In one fluid motion he threw down the vampire shield he had above his head, spun around on one foot and smashed backwards twice into the bank of metal drawers, to try to weaken the attacking creature’s hold. Then he reached up behind him and pulled it off his back, sliding it over his head so now it became his new protection from the overhead onslaught.
He kicked away another howling vampire who clutched at his ankle and pushed and punched away yet more who ran and crawled towards him. Alexandre managed to fumble and fight his way out of that chamber of torture and at last he closed the door behind him. His face was melting off his bones and, on top of the agony, he felt like he was suffocating. He could not believe he was still capable of standing.
He hoped and prayed the vampires would all be too confused and weak to find their way out of the room. He piled everything he could lay his hands on against the door, knowing it would do little to keep them at bay if they survived the UV. Their screams blended with the crashing of metal.
Alexandre realised he had probably been gone for more than ten minutes and so, almost healed, he moved as fast as he could to get back up to the roof.
*
‘That’s ten minutes gone,’ said Morris.
‘Don’t care how many minutes have gone,’ replied Madison. ‘We’re not going anywhere till Alex gets back.’
‘Thought as much,’ Morris replied.
‘So this machine actually lifts up into the air with us in it?’ Jacques asked.
‘That’s right,’ Madison replied, looking at him in amazement. He was so like his brother. His mannerisms and everything just echoed Alexandre.
‘And you are sure it is quite safe?’ Isobel asked for the tenth time.
‘You are immortal, Isobel,’ said Jacques. ‘You will not die even if we do come crashing down.’
‘Please, Jacques,’ she said. ‘Do not talk about crashing. And what is wrong with travelling by train or by carriage?’
‘There is nothing wrong with it, unless you are a vampire and dawn is approaching fast. This machine will take us back in double quick time. Is that not correct, Madison?’
‘That is correct, Jacques,’ she agreed. Madison loved the way they spoke to one another with that easy familiarity of siblings. She instantly missed Ben, feeling like she hadn’t seen him for days and felt an overwhelming need to hug him.
Climbing down from the helicopter, she looked out across the tarmac roof. Where was he? Come on Alexandre, come on. She walked across the roof, away from the chopper. Suddenly she was caught up in his arms as he carried her swiftly back to the waiting helicopter.
‘Allez! Allez! Go! Go!’ Alexandre shouted. Madison sat cradled on his lap and she felt the exhilaration of safety and the warm sensation of relief that he was at last here with her.
The blades whirred above their heads, beating in time with her heart. She rested her head on his chest and he took one of her hands and kissed the tips of her fingers. Alexandre ignored the raised eyebrows of the others, as he bent his head to kiss her lips. She scraped her nails gently down the side of his face and pressed her body in towards him. He was hers and she was his. They were lost in each other as the helicopter took off high above the city and banked west, back towards Gloucestershire and Marchwood House.
One Month Later
It was a late August moonlit night and Jacques and Freddie were helping Ben to climb to the top of the tallest tree in the wood. He was doing pretty well on his own, but Madison had said he was not to do it unless he was with one or other of the boys. As Ben reached the uppermost branch he poked his head through the thick foliage and pulled himself onto the wide bough, sitting astride it with a daring bounce.
He gasped in wonder at the panoramic view. He could see everything. For miles. But these far reaching vistas were not nearly so dear to him as the views closer to home - the rolling grounds of his beloved house. He caught glimpses of the deer as they slept under the spreading chestnut tree. The green spiked fruit was nearly ready to yield its knobbly brown conkers and he couldn’t wait to bake and varnish them, ready for the new school term.
He looked up towards the house and his eyes rested on the stables where seven horses slept. Next to the house he smiled at the timbered roof of their newly constructed garage which now housed a fantastic array of fast cars, 4x4s and motorbikes.
The nights were finally drawing in and the air held the faintest hint of autumn. He could make out the figures of the others, sitting on the lawn under a perfectly round harvest moon. Isobel was plaiting Leonora’s raven hair and Madison and Alexandre sat only inches apart, probably chatting about everything and nothing. Ben heard Jacques and Freddie good-naturedly insulting each other through the boughs beneath him.
The breeze ruffled his hair and he breathed in the sweet night-scented air. They were a strange family, the seven of them, but they were indeed a family and Ben had never before had such a feeling of belonging. No more crappy care facilities, no more foster parents. This was it. This was his life. He was finally home.
~
Book 2 in the Marchwood Vampire Series
Thicker Than Blood is out now
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Other titles by Shalini Boland
Thicker Than Blood (Marchwood Vampire Series #2)
Outside - a post-apocalyptic novel (Outside Series #1)
The Clearing (Outside Series #2)
The Perimeter (Outside Series #3)
A Shirtful of Frogs - a ww2 timeslip adventure
~
Be the first to hear about Shalini’s new releases here: http://eepurl.com/xx65f
Note from the author:
‘Thank you for reading my novel. I’m an independent author and rely on word-of-mouth recommendations. If you’ve enjoyed Hidden, maybe you’d be kind enough to tell your friends about it and consider posting a short review online? Thank you so much.’
~
About The Author
Shalini Boland lives in Dorset, England with her husband and two noisy sons where she writes novels (in between the school runs and hanging out endless baskets of laundry).
~
Connect with Shalini Online:
http://twitter.com/ShaliniBoland
http://www.shaliniboland.co.uk/
http://www.facebook.com/ShaliniBolandAuthor
~
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Mary Hades
Book One
By
Sarah Dalton
Also by the author:
The Mary Hades series – YA Gothic Horror
My Daylight Monsters (a Mary Hades novella)
The Blemished series – YA Dystopia
The Blemished (Blemished #1)
The Vanished (Blemished #2)
The Unleashed (Blemished #3)
The Fractured: Elena (Blemished #2.5) (Fractured 1)
The Fractured: Maggie (Blemished #2.5) (Fractured 2)
The Blemished Complete Boxed Set
The White Hart series – YA Fantasty
White Hart (White Hart #1)
Follow the author:
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Mary Hades
Sarah Dalton
Copyright © 2014 Sarah Dalton
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this work, in whole or in part, in any form.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, organizations and products depicted herein are either a product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Sarah Dalton
Stock images from Depositphoto.
Prologue
I’m there again, in the flames.
The knife plunges into her and she falls forward.
“No!” I yell. “No! Lacey!”
She collapses into my arms. Blood pours from a wound in her back and the only thing I can do is drag her away.
“Stay awake! Please, stay awake.”
He strides towards us, the flames behind him creating a deathly halo of orange and red. My skin is hot. My blood boils.
“You’re going to get caught,” I say, backing towards the window. “They’ll see what you’ve done to Lacey and lock you away.”
“Not if I can help it. Tales will be told for years of how Mary Hades killed her roommate, set the hospital on fire and then slit her own throat. It’ll be legendary.” His lips peel back to reveal that his teeth are clenched in a joyless grin.
My back hits the window. A surge of desperation tightens my throat.
But then there’s movement in the flames. Dark shadows rise, dozens of them, filling the space behind my attacker. People of all ages, sizes and races: a little girl with a bald head and a tube emerging from her nose; an elderly man, so thin his hospital gown hangs like a deflated tent. They step forward and I know what they’re here for.
“Not if they have anything to do with it.” I nod behind him.
He turns and a moan escapes his lips, full of sick, animalistic desperation. The ghosts surround him, grabbing him, pulling him to the floor and smothering him. He tries to slash at them with the knife but it does nothing.
“No!” he screams. “No…”
The stench of mildew and burned flesh turns my stomach and I look away.
“You’re not afraid of the darkness anymore,” says the ghost. His hands are filthy with the flesh of my attacker. “You toughened up and you fought.”
He’s right. I’m not afraid of the darkness. I’m not afraid of anything. I never wanted it to end, you see. I really didn’t. But we all end, one day.
Chapter One
The promise of July: sunglasses and cut off shorts, feeling the warm blades of grass between your toes, trips to the brook at the edge of the woods, short nights that seem to go on forever—smothering you with oppressive heat until you wake up gasping for breath, your hair plastered to the back of your neck.
The long days provide freedom from school and parents, and often even friends. It’s a time to be alone, to let yourself grow, to shed another layer of skin as you progress through adolescence. Each summer tracks your maturity with the flakes of skin trailing your footsteps. Those layers are childhood husks. You know that when you go back to school, passing notes in class will become a thing of the past; too immature for us now. Crushes become relationships. Gossip turns from who snogged who to who shagged who.
We are in the midst of that rarest of things—a warm and sunny English summer. It has lasted for almost two weeks and even the old ladies at the bus stop have stopped talking about the weather. No one wants to jinx it. No one wants to frighten the sun away. We treat it like a bird in the garden, tip-toeing our way through the lawn, trying not to startle it into taking to its wings and abandoning us.
I’ve been waiting for this moment. Since the fire, my burns have taken time to heal. Now the bandages are off, and I can go out in the sunshine. I want to enjoy the rest of my summer before it fades into September and brings the school term with it. The thought of exams and coursework make my abdomen clench with anxiety. Right now, I want to forget about all that, enjoy being alive, enjoy my well-earned freedom.
But as soon as the opportunity is within my grasp, it’s snatched away by those who-think-they-know-best. I find myself pouting like a little girl, regressing into the stereotypical teen, whinging away at my parents.
“You’ll enjoy it, Mary.” Mum has her back to me, folding clean clothes into three neat piles. One of those piles is mine. “It’s nice to get away from here. There will be plenty of people your age.”
“Camping?” I say again. “I shouldn’t be going camping with my parents anymore. I’m seventeen.” The words it’s not fair are within dangerous proximity. I’m a cliché.
She turns towards me and seizes a t-shirt from the basket. “It’s a static caravan on a campsite. It’s not like you’ll be in a tent. Discos every night—”
“For children.”
“—entertainment—”
“For children.”
She purses her lips. “The holiday will be what you make of it.” Her eyes dart to the door and back again. She lowers her voice. “It’s all we can afford this year. You know, since your father lost that job.” She mouths the last words as though she’s ashamed to say them.
Dad used to teach at a private school. It was a good job, bringing in a high salary. But they decided to cut back in the science department and now he’s had to take a job at a comprehensive school in Leeds. It’s an hour’s commute and less pay. I see less of him, and he spends a large portion of his salary on petrol. Mum’s a full time office manager, but her firm has had a freeze on pay-rises for the last three years, due to the recession.
“You should be proud of his new job,” I say. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”
“I am,” she replies. “But your father isn’t. That’s why it’s easiest to avoid the subject.” A silence hangs for a moment. No matter what she says, I hear that tone in her voice, the one that speaks louder than her words. Now she can’t turn her nose up at the riff-raff at the office, or attend the Christmas prom at Dad’s old school wearing her one diamond necklace. She’s back to being a regular wife. “Mary, take these clothes up to your room and start packing.”
The bundle of clothes is thrust into my arms and I pull it to my body, inhaling the clean scent. My feet pad across the carpet.
When I’m halfway to the hall, Mum calls out, “Hey, you never know, you could have a holiday romance.” She waggles her eyebrows for emphasis.
“In Nettleby, North Yorkshire? I’d be lucky to find anyone under sixty,” I reply. But somehow the tension fades and we both laugh at the same time.
She pauses before she says, “You know, I hope there is a nice boy in Nettleby. It would do you good.” Her eyes drift to the scars on my neck and the smile fades from my face.
I shake the uneasy feeling away, the one that tells me my mum wants someone to make me feel attractive again. Maybe she’s right. Maybe it won’t be so bad. After everything that has happened in the last few months, it’ll be nice to spend some time with my parents. And to be honest, Nettleby does sound peaceful, and peace is what I could do with, right now.
My fingers fumble with the door handle to my room. My room. The one place in this house I can call my own.
The summer has turned it into a hot house, with sunlight streaming through the attic window. Tiny specks of dust are illuminated as they hang in the air like daylight stars. I flop down on the bed, the motion wobbling the mirror-ball I keep on my bedside table where it catches the light from the window. Squares of gold move along the pastel blue curtains, dance over my dressing table, and travel shakily across my MGMT poster.
I bury my head in the duvet, inhaling the scent of lavender from Mum’s brand of washing powder. As much as we clash with each other, if she was hurt or died, I would come into my room, smell the lavender, and have the world pulled from under my feet. She’s a rock, and I have to remind myself of that, even when she’s really annoying.
She helped me get better.
Well, she tried.
As my mind drifts from daylight stars to daylight monsters, the temperature of the room dips, and my muscles tense. A prickling cold spreads over my skin. Someone is here.
A light film of sweat forms on my forehead as I inch myself up on my elbows. At the end of the bed stands a girl, about my age, and most definitely dead.
Not that you can tell.
Her blond hair falls into her eyes, which are ringed in black. She wears a grey hoody, with the hood down, and grey jogging bottoms without a cord or belt. Her blue eyes bore into mine. Her jaw opens to speak…
“’Sup, Mares? Give you a fright did I? Couldn’t knock or owt, what with the… you know.”
“Inability to take corporeal form?” I say.
“That’s the one.” She grins at me. “So what’s the news?
The afterlife is boring as hell.”
A shiver of guilt passes down my spine.
Did I forget to mention that my best friend is a ghost? Well, it’s complicated. I was in a mental institute at the time—so was Lacey—and we had a murderer to find. The day that he found us, I had expected to die; instead, he killed Lacey. He stabbed her in the back. Since then she’s stuck around.
“We’re going camping,” I say with a groan. “Can you believe it?”
Lacey leaps forward to grab my arm, but her form crackles like electricity and fails to make contact. “Damn it, stupid ghost form. Camping though, mate. That’s awesome! I used to love camping. Can I come?”
I laugh. “Sure, you can come. You know the drill though, right?”
Lacey chuckles. “You mean I’m not allowed to stand next to people pulling faces and twerking on them?”
“Oh man, I got thrown out of that cinema but it was so worth it.” I can’t keep the grin off my face as I remember Lacey dancing around the cinema, rubbing her bum against the unsuspecting people on the front row. I almost choked on my popcorn. Unfortunately, my then boyfriend didn’t find it so amusing. “Mo still hasn’t called. I can’t believe he ended it like that.”
“Fuck him,” she says. “Actually, no, don’t. Delete him. Delete his number, burn the photos—get him out of your life. He’s not worth it. You would think after everything he’s been through he’d have more of an open mind.”
I met Mo on Magdelena Ward. I was in for schizo hallucinations, he was in for paranoid schizophrenia. I guess it was always doomed to fail, but the final nail hit the coffin when I told him about Lacey. He reckoned my “negativity” and inability to “see the truth” could tip him over the edge when it came to his mental health. I don’t blame him, to be honest. But that doesn’t mean I’m not disappointed in him. Why couldn’t he trust in me?
When Darkness Falls - Six Paranormal Novels in One Boxed Set Page 38
