by Darren Shan
"It won't be the first time I've been stitched back together," I grinned. He went to work on the cut, and did a neat job on it. I'd only have a small scar when it was fully healed. "You've done this before," I noted as he tucked the catgut away.
"I took first-aid classes," he said. "Figured they'd come in handy. Never guessed who my first patient would be." He asked if I wanted something to drink.
"Just some water."
He pulled a bottle of mineral water out of a bag by the sink and filled a couple of glasses. "Sorry it's not cold. The fridge won't work without electricity."
"No problem," I said, taking a long drink. Then I nodded at the sink. "Has the water been cut off too?"
"No, but you wouldn't want to drink any — fine for washing, but you'd be on a toilet for days if you swallowed."
We smiled at each other over the rims of our glasses.
"So," I said, "mind telling me what you've been up to these last fifteen years?"
"You first," Steve said.
"Nuh-uh. You're the host. It's your place to start."
"Toss you for it?" he suggested.
"OK."
He produced a coin and told me to call. "Heads."
He flipped the coin, caught it and slapped it over. When he took his hand away he grimaced. "I never did have much luck," he sighed, then started to talk. It was a long story, and we were down to the bottom of the bottle of water and on to a second candle before he finished.
Steve hated Mr. Crepsley and me for a long, long time. He'd sit up late into the night, plotting his future, dreaming of the day he'd track us down and stake us through the heart. "I was crazy with rage," he muttered. "I couldn't think about anything else. In woodwork classes I made stakes. In geography I committed the maps of the world to memory, so I'd know my way around whichever country I traced you to."
He found out everything there was to know about vampires. He'd had a large collection of horror books when I knew him, but he'd doubled, then trebled that in the space of a year. He learnt what climates we favoured, where we preferred to make our homes, how best to kill us. "I got in contact with people on the Internet," he said. "You'd be surprised how many vampire hunters there are. We exchanged notes, stories, opinions. Most were crackpots, but a few knew what they were talking about."
When he turned sixteen he left school and home, and went out into the world. He supported himself through a series of odd jobs, working in hotels, restaurants and factories. Sometimes he stole, or broke into empty houses and squatted. They were rough, lean, lonely years. He had very few scruples, hardly any friends, and no real interests except learning how to become a killer of vampires.
"To begin with, I thought I'd pretend to befriend them," he explained. "I went in search of vampires, acting as if I wanted to become one. Most of what I'd read in books or gleaned through the Internet was rubbish. I decided the best way to rid myself of my enemies was to get to know them."
Of course, when he eventually tracked a few vampires down and worked himself into their good books, he realized we weren't monsters. He discovered our respect for life, that we didn't kill humans when we drank and that we were people of honour. "It made me take a long, hard look at myself," he sighed, his face dark and sad by the light of the candle. "I saw that I was the monster, like Captain Ahab in Moby Dick, chasing a pair of killer whales — except these whales weren't killers!"
Gradually his hatred subsided. He still resented me for going off with Mr. Crepsley, but accepted the fact that I hadn't done it to spite him. When he looked back at the past, he saw that I'd given up my family and home to save his life, and hadn't tricked or plotted against him.
That's when he dropped his crazy quest. He stopped searching for us, put all thoughts of revenge from his mind, and sat down to work out what he was going to do with the rest of his life. "I could have gone back," he said. "My mother's still alive. I could have returned home, finished my education, found a normal job, carved out an ordinary life for myself. But the night has a way of claiming those who embrace it. I'd found out the truth about vampires — but also about vampaneze."
Steve couldn't stop thinking about the vampaneze. He thought it was incredible that creatures like that could exist, roaming and killing as they pleased. It angered him. He wanted to put a stop to their murderous ways. "But I couldn't go to the police," he smiled ruefully. "I'd have had to capture a live vampaneze to prove they existed, but taking a vampaneze alive is almost impossible, as I'm sure you know. Even if they believed me, what could they have done? Vampaneze move in, kill, then move on. By the time I'd convinced the police of the danger they were in, the vampaneze would have vanished, and the danger with him. There was only one thing for it — I had to take them on myself!"
Applying the knowledge he'd gathered when studying to be a vampire hunter, Steve set himself the task of tracking down and killing as many vampaneze as he could. It wasn't easy — vampaneze hide their tracks (and the bodies of their victims) expertly, leaving little evidence of their existence — but in time he found people who knew something of their ways, and he built up a picture of vampaneze habits, traits and routes, and eventually stumbled upon one.
"Killing him was the hardest thing I'd ever done," Steve said grimly. "I knew he was a killer, and would kill again if I let him go, but as I stood there, studying him while he slept…" He shivered.
"How did you do it?" I asked quietly. "A stake?"
He nodded bitterly. "Fool that I was — yes."
"I don't understand," I frowned. "Isn't a stake the best way to kill a vampaneze, like with vampires?"
He stared coldly at me. "Ever kill anybody with a stake?"
"No."
"Don't!" he snorted. "Driving it in is simple enough, but blood gushes up into your face, over your arms and chest, and the vampaneze doesn't die straightaway like vampires do in movies. The one I killed lived for the better part of a minute, thrashing and screaming. He crawled out of the coffin and came after me. He was slow, but I slipped on his blood, and before I knew what was happening, he was on top of me."
"What did you do?" I gasped.
"I punched and kicked him and tried to knock him off. Fortunately he'd lost too much blood and hadn't the strength to kill me. But he died on top of me, his blood drenching me, his face next to mine as he shuddered and sobbed and…"
Steve looked away. I didn't press him for further details.
"Since then I've learnt to use those." He nodded at the arrow guns. "They're the best there is. An axe is good too — if you have a good aim and the strength to chop a head clean off — but stay away from ordinary guns — they're not reliable where the extra tough bones and muscles of the vampaneze are concerned."
"I'll bear that in mind," I said, grinning sickly, then asked how many vampaneze Steve had killed.
"Six, though two of those were mad and would have died before long anyway."
I was impressed. "That's more than most vampires kill."
"Humans have an advantage over vampires," Steve said. "We can move about and strike by day. In a fair contest, a vampaneze would wipe the floor with me. But if you catch them in the day, while they're sleeping…
"Although," he added, "that's changing. The last few I've tracked have been accompanied by humans. I wasn't able to get close enough to kill them. It's the first time I've heard of vampaneze travelling with human assistants."
"They're called vampets," I told him.
He frowned. "How do you know? I thought the families of the night had nothing to do with one another."
"We hadn't until recently," I said grimly, then glanced at my watch. Steve's story wasn't complete — he still hadn't explained how he'd wound up here — but it was time I made a move. It was getting late and I didn't want Harkat to worry. "Will you come to my hotel with me? You can finish telling me about yourself there. Besides, there's someone I'd like you to share your story with."
"Mr. Crepsley?" Steve guessed.
"No. He's away on… busine
ss. This is somebody else."
"Who?"
"It would take too long to explain. Will you come?"
He hesitated a moment, then said he would. But he stopped to grab his arrow guns before we left — I had a feeling Steve didn't even go to the toilet without his weapons!
CHAPTER TWELVE
DURING THE walk to the hotel, I filled Steve in on what I'd been up to. It was a greatly condensed version, but I covered most of the bases, and told him about the War of the Scars and how it started.
"The Lord of the Vampaneze," he muttered. "I thought it was strange, how they were organizing."
I asked Steve about my family and friends, but he hadn't been home since he was sixteen, and knew nothing about them.
At the hotel he clambered on to my back and I scaled the outside wall. The stitches in my leg strained with the effort, but held. I rapped on the window and Harkat quickly appeared and let us in. He stared suspiciously at Steve but said nothing until I'd made the introductions.
"Steve Leopard," he mused. "I've heard much… about you."
"None of it good, I bet," Steve laughed, rubbing his hands together — he hadn't taken off his gloves, although he'd loosened his scarf slightly. There was a strong medicinal smell coming from him, which I only noticed now that we were in a warm, normal room.
"What's he doing here?" Harkat asked me, green eyes pinned on Steve. I gave him a quick run-down. Harkat relaxed slightly when he heard that Steve had saved my life, but remained on guard. "You think it was wise to bring… him here?"
"He's my friend," I said shortly. "He saved my life."
"But he knows where we are now."
"So?" I snapped.
"Harkat's right," Steve said. "I'm human. If I fell into the hands of the vampaneze, they could torture the name of this place out of me. You should move on to somewhere new in the morning, and not tell me about it."
"I don't think that will be necessary," I said stiffly, angry with Harkat for not trusting Steve.
There was an uncomfortable silence. "Well!" Steve laughed, breaking it. "It's rude to ask, but I have to. What on earth are you, Harkat Mulds?"
The Little Person grinned at the directness of the question and warmed to Steve a bit. Asking Steve to sit, he told him about himself, how he was a ghost who'd been brought back to life by Mr. Tiny. Steve was astounded. "I've never heard anything like this before!" he exclaimed. "I was interested in the small people in the blue robes when I saw them at the Cirque Du Freak — I sensed there was something weird about them. But with all that's happened since, they'd slipped my mind entirely."
Harkat's revelation — that he'd been a ghost — unnerved Steve. "Something wrong?" I asked.
"Kind of," he muttered. "I never believed in life after death. When I killed, I thought that was the end of the matter. Knowing that people have souls, that they can survive death and even come back… It's not the most welcome news."
"Afraid the vampaneze you killed will come after you?" I smirked.
"Something like that." Shaking his head, Steve settled down and finished telling the story he'd started earlier that night in his apartment. "I came here two months ago, when I heard reports of what appeared to be a vampaneze presence. I thought the killer must be a mad vampaneze, since normally only the crazy ones leave bodies where they can be found. But what I discovered was far more disturbing."
Steve was a highly resourceful investigator. He'd managed to examine three of the victims, and found minor differences in the ways they'd been killed. "Vampaneze — even the crazy ones — have highly developed drinking patterns. No two kill and drain a victim exactly alike, and no vampaneze varies his method. There had to be more than one of them at work."
And since mad vampaneze were by their nature loners, Steve concluded that the killers must be sane.
"But it doesn't make sense," he sighed. "Sane vampaneze shouldn't leave bodies where they can be found. As far as I can figure, they're setting a trap for someone, though I've no idea who."
I glanced questioningly at Harkat. He hesitated, then nodded. "Tell him," he said, and I told Steve about the fake forms which had been sent to Mahler's.
"They're after you?" Steve asked incredulously.
"Possibly," I said. "Or Mr. Crepsley. But we're not entirely sure. Somebody else might be behind it, someone who wants to pit us against the vampaneze."
Steve thought about that in silence.
"You still haven't told us how you were… there to save Darren tonight," Harkat said, interrupting Steve's reverie.
Steve shrugged. "Luck. I've been turning this city upside-down, searching for vampaneze. The killers aren't in any of their usual hiding places — abandoned factories or buildings, crypts, old theatres. Eight nights ago, I spotted a large man with hooks for hands emerging from an underground tunnel."
"That's the guy who attacked me," I told Harkat. "He has three hooks on either arm. One hand's made of gold, the other of silver."
"I've been following him every night since," Steve continued. "It isn't easy for a human to trail a vampaneze — their senses are much more acute — but I've had plenty of practice. Sometimes I lose him, but I always pick him up again exiting the tunnels at dusk."
"He comes out the same way every night?" I asked.
"Of course not," Steve snorted. "Even a crazy vampaneze wouldn't do that."
"Then how do you find him?"
"By wiring manhole covers." Steve beamed proudly. "Vampaneze won't use the same exit night after night, but they tend to stick to a strictly defined area when they set up base. I wired every manhole cover within a two hundred metre radius — I've extended that to half a kilometre since. Whenever one of them opens, a light flashes on a kit I have, and it's a simple matter to track the vampaneze down.
"At least, it was." He paused unhappily. "After tonight, he'll probably move on to somewhere new. He won't know how much I know about him, but he'll expect the worst. I don't think he'll use those tunnels again."
"Did you know it was Darren you were saving?" Harkat asked.
Steve nodded seriously. "I wouldn't have come to his rescue otherwise."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"I could have taken Hooky out ages ago," Steve said, "but I knew he wasn't working alone. I wanted to track down his companions. I've been exploring the tunnels by day, hoping to trail him to his base. By interfering tonight, I've blown that chance. I wouldn't have done that for anyone but you."
"If he'd attacked an ordinary human, you'd have let him kill?" I gasped.
"Yes." Steve's eyes were hard. "If sacrificing one person means saving many more, I will. If I hadn't caught a glimpse of your face as you left your lady friend's, I'd have let Hooky kill you."
That was a harsh way of looking at the world, but it was a way I understood. Vampires knew the needs of the group had to be put before those of the individual. It surprised me that Steve was able to think that way — most humans can't — but I suppose you have to learn to be ruthless if you dedicate yourself to the hunting and killing of ruthless creatures.
"That's about the bones of it," Steve said, pulling his dark overcoat a notch tighter around his shoulders, suppressing a shiver. "There's plenty I haven't mentioned, but I've covered most of the major stuff."
"Are you cold?" Harkat asked, noting Steve's shivers. "I can turn up the heat."
"Wouldn't do any good," Steve said. "I picked up some kind of germ when Mr. Crepsley tested me all those years ago. I catch colds simply by looking at someone with a runny nose." He plucked at the scarf around his throat, then wiggled his gloved fingers. "That's why I wrap up so much. If I don't, I wind up confined to bed for days on ends, coughing and spluttering."
"Is that why you smell?" I asked.
Steve laughed. "Yeah. It's a special herbal mix. I rub it in all over before I get dressed every morning. It works wonders. The only drawback is the stench. I have to be careful to keep downwind of the vampaneze when I'm tracking them — one whiff of this
and they'd have me pegged."
We discussed the past some more — Steve wanted to know what life in the Cirque Du Freak had been like; I wanted to know where he'd been and what he'd got up to when he wasn't hunting — then talk returned to the present and what we were going to do about the vampaneze.
"If Hooky was acting alone," Steve said, "my attack would have driven him off. The vampaneze don't take chances when they're alone. If they think they've been discovered, they flee. But since he's part of a gang, I doubt he'll run."
"I agree," I said. "They've gone to too much trouble preparing this trap to walk away the first time something goes wrong."
"Do you think the vampaneze will know it was… you who saved Darren?" Harkat asked.
"I don't see how," Steve replied. "They know nothing about me. They'll probably think it was you or Mr. Crepsley. I was careful not to reveal myself to Hooky."
"Then we might still get the better of them," Harkat said. "We haven't gone hunting for them since… Mr. Crepsley left. It would be too dangerous, just the… two of us."
"But if you had me to go with you," Steve said, reading Harkat's thoughts, "it would be different. I'm accustomed to vampaneze hunts. I know where to look and how to track them."
"And with us to back you up," I added, "you could work faster than normal and cover more ground."
We gazed silently around at one another.
"You'd be taking a big risk, getting involved… with us," Harkat warned him. "Whoever set us up knows all… about us. You might tip them off to your presence by… pitching in with us."
"It'd be risky for you too," Steve countered. "You're safe up here. Underground, it's their turf, and if we go down, we're inviting an attack. Remember — though vampaneze usually sleep by day, they don't need to when they're sheltered from the sun. They could be awake and waiting."
