Allies of the Night

by Darren Shan

  There was a free table close to the front of the class, where I had to sit. Our teacher was late — because of the size of the school, teachers and pupils often arrived slightly late for class. I spent a couple of minutes anxiously scanning the book of poetry I'd bought last Friday, desperately committing a few scraps of random poems to memory, in the hope that I could fob the teacher off with them.

  The door to the classroom opened, the noise level dropped, and everyone stood up. "Sit down, sit down," the teacher said, making straight for her desk, where she laid her stack of books. Facing the class, she smiled and brushed her hair back. She was a young, pretty black woman. "I hear we've a new addition," she said, looking around the room for me. "Will you stand up please, so I can identify you?"

  Standing, I raised a hand and smiled edgily. "Here," I said.

  "Close to the front," she beamed. "A good sign. Now, I have your name and details written down somewhere. Just give me a minute and I'll …"

  She was turning aside to look among her books and papers, when all of a sudden she stopped as though slapped, glanced sharply at me and took a step forward. Her face lit up and she exclaimed, "Darren Shan?"

  "Um. Yes." I smiled nervously. I'd no idea who she was, and was scouring my memory banks — was she staying in the same hotel as me? — when something about the shape of her mouth and eyes jogged a switch inside my brain. Leaving my table, I took several steps towards her, until we were only a metre apart, then studied her face incredulously. "Debbie?" I gasped. "Debbie Hemlock?"

  CHAPTER SIX

  "DARREN!" DEBBIE squealed, throwing her arms around me.

  "Debbie!" I whooped and hugged her hard.

  My English teacher was Debbie Hemlock — my ex-girlfriend!

  "You've barely changed!" Debbie gasped.

  "You look so different!" I laughed.

  "What happened to your face?"

  "How did you become a teacher?"

  Then, together: "What are you doing here?"

  We stopped, wide-eyed, beaming madly. We were no longer hugging, but our hands were joined. Around us, my fellow students gawped as though they were witnessing the end of the universe.

  "Where have …" Debbie started, then glanced around. Realizing we were the centre of attention, she let go of my hands and smiled sheepishly. "Darren and I are old friends," she explained to the class. "We haven't seen each other in …"

  Again she stopped, this time with a frown. "Excuse us," she muttered, grabbing my right hand and roughly leading the way outside. Closing the door, she swung me up against a wall, checked to make sure we were alone in the hall, leant in close and hissed, "Where the hell have you been all these years?"

  "Here and there," I smiled, eyes roving her face, stunned by how much she'd changed. She was taller too — even taller than me now.

  "Why is your face the same?" she snapped. "You look almost exactly as I remember you. You've aged a year or two, but it's been thirteen years!"

  "How time flies," I smirked, then stole a quick kiss. "Good to see you again, Miss Hemlock."

  Debbie froze at the kiss, then took a step back. "Don't do that."

  "Sorry. Just glad to see you."

  "I'm glad to see you too. But if anyone sees me kissing a student …"

  "Oh, Debbie, I'm not really a student. You know that. I'm old enough to be … Well, you know how old I am."

  "I thought I did. But your face …" She traced the outline of my jaw, then my lips and nose, then the small triangular scar above my right eye. "You've been in the wars," she noted.

  "You wouldn't believe it if I told you how right you are," I smiled.

  "Darren Shan." She shook her head and repeated my name. "Darren Shan."

  Then she slapped me!

  "What's that for?" I yelped.

  "For leaving without saying goodbye and ruining my Christmas," she growled.

  "That was thirteen years ago. Surely you're not still upset about it."

  "The Hemlocks can carry a grudge a long, long time," she said, but there was the glint of a smile in her eyes.

  "I did leave you a going-away present," I said.

  For a moment her face was blank. Then she remembered. "The tree!"

  Mr Crepsley and me had killed the mad vampaneze — Murlough — in Debbie's house on Christmas Eve, after using her as bait to lure him out of his lair. Before leaving, I'd placed a small Christmas tree by her bedside and decorated it (I'd drugged Debbie and her parents earlier, so they were unconscious when Murlough attacked).

  "I'd forgotten about the tree," she muttered. "Which brings us to another point — what happened back then? One moment we were sitting down to dinner, the next I woke up in bed and it was late Christmas Day. Mum and Dad woke in their beds too, with no idea of how they got there."

  "How are Donna and Jesse?" I asked, trying to avoid her question.

  "Fine. Dad's still travelling the world, going wherever his work takes him, and Mum's started a new … No," she said, prodding me in the chest. "Forget what's been going on with me. I want to know what's up with you. For thirteen years you've been a fond memory. I tried finding you a few times, but you'd vanished without a trace. Now you waltz back into my life, looking as though the years had been months. I want to know what gives."

  "It's a long story," I sighed. "And complicated."

  "I've got time," she sniffed.

  "No, you haven't," I contradicted her, nodding at the closed classroom door.

  "Damn. I forgot about them." She strode to the door and opened it. The kids inside had been talking loudly, but they stopped at the sight of their teacher. "Get out your books!" she snapped. "I'll be with you presently." Facing me again, she said, "You're right — we don't have time. And my schedule's full for the rest of the day — I've a teachers' meeting to attend during lunch. But we have to get together soon and talk."

  "How about after school?" I suggested. "I'll go home, change clothes, and we can meet … where?"

  "My place," Debbie said. "I live on the third floor of an apartment block. 3c, Bungrove Drive. It's about a ten-minute walk from here."

  "I'll find it."

  "But give me a couple of hours to correct homework," she said. "Don't come before half-six."

  "Sounds perfect."

  "Darren Shan," she whispered, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Who'd have believed it?" She leant towards me, and I thought — hoped! — she was going to kiss me, but then she stopped, adopted a stern expression and pushed me back into class ahead of her.

  The lesson passed in a blur. Debbie tried hard not to pay special attention to me, but our eyes kept meeting and we were unable to stop smiling. The others kids noted the remarkable bond between us and it was the talk of the school by lunchtime. If the students had been suspicious of me at the start of the day, now they were downright wary, and everyone gave me a wide berth.

  I breezed through the later classes. It didn't bother me that I was out of my depth and ignorant of the subject matter. I no longer cared or tried to act clued up. Debbie was all I could think about. Even when Mr Smarts threw my maths copy at me in science and bawled furiously, I only smiled, nodded and tuned him out.

  At the end of the day I rushed back to the hotel. I'd been given the key to a locker, where I was supposed to leave my books, but I was so excited I didn't bother with it, and carried the full bag of books home with me. Mr Crepsley was still in bed when I arrived, but Harkat was awake, and I hurriedly told him about my day and meeting Debbie.

  "Isn't it wonderful?" I finished breathlessly. "Isn't it incredible? Isn't it the most …" I couldn't think of any way to describe it, so I simply threw my hands into the air and yelled, "Yahoo!"

  "It's great," Harkat said, wide mouth spreading into a jagged smile, but he didn't sound happy.

  "What's wrong?" I asked, reading the unease in his round green eyes.

  "Nothing," he said. "It's great. Really. I'm thrilled for you."

  "Don't lie to me, Harkat. Something
's bugging you. What?"

  He came out with it. "Doesn't this seem a bit … too coincidental?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Of all the schools you could have gone to … all the teachers in the world … you end up at the one where your … old girlfriend's teaching? And in her class?"

  "Life's like that, Harkat. Strange things happen all the time."

  "Yes," the Little Person agreed. "And sometimes they happen … by chance. But other times they're … arranged."

  I'd been unbuttoning my shirt, having slipped off my jumper and tie. Now I paused, fingers on the buttons, and studied him. "What are you saying?"

  "Something smells rotten. If you'd run into Debbie in the street, that … would be something else. But you're in her class at a school where … you shouldn't be. Somebody set you up to go to Mahler's, someone who … knows about Murlough, and about your past."

  "You think the person who forged our signatures knew Debbie was working at Mahler's?" I asked.

  "That's obvious," Harkat said. "And that in itself is cause for worry. But there's something else we … must consider. What if the person who set you up didn't … just know about Debbie — what if it was Debbie?"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I COULDN'T believe Debbie was in league with the vampaneze or Mr Tiny, or had played any part in setting me up to go to Mahler's. I told Harkat how stunned she'd been to see me, but he said she might have been acting. "If she went to all the trouble of getting … you there, she'd hardly not act surprised," he noted.

  I shook my head stubbornly. "She wouldn't do something like this."

  "I don't know her, so I can't voice … an opinion. But you don't really know her either. She was a child when you … last saw her. People change as they grow."

  "You don't think I should trust her?"

  "I'm not saying that. Maybe she's genuine. Maybe she had nothing to do with faking the … forms, or with you being there — it could be a … huge coincidence. But caution is required. Go see her, but keep an eye … on her. Be careful what you say. Put some probing questions to her. And take a weapon."

  "I couldn't hurt her," I said quietly. "Even if she has plotted against us, there's no way I could kill her."

  "Take one anyway," Harkat insisted. "If she's working with the vampaneze, it may not be … her you have to use it on."

  "You reckon the vampaneze could be lying in wait there?"

  "Maybe. We couldn't understand why … the vampaneze — if they're behind the fake forms — would send you … to school. If they're working with Debbie — or using … her — this might explain it."

  "You mean they want to get me at Debbie's alone, so they can pick me off?"

  "They might."

  I nodded thoughtfully. I didn't believe Debbie was working with our foes, but it was possible that they were manipulating her to get to me. "How should we handle this?" I asked.

  Harkat's green eyes betrayed his uncertainty. "I'm not sure. It would be foolish to walk into … a trap. But sometimes risks must be taken. Perhaps this is our way to flush out … those who would ensnare us."

  Chewing my lower lip, I brooded upon it a while, then followed the most sensible course of action — I went and woke Mr Crepsley.

  I rang the bell for 3c and waited. A moment later, Debbie's voice came over the intercom. "Darren?"

  "The one and only."

  "You're late." It was twenty past seven. The sun was setting.

  "Got stuck doing homework. Blame my English teacher — she's a real dragon."

  "Ha-flaming-ha."

  There was a buzzing noise and the door opened. I paused before entering and looked across the street at the opposite block of apartments. I spotted a lurking shadow on the roof — Mr Crepsley. Harkat was behind Debbie's building. Both would rush to my rescue at the first sign of trouble. That was the plan we'd hatched. Mr Crepsley had suggested beating a hasty retreat — things were getting too complicated for his liking — but when I pulled rank, he'd agreed to make the most of the situation and attempt to turn the tables on our opponents — if they showed.

  "If a fight develops," he warned me before setting out, "it may not be possible to choose targets. You are not prepared to raise a hand against your friend, but I am, if she is working with the enemy. Do not get in my way if that happens."

  I nodded grimly. I wasn't sure I could stand by and let him harm Debbie, even if it turned out that she was conspiring against us — but I'd try.

  Trotting up the stairs, I was painfully aware of the two knives I was carrying, strapped to my calves so as not to show. I hoped I wouldn't have to use them, but it was good to know they were there if needed.

  The door to 3c was open, but I knocked before entering. "Come in," Debbie called. "I'm in the kitchen."

  I closed the door but didn't lock it. Quickly scanned the apartment. Very tidy. Several bookcases, overflowing with books. A CD player and stand; lots of CDs. A portable TV set. A cover poster of The Lord of the Rings on one wall, a picture of Debbie with her parents on another.

  Debbie stepped in from the kitchen. She was wearing a long red apron and there was flour in her hair. "I got bored waiting for you," she said, "so I started to make scones. Do you like yours with currants or without?"

  "Without," I said and smiled as she ducked back into the kitchen — killers and their cohorts don't greet you with flour in their hair! Any half-doubts I had about Debbie quickly vanished and I knew I'd nothing to fear from her. But I didn't drop my guard — Debbie didn't pose a threat, but there might be vampaneze in the room next door or hovering on the fire escape.

  "How did you enjoy your first day at school?" Debbie asked, as I wandered round the living room.

  "It was strange. I haven't been inside a school since … Well, it's been a long time. So much has changed. When I was …" I stopped. The cover of a book had caught my eye: The Three Musketeers. "Is Donna still making you read this?"

  Debbie poked her head through the doorway and looked at the book. "Oh," she laughed. "I was reading that when we first met, wasn't I?"

  "Yep. You hated it."

  "Really? That's odd — I love it now. It's one of my favourites. I recommend it to my pupils all the time."

  Shaking my head wryly, I laid the book down and went to view the kitchen. It was small, but professionally organized. There was a lovely smell of fresh dough. "Donna taught you well," I remarked. Debbie's mum used to be a chef.

  "She wouldn't let me leave home until I could run a good kitchen," Debbie smiled. "Graduating university was easier than passing the tests she set."

  "You've been to university?" I asked.

  "I'd hardly be teaching if I hadn't."

  Laying a tray of unbaked scones into a petite oven, she switched off the light and motioned me back to the living room. As I flopped into one of the soft chairs she went to the CD stand and looked for something to play. "Any preferences?"

  "Not really."

  "I don't have much in the way of pop or rock. Jazz or classical?"

  "I don't mind."

  Choosing a CD, she took it out of its case, inserted it in the player and turned it on. She stood by the player a couple of minutes while flowing, lifting music filled the air. "Like it?" she asked.

  "Not bad. What is it?"

  "The Titan. Do you know who it's by?"

  "Mahler?" I guessed.

  "Right. I thought I'd play it for you, so you're familiar with it — Mr Chivers gets very upset if his students don't recognize Mahler." Taking the chair next to mine, Debbie studied my face in silence. I felt uncomfortable, but didn't turn away. "So," she sighed. "Want to tell me about it?"

  I'd discussed what I should tell her with Mr Crepsley and Harkat, and quickly launched into the story we'd settled upon. I said I was the victim of an ageing disease, which meant I aged slower than normal people. I reminded her of the snake-boy, Evra Von, whom she'd met, and said the two of us were patients at a special clinic.

  "You aren't brothers?" she a
sked.

  "No. And the man we were with wasn't our father — he was a nurse at the hospital. That's why I never let you meet him — it was fun, having you think I was an ordinary person, and I didn't want him giving the game away."

  "So how old are you?" she enquired.

  "Not much older than you," I said. "The disease didn't set in until I was twelve. I wasn't very different to other children until then."

  She considered that in her careful, thoughtful manner. "If that's true," she said, "what are you doing in school now? And why pick mine?"

  "I didn't know you were working at Mahler's," I said. "That's a freak occurrence. I've returned to school because … It's hard to explain. I didn't get a proper education when I was growing up. I was rebellious and spent a lot of time off fishing or playing football when I should have been learning. Lately I've been feeling like I missed out. A few weeks ago I met a man who forges papers — passports, birth certificates, stuff like that. I asked him to set me up with a fake ID, so I could pretend I was fifteen."

  "Whatever for?" Debbie asked. "Why didn't you go to an adult night school?"

  "Because, looks-wise, I'm not an adult." I pulled a sad face. "You don't know how miserable it gets, growing so slowly, explaining myself to strangers, knowing they're talking about me. I don't mingle much. I live alone and stay indoors most of the time. I felt this was an opportunity to pretend I was normal. I thought I could fit in with the people I most resemble — fifteen year olds. I hoped, if I dressed and talked like them, and went to school with them, maybe they'd accept me and I wouldn't feel so lonely." Lowering my gaze; I added mournfully, "I guess the pretence stops now."

  There was a silent beat. Another. Then Debbie said, "Why should it?"

  "Because you know about me. You'll tell Mr Chivers. I'll have to leave."

  Debbie reached across and took my left hand in hers. "I think you're crazy," she said. "Practically everyone I know couldn't wait to leave school, and here you are, desperate to return. But I admire you for this. I think it's great that you want to learn. I think you're very brave, and I won't say anything about it."