Allies of the Night

by Darren Shan

  "Really?"

  "I think you'll be found out eventually — an act like this is impossible to sustain — but I won't blow the whistle on you."

  "Thanks, Debbie. I …" Clearing my throat, I looked at our joined hands. "I'd like to kiss you — to thank you — but I don't know if you want me to."

  Debbie frowned, and I could see what she was thinking — was it acceptable for a teacher to let one of her pupils kiss her? Then she chuckled and said, "OK — but just on my cheek."

  Lifting my head, I leant over and brushed her cheek with my lips. I would have liked to kiss her properly, but knew I couldn't. Although we were of similar ages, in her eyes I was still a teenager. There was a line between us we couldn't step over — much as the adult within me hungered to cross it.

  We talked for hours. I learnt all about Debbie's life, how she'd gone to university after school, studied English and sociology, graduated and went on to become a teacher. After a few part-time appointments elsewhere, she'd applied for a number of permanent positions here — she'd seen out her schooldays in this city, and felt it was the nearest place she had to a home. She ended up at Mahler's. She'd been there two years and loved it. There'd been men in her life — she'd been engaged at one stage! — but none at the moment. And she said — very pointedly — that she wasn't looking for any either!

  She asked me about that night thirteen years ago and what had happened to her and her parents. I lied and said there'd been something wrong with the wine. "You all fell asleep at the table. I rang for the nurse who was looking after Evra and me. He came, checked, said you were OK and would be fine when you woke. We put the three of you to bed and I slipped away. I've never been good at saying farewell."

  I told Debbie I was living alone. If she checked with Mr Blaws, she'd know that was a lie, but I didn't think ordinary teachers mixed much with inspectors.

  "It's going to be bizarre having you in my class," she murmured. We were sitting on the couch. "We'll have to be careful. If anyone suspects there was ever anything between us, we must tell the truth. It'd mean my career if we didn't."

  "Maybe it's a problem we won't have to worry about much longer," I said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't think I'm cut out for school. I'm behind in all the subjects. In some — maths and science — I'm not even within sighting distance of everyone else. I think I'll have to drop out."

  "That's quitting talk," she growled, "and I won't stand for it." She popped one of the scones — they were chestnut brown, smeared with butter and jam — into my mouth and made me munch on it. "Finish what you start or you'll regret it."

  "Buh I cahn't duh iht," I mumbled, mouth full of scone.

  "Of course you can," she insisted. "It won't be easy. You'll have to study hard, maybe get some private tuition …" She stopped and her face lit up. "That's it!"

  "What?" I asked.

  "You can come to me for lessons."

  "What sort of lessons?"

  She punched my arm. "School lessons, you ninny! You can come round for an hour or two after school every day. I'll help you with your homework and fill you in on stuff you've missed."

  "You wouldn't mind?" I asked.

  "Of course not," she smiled. "It will be a pleasure."

  Enjoyable as the night was, it had to end eventually. I'd forgotten about the possible threat of the vampaneze, but when Debbie excused herself and went to the bathroom, I fell to thinking about them, and wondered if Mr Crepsley or Harkat had sighted any — I didn't want to come to Debbie's for lessons if it meant getting her mixed up in our dangerous affairs.

  If I waited for her to return, I might forget about the threat again, so I composed a quick note — 'Have to go. Wonderful to see you. Meet you at school in the morning. Hope you won't mind if I don't do my homework!' — left it on the bare plate which had contained the scones, and ducked out as quietly as possible.

  I trotted down the stairs, humming happily, paused outside the main door at the bottom and let rip with three long whistles — my signal to Mr Crepsley to let him know that I was leaving. Then I made my way round to the back of the building and found Harkat hiding behind a couple of large black rubbish bins. "Any trouble?" I asked.

  "None," he replied. "Nobody's gone near the place."

  Mr Crepsley arrived and crouched behind the bins with us. He looked more solemn than usual. "Spot any vampaneze?" I asked.

  "No."

  "Mr Tiny?"

  "No."

  "Things are looking good then," I smiled.

  "What about Debbie?" Harkat asked. "Is she on the level?"

  "Oh, yes." I gave them a quick account of my conversation with Debbie. Mr Crepsley said nothing, only grunted as I filled him in. He appeared very moody and distant.

  "… so we've arranged to meet each evening after school," I finished. "We haven't set a time yet. I wanted to discuss it with you two first, to see if you want to shadow us when we meet. I don't think there's any need — I'm sure Debbie isn't part of a plot — but if you want, we can schedule the lessons for late at night."

  Mr Crepsley sighed half-heartedly. "I do not think that will be necessary. I have scouted the area thoroughly. There is no evidence of the vampaneze. It would be preferable if you came in daylight, but not essential."

  "Is that a seal of approval?"

  "Yes." Again he sounded unusually downhearted.

  "What's wrong?" I asked. "You're not still suspicious of Debbie, are you?"

  "It has nothing to do with her. I …" He looked at us sadly. "I have bad news."

  "Oh?" Harkat and me exchanged uncertain glances.

  "Mika Ver Leth transmitted a short telepathic message to me while you were inside."

  "Is this about the Lord of the Vampaneze?" I asked nervously.

  "No. It is about our friend, your fellow Prince, Paris Skyle. He …" Mr Crepsley sighed again, then said dully, "Paris is dead."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE DEATH of the ancient Prince should have come as no great surprise — he was the wrong side of eight hundred, the War of the Scars had taken its toll on him, and I remembered thinking when I left Vampire Mountain how poorly he looked — but I hadn't expected him to go this quickly, and the news knocked the wind out of me.

  As far as Mr Crepsley knew, the Prince had died of natural causes. He wouldn't be sure until he got to Vampire Mountain — vampires could only send basic telepathic messages — but there'd been no hint of foul play in Mika's message.

  I wanted to go with him to the funeral — it would be a huge affair, which almost every vampire in the world would attend — but Mr Crepsley asked me not to. "One Prince must always remain absent from Vampire Mountain," he reminded me, "in case anything happens to the others. I know you were fond of Paris, but Mika, Arrow and Vancha knew him far longer than you. It would be unfair to ask one of them to give up their place."

  I was disappointed, but bowed to his wishes — it would have been selfish of me to put myself before the elder Princes. "Tell them to be careful," I warned him. "I don't want to be the only Prince left — if they all perished together, and I had to lead the clan by myself, it would be a disaster!"

  "You can say that again," Harkat laughed, but there was no merriment in his voice. "Can I come with you?" he asked Mr Crepsley. "I'd like to pay … my respects."

  "I would rather you remained with Darren," Mr Crepsley said. "I do not like the idea of leaving him on his own."

  Harkat nodded immediately. "You're right. I'll stay."

  "Thanks," I said softly.

  "Now," Mr Crepsley mused, "that leaves us with the question of whether you hold camp here or locate elsewhere."

  "We'll stay, of course," I said rather quickly.

  Morose as he was, the vampire managed a wry smile. "I thought you would say that. I glimpsed you through the window as you kissed your teachers cheek."

  "You were spying on me!" I huffed.

  "That was the general idea, was it not?" he replied. I sput
tered indignantly, but of course that had been the plan. "You and Harkat should withdraw while I am away," Mr Crepsley continued. "If you come under attack, you will be hard-pushed to defend yourselves."

  "I'm ready to risk it if Harkat is," I said.

  Harkat shrugged. "The thought of staying doesn't … frighten me."

  "Very well," Mr Crepsley sighed. "But promise me you will abandon the search for the killers while I am absent, and do nothing to endanger yourselves."

  "You've no fear on that score," I told him. "Chasing killers is the last thing an my mind. I've something far more terrifying to deal with — homework!"

  Mr Crepsley wished us well, then hurried back to the hotel to gather his belongings and depart. He was gone when we got there, probably already at the edge of the city, getting ready to flit. It felt lonely without him, and a little bit scary, but we weren't too worried. He should only be gone a few weeks at most. What could possibly go wrong in so short a time?

  The next fortnight was tough. With Mr Crepsley out of the city, the hunt for the vampaneze suspended, and the death count stable (nobody new had been killed recently), I was able to concentrate on school — which was just as well, given the amount of work I had to put into it.

  Debbie pulled some strings to lighten my load. Guided by her, I played up the effects of the imaginary fire I'd been trapped in and said I'd missed a lot of school. I explained the good marks by saying my father had been best friends with the headmaster of my old school. Mr Chivers was decidedly unimpressed when he heard that, but Debbie convinced him not to take matters further.

  I opted out of modern languages and dropped back a couple of years in maths and science. I felt more peculiar than ever sitting amidst a bunch of thirteen year olds, but at least I was able to follow what they were doing. I still had Mr Smarts for science, but he was more understanding now that he knew I hadn't been faking ignorance, and spent a lot of time helping me catch up.

  I faced difficulties in English, history and geography, but with the extra free periods I had instead of languages, I was able to focus on them and was gradually pulling even with the others in my class.

  I enjoyed mechanical drawing and computer studies. My Dad had taught me the basics of MD when I was a kid — he'd hoped I'd go into draughtsmanship when I grew up — and I quickly picked up on what I'd missed. To my surprise, I took to computers like a vampire to blood, aided by my super-fast fingers, which could speed about a keyboard faster than any human typist's.

  I had to keep a close watch on my powers. I was finding it hard to make friends — my classmates were still suspicious of me — but I knew I could become popular if I took part in the lunchtime sporting activities. I could shine in any game — football, basketball, handball — and everyone likes a winner. The temptation to show off, and earn a few friends in the process, was strong.

  But I resisted. The risk was too great. It wasn't just the possibility that I'd do something superhuman — like leap higher than a professional basketball player — which might tip people off to my powers, but the fear that I might injure somebody. If someone dug me in the ribs while playing football, I might lose my temper and take a punch at him, and my punches could put a human in hospital, or worse — a morgue!

  PE was therefore a frustrating class — I had to deliberately mask my strength behind a clumsy, pathetic façade. English, oddly enough, was a pain too. It was great to be with Debbie, but when we were in class we had to act like an ordinary teacher and student. There could be no undue familiarity. We maintained a cool, distant air, which made the forty minutes — eighty on Wednesdays and Fridays, when I had double English — pass with agonizing slowness.

  After school and at weekends, when I went round to her apartment for private tuition, it was different. There we could relax and discuss whatever we wanted; we could curl up on the couch with a bottle of wine and watch an old film on the TV, or listen to music and chat about the past.

  I ate at Debbie's most nights. She loved cooking, and we experimented with a variety of culinary feasts. I soon put on weight, and had to go jogging late at night to keep myself trim.

  But it wasn't all relaxation and good food with Debbie. She was determined to educate me to a satisfactory level and spent two or three hours every evening working on my subjects with me. It wasn't easy for her — apart from being tired after her day at work, she didn't know a lot about maths, science and geography — but she stuck with it and set an example which I felt compelled to follow.

  "Your grammar's shaky," she said one night, reading through an essay I'd written, "Your English is good but you have some bad habits you need to break."

  "Such as?"

  "This sentence, for instance: 'John and me went to the store to buy a magazine.' What's wrong with that?"

  I thought about it. "We went to buy newspapers?" I suggested innocently.

  Debbie threw the copy at me. "Seriously," she giggled.

  I picked up the copy and studied the sentence. "It should be 'John and I'?" I guessed.

  "Yes," she nodded. "You use 'and me' all the time. It's not grammatically correct. You'll have to rise out of it."

  "I know," I sighed. "But it'll be tough. I keep a diary, and for the last fifteen years I've been using 'and me' — it just seems more natural."

  "Nobody ever said English was natural," Debbie scolded me, then cocked an eyebrow and added, "I didn't know you kept a diary."

  "I've kept one since I was nine years old. All my secrets are in it."

  "I hope you don't write about me. If it fell into the wrong hands …"

  "Hmm," I smirked. "I could blackmail you if I wanted, couldn't I?"

  "Just try it," she growled. Then, earnestly, "I really don't think you should write about us, Darren. Or if you do, use a code, or invent a name for me. Diaries can be misplaced, and if word of our friendship leaked, I'd have a hard time setting things straight."

  "OK. I haven't included any new entries lately — I've been too busy— but when I do, I'll exercise due discretion." That was one of Debbie's pet phrases.

  "And make sure when you're describing us that it's 'Miss X and I', not 'Miss X and me," she said pompously, then screeched as I pounced across the room and set about tickling her until her face turned red!

  CHAPTER NINE

  ON MY third Tuesday at school, I made a friend. Richard Montrose was a small, mousey-haired boy, whom I recognized from my English and history classes. He was a year younger than most of the others. He didn't say very much, but was always being complimented by the teachers. Which of course made him the perfect target for bullies.

  Since I didn't take part in games on the quad, I spent most of my lunch breaks strolling around, or in the computer room on the third floor of the building at the rear of the school. That's where I was when I heard sounds of a scuffle outside and went to investigate I found Richard pinned to the wall by Smickey Martin — the guy who'd called me an asswipe on my first day at school — and three of his pals. Smickey was rooting through the younger boy's pockets. "You know you have to pay, Monty," he laughed. "If we don't take yer money, someone else will. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't."

  "Please, Smickey," Richard sobbed. "Not this week. I have to buy a new atlas."

  "Should have taken more care of your old one," Smickey snickered.

  "You're the one who ripped it up, you …" Richard was on the point of calling Smickey something awful, but drew up short.

  Smickey paused threateningly. "Wot was you gonna call me, Monty?"

  "Nothing," Richard gasped, truly frightened now.

  "Yes, you was," Smickey snarled. "Hold him, boys. I'm gonna teach him a—"

  "You'll teach him nothing," I said quietly from behind.

  Smickey turned swiftly. When he saw me, he laughed. "Little Darrsy Horston," he chuckled. "Wot are you doing here?" I didn't answer, only stared coldly at him. "Better run along, Horsty," Smickey said. "We ain't come after you for money yet — but that's not to say we w
on't!"

  "You won't get anything from me," I told him. "And you won't get anything from Richard in future either. Or anyone else."

  "Oh?" His eyes narrowed. "Them's awful big words, Horsty. If you take 'em back quick, I might forget you said em.

  I stepped forward calmly, relishing the chance to put this bully in his place. Smickey frowned — he hadn't been expecting an open challenge — then grinned, grabbed Richard's left arm and swung him towards me. I stepped aside as Richard cried out — I was fully focused on Smickey — but then I heard him collide with something hard. Glancing back, I saw that he'd slammed into the banisters of the stairs and was toppling over — about to fall head first to the floor three storeys below!

  I threw myself backwards and snatched for Richard's feet. I missed his left foot but got a couple of fingers on his right ankle just before he disappeared over the side of the handrail. Gripping the fabric of his school trousers hard, I grunted as the weight of his body jerked me roughly against the banisters. There was a ripping sound, and I feared his trousers would tear and I'd lose him. But the material held, and as he hung over the railings, whimpering, I hauled him back up and set him on his feet.

  When Richard was safe, I turned to deal with Smickey Martin and the rest, but they'd scattered like the cowards they were. "So much for that lot," I muttered, then asked Richard if he was OK. He nodded feebly but said nothing. I left him where he was and returned to the soft hum of the computer room.

  Moments later, Richard appeared in the doorway. He was still shaking, but he was smiling also. "You saved my life," he said. I shrugged and stared at the screen as though immersed in it. Richard waited a few seconds, then said, "Thanks."

  "No problem." I glanced up at him. "Three floors isn't that big a fall. You'd probably only have broken a few bones."