by Mia James
April knew she had to get to him. She had to. If she died here, who would help Gabriel fight the King? Summoning all her dwindling strength, she pushed forward, screaming as she went. Chessy’s face barely had time to register her surprise before she toppled over backwards. April didn’t stop to look back, but sprinted down the path, sending gravel flying, her only thought to get away. She was gulping in air desperately.
Ahead April could see a fork in the pathway and immediately knew where she was – one path went uphill towards the Vladescu vault, the other straight down to the courtyard and, past Davina’s burly friends in the penguin suits, led to the way out. Damn it, she thought and turned right, up towards the tomb. Yes, downhill was the way to safety, to civilisation, telephones and the police, but April couldn’t leave Caro and Simon. She couldn’t leave her friends to be slaughtered. She couldn’t even abandon Davina, however vile she could be. So April ran on, up the narrow path towards her father’s tomb. If she could just get beyond that, there was another path that looped back up the hill and past the east side of the catacombs. April had no real plan beyond that – all she could do was run, expecting to feel Chessy’s talons claw her back at any moment. Her feet pounded up the path until the dark shape of the tomb was looming to her right. Just past it, she knew the path turned uphill, and if she could just get to—
April felt a heavy blow to her side and flew through the air, slamming painfully into the corner of the tomb, her face scraping on the gravel. Before she could even raise her head, she felt a crippling kick to her back and she cried out, scrabbling away until she was sitting on the steps of the vault. The metallic tang of blood was in her mouth – I haven’t lost a tooth, have I? – and her arm, never quite right after the mauling she had received at the Winter Ball, felt badly twisted.
‘How lovely,’ said Chessy, grabbing the front of April’s dress and pushing her back against the iron door. ‘A little family reunion.’
‘Leave me alone,’ growled April, still breathless from her run.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Chessy. ‘Not until I have finished with you, anyway.’
April had just about had enough. ‘What do you want from me?’ she yelled.
‘The same thing I’ve always wanted from you Bleeders, April. I want you to die.’
April knew that she was trapped. She tried to struggle, but this time Chessy’s weight was on top of her – there was no chance of escape. The vampire would not fall for the same stupid trick twice. The only thing she could do was play for time, keep her talking and hope for Chessy’s guard to slip. Some hope.
‘Why do you hate me so much?’
Chessy laughed. ‘I don’t hate you, Head Girl. You barely register in my mind. It’s your family I hate.’
‘My family?’ repeated April, genuinely mystified.
‘Don’t play dumb – you can’t be that stupid. Why do you think I had my fanboys kick in this door,’ she said, slamming her hand against it causing a hollow ring.
April’s eyes opened wide. ‘You stole my dad’s body? You’re the vandal?’
‘Vandal?’ laughed Chessy, ‘Is that the best explanation you and those half-witted policeman could come up with? There are one hundred and seventy thousand people buried in this cemetery. Didn’t it occur to you to ask why these vandals attacked this particular tomb?’
‘Because you lack imagination?’ said April sarcastically, immediately regretting it as Chessy raised one manicured finger and pressed the nail into April’s skin, just below the eye.
‘I could blind you in a second, Bleeder. I could tear your throat out like I did to that idiot Calvin. In fact, maybe I will.’
Stall April, stall, she thought desperately.
‘But why hang him up on the gate?’
‘Because I wanted the King to see that I could get to anyone. I wanted everyone to see,’ smiled Chessy. ‘I got that idea from your boyfriend, actually.’
‘Shut up about Gabriel,’ April spat. ‘You’re not fit even to mention his name.’
Chessy raised her fingernail again. ‘Do I have to pop your eye? Show some respect.’
‘You stole my father’s remains,’ said April, ‘And you expect respect? You’re revolting.’
Chessy brought her face closer to April’s, moving into a shaft of moonlight. April could still see dried blood around Chessy’s mouth. Ling’s blood.
‘I didn’t take your father’s foul remains,’ hissed Chessy. ‘They were never even inside. But I hope whoever has them is using his skull as an ashtray.’
April had never wanted to hurt someone more. But even her Fury rage wasn’t enough; she was pinned, unable to move. So she did the only thing she could; she jerked her head forward and spat in Chessy’s face.
‘You little ...’ snarled the vampire, lifting a hand to wipe the spittle away, then smiled. ‘Oh, I’m going to make this very slow ... and very painful for you now.’
‘I don’t think so, darling.’
April looked beyond Chessy and gasped. Standing there, hands on hips, was Davina.
‘Back off!’ hissed Chessy, letting go of April and twisting around to face Davina. April could only push back up against the iron door as the two vampires slowly circled each other, moving in and out of the moonlight. To April, they looked like two pit bulls about to lunge. Then Davina stopped, her face registering surprise, then delight.
‘Oh dear, Chess, what has the nasty girl done to you?’ she said, letting out a cackle.
‘What? She hasn’t done anything,’ returned Chessy, her eyes narrowing. ‘It’s what I’m going to do to you that should be troubling you.’
‘Really?’ said Davina, ‘And you think you’re up to it?’
Chessy snorted with derision, but April could see doubt on her face.
‘No, seriously,’ pressed Davina, ‘Are you feeling okay, sweetie? Because you look terrible.’
And then, as Chessy turned into the light, April could see it too. She went cold. Black lines were spreading across Chessy’s neck, like ink through water, dark tendrils moving under her pale skin.
‘No, no,’ whispered April as she realised what was happening.
‘What?’ barked Chessy, a hand touching her neck, ‘What is it?’
Davina licked a finger and drew an imaginary “1” in the air. ‘Well done, Fury. Chalk up another one.’
April looked at her wide-eyed. ‘You knew?’ she gasped.
Davina raised her eyebrows. ‘I do now.’
‘Fury?’ gasped Chessy, putting her hand to her cut lip and looking at the blood on her finger-tips. April could see the terror pass over Chessy’s face as she realised what had happened. The blood from April’s mouth had entered her cut; Chessy had been infected by the Fury virus.
‘But the Fury is a myth!’ she screamed. ‘It’s a fairy tale! There’s no such thing!’
April was now backed up against the far corner of the tomb. Every nerve, every sinew was desperate to run, to flee, but she couldn’t; she was frozen in place, mesmerised as the black lines snaked down Chessy’s arms and onto her hands. Chessy held up her fingers in front of her face in disbelief. She let out a shriek of despair and this, April knew, was what Gabriel had been talking about. The vampires felt untouchable, immortal. They didn’t understand, could not comprehend that they would ever die, but here, right before her eyes, Chessy was dying, the poison spreading through her. Not as quickly, not as spectacularly as with Benjamin, but the same horrific reaction was taking place inside her.
‘Help me!’ screamed Chessy, falling to her knees, holding out her hands to April. ‘Help me, PLEASE!’
‘No,’ whispered April, shaking her head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Then I’m taking you with me!’ Chessy roared, charging at April. April threw up her arms to protect herself, but Chessy never made it that far. Davina shot across in a blur, throwing Chessy back onto the path.
‘Run, April,’ shouted Davina. ‘Go!’
She didn’t need telling twice.
She sprinted down the gravel, skidded out onto the main path and bolted for the stairs at the bottom. Her feet stung as she leapt into the courtyard and ran for the gate.
‘Over here!’ called a familiar voice. ‘April! This way!’
‘Caro!’ cried April, throwing her arms around her friend. ‘You’re alive! Oh thank God, thank God.’
‘Thank Davina, actually,’ said Caro. ‘She was the one who super-vamped the guards and snuck us out the back.’
‘Us?’ said April, looking around. Now she could see Simon crouching over another figure slumped on the ground, the smaller security guard doing something behind him, a grim expression on his face.
‘Simon, you’re okay?’ said April, then looked back at Caro. ‘Ling?’
Caro reassured her. ‘She’s alive. Just.’
They could hear the rapid whoop-whoop of an ambulance coming from the Archway end of Swain’s Lane. But April knew she couldn’t wait.
‘Look after her,’ said April, kissing Caro on the cheek, ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘April, no!’ said Caro, clinging onto her hand. ‘Wait for the police – let them handle it. It’s too dangerous – look at Ling, for God’s sake!’
April shook her head. ‘I’m not going after anyone,’ she said, sprinting up the hill. ‘I’m going home.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The case was still there, under her bed. April yanked it out and turned it upside down, emptying the contents onto the mattress. ‘Where is it? Come on, come on,’ she whispered urgently. Her fingers rifled through the collection of her father’s things, tossing aside cuttings and papers, only interested in finding the one thing she felt sure would tell her what she needed to know.
But you already know, don’t you? said a voice inside her head. You don’t need the envelope, you don’t need to see what’s inside. You know.
Up by the tomb, Chessy had been goading her about her family – April knew vampires were malicious and twisted – experts at mind games, but what she had said about the pictures on her phone hadn’t been a surprise, had it? Not if she was completely honest with herself. It had always been there at the back of April’s mind, but she’d been unable or unwilling to face it.
April picked up a photo – the snap of her and her father sitting by Loch Ness, the one which had triggered so many happy memories when she had found it down in the cellar. Today it only unearthed more questions – like why hadn’t there been any family photos like this in the Dunne family home? That was what Chessy had been getting at when she was going through her phone; she had no photos of her family. Why? More to the point, why wasn’t there a single snap of her anywhere in Silvia’s house? April had seen them every time she had visited a friend’s home, proudly displayed in silver frames, pinned to the fridge, even used as screensavers on the family PC – pictures of boys and girls in party hats, on cute little bicycles, standing in front of the Christmas tree. But not here, not in the Dunne household. Why the hell not? It was weird, really weird. But the question really bothering April, making a cloud of butterflies take flight in her stomach, was this: why hadn’t April noticed it before? She had never questioned why her parents had been reluctant to leap up with an instamatic when the birthday cake was brought out, or when she won a medal for long jump at sports day. Was it because deep down, she had always known?
Known what? asked the voice again. What exactly is it you think you know?
April picked up another photo. It was a picture of her, aged eight or nine, the one she had found wedged in a book her father had been reading, the little school photograph he had been using as a bookmark. She looked at her own face beaming back at her. So innocent, so happy. What would she look like now? Weary? Heart-broken? Lonely? She imagined her face in the Ravenwood end of year portraits. She gave a grim smile. As if.
And then she saw it, the envelope she had been searching for. She slid it from the pile, then paused, not sure that she wanted to look inside. But she had to know; she hadn’t come this far to shy away now. April tipped the contents out: a passport – her dad’s, but an old one with the corners snipped off – and a pile of old documents. She picked up the first: it was her birth certificate. Father, William, mother, Silvia, born on Valentine’s Day, a baby girl. Nothing unusual there. She looked at the next one, a slightly more yellowed sheet, bearing the title “Certificate of Birth” and the name, in copperplate writing, “Silvia Margaret Hamilton, date of birth, May 24th 1969. Father, Thomas Hamilton.”
So what’s wrong with that? the voice in her head questioned. Nothing, nothing at all. Because it was the other document which was wrong. So, so, terribly, horribly wrong. April’s hands shook slightly as she picked it up. This sheet was older, the folds in the paper worn and delicate. It was written in a language April did not understand, but the format was the same: a space for the baby’s name: “Silvia Mariutza Vladescu”. A space for the place of birth: “Vatra Domei, Romania”. And then date of birth. And this swam before her eyes: “May 24th, 1936”.
Nineteen thirty six. Could it be another Silvia? Her grandmother, perhaps? Some cultures had a tradition of naming infants after their parents, perhaps ... but April knew, she knew. Her grandmother had been called Beatrice. This was her mother’s certificate. She knew.
Almost in a trance, April stood and, holding the documents loosely in her numb fingers, walked out of her bedroom and down the stairs. She could hear movement in Silvia’s room, the psst of hairspray, the familiar creak as she sat down at her dressing table. April pushed the door open without knocking.
‘Oh, hello darling,’ Silvia said, leaning in to the mirror to apply her make-up. ‘I didn’t hear you come in – drying my hair.’
April stood there, unable to move. What should she say? What could she say? It felt as though she was standing on the edge of the world and the earth was crumbling beneath her feet. Noticing her silence, Silvia swivelled around to face her daughter. ‘Something wrong?’ she said, then seeing the papers in April’s hand, she frowned. ‘What have you got there?’
April slowly raised her arm and dropped the documents onto the bed. She watched as Silvia’s eyes widened.
‘Where did you find those ...?’ she began, but April cut her off.
‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? How could you have kept it from me for so long? You and dad ... how could you?’ April expected tears, but she just felt numb.
For a long moment Silvia said nothing. ‘We wanted to protect you,’ she said quietly. ‘That’s all we ever wanted.’
‘How?’ shouted April, ‘How were you protecting me? By making me think I was human? By pretending that the real world –’ she gestured towards the certificates ‘– this world didn’t exist?’
‘And what then?’ said Silvia. ‘What if we had told you? Do you think you could have kept it a secret? Could any child?’
‘I’m not a child anymore!’ shouted April, suddenly burning with anger. ‘How many times since we came to this village could you have told me what was going on? Don’t you think I could have protected myself better if I had known I was the daughter of a vampire?’
Daughter of a vampire.
It was as if the words were echoing around the room, repeating themselves over and over again. And, as she said the words, it was like a thousand pieces of jigsaw all clicking into place at once. The lack of photographs, the reluctance to rise before noon, the short, ferocious temper. She’s a vampire; April’s own mother was a vampire. It had been there all the time, right under her nose. Then a sudden thought sickened her.
‘Does that mean I’m a vampire too?’
‘No, darling. We can only be born or turned. But you must know that by now.’
‘Don’t you dare!’ April screamed. ‘Don’t you dare be so calm about it! You’ve lied to me all my life!’
‘Only to protect you, April. To keep you safe.’
April pulled up her sleeve to show the scar across her arm. ‘You call this safe? I’ve been beaten up, stra
ngled and half torn apart. Is that your idea of protecting me?’
‘I couldn’t always be there,’ said Silvia defensively.
‘Oh, I forgot. You were out on your dates.’
Anger flashed across Silvia’s face. It was the same age-old irritation and belligerence April had seen every day of her life. Her mother was like that – fierce and uncompromising, always on a short fuse. But it wasn’t just some off-beat personality trait. Silvia was spiky and constantly on a hair-trigger because she was a vampire. April had spent her entire life sharing a house with a purebred killer.
‘Did dad know?’ she asked, but then shook her head at the stupidity of the question. Of course he knew, how could he not? And then April felt the full force of what that meant and she dropped down on the bed. It was as if her brain was one of those spinning wheels you got on your computer when the CPU got overloaded, as her mind struggled to rewrite everything she knew about everything.
‘Jesus ...’ she whispered. All of the screaming rows, all of the upheavals, all of Silvia’s “headaches”, now April saw them in a completely new light.
‘Did you feed from him?’
‘Of course,’ said Silvia softly. ‘He was a good man.’
April turned away, filled with revulsion at the idea. It was worse than walking in on your parents having sex.
‘A good man?’ she snapped. ‘Then how could you do that to him? You made his life hell!’
Silvia nodded. ‘Yes, I suppose I did. But for all that, he seemed ... I know you won’t understand it.’ She trailed off.
But April did understand; in a sudden terrible rush, it all made perfect, perfect sense. Silvia was aggressive, demanding, constantly arguing, never satisfied – William Dunne might as well have been living in a cage with an alligator. And yet he had stayed, a constant solid presence in April’s life, supporting them both, always the peacemaker, always the fixer. He was always there. Always. Despite knowing who -- what she was, he stayed.
