The Vampire's Assistant and Other Tales from the Cirque Du Freak

by Darren Shan

  “You can’t do any good here,” she said. “I’ll call as soon as I hear anything, even if it’s the middle of the night, okay?”

  I hesitated. This would be my final chance to mention the spider. I came very close to spilling the beans, but I was tired and couldn’t find the words. “Okay,” I said glumly, then left.

  Dad drove us home. I wondered what he’d do if I told him about the spider, Mr. Crepsley, and the rest. He would have punished me, I’m sure, but that’s not why I didn’t tell him: I kept quiet because I knew he’d be ashamed of the way I’d lied and put my own well-being before Steve’s. I was afraid he’d hate me.

  Annie was asleep by the time we got home. Dad lifted her in from the backseat and took her to bed. I walked slowly up to my room and got undressed. I kept cursing myself under my breath.

  Dad looked in as I was putting my clothes away. “Will you be okay?” he asked. I nodded. “Steve will recover,” he said. “I’m sure of it. The doctors know their stuff. They’ll bring him around.”

  I nodded again, not trusting myself to answer. Dad stood in the doorway a moment longer, then sighed, left, and stomped downstairs to his study.

  I was hanging my pants up in the closet when I noticed Madam Octa’s cage. Slowly, I pulled it out. She was lying in the middle, breathing easily, calm as ever.

  I studied the colorful spider and wasn’t impressed by what I saw. She was bright, yes, but ugly and hairy and nasty. I began to hate her. She was the real villain, the one who bit Steve for no good reason. I had fed her and cared for her and played with her. This was how she repaid me.

  “You stupid monster!” I snarled, shaking the cage. “You ungrateful creep!”

  I gave the cage another shake. Her legs gripped the bars tightly. This made me madder and I yanked the cage roughly from side to side, trying to make her lose her grip, hoping to hurt her.

  I spun in a circle, whirling the cage around by the handle. I was swearing, calling her every name under the sun, wishing she was dead, wishing I’d never set eyes on her, wishing I had the guts to take her out of the cage and squeeze her to death.

  Finally, as my rage reached its boiling point, I hurled the cage as far away from me as possible. I wasn’t looking where I was throwing, and got a shock when I saw it sail through the open window and out into the night.

  I watched it flying away, then hurried after it. I was scared it would hit the ground and break open, because I knew if the doctors weren’t able to save Steve by themselves, they might be able to with the help of Madam Octa: if they studied her, they might find out how to cure him. But if she escaped…

  I rushed to the window. I was too late to grab for the cage but at least I could see where it landed. I watched as it floated out and down, praying it wouldn’t break. It seemed to take forever to fall.

  Just before it hit the ground, a hand darted out from the shadows of the night and snatched it from the air.

  A hand?!

  I leaned forward quickly for a better view. It was a dark night and at first I couldn’t see who was down there. But then the person stepped forward and all was revealed.

  First, I saw his wrinkly hands holding the cage. Then his long red clothes. Then his cropped orange hair. Then his long ugly scar. And, finally, his sharp toothy grin.

  It was Mr. Crepsley. The vampire.

  And he was smiling up at me!

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I STOOD BY THE WINDOW, expecting him to turn into a bat and come flying up, but he did nothing apart from shake the cage gently to make sure Madam Octa was all right.

  Then, still smiling, he turned and walked away. Within a matter of seconds he had been swallowed from sight by the night.

  I shut the window and fled to the safety of my bed, where my mind turned inside out with questions. How long had he been down there? If he knew where Madam Octa was, why hadn’t he taken her before this? I thought he’d be furious, but he seemed amused. Why hadn’t he ripped out my throat like Steve said he would?

  Sleep was impossible. I was more terrified now than I had been the night after stealing the spider. Back then I could tell myself that he didn’t know who I was and therefore couldn’t find me.

  I thought about telling Dad. After all, a vampire knew where we lived and had reason to bear a grudge against us. Dad should know. He should be warned and given a chance to prepare a defense. But…

  He wouldn’t believe me. Especially not now that Madam Octa was gone. I imagined trying to convince him that vampires were real, that one had been to our house and might come back. He’d think I was insane.

  I was able to snooze a little when dawn rolled around, because I knew the vampire couldn’t launch an attack until sunset. It wasn’t much of a sleep, but even a small amount of rest did me good and I was able to think clearly when I woke. I realized, as I thought it over, that I had no reason to be afraid. If the vampire had wanted to kill me, he could have done it last night when I was unprepared. For some reason, he didn’t want me dead, at least not yet.

  With that worry off my mind, I could focus on Steve and my real problem: whether to reveal the truth or not. Mom had stayed at the hospital all night, taking care of Mrs. Leonard, calling around to let friends and neighbors know of Steve’s illness. If she had been home, I might have told her, but the thought of telling Dad filled me with dread.

  Ours was a very quiet house that Sunday. Dad cooked eggs and sausages for breakfast, and burned them as he normally does when he cooks, but we didn’t complain. I hardly even tasted the food as I gulped it down. I wasn’t hungry. The only reason I ate was to pretend it was any other average Sunday.

  Mom called as we were finishing. She had a long talk with Dad. He didn’t say much, only nodded and grunted. Annie and I sat still, trying to hear what was being said. He came in and sat down when he was finished talking.

  “How is he?” I asked.

  “Not good,” Dad said. “The doctors don’t know what to make of it. It seems Annie was right: it is poison. But not like any they know. They’ve sent samples to experts in other hospitals, and hopefully one of them will know more about it. But…” He shook his head.

  “Will he die?” Annie asked quietly.

  “Maybe,” Dad said, being honest. I was glad for that. All too often adults lie to kids about serious matters. I’d rather know the truth about death than be lied to.

  Annie started to cry. Dad picked her up and perched her on his lap. “Hey, now, there’s no need to cry,” he said. “It’s not over yet. He’s still alive. He’s breathing and his brain doesn’t seem to have been affected. If they can figure out a way to fight the poison in his body, he should be fine.”

  “How long does he have?” I asked.

  Dad shrugged. “The way he is, they could keep him alive for a long time with machines.”

  “You mean like someone in a coma?” I asked.

  “Exactly.”

  “How long before they have to start using machines?” I asked.

  “A few days, they think,” Dad answered. “They can’t say for sure, seeing as how they don’t know what they’re dealing with, but they think it will be a couple of days before his respiratory and coronary systems begin to shut down.”

  “His what?” Annie asked between sobs.

  “His lungs and heart,” Dad explained. “As long as those are working, he’s alive. They have to use a drip to feed him but otherwise he’s okay. It’s when — if— he stops breathing by himself that the trouble really begins.”

  A couple of days. It wasn’t much. The day before, he’d had a whole lifetime to look forward to. Now he had a couple of days.

  “Can I go see him?” I asked.

  “This afternoon, if you feel up to it,” Dad said.

  “I’ll feel up to it,” I vowed.

  The hospital was busier this time, packed with visitors. I’d never seen so many boxes of chocolates and flowers. Everybody seemed to be carrying one or the other. I wanted to buy something for Steve at
the hospital store but had no money.

  I expected Steve to be in the children’s ward but he was in a room by himself, because the doctors wanted to study him, and also because they weren’t sure if what he had was catching. We had to wear masks and gloves and long green gowns when we entered.

  Mrs. Leonard was asleep in a chair. Mom made a sign for us to be quiet. She gave us hugs, one by one, then spoke to Dad.

  “A couple of results have come in from other hospitals,” she told him, her voice muffled by the mask. “All negative.”

  “Surely someone knows what this is,” Dad said. “How many different types of poison can there be?”

  “Thousands,” she said. “They’ve sent specimens to foreign hospitals. Hopefully one of them will have a record of it, but it’s going to be some time before they get back to us.”

  I studied Steve while they were talking. He was tucked neatly into the bed. A drip was attached to one arm, and wires and stuff to his chest. There were needle marks where doctors had taken samples of his blood. His face was white and stiff. He looked terrible!

  I started crying and couldn’t stop. Mom put her arms around me and hugged me tight, but that only made it worse. I tried telling her about the spider but I was crying too much for my words to be heard. Mom kept hugging and kissing and shushing me, and eventually I quit trying.

  New visitors arrived, relatives of Steve’s, and Mom decided to leave them alone with him and his mother. She led us out, removed my mask, and wiped the tears from my face with a tissue.

  “There,” she said. “That’s better.” She smiled and tickled me until I grinned back. “He’ll be okay,” she promised. “I know he looks bad, but the doctors are doing all they can. We have to trust them and hope for the best, okay?”

  “Okay,” I sighed.

  “I thought he looked pretty good,” Annie said, squeezing my hand. I smiled thankfully at her.

  “Are you coming home now?” Dad asked Mom.

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think I should stick around a little longer in case —”

  “Angela, you’ve done enough for the time being,” Dad said firmly. “I bet you didn’t get any sleep last night, did you?”

  “Not much,” Mom admitted.

  “And if you stay on now, you won’t get any today either. Come on, Angie, let’s go.” Dad calls Mom “Angie” when he’s trying to sweet-talk her into something. “There are other people who can look after Steve and his mother. Nobody expects you to do everything.”

  “All right,” she agreed. “But I’m coming back tonight to see if they need me.”

  “Fair enough,” he said, and led the way out to the car. It hadn’t been much of a visit but I didn’t complain. I was glad to get away.

  I thought about Steve as we drove home, how he looked and why he looked that way. I thought about the poison in his veins and felt pretty sure the doctors would fail to cure it. I bet no doctor in the world had ever come across poison from a spider like Madam Octa before.

  However bad Steve had looked, I knew he’d look a lot worse after another couple of days. I imagined him hooked up to a breathing machine, his face covered with a mask, tubes sticking into him. It was a horrible thought.

  There was only one way to save Steve. Only one person who might know about the poison and how to beat it.

  Mr. Crepsley.

  As we pulled into the driveway back home and got out of the car, I made up my mind: I was going to track him down and make him do what he could to help Steve. As soon as it got dark, I’d sneak out and find the vampire, wherever he might be. And if I couldn’t force it out of him and come back with a cure…

  … I wouldn’t come back at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I HAD TO WAIT UNTIL ALMOST eleven o’clock. I would have gone earlier, while Mom was at the hospital, but a couple of Dad’s pals came around with kids of their own and I had to play host.

  Mom returned home at about ten. She was tired, so Dad quickly cleared the house of visitors. They had a cup of tea and a chat in the kitchen, then went up to bed. I let them drift off to sleep, then snuck downstairs and let myself out the back door.

  I sped through the dark like a comet. Nobody saw or heard me, I moved so fast. I had a cross in one pocket, which I’d found in Mom’s jewelry box, and a bottle of holy water in the other, which one of Dad’s pen pals had sent to us years ago. I wasn’t able to find a stake. I’d thought about bringing a sharp knife instead, but probably would only have cut myself. I’m clumsy with knives.

  The old theater was pitch black and deserted. I used the front door this time.

  I didn’t know what I’d do if the vampire wasn’t there, but somehow I sensed he would be. It was like the day Steve threw the scraps of paper up in the air with the winning ticket hidden amongst them, and I shut my eyes and reached out blindly. It was destiny.

  It took a while to find the cellar. I’d brought a flashlight but the battery was almost dead and it flickered out after a couple of minutes, leaving me to grope through the dark like a mole. When I did find the steps, I started straight down, not giving fear time to catch up.

  The farther down I went, the brighter it got, until I reached the bottom and saw five tall flickering candles. I was surprised — weren’t vampires supposed to be afraid of fire? — but glad.

  Mr. Crepsley was waiting for me at the other end of the cellar. He was sitting at a small table, playing a game of cards with himself.

  “Good morning, Master Shan,” he said, without looking up.

  I cleared my throat before replying. “It’s not morning,” I said. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “To me, that is morning,” he said, then looked up and grinned. His teeth were long and sharp. This was the closest to him I’d been and I expected to spot all sorts of details — red teeth, long ears, narrow eyes — but he looked like a normal human, albeit a tremendously ugly one.

  “You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He nodded.

  “How long have you known where Madam Octa was?”

  “I found her the night you stole her,” he said.

  “Why didn’t you take her then?”

  He shrugged. “I was going to, but I got to thinking about the sort of boy who would dare steal from a vampire, and I decided you might be worth further study.”

  “Why?” I asked, trying to stop my knees from knocking together.

  “Why indeed?” he replied mockingly. He snapped his fingers and the cards on the table jumped together and slid back into the pack by themselves. He put it away and cracked his knuckles. “Tell me, Darren Shan, why have you come? Is it to steal from me again? Do you still desire Madam Octa?”

  I shook my head. “I never want to see that monster again!” I snarled.

  He laughed. “She will be so sad to hear that.”

  “Don’t make fun of me,” I warned him. “I don’t like being teased.”

  “No?” he asked. “And what will you do if I continue?”

  I pulled out the cross and bottle of holy water and held them up. “I’ll strike you with these!” I roared, expecting him to fall back, frozen with fear. But he didn’t. Instead he smiled, snapped his fingers again, and suddenly the cross and plastic bottle were no longer in my hands. They were in his.

  He studied the cross, chuckled and squeezed it into a little ball, as though it were made of tinfoil. Next he uncorked the holy water and drank it.

  “You know what I love?” he asked. “I love people who watch lots of horror movies and read horror books. Because they believe what they read and hear, and come packing silly things like crosses and holy water, instead of weapons that could do real damage, like guns and hand grenades.”

  “You mean … crosses don’t … hurt you?” I stammered.

  “Why should they?” he asked.

  “Because you’re … evil,” I said.

  “Am I?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. �
��You must be. You’re a vampire. Vampires are evil.”

  “You should not believe everything you are told,” he said. “It is true that our appetites are rather exotic. But just because we drink blood does not mean that we are evil. Are vampire bats evil when they drink the blood of cows and horses?”

  “No,” I said. “But that’s different. They’re animals.”

  “Humans are animals, too,” he told me. “If a vampire kills a human, then yes, he is evil. But one who just takes a little blood to fill his rumbling belly … where is the harm in that?”

  I couldn’t answer. I was numb and no longer knew what to believe. I was at his mercy, alone and defenseless.

  “I see you are not in the mood for a debate,” he said. “Very well. I will save the speeches for another time. So tell me, Darren Shan: what is it you want if not my spider?”

  “She bit Steve Leonard,” I told him.

  “The one known as Steve Leopard,” he said, nodding. “A nasty business. Still, little boys who play with things they do not understand can hardly complain if—”

  “I want you to make him better!” I yelled, interrupting.

  “Me?” he asked, acting surprised. “But I am not a doctor. I am not a specialist. I am just a circus performer. A freak. Remember?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re more. I know you can save him. I know you have the power.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “Madam Octa’s bite is deadly, but for every poison there exists an antidote. Maybe I do have the cure. Maybe I have a bottle of serum that will restore your friend’s natural physical functions.”

  “Yes!” I shouted gleefully. “I knew it! I knew it! I —”

  “But maybe,” Mr. Crepsley said, raising a long bony finger to silence me, “it is a small bottle. Maybe there is only a tiny amount of serum. Maybe it is very precious. Maybe I want to save it for a real emergency, in case Madam Octa ever bites me. Maybe I do not want to waste it on an evil little brat.”

  “No,” I said softly. “You have to give it to me. You have to use it on Steve. He’s dying. You can’t let him die.”