by William Hill
Larissa pushed the pillow away from her face. She felt as weak as an infant, and saliva was running down her cheeks and chin in sticky rivulets. Pushing the duvet away, she rolled over and flopped out of bed and didn’t hit her bedroom floor.
She floated a foot above the carpet.
Incomprehension flooded through her, and she was overcome by a terror so profound she felt her eyes begin to roll back in her head, as unconsciousness fought to claim her. She thrust her hands down and felt rough material under her fingers, and her vision cleared. The floor was still there; at least that was something. She twisted in the air, tears of panic springing involuntarily into the corners of her eyes and spilling down her cheeks, and she spun slowly, rotating so she was looking down at the floor. Then suddenly, whatever was holding her in the air was gone, and she thudded face down on to the ground.
Larissa pushed herself to her feet, weeping openly, and stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. She had barely closed the door behind her when the hunger struck again, driving her to her knees. The vacuum in her stomach and chest reared open, spilling waves of agony through her body, and she shoved her fist into her mouth and screamed around it, a muffled shriek that tore at her throat. She flopped to the bathroom floor and writhed on the cold tiles, her body spasming, her mind emptied by the enormity of the pain. She twitched and convulsed and waited, desperately, pleadingly, for it to pass.
Eventually it did. She gripped the sink and pulled herself up in front of the mirror. It took her a few seconds to recognize the reflection in the mirror as her own; her skin was pale and beaded with sweat, her body was visibly trembling, and when she looked closely at her eyes, she jammed the fist back into her mouth and screamed again.
Dark red was spreading from the corners of her eyes, as though blood was being dripped slowly into them. The crimson was slowly diffusing through the white of her eyeballs and darkening her irises to a shiny black. Her vision was clear, and as she watched her eyes change, she wished it wasn’t; the red in her eyes seemed to be almost alive, swirling and spinning like an oil slick, darkening and pulsing in lazy motions that turned her stomach.
The hunger hit again, a sledgehammer of agony and emptiness, and she bit down on the fist in her mouth, involuntarily spilling blood into her mouth. And instantly, the hunger was gone, replaced by a pleasure so enormous it was heavenly. Her blood ran down her throat, and she felt her knees weaken as a feeling beyond anything she had ever felt overwhelmed her; she felt as though she could push down walls, run for a hundred miles, leap, and fly like a bird.
She felt like there was nothing she couldn’t do.
Then the feeling was gone, and she slumped back to her knees. She hungrily sucked more blood from her hand, but the pleasure did not return. But although she didn’t know what had happened to her, although the part of her that was still recognizably Larissa was frightened beyond measure, she realized she now knew one thing, knew it with great certainty.
Blood had taken the pain away. And if her own no longer worked, she would need some from somebody else.
Larissa staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the bathroom. Then she crossed the landing and turned the handle on the door to her brother’s bedroom. He had thrown the covers off during the night, and his skin was pale, bathed in a shaft of moonlight that was creeping in between the curtains above his bed. She could see the veins in his neck pulsing steadily, and the hunger screamed and thrashed in her head, driving rational thought almost entirely out of her, bellowing for her to feed, screeching and cursing in her reeling mind. She took a step toward him without even meaning to, then stopped.
It was Liam lying there; her annoying, infuriating, beautiful, funny little brother, who had never hurt her on purpose, never hurt anyone as far as she knew. She summoned up the last of her dwindling strength and ran from his room, slamming the door shut behind her. She heard him rise from his slumber, grumbling something inarticulate, then she was gone, sprinting down the stairs and through the front door, the street outside still dark, and she was running, away from the people she loved, away from the only home she had ever known.
29
A CALCULATED RISK
“ I just want to say again how unhappy I am about this,” said Morris.
“Do you really have to?” asked Jamie. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear already.”
Jamie had explained his plan to Morris on their way down through the levels of the Blacklight base; he had listened incredulously before telling Jamie that there was no chance that Admiral Seward would allow it. The two were standing in the corridor outside the cellblock, waiting for Frankenstein. The monster was making his way down and had ordered them to do nothing without him present.
“I just don’t understand why you trust this girl so much,” said Morris. “She tried to kill you, and she ran with Alexandru. I know she’s pretty, but-”
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” interrupted Jamie, anger flashing in his eyes. “And I don’t trust her, not really. But I think someone she knows has information that I need, and I think she’ll take us to them if we play along with her. I don’t know why, before you ask. I just think she will.”
Jamie was lying to Morris about one thing; he was starting to trust Larissa. When he thought about her, which was increasingly often, he was starting to see the teenage girl she had been, whose biggest problems had been her friends and her parents until she had wandered off on her own at the fair, and her life had been thrown into darkness.
“I hope you’re right,” said Morris.
“No you don’t,” snapped Jamie.
“Don’t what?” rumbled Frankenstein’s voice.
The huge man rounded the corner and stood, towering over Jamie and Morris.
“Nothing,” said Jamie. “Don’t worry about it.”
Frankenstein gave the teenager a long look, then turned his attention to Morris. “Why are you carrying that?” he asked, pointing to a belt slung over the man’s shoulder.
Morris slipped the belt down into his hands and didn’t reply.
“I told him to bring it,” said Jamie.
“And why would you have done that?” Frankenstein asked, his voice low and ominous.
“Larissa says she can take us to someone who will know where my mother is.”
“And you’re actually stupid enough to believe her?”
Jamie flushed a deep red and fingered the bandage on his neck. “I do believe her. And to be honest, I don’t see how listening to her could be any worse than listening to you.”
Frankenstein went very still, so still he appeared to be holding his breath. “Excuse me?” he said, in a voice like ice.
“You heard me,” said Jamie. “Following you got me nothing, apart from this burn on my neck and a lot of wasted time. I’m pretty sure wherever Larissa takes us can’t be any worse.”
Morris shuffled his feet and looked desperately from the teenager to the monster and back again. “Why don’t we just make her tell-”
“Shut up, Tom,” said Frankenstein, not taking his eyes off Jamie. “So. Even if I believed this vampire has any information that might be useful, which I don’t, you’re asking me to directly disobey Admiral Seward’s orders and take her off base? Or were you just planning to try and sneak her out?”
“I need to know what she knows,” replied Jamie. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself. You can try and stop me if you want.”
“This isn’t necessary,” said Morris, an anguished look on his face. “We can just-”
“Didn’t you hear me, Tom?” said Frankenstein. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, be quiet.”
He turned back to the teenager. “This is how it’s going to be?” he asked.
Jamie shrugged. “I need to get my mother back,” he said. “Nothing else matters. I thought you understood that.”
For a long moment, no one said anything. Frankenstein appeared deep in thought, Jamie was standing defiantly
, his head upright, his eyes wide open, and Morris was glancing furtively between them. Eventually, Frankenstein spoke again.
“Give me the belt,” he said, extending a hand toward Morris, who eagerly placed it in the huge gray palm. Frankenstein tossed it lightly up and down, then looked at Jamie.
“I’m going to help you do this,” he said. “On one condition: When she fails to tell you anything that helps us find your mother, you will take your lead from me for the remainder of this mission, without objection. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” replied Jamie. His face was twisted, as though the word had tasted bitter as he said it.
The monster nodded. “Let’s put this on her then,” he said, and strode into the cellblock.
“Let me give it to her,” said Jamie quietly, as they approached Larissa’s cell.
Frankenstein held on to the belt for a moment, then passed it to him. “You’re not trying to save her, are you?” asked the monster, as they walked between the rows of empty cells.
Jamie didn’t answer.
They stopped in front of the vampire girl’s cell. Larissa was sitting on the floor at the back of the square room, her arms resting across her raised knees. She smiled as they appeared.
“You brought some friends with you,” she said, her red lips curled back from her gleaming white teeth. “Don’t you trust yourself to be alone with me?”
Morris said something under his breath, and she widened her eyes in mock offence. “Don’t be jealous,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you.”
“Jealous?” snorted Morris. “Of a foul creature like you? Please.”
Larissa’s smile returned, and she fixed her gaze on the belt in Jamie’s hand. “Have you brought me a present?” she asked.
“It’s a restraining belt,” said Jamie, his face slightly red. “You need to put it on before we can take you out of here.”
She stared at him, then slid liquidly to her feet and crossed the cell to stand in front of Jamie. The UV field was all that separated them.
“Throw it to me,” she said.
Jamie raised his arm to do as she asked, but Frankenstein stepped forward and stopped him.
“Before he gives this to you,” he said, “there are some things I need to make clear. If you try to remove the belt, if you even give me the suspicion that you are intending to do so, I’ll stake you where you stand. Is that clear?”
“Why, yes,” said Larissa. “It’s perfectly clear.”
“Good. Secondly, if you endanger Jamie, or any of us, in any way, I’ll tear you to pieces with my bare hands. Is that also clear?”
“Abundantly so.”
Frankenstein released his grip on Jamie’s arm. He threw the belt through the field, and Larissa plucked it out of the air. She set it on the floor by her feet, then started lifting her shirt, her eyes never leaving Jamie’s.
He turned away, looking down at the floor, as Morris and Frankenstein did the same.
“You can watch if you want,” said Larissa. “I don’t mind.” Jamie didn’t answer. He could feel his face burning as blood flooded into his cheeks.
“You can look,” she said, and the three turned back toward the cell. The belt was safely hidden beneath her shirt, two raised areas at the shoulders the only clues she was wearing it at all.
The restraining belt was made of two loops of material that crossed in the front. Where they met, a flat round explosive chamber was attached to the material, positioned so it would rest directly over her heart. A small red light flashed steadily on the top of the chamber, signifying that the explosive was live. The charge was controlled by a small cylindrical detonator that Morris was holding in one slightly trembling hand. If the button on the top of the detonator was pressed, there would be a wide ring of blood and flesh where Larissa had been standing.
“Shall we go?” she asked sweetly, and Frankenstein nodded.
Thomas Morris keyed a nine-digit code into the panel next to the cell, and the UV field disappeared. Larissa moved forward, slowly, as though she was worried that it might reappear at any moment, then stepped quickly out into the corridor. She walked up to Jamie and planted a kiss on his cheek. He blushed again.
They led her through the cellblock, past the guard station, and out into the base. An elevator took them up to the hangar, and Frankenstein asked her where they were going.
“I don’t know,” she said, smiling.
Frankenstein stopped. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” he asked.
“I mean I don’t know. You’re going to tell me.”
The monster rolled his eyes. Jamie caught the look, and frowned at him. Frankenstein shrugged.
This is your deal, he seemed to be saying. I’ll keep my mouth shut. For now.
“Mr. Morris,” Larissa continued. “How high does your access to the Blacklight mainframe go?”
“I’m security officer,” he replied, with a hint of smugness. “I have access to everything.”
“And aren’t you just terribly pleased with yourself?” she asked. “Very well. I need you to search the word Valhalla, if you please?”
Morris pulled a small console from his pocket, tapped a series of keys, and waited for the search to run. There was a beep, and the screen lit up.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Where did you look?”
“I searched the entire network,” Morris replied, defensively. “There’s no mention of that word.”
“Did you include the personal servers?”
“No. Why would I have?”
“I don’t know, maybe because then I wouldn’t have to tell you how to do your job in front of your friends?”
Morris muttered under his breath and ran a new search. When the console beeped a second time, a list of documents filled the screen.
“I don’t understand,” he said, softly.
“What is it?” asked Frankenstein.
“There are dozens of documents here, all relating to a place called Valhalla. Coordinates, reports, short and long histories. But they’re not on the Department network.”
“Where are they?”
Morris looked at the monster. “They’re on Admiral Seward’s private server,” he replied.
“Oh, dear,” Larissa said with a sigh. “Maybe there are one or two things Mr. Security Officer doesn’t know about after all?”
“Shut up!” yelled Morris, his face contorting with anger.
“Just shut your mouth!” Jamie placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Morris turned on him, color high in his cheeks. “Tom,” he said, gently, “you said there are coordinates. Where would they take us?”
Morris frowned and looked back down at his console. “Western Scotland,” he said, eventually. “North of Fort William. The middle of bloody nowhere.”
Larissa smiled.
“That’s the place,” she said.
Frankenstein led them through the hangar. Several operators looked curiously at Larissa, but the presence of a Blacklight colonel and captain escorting her appeared to satisfy them. Frankenstein spoke to the duty officer, requisitioned a pilot and a helicopter, and within five minutes, they were making their way out of the hangar and to one of the helipads, where a squat black chopper was waiting, its engine idling. As they stepped through the door, Frankenstein spoke to Larissa in a friendly voice.
“The detonator has a fifteen-mile range, so don’t even think about taking off. You’re not that fast.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” replied Larissa. “Not when I’m having so much fun.”
30
VALHALLA
The Blacklight helicopter flew north, carrying its four passengers across the border between England and Scotland. The pilot kept the chopper low and away from built-up areas, the green-black landscape of the Scottish countryside rolling quickly away beneath them. They flew northwest toward Fort William, then turned true north and headed into the wilderness. At Loch Duich, they joined the River Shiel and followed it north along the glen
that bore its name. At the northern end of the valley, the chopper slowed, hovered, then touched down with a thump, shaking the passengers in their seats.
Frankenstein unfastened his safety belt. “Let’s get this over with,” he said, gruffly.
The door of the helicopter slid open, and Frankenstein stepped down onto thick grass. Morris followed, and Jamie and Larissa brought up the rear. As he gripped the door rail, the vampire girl’s hand closed over his momentarily, and he felt heat surge through him. Then he was down and making his way over to where Frankenstein was standing waiting for him. Larissa followed behind, her eyes firmly locked on the detonator in Morris’s hand.
They were standing in front of what appeared to be a small village; a loose arrangement of wooden buildings that ran from the bank of the river to the rising slope of the woods at the rear of the plain. A wooden wheel had been set into the clear rushing water of the Shiel, and a small generator sat humming next to it; a thick bundle of wires ran across the grass and disappeared into the village. Jamie noticed with bemusement that heather had been twisted into the wires at irregular intervals, like a kind of decorative camouflage. In front of them, a metal arch had been sunk into the grass and wound with vines and flowers. A single word had been placed at the top of the arch, the letters crafted from twigs tied together with green cord.
“ Valhalla,” read Jamie. He looked at Larissa. “What is this place?”
The vampire smiled at him. “This is where we’ll find answers,” she replied.
“Let’s get on with it then,” said Frankenstein, and walked toward the sculpted arch. Larissa strode quickly after him, with Jamie and Morris following slightly behind.
They walked under the arch and onto what passed for Valhalla’s main street. Wooden houses, two and three deep, ran along both sides of a rutted dirt track, the grass long since worn away by feet, hooves, and tires. There were at least thirty homes, ranging from simple wooden cubes to more lavish dwellings, with raised porches and tiled roofs. The road sloped gently upward, flanked by carefully tended flowerbeds, wild shrubs, and strings of multicolored lightbulbs, toward an open circular area. From this clearing, the track diverged left and right, forming a T shape; more buildings were set into the lower levels of the hillside, among tangles of gorse and wild flurries of heather.
