by Mia James
Suddenly Gabriel jumped in the air, hissing, as April’s head fell back against the sofa cushion.
‘What’s the matter?’ she said urgently, sitting up and looking at him. His face was a mixture of shock, fear and something else. Revulsion, that was it. April’s heart was hammering in her chest. Am I that horrible?
‘What is it? What have I done?’ she asked.
Gabriel ran his hands through his hair in an agitated manner and paced around in a circle.
‘Gabriel! What’s going on? Tell me.’
He shook his head.
‘What is it?’
He looked at her and there was a new expression there: pity. ‘I shouldn’t be the one to tell you,’ he said.
‘What? Tell me what?’
April’s heart was pounding now because she had recognised the expression on Gabriel’s face: it was the one her mother and her grandfather always had when they were talking about her family heritage, the face they pulled when it was obvious they had something they wanted to tell her but could not quite bring themselves to utter. Her stomach was on a spin-cycle now. What if all this wasn’t about vampires at all? What if it was about her?
‘Please, Gabriel,’ she said, desperate now. ‘What’s wrong with me?’
He stepped over and took her hands in his. ‘Okay, April, try not to freak - promise?’
‘You’re not making that easy,’ she said, her voice shaking.
He nodded and took a deep breath. ‘You have the mark.’
April put her hand to her face. ‘What mark, where?’ She jumped up and peered in the mirror above the mantelpiece. ‘I don’t see anything.’
Gabriel came up behind her and gently pulled the hair back from her neck. ‘It’s here, just inside the hairline, level with the top of your ear, do you see?’
April peered closer. There was something.
‘What is it? A birthmark?’
Gabriel nodded and touched the brown mark. ‘It’s the north star, the sign of the regeneration, the bringer of light.’
She squinted. It looked more like an ink blot than a star to her, but she could see from Gabriel’s face it was important. He looked stricken and hurt, like someone had just diagnosed her with cancer. She was getting really scared now.
‘Does this mean something? Am I ill? And don’t start with that “it’s complicated” rubbish again.’
Gabriel shook his head. ‘Okay,’ he said, gathering himself. ‘I know this sounds crazy, but it’s a part of vampire lore. I suspected something when I heard about Milo, but now …’ He looked at her. ‘But now I can see it’s true.’
‘You can see what?’ shouted April. ‘You’re freaking me out, Gabriel, just tell me!’
‘You’re a Fury. You’re the last of the Furies.’
She gulped at the air. It was as if someone had turned the heating way up.
‘What the hell are the Furies?’ she asked, her mouth dry.
‘Vampire killers.’
‘What? This is a joke, right?’
Gabriel put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I wish it were, believe me, I do,’ he said, leading her back to the sofa. He sat down next to her, keeping hold of her hand. She was grateful for his touch, but she didn’t feel the warmth she had before.
‘I’m not an expert on vampire lore and even if I was, many people think the Furies are a myth, a sort of bogeyman for vampire children. The Furies are supposed to be three females, all born within a generation, each with the power to destroy all vampires. Some think the Furies are a prophecy, a sort of mythological scourge, a sign that the vampires will be wiped from the earth. I think it’s more like a genetic anomaly, almost like nature’s counterbalance to the vampires.’
April’s heart was still beating through her T-shirt, but Gabriel’s touch and the feel of his thumb stroking the back of her hand were calming her slightly.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, trying to stop her voice from shaking. ‘What have I got to do with vampires?’
‘All right, I’ll do my best to explain,’ said Gabriel. ‘Think of vampires as just being victims of a disease, a weird virus that has infected our systems. We’re sort of suspended in a half-life state. We should have died, but the virus is keeping us here, halfway between life and death.’
April nodded. ‘Okay, with you so far.’
‘Well, you’re the cure, the antidote.’
‘I can cure you?’ she said, reaching out for him. She was dismayed to see him flinch back.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish you could. No, Furies carry another virus in their systems that neutralises the regeneration mechanism in vampires. Once they get your virus, the disease is able to take its course and …’ He shrugged.
‘What? What happens?’
‘It eats them alive.’
April’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God! And you think that’s what happened to Milo? You think I killed him?’
Gabriel nodded. ‘The virus must have got into his body when you kissed him.’
‘Oh no, oh no, oh no …’ moaned April covering her face with her hands. ‘What have I done?’
‘Don’t feel sorry for that animal,’ said Gabriel fiercely. ‘You have no idea what he’s done to girls like you over the years. He deserves everything he gets.’
‘Don’t talk that way!’ shouted April. ‘It’s all right for you, you’re not the one who killed him! I’m a killer, a murderer.’
Gabriel grabbed her shoulders and stared into her eyes. ‘No, April, you are not a murderer. Milo is still in hospital, remember? He’s still alive. And anyway, you didn’t know what you were doing, you had no idea you could hurt him. You didn’t make that choice, you’re a good person.’
‘Am I?’ she said bitterly. ‘So what about this?’ She pointed to the birthmark behind her ear. ‘You didn’t exactly jump for joy when you saw that. You looked at me like I was carrying the plague.’
‘April…’
She shook her head. ‘You know what I thought when you were stroking my hair?’ She barked out a brittle laugh. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me.’
Gabriel tried to hold her gaze, but finally looked away. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, shaking his head.
She stood up and walked over to the door, holding it open. ‘Get out.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ said April. ‘You told me you cared for me, but all you cared about was finding out whether I had this weird bloody thing,’ she said, gesturing towards her ear. ‘You only asked about my dad so you could get close enough to look. How do you think that makes me feel?’
‘But don’t you see?’ says Gabriel. ‘You can’t ignore this. If the vampires ever find out who you are, they will try to kill you. You have no choice, you have to fight, it’s the prophecy.’
‘Oh no,’ said April, pointing her finger at him. ‘No you don’t. I’m not carrying out any bloody prophecy. I’ve got A levels to do.’
‘But April, please—’
‘No,’ she said, handing him his coat and pushing him towards the front door. ‘I’m not interested.’
As she hurried him out, he turned back and said in a low, urgent voice, ‘April, whether you like it or not, you have a destiny.’
‘I don’t want a destiny!’ she snapped back. ‘I want a boyfriend!’
And she slammed the door.
Chapter Thirty- Four
Books were everywhere. Stacked on the dining table, in piles on the floor, even thrown higgledy-piggledy on the sofa. April stood on a chair and, reaching up, ran her hand along the bare shelves. Where are they? There had to be more. As soon as she had thrown Gabriel out, she had got to work, trying to find her father’s notes; he must have hidden them somewhere and now more than ever she needed answers. She jumped down and grabbed another of her father’s books, Burning Desire, a history of witches during the English Inquisition. Holding it by its spine, she shook it and riffled the pages, hoping for some notes or papers to fall out. Nothing. The boxes of paper
s the police had returned were, as DI Reece had suggested, pretty much useless, consisting of old research from previous books and articles, and some bland research stuff about medicine in the nineteenth century. The thin blue notebook she had found under the desk was too cryptic, too personal to make head or tail of. The lack of notes just didn’t make any sense. Her father was good at what he did, he was dogged and thorough - you didn’t get to be a top investigative reporter without being that way. So where were his notes on vampires? She desperately needed to find out more - about the vampires, the Regent, his investigation into Ravenwood - but right now, she wanted to know about herself. Was she a Fury? Was everything Gabriel had told her true? Could she really have killed Milo just by kissing him? And what was this destiny Gabriel was talking about? Whatever the answers were, April hadn’t found them in the books. She had been hoping to find something slipped between hardbacks or at the back of a drawer, but she found nothing except the odd piece of paper used as a bookmark.
‘Having a bit of a tidy-up, darling?’
She turned to see her mother, sleep mask on the top of her head, duvet wrapped around her, standing in the doorway. She looked terrible; grey skin, sunken eyes, even her lips looked thin and a little blue.
‘Yes, I wanted to sort it all out. Things got a bit mixed up after the … you know, the struggle.’
Her mother just stared into space, as if she hadn’t heard the answer.
‘Mmm?’ she said at length. ‘Sorry, miles away. Not feeling too good today, I’m afraid.’
‘Look, why don’t you go back to bed?’ said April. ‘I’ll bring you up a Lemsip.’
‘Thanks, sweetie,’ said Silvia, nodding slowly. ‘You’re a good girl.’
‘Oh, before you go, Mum? Are these all of our books?’
Silvia blinked and shook her head. ‘Your dad did all the packing, darling,’ she said vaguely. ‘He put a load of boxes in the cellar, though.’
Idiot! April thought, annoyed at herself. The cellar. Duh!
She put the kettle on, then nervously approached the cellar door under the stairs. April had never been particularly comfortable in dark enclosed spaces. Who is? she thought as she opened the door and craned her neck to peer down the stairs. Spooky and dusty.
‘Where’s the light switch, Mum?’ she shouted.
‘Doesn’t work,’ came the muffled reply. ‘Torch by the step.’
Oh God.
She picked up the heavy orange torch and flicked it on - its beam was pathetically weak for such a big thing. Be strong, that’s what Fiona had said and she was right, so April gripped the handrail and made her way down, stepping over the boxes that had been left on the stairs. Reaching the bottom step, she could see that the cellar wasn’t that big - long and narrow, going back from the foot of the stairs and under the kitchen. There were bare brick walls and a smell of damp, but it was too cramped to be that intimidating; the whole of the floor was covered with stacked boxes. She looked in the first one: books, books and more books. Stuff on politics, stuff on economics, a collection of poetry, a biography of a painter she’d never heard of. The next box was even worse: wodges of paper, everything from a receipt for a lawnmower to a gas bill from 1998. She was never going to find anything in here. Dejected, she climbed back up the stairs, then flinched as she felt something on her skin.
She scrabbled something away from her face. Aspider’s web? April hated spiders.
‘Ahhh! It’s in my hair,’ she cried, frantically brushing it away and dropping the torch in the process. ‘Damn,’ she muttered and bent to pick it up. And there, reflecting the light back from the weak beam, was an old Quality Street tin sitting on top of a pile of magazines near the top of the stairs. She tucked the torch under her arm and pushed the lid off and there it was, a little green book with one magic word stamped on the cover: ‘Diary’. Her heart gave a little leap. Of course: it was the perfect place to put it - accessible, but hidden. She quickly leafed through the book, looking for the day of her father’s death. ‘Where is it? Where is it?’ she muttered impatiently as she ruffled through the pages. And then there it was, with an appointment scribbled halfway down the page.
‘Mum!’ she shouted, running for the door. ‘I’m going out!’
‘What about my Lemsip?’ came the muffled reply.
But April was already halfway across the square.
April peered through the dirty glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to get a better view.
‘Mr Gill!’ she shouted, rapping on the window frame with her knuckles. ‘Are you there?’
She could see the old man sitting with his head back, his mouth open, presumably snoring, but April couldn’t hear anything with the traffic roaring past on the High Street behind her. She knelt down on the steps and shouted through the letter box.
‘Mr Gill!’
His head rolled slowly sideways and bumped into the bookshelf behind him.
‘What?’ he muttered, annoyed at being disturbed. ‘What on earth …?’
‘Over here,’ hissed April.
‘What are you doing down there?’ snapped the shopkeeper.
‘Trying to get in,’ she replied.
‘Well, come through the door like everyone else, not the letter box,’ he said irritably, rising stiffly and twisting the lock.
‘I’m sorry,’ said April, brushing down her knees carefully. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but I’m in a hurry.’
‘Wake me? I wasn’t asleep,’ said the old man, patting his pockets for his glasses, then finding them on his nose. ‘I was in the middle of an important inventory. Now then, what’s all the fuss about?’
April pulled out her father’s diary from her pocket and opened it to the relevant page. ‘I found this in my dad’s diary.’ She pointed to an entry on the day of his death. Written in his scrawling handwriting and circled, it read: ‘Griffin’s, 2.30’.
Mr Gill adjusted his glasses and peered down at the entry. Then he looked up at April.
‘Your father, you say? Is he a customer?’
April shook her head. ‘Was, I’m afraid. He died a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Oh. Sorry to hear that. Was it very sudden? I find at my age, sudden is all you have to look forward to.’
‘Quite sudden, yes.’
‘Well, I suppose you’d better have a seat and tell me how I can help you.’
April perched on a wooden stool and began to explain to Mr Gill how she was trying to find out what her father had been investigating before his death and how she had found the diary with Griffin’s Bookshop listed as his last appointment. She didn’t add that she had sprinted across the square the moment she had seen he’d had an appointment on the day of his death.
‘Hmm,’ said Mr Gill. ‘We have been very busy of late, what with Christmas shopping and whatnot, I can’t exactly recall who came in that day.’
‘But the diary has you written in here as if it was an appointment.’
‘An appointment?’ he said, tapping his finger against his lips. ‘I suppose that’s possible. Let me check.’
He opened his brown leather desk jotter and laboriously turned the pages, licking his fingers and tutting until he finally found the correct one and then ran his finger down the entries.
‘Yes, a Mr Dunne?’ he said, looking up at April.
‘Yes! Yes, that’s him - what did he buy?’
The old man shook his head slowly. ‘No, no, I don’t think … no, I’m sure of it.’
‘What?’ said April impatiently.
‘Your father made his appointment by telephone, said he was very keen to find a certain book, but I’m afraid he didn’t arrive. I remember distinctly because there was a programme I wanted to listen to on Radio Four and I missed the start of it because I was waiting for him. Something else came up, perhaps? Another engagement?’
‘Oh, yes. That’s probably it.’
April wanted to cry. She had been sure this was the breakthrough she was looking for, but once again, it was
just a dead end.
‘Such a shame, really, it’s a rather splendid book.’
