The Reformed Vampire Support Group

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘What’s that?’ I hissed. ‘Did you hear that?’

  ‘Ah, Christ,’ said Dave, just as the priest stopped short. Dismay was written on both their faces.

  ‘It’s a pit,’ whispered Father Ramon.

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Dave was barely audible. ‘But we can’t make a fuss. Not now. Just keep moving.’

  ‘Why? What’s the matter?’ I pleaded. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘A dogfight,’ Dave rejoined, very softly. ‘Or a cockfight. Something like that.’

  ‘Blood sports,’ the priest murmured. ‘They’re illegal.’

  ‘This is really bad timing,’ said Dave.

  He pulled at my arm and we stumbled forwards. Shuffling footsteps to our rear announced that another, larger group of people was gaining on us; clearly, we would soon be overtaken. I tried to make sense of what I’d just been told. Dogfighting? It had been in the news lately. Someone, somewhere, had been arrested for training dogs to kill each other.

  ‘You mean there’s dogfighting here?’ I demanded. Dave’s grip tightened.

  ‘Shh! Keep it down!’ His voice buzzed in my ear. ‘We can’t make a fuss. It’s too risky.’

  ‘We have to find Barry McKinnon,’ said the priest.

  All at once we were standing in a warm pool of light, having reached the wire fence. Not that we could see much of this fence, which was already ringed by large male bodies. A line of broad backs confronted me, severely restricting my view of the main attraction (whatever that was). The range of clothing was unexpected; leather jackets alternated with pastel knits, hooded sweatshirts, tailored coats and bulky anoraks. A hum of conversation filled the air, punctuated by the odd yelp of laughter.

  You could feel the excitement building.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Father Ramon was fearless. He leaned forward to tap the biggest shoulder in our immediate vicinity. ‘Do you know where Barry is?’ he asked. ‘Barry McKinnon?’

  Several heads turned, revealing several impatient frowns, and a couple of curious stares.

  ‘Nah, mate. Sorry,’ came the reply.

  So the priest moved on. Dave and I pursued him, keeping very close together. I was conscious of how sturdy and strong everyone looked. Even the older men had a vibrant, robust, highly coloured appearance. They jostled each other for a place at the fence, grunting and pointing.

  As Father Ramon circled them, I tried to work out what they were pointing at. A hole, certainly; a very large hole (about the size of a public swimming pool), which lay directly at their feet. But what was in the hole?

  ‘Um … okay.’ Suddenly an amplified voice rang out, piped through a hidden speaker. ‘You’ve got five minutes. This is your five-minute warning. Thank you, gentlemen. Five minutes.’

  A crackle was followed by a click – and then everyone rushed the fence. I was caught up in a kind of stampede, and Dave and I were forced apart. Next thing I knew, I was wedged between two well-padded torsos. Someone was shoving against my spine. The pressure was so great that I was propelled forward, until I found myself being squeezed through the very small gap that separated the two men in front of me.

  But I couldn’t go any further. Not with a wire net in the way.

  ‘Nina? Nina!’ cried Dave, from somewhere close by. I opened my mouth to respond. Before I could do so, however, I glanced down – and saw, at last, what everyone had been pointing at.

  Just beyond the fence lay a deep, tiled pit that looked almost like an empty swimming pool. Maybe it had been a swimming pool, once; there was certainly a drainage outlet at the bottom. But your average swimming pool doesn’t have razor wire threaded around its rim, or an iron hatchway punched through one of its sides.

  Nor does it usually contain a fierce, hairy, panting animal about the size of a bear.

  I was in such a state of shock, by this stage, that it took a while for the truth to sink in. As I stared at the creature’s mangy pelt, pug snout and ferocious snarl, I registered every feature without really understanding what it meant. Only when I tried to find a label for this bizarre collection of characteristics did I realise that I couldn’t.

  I didn’t know what the strange beast actually was.

  ‘Nina!’ Dave had managed to pummel his way through the crowd. He grabbed my arm. ‘Come on, quick!’ he said.

  ‘No.’ I clutched at the fence, winding my fingers through it. ‘Wait.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look! Down there!’

  The creature was pacing; it kept close to the walls of the pit, moving with its head down. It had a peculiar, uneven lope and very long limbs, but I couldn’t see any tail. When it drew near, its little tufted ears became visible – as did its glaring green eyes. A pattern of pink-and-white scars over one flank didn’t improve its appearance, which was ugly enough.

  Saliva dripped from a huge set of fangs.

  ‘Two minutes,’ the public address system declared. ‘This is your two-minute warning.’ To my surprise, the rasping, amplified voice didn’t stop there; it seemed eager to whip up more enthusiasm. ‘You should all know our champ, by now. For those who don’t, Reuben here has won his last eight bouts and managed to chalk up two kills in the process. Which means, of course, that he’s the odds-on favourite to win!’ A roar of approval greeted this announcement. ‘But we shouldn’t underestimate our contender, Orlando. Because he’s a feisty little bastard who’s been training up with the very best pit bulls that we could throw at ’im. And let me tell you, gents – not one of them pit bulls is alive today!’

  As the crowd cheered, I turned to find Dave beside me. He was gawping at the creature.

  I had to drag his head down before I could put my mouth to his ear.

  ‘What is it, Dave?’ I hissed. ‘Could it – I mean – it’s not a wolf, is it?’

  He didn’t reply. From his blank expression, I deduced that he was lost for words.

  ‘It’s Orlando’s first time up against the champ,’ our master of ceremonies continued, ‘but let’s not forget that Reuben’s taken a few hard knocks, lately. So there’s every chance we’re gunna see a nice, long bout. It took Reuben an hour and forty-five minutes to wipe out the last contender – maybe this time he’ll have another fight on his hands.’

  ‘GIVE ’EM A SMELL!’ shouted the man to my right. And some of his neighbours took up the refrain: ‘GIVE ’EM-A-SMELL! GIVE ’EM-A-SMELL!’

  That was when I remembered the silver bullets.

  ‘Dave.’ I yanked at his shoulder with such force that I almost pulled him off balance. ‘You don’t think – it’s not a werewolf, is it?’

  ‘You want me to give ’em a SMELL, do ya?’ the master of ceremonies concluded. ‘All right then, gents – since you asked – let’s give it up for our new contender, the one and only, the fresh and feisty, ORLANDO!’

  At which point the hatchway sprang open.

  11

  The growl I heard then was like something out of a nightmare. It was savage and resonant; I could feel it through the soles of my feet.

  ‘Oh, man,’ Dave muttered.

  The second beast – Orlando – was even bigger than the first, with a thicker, blacker pelt and a longer snout. For such an awkward-looking animal it was surprisingly quick, and displayed remarkable agility as it jumped through the hatch into a blaze of electric light. Almost immediately, however, it froze. Its gaze locked on Reuben.

  They surveyed each other from opposite ends of the pit, their hackles raised, their teeth bared.

  Slowly – very slowly – they lowered their heads.

  ‘GARN!’ someone yelled, making me jump. ‘GARN, YA MONGREL!’

  Strident music suddenly blared from the loudspeaker, drowning the throb of Reuben’s disturbing growl. Orlando began to slink around the side of the pit, edging towards Reuben with undisguised hostility. But Reuben didn’t move.

  Orlando stopped again.

  ‘You don’t want to see this,’ said Dave, forgetting to keep his voice down. The words had hardly left his mo
uth when the two beasts sprang at each other. One of them gave a horrible, high-pitched yelp.

  A howl, no less horrible, erupted from the audience.

  What happened next is engraved on my memory. There was a snap of teeth and a weird kind of squawk; the two heavy shapes came together with a thud, throwing up wisps of fur and sprays of saliva as they rolled around. Like dogs, they led with their jaws. Unlike dogs, however, they used their limbs in a way that I found absolutely terrifying – perhaps because it so looked fluid. So human. Their claws were as sharp as their fangs.

  Suddenly they were up on their hind legs. Reuben was biting Orlando’s neck. But after another flurry of movement – after a thrashing, convulsive jerk – they were apart again.

  Bright blood was spilling onto pale blue tiles.

  Dave must have reacted before I did. He was already dragging me away from the fence when the smell hit me, practically knocking me off my feet. It was like being struck by a train; there’s no other way of describing the sensation. For thirty-odd years I’d been expecting the sort of response a normal person would have to the smell of freshly baked bread. Instead, I thought that I was going to die.

  If you’ve ever been on the verge of drowning, you’ll understand the desperate, frantic, primitive need that overwhelmed me. If you’ve ever had chicken pox, and experienced the urge to scratch – if you’ve ever had a cold, and felt a cough coming on – if you’ve ever suffered from a bursting bladder, then you’ll have an inkling of what it was like. My teeth were aching. My mouth was parched. I couldn’t think or make choices; I couldn’t even see properly. My peripheral vision faded away, as I zeroed in on the nearest person. The nearest throat.

  I could taste that throat. I could smell it. The salt. The iron.

  But I couldn’t reach it.

  Something was preventing me. ‘Nina. Nina!’ For an instant I thought that the words were being spoken inside my brain. They sounded as slow as treacle. ‘Nina, look at me. It’s Dave. Nina?’

  His face gradually came into focus. The shadows receded slightly, and I was conscious of my own sore neck.

  He was standing behind me. With one hand he was pulling my head around, forcing me to gaze up at him. His free arm was wrapped around my waist.

  ‘Ow,’ I croaked.

  ‘Do you know who I am? Nina?’

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Don’t fade out on me. You have to concentrate. Who am I?’

  You won’t believe this, but I couldn’t remember. Not at first. It didn’t seem to matter any more.

  ‘What is it?’ demanded another familiar voice. And I couldn’t put a name to that one, either.

  The response from above me was hard and sharp.

  ‘Get back! Right back!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘She’s not herself!’

  And then something clicked in my mind.

  Dave.

  ‘You’re Dave,’ I slurred. His fingers were digging into my jaw. ‘Let go.’

  I sensed the change in him instantly. His expression shifted. His grip relaxed.

  ‘Nina?’ he said. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘You’re hurting me. Let go.’

  He released my chin, his eyes glinting behind smoky lenses as they searched my face.

  ‘Do you know where we are, Nina?’

  I had to think for a moment. It was difficult – like wading through honey.

  ‘We … we’re outside,’ I stammered. ‘In the outback. With Father Ramon.’ I caught my breath. ‘Near the pit!’ I gasped. ‘And the fight!’

  ‘Shh.’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘It’s okay. You’re okay, now.’ He adjusted his position to enfold me in both arms. His chin dropped onto my shoulder. ‘Just give it a minute.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ asked Father Ramon, who must have been standing much too close. I glanced to my left and saw him hovering against a backdrop of tightly packed bodies.

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Dave insisted, his breath tickling my ear.

  ‘What happened? Was she …?’ The priest trailed off, unable to pronounce the dreaded word. Dave nodded.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said gruffly.

  Father Ramon sucked air through his teeth. ‘But I thought …?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Dave’s reply was a broken mumble. ‘It’s only meant to happen with human blood.’

  There was a long pause. Father Ramon crossed himself. Dave swallowed; I could hear him doing it, because his cheek was rammed against mine.

  Somewhere in the back of my brain, I understood the full implications of what he had just said. At that precise moment, however, more pressing matters were occupying my thoughts.

  ‘I’m going to be sick,’ I bleated. And then I threw up.

  For the next minute or so, I was too distracted to notice what was going on around me. Hanging over Dave’s arm, I regurgitated my entire breakfast – which by then was thick and black, like tar. Poor Dave can’t have enjoyed himself, though he was very nice about it. He stopped me from collapsing onto the ground, and held back my hair with the skill of a nurse’s aide. He even took my glasses off, to prevent them from falling straight into the sticky, rancid mess.

  When I’d finished, Father Ramon passed me a handkerchief.

  ‘Oh, Nina,’ he said. ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘Yeah. So am I,’ a harsh voice interposed. ‘That’s private property you just spewed on. Why not take a bloody crap, while you’re at it?’

  Dave started; I felt the shudder. But I didn’t raise my head until after I’d wiped my smeared mouth, and put my sunglasses back on.

  There was no point risking a haemorrhage.

  ‘So your girlfriend didn’t like the show, eh? I figured she wouldn’t.’ This remark helped me to place the voice, which belonged to Dermid McKinnon. ‘At least she won’t mind missing the rest, though,’ he added, as I peered around at him. ‘Dad wants to see youse all. Back at the house.’

  ‘Oh – ah – yes,’ said Father Ramon, who didn’t seem very enthusiastic. He gestured at me. ‘The only thing is, my friend’s not well …’

  ‘She can clean up in the house. We’ve got a bathroom.’ Dermid was straining to be heard above the pounding music and the crowd’s enthusiastic cheers. In the glare of the lights I could pick out every flaw in his sun-whipped complexion, and every stain on the dirty bandage that encircled his wrist. ‘She won’t want to stay here, I can tell ya. It’s a bloodbath already, and it’ll only get worse.’

  As if to prove his point, one of the creatures down in the pit gave a screech that sounded like the emergency brakes on a speeding train. Dave winced. I pressed his arm.

  ‘Could we … could we just go?’ I begged, whereupon Dermid waved a peremptory hand.

  ‘Come on,’ he ordered. ‘You want to go? Let’s go. Dad doesn’t have much time – he’s got a business to run.’

  ‘We didn’t come about this, you know,’ Father Ramon assured him, pointing at the crowd. ‘This doesn’t interest us. We’re here to discuss another matter entirely.’

  ‘Well, good. Let’s get on with it, then.’

  Even in my shell-shocked condition, I was alert enough to feel afraid. What we’d just seen in the pit was almost certainly illegal; if the McKinnons were scared of being arrested, they might very well try to silence us. Unfortunately, however, I wasn’t fit enough to walk unaided, let alone run. My head was splitting. My knees were like cotton wool. I had to be supported during our trip back to the house, which took place under Dermid’s watchful eye.

  It was Dave who propped me up as I shuffled along. He kept one hand wedged beneath my armpit and one hand cupped around my elbow. Behind us, the yells and yowls gradually receded. And though I was thankful to be escaping such an ugly noise, I also became conscious of the huge, enveloping silence that lay ahead.

  It signified an emptiness – an isolation – that didn’t bode well.

  ‘We’ve been seen,’ I whispered to Dave. (Father Ramon was haranguing Dermid
, so I assumed that I wouldn’t be overheard.) ‘People know we’ve come here. Lots of people.’

  Dave sniffed. He obviously wasn’t reassured.

  For a few minutes we staggered on without speaking, while I struggled to find the right words. It’s hard to explain how I felt just then. Confused, of course, but the confusion was lifting. Sick, naturally. Horrified. Scared. And grateful – so grateful that Dave had been with me. That he was still with me, despite my recent conduct.

  ‘Dave?’ I squeaked at last. ‘Did I do anything really … really bad?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. He knew what I was talking about.

  ‘I think – I remember trying to jump someone—’

  ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘Because you stopped me.’ Tears welled in my eyes. ‘You stopped me, Dave. Thank you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re okay, now.’

  ‘It was awful.’

  ‘I know.’ He paused. ‘It was.’

  ‘I can’t believe it didn’t affect you. All that blood …’

  ‘Oh, I felt it,’ he murmured. ‘Believe me, I felt it. Just not the way you did.’

  ‘How did you stop yourself?’ I couldn’t imagine having the strength. ‘What happened, did you hold your breath, or something?’

  ‘I saw your face.’ His tone was flat. He had to lick his lips before continuing. ‘You weren’t there anymore. When I saw that, I couldn’t think about anything else.’ He heaved a shaky sigh. ‘It was like seeing you dead. No – worse. It was like – like—’

  ‘Like seeing me turn into Casimir.’ I can’t tell you how distraught I was. If Dave had kneed me in the gut, it would have been less painful. For thirty years I’d been able to ignore the truth, because I had never really felt like a vampire. Not like a vampire in the traditional sense, at any rate; not like one of those ravening, mindless, deformed monsters on the silver screen, with their bloodstained mouths and screeching cries and razor claws.

  For thirty years I’d been telling myself that I was different, somehow – until, at that moment by the pit, I had behaved exactly like every vampire I’d ever condemned.

  ‘Hey. Don’t cry.’ Dave squeezed me in such a comforting way that I barely managed to avoid throwing myself onto his chest. ‘It might have been hard, but you did it,’ he murmured. ‘That’s the important thing. You held back.’