by Darren Shan
"What is it?" I asked, taking the bag.
"You'll see," Debbie replied, blowing me a kiss and stepping back as the cell was closed off. I waited a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, then reached inside the bag and pulled out several notepads bound together by an elastic band. I broke into a smile — my diary! I'd forgotten it entirely. Now that I cast my thoughts back, I recalled handing the notepads to Alice before leaving with Harkat two years earlier.
I slipped the elastic band off the pads, thumbed through the copy on top, then paused, upended the diary, and went back eighteen years to before I sneaked out to the Cirque Du Freak and met Mr Crepsley. Within minutes I was adrift in the past, and the hours flew by as I focused on my scrawled writing, aware of nothing else.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
« ^ »
Once I got the all clear, I returned to my bedroom and spent the next couple of days bringing my diary up to date. I'd soon filled out the most recent notepad, so Debbie brought me fresh writing material. I wrote all about my adventures with Harkat in the barren wasteland which seemed to be the world of the future. I described my fears, that the world might face destruction regardless of who won the War of the Scars, and that I might be in some way linked to the fall of mankind. I told about discovering Harkat's true identity and returning home. A quick rundown of our recent travels with the Cirque Du Freak. Then the latest cruel chapter, in which Tommy died and I learnt that Steve had a son.
I hadn't thought much about Tommy since that night. I knew the police were scouring the city in search of his killers, and that R.V. and Morgan James had killed eight others and wounded many more in the stadium. But I didn't know what the general public made of the murders, or if I'd been identified as a suspect — maybe Steve was setting me up to take the blame for this.
I asked Debbie to bring me all the local papers from the last few days. There were poor pictures of R.V. (full-vampaneze couldn't be photographed, but R.V.'s molecular system must not have changed yet) and Morgan James, but none of me. There was a brief mention of the incident outside the ground, when I'd been attacked, but the police didn't seem to place much importance on it or link it with the stadium murders.
"Were you close to him?" Debbie asked, tapping a photo of a smiling Tommy Jones. She was sitting on the end of my bed, watching me while I read the papers. She'd been spending a lot of time with me during my recovery, nursing me, chatting with me, telling me about her life.
"We were good friends when we were kids," I sighed.
"Do you think he knew about Steve or the vampaneze?" Debbie asked.
"No. He was an innocent victim. I'm sure of it."
"But didn't he say he had something important to tell you?"
I shook my head. "He said there were things we had to discuss about Steve, but he wasn't specific. I don't think it had anything to do with this."
"It scares me," Debbie said, taking the paper from me and folding it over.
"You're scared because they killed Tommy?" I frowned.
"No — because they did it in front of tens of thousands of people. They must be full of confidence, afraid of nothing. They wouldn't have dared pull a stunt like this a few years ago. They're growing more powerful all the time."
"Over-confidence may prove to be their undoing," I grunted. "They were safer when nobody knew about them. Confidence has brought them out into the light, but they seem to have forgotten — light's no good for creatures of the night."
Debbie put the paper aside. "How's your shoulder?" she asked.
"Not too bad," I said. "But Alices stitch work leaves a lot to be desired — I'm going to have a terrible scar when the wound heals."
"Another one for the collection," Debbie laughed. Her smile faded. "I noticed a new scar on your back, long and deep. Did you get it when you went away with Harkat?"
I nodded, remembering the monstrous Grotesque, how one of its fangs had caught between my shoulder blades and ripped downwards sharply.
"You still haven't told me what happened, or where you went," Debbie said.
I sighed. "It's not something we need to talk about right now."
"But you found out who Harkat was?"
"Yes," I said and let the matter drop. I didn't like concealing secrets from Debbie, but if that wasteworld really was the future, I saw no reason to burden Debbie with foreknowledge of it.
I woke early the next morning with a terrible headache. There was a small crack between the curtains, and although only a thin shaft of light was visible, I felt as if a strong torch was being shone directly into my eyes. Groaning, I stumbled out of bed and pulled the curtains closed. That helped, but my headache didn't improve. I lay as still as I could, hoping it would go away. When it didn't, I got out of bed again, meaning to go downstairs and get some aspirin. I passed Harkat on my way. He was leaning against a wall, asleep, although his lidless eyes were — as always — wide open.
I had taken a few steps down the stairs when a wave of giddiness overcame me and I fell. I grabbed for the banister, managed to catch it before I toppled over, and slid to a bruising halt halfway down the stairs. Head ringing, I sat up and looked around, dazed, wondering if this was an after-effect of my wounded shoulder. I tried shouting for help but I could only work up a croak.
A short while later, as I lay on the stairs, gathering my strength in an effort to crawl back to my room, Debbie walked by the top of the staircase. She caught sight of me and stopped. I raised my head to call her name, but again I could only form a choked croak.
"Declan?" Debbie asked, taking a step forward. "What are you doing? You haven't been drinking again, have you?"
I frowned. Why had she confused me with Declan? We looked nothing alike.
As Debbie climbed down to help, she realized I wasn't the tramp. She stopped, coming on guard. "Who are you?" she snapped. "What are you doing here?"
"It's… me," I gasped, but she didn't hear.
"Alice!" Debbie shouted. "Harkat!"
At her cry, Alice and Harkat came running and joined her at the top of the stairs. "Is it one of Declan or Little Kenny's friends?" Alice asked.
"I don't think so," Debbie said.
"Who are you?" Alice challenged me. "Tell us, quick, or—"
"Wait," Harkat interrupted. He stepped past the women and stared hard at me, then grimaced. "As if we haven't enough… problems!" He hurried down the steps. "It's OK," he told Alice and Debbie as he picked me up. "It's Darren."
"Darren?" Debbie exclaimed. "But he's covered in hair!"
And I realized why she hadn't recognized me.
Overnight, my hair had sprouted and I'd grown a beard. "The purge!" I wheezed.
"The second phase," Harkat nodded. "You know what… this means?"
Yes — it meant my time as a half-vampire was almost at an end. Within a few weeks the vampire blood within my veins would transform all of the human cells and I'd become a true, night-hugging, sunlight-fearing creature of the dark.
I explained the purge to Debbie and Alice. My vampire cells were attacking my human cells, converting them. Within weeks I'd be a full-vampire. In the meantime my body would mature rapidly and undergo all kinds of inconveniences. Apart from the hair, my senses would go haywire. I'd suffer headaches. I'd have to cover my eyes and plug up my nose and ears. My sense of taste would desert me. I'd experience sudden bursts of energy then loss of strength.
"It's terrible timing," I complained to Debbie later in the day. Harkat and Alice were busy elsewhere in the house while Debbie helped me cut my hair and shave.
"What's so bad about it?" she asked.
"I'm vulnerable," I said. "My head's pounding. I can't see, hear or smell right. I don't know what my body's going to do from one minute to the next. If we get into a fight with the vampaneze any time soon, I can't be depended upon."
"But you're stronger than normal during the purge, aren't you?"
"Sometimes. But that strength can dwindle away suddenly, leaving me weak and defenceless
. And there's no way of predicting when that will happen."
"What about afterwards?" Debbie asked, trimming my fringe. "You'll be a full-vampire?"
"Yes."
"You'll be able to flit and communicate telepathically with other vampires?"
"Not straightaway," I told her. "The ability will be there, but I'll have to develop it. I've got a lot of learning to do over the next few years."
"You don't sound too happy about it," Debbie noted.
I pulled a face. "In many ways I'm glad — I'll finally be a true vampire, as a Prince should be. I've always felt awkward, being a half-vampire and having so much power. On the other hand I'm facing the end of a way of life. No more sunlight or being able to pass for human. I've enjoyed the best of both worlds since I was blooded. Now I have to leave one of them — the human world — behind for ever." I sighed moodily.
Debbie thought about that in silence, cutting my hair back. Then she said quietly, "You'll be an adult at the end, won't you?"
"Yes," I snorted. "That's another change I'm not sure about. I've been a child or teenager for the better part of thirty years. To leave that behind in the space of a few weeks… It's weird!"
"But wonderful," Debbie said. She stopped cutting and stepped in front of me. "Do you remember when you tried to kiss me a few years ago?"
"Yes," I grimaced. "That's when I was pretending to be a student, and you were my teacher. You hit the roof and ordered me out of your apartment."
"Rightly so," Debbie grinned. "As a teacher — an adult — it would be wrong of me to get involved with a child. I couldn't kiss you then, and I can't kiss you now. It'd feel terribly wrong kissing a boy." Her grin changed subtly, mysteriously. "But in a few weeks, you won't be a boy. You'll be a man."
"Oh," I said, thinking about that. Then my expression changed. I gazed up at Debbie with new understanding and hope, then gently took her hand.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
« ^ »
A benefit of the purge was that my wound healed quickly and I got my strength back. A couple of days later, I was almost back to full physical fitness, except for my headaches and growing pains.
I was doing press-ups on the floor of my bedroom, working off some of my excess energy, when I heard Debbie squeal downstairs. I stopped instantly and shared a worried look with Harkat, who was standing guard by the door. I hurried to his side and removed one of the earplugs I was wearing to block out the worst of the street noises.
"Should we go down?" Harkat asked, opening the door a crack. We could hear Debbie babbling excitedly, and as we listened, Alice joined her and also began to talk very quickly.
"I don't think anything's wrong," I said, frowning. "They seem happy, as if an old friend has…" I stopped and slapped my forehead. Harkat laughed, then both of us said at exactly the same time, "Vancha!"
Throwing the door wide open, we barged down the stairs and found Debbie and Alice chatting with a burly, red-skinned, green-haired man, dressed in purple animal hides and no shoes, with belts of sharp throwing stars — shurikens — looped around his torso.
"Vancha!" I shouted happily, clutching his arms and squeezing tight.
"It is good to see you again, Sire," Vancha said with surprising politeness. Then he burst into a grin and hugged me tight. "Darren!" he boomed. "I've missed you!" Turning to Harkat, he laughed. "I missed you too, ugly!"
"Look who's talking!" Harkat grinned.
"It's great to see you both, but of course I'm most pleased to see the ladies," Vancha said, releasing me and winking at Debbie and Alice. "Female beauty's what we hot-blooded men live for, aye?"
"He's a born flatterer," Alice sniffed. "I bet he says that to every woman he meets."
"Naturally," Vancha murmured, "because all women are beautiful, in one way or another. But you're more beautiful than most, my dear — an angel of the night!"
Alice snorted with contempt, but there was a strange little smile playing at the corners of her lips. Vancha looped his arms around Debbie and Alice and guided us into the living room, as though this was his house and we were the guests. Sitting down, making himself comfortable, he told Debbie to go fetch some food. She told him — in no uncertain terms — that he could do his own fetching while he was here, and he laughed with delight.
It was refreshing to see that the War of the Scars hadn't changed Vancha March. He was as loud and lively as ever. He filled us in on his recent movements, the countries he'd explored, the vampaneze and vampets he'd killed, making it sound like a big, exciting adventure, free from all consequences.
"When I heard that Leonard was here, I came as quickly as I could," Vancha concluded. "I flitted without rest. I haven't missed him, have I?"
"We don't know," I said. "We haven't heard from him since the night he almost killed me."
"But what does your heart tell you?" Vancha asked, his large eyes weighing heavy upon me, his small mouth closed in a tight, expectant line.
"He's here," I said softly. "He's waiting for me — for us. I think this is where Mr Tiny's prophecy will be tested. We'll face him on these streets — or beneath — and we'll kill him or he'll kill us. And that will be the end of the War of the Scars. Except…"
"What?" Vancha asked when I didn't continue.
"There was supposed to be one final encounter. Four times our path was due to cross with his. When he had me at his mercy recently, that was the fourth time, but we're both still alive. Maybe Mr Tiny got it wrong. Maybe his prophecy doesn't hold true any longer."
Vancha mulled that one over. "Perhaps you have a point," he said uncertainly. "But as much as I despise Des Tiny, I have to admit he doesn't make many mistakes when it comes to prophecies — in fact none that I've heard of. He told you we would have four chances to kill Leonard, aye?" I nodded. "Then maybe we both have to be there. Perhaps your solo encounter doesn't count."
"It would have counted if he'd killed me," I grunted.
"But he didn't," Vancha said. "Maybe he couldn't. Perhaps it simply wasn't his destiny."
"If you're right, that means we're going to run into him again," I said.
"Aye," Vancha said. "A fight to the death. Except if he wins, he won't kill both of us. Evanna said one of us would survive if we lost." Evanna was a witch, the daughter of Mr Tiny. I'd almost forgotten that part of the prophecy. If Steve won, he'd leave one of us alive, to witness the downfall of the clan.
There was a long, troubled silence as we thought about the prophecy and the dangers we faced. Vancha broke it by clapping loudly. "Enough of the doom and gloom! What about you two?" He nodded at Harkat and me. "How did your quest go? Do we know who Harkat used to be?"
"Yes," Harkat said. He glanced at Debbie and Alice. "I don't wish to be rude, but could you… leave us alone for a while?"
"Is this men's talk?" Alice asked mockingly.
"No," Harkat chuckled. "It's Prince's talk."
"We'll be upstairs," Debbie said. "Call us when you're ready."
Vancha stood and bowed as the ladies were leaving. When he sat again, his expression was curious. "Why the secrecy?" he asked.
"It's about who I was," Harkat said, "and where… we learnt the truth. We don't think we should discuss it… in front of anybody except a Prince."
"Intriguing," Vancha said, leaning forward eagerly.
We gave Vancha a quick rundown of our quest through the wastelands, the creatures we'd battled, meeting Evanna, the mad sailor — Spits Abrams — and the dragons. He said nothing, but listened enthralled. When we told him about pulling Kurda Smahlt out of the Lake of Souls, Vancha's jaw dropped.
"But it can't be!" he protested. "Harkat was alive before Kurda died."
"Mr Tiny can move through time," I said. "He created Harkat from Kurda's remains, then took him into the past, so that he could serve as my protector."
Vancha blinked slowly. Then his features clouded over with rage — and fear. "Damn that Desmond Tiny! I always knew he was powerful, but to be able to meddle with time itself… W
hat manner of diabolical beast is he?"
It was a rhetorical question, so we didn't attempt to answer it. Instead we finished by telling him how Kurda had chosen to sacrifice himself — he and Harkat shared a soul, so only one of them could live at any given time — leaving us free to return to the present.
"The present?" Vancha snapped. "What do you mean?"
Harkat told him about our theory — that the wasteworld was the future. When he heard that, Vancha trembled as though a cold wind had sliced through him. "I never thought the War of the Scars could be that crucial," he said softly. "I knew our future was at stake, but I never dreamt we could drag humanity down with us." He shook his head and turned away, muttering, "I need to think about this."
Harkat and I said nothing while Vancha deliberated. Minutes passed. A quarter of an hour. Half an hour. Finally he heaved a large sigh and turned to face us. "These are grim tidings," he said. "But perhaps not as grim as they seem. From what you've told me, I believe that Tiny did take you into the future — but I also believe he wouldn't have done so without good reason. He might have been simply mocking you, but it might also have been a warning.
"That damned future must be what we face if we lose the War of the Scars. Steve Leonard is the sort who'd level the world and bring it to ruin. But if we win, we can prevent that. When Tiny came to Vampire Mountain, he told us there were two possible futures, didn't he? One where the vampaneze win the war, and one where the vampires win. I think Tiny gave you a glimpse of the former future to drive home the point that we have to win this war. It's not just ourselves we're fighting for — it's the entire world. The wasteworld is one future — I'm sure the world where we've won is completely different."
"It makes sense," Harkat agreed. "If both futures currently exist… he might have been able to choose which… to take us to."
"Maybe," I sighed, unconvinced. I was thinking again about the vision I'd had shortly after we'd first met Evanna, when Harkat had been plagued by nightmares. Evanna helped me put a stop to them, by sending me into his dreams. In the dream, I'd faced a being of immense power — the Lord of the Shadows. Evanna told me this master of evil was part of the future, and the road there was paved with dead souls. She'd also told me that the Lord of the Shadows could be one of two people — Steve Leopard or me.
