The Reformed Vampire Support Group

by Catherine Jinks

  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.

  23

  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.

&n
bsp; 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.

  This gun was surrendered to me only after we left the flat. As instructed, I guided Horace all the way to the blue hatchback, where I shoved him into its front passenger seat. I then positioned myself directly behind Horace, while Dermid was being strapped in next to me. It was Dave who did the strapping. Since Father Ramon had to be protected, he was sent straight back to his own car once Dermid had been safely deposited in Dave’s smaller, more modest vehicle. I should tell you, by the way, that all this was done in complete silence. Neither Dermid nor Barry was able to talk, and the rest of us were trying very hard not to attract attention. Even Horace kept his mouth shut – presumably because he was scared of what might happen if he opened it.

  He was still pretty sick, you see.

  Dave passed me the pistol just before we set off. He asked me to shoot Horace in the back of the head if Horace so much as reached for the doorhandle. ‘I know it won’t kill him,’ Dave added, ‘but it should at least slow him down a bit.’ To this day, I don’t know if he was being serious. (It’s hard to tell with Dave, sometimes.) All I do know is that Horace was appalled.

  ‘You can’t do that!’ he slurred. ‘That’s … Nina, you ask Sanford … that’s not allowed …’

  ‘Oh, shut up.’ I almost wanted to shoot him in the back of the head, after seeing what he was capable of. And Dave seemed to share my feelings.

  ‘We’re not interested in what you think,’ he informed Horace, his voice creaking with the effort of restraint. ‘What you’ve done is bad enough.’

  ‘I did the right thing,’ Horace insisted, fumbling his vowels.

  ‘Just give it a rest, mate.’

  ‘I did!’ bleated Horace. ‘If you fang the bad guys, they’re not a problem any more!’

  ‘What do you mean, they’re not a problem?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. ‘Don’t you know what this means, Horace? It means that we’re going to have to put up with Dermid McKinnon in our support group!’ I paused for a moment, to let this dreadful prospect sink in. ‘It’s bad enough being stuck with you,’ I finished, ‘let alone Dermid McKinnon!’

  At first I thought that Horace had been struck dumb by this reminder, until I saw his head loll forward. Then I realised that he’d dozed off, and that my argument hadn’t silenced him after all.

  It was Dave who reacted.

  ‘Oh, man,’ he groaned. ‘You’re right. We’d have to let Dermid join – it would be against the rules not to.’

  ‘Unless we change the rules.’

  ‘What a nightmare.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dave.’ This needed to be emphasised, in my opinion; Dave had to understand how sorry I really was. ‘I should have known not to trust Horace. He probably planned this whole, stupid escapade, just so he could fang someone.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I was sick. I wasn’t thinking. I’d never have done it, otherwise – not even for Reuben’s sake.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’

  ‘You believe me, don’t you?’ It was desperately important that he did. I couldn’t bear the thought of Dave looking at me the way he’d looked at Horace. ‘The minute my head cleared, I decided not to do it. I was about to go straight back home, only …’ I paused.

  ‘Only I arrived, and you persuaded me to take a chance,’ Dave finished. His tone was level. ‘If I hadn’t agreed, none of this would have happened. It was my fault as much as anyone’s.’

  ‘No. It wasn’t.’

  ‘I was showing off,’ he lamented. ‘I’m always showing off. It’s crazy. I must be out of my mind.’ He flipped on his indicator, then pulled away from the kerb. ‘I have to stop caring, or I’ll end up shot full of holes.’

  Needless to say, I was mystified. There’s maybe one person in the entire universe who’s more self-effacing than Dave, and that’s Bridget. I couldn’t imagine why he had suddenly accused himself of showing off.

  But before I could air my objections, he told me to ring Sanford.

  ‘I forgot to turn on my mobile,’ he confessed, clumsily passing me his phone with one hand as he steered with the other. ‘There’ll be a million messages on here, and they’ll all be from Sanford. You’ve got to call him back. Tell him what’s happened.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘I’m driving.’

  ‘Couldn’t Father Ramon—?’

  ‘He’s driving too.’ Dave glanced up into the rear-view mirror, his eyes shielded by his sunglasses. ‘Would you rather do it over the phone, or face-to-face?’ he said grimly. ‘Your choice, Nina.’

  Naturally, I chose the first option. I knew that, while breaking the bad news to Sanford would be hard enough over the phone, it would infinitely more difficult face-to-face. Though Sanford didn’t often lose his temper, it was most unpleasant when he did; I fully expected a thunderous dressing-down if I arrived back home without giving him time to work off his initial outrage. By calling him up, I was hoping to avoid everything but the tail end of the storm.

  He answered immediately.

  ‘Hello? Who’s that?’

  ‘Uh – Sanford?’ I mumbled. ‘It’s Nina.’

  ‘Nina? What’s happened? Where are you?’

  ‘We’re heading home. Look—’

  ‘Who’s with you? Is Father Ramon with you?’

  ‘Yes, and so is Reuben. A
nd Horace. But—’

  ‘What about Dave? Is he all right?’

  ‘Listen. There’s some bad news.’ I took a deep breath, conscious that Dave was listening intently to my side of the conversation. ‘Horace fanged Dermid.’ I finally forced it out. ‘Dermid McKinnon. We’re bringing him in – and his dad, as well. They’ve both been tranquillised.’ Hearing nothing at the other end of the line, I waited for a few seconds. At last I said, ‘Hello?’

  The pause dragged out for a while longer, until Sanford eventually stammered, ‘You – you can’t be serious.’

  ‘I am. I’m sorry.’ In an attempt to sugar the pill, I hastily continued. ‘The good news is that Dermid’s blood was full of anaesthetic, so Horace isn’t hard to control. I mean, he’s actually asleep at the moment. He’s not out fanging people or anything.’ Sanford’s stunned silence convinced me that he wasn’t reassured. ‘But I guess we’ll have to be careful when the drug wears off,’ I had to concede, in a lame and halting fashion. ‘With Dermid, too.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘I’m really sorry, Sanford. I was feeling so sick, I wasn’t thinking straight. And then Barry turned out to be asleep, and we thought we had a good chance.’ Ignoring Dave’s wince – which was reflected in the rear-view mirror – I added, ‘It would have worked out really well, except for Horace. He completely screwed things up.’

  ‘For God’s sake.’ Sanford sounded more astonished than angry. ‘What’s wrong with you? Are you mad? You know what Horace is like!’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘How could you do this? Where’s Dave? Is he there?’

  ‘He’s driving,’ I replied, as Dave hunched his shoulders. ‘He can’t talk right now.’

  ‘This is a disaster. A complete disaster. Do you understand what’s going on? You’ve spread the infection. You’ve created another vampire.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry? Is that all you have to say?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’

  ‘You didn’t mean to what? Disobey your mother? Ignore all the rules? Put everyone at risk by pursuing some selfish fantasy of superhuman power in an ignorant dream world?’ The initial shock had clearly subsided; Sanford was beginning to fire off his first volleys. ‘You’ve never had to attend a transformation – you’ve no idea what it entails—’