hair. ‘Thanks for letting me use your bed, Tommo. Don't get a stiff neck on the sofa.'

‘I won't. Good night, Owen. And don't worry about Jez. I'm sure everything will turn out alright.'

‘Cheers, Tom.'

Tom waited until he heard the door shut upstairs. He turned to June. ‘You know, he's certain that we're going to spend the night together.'

‘We are, aren't we?'

Her blue eyes twinkled. She was teasing him.

He smiled. ‘Yes, we are spending the night together down here. We'll be fully clothed, guzzling black coffee and pacing the floor waiting for inhuman visitors.'

She glanced at the fireplace. ‘Maybe even the vampire world's answer to Santa Claus,' she said drily, referring to how the man, or the vampire rather, had arrived in the house two nights ago.

Despite the situation they both laughed. Though their laughter had a shrill quality that revealed their anxiety.