by Amy Cross
She hesitated, as if she was waiting for him to jump in and save the conversation.
“I have a lot to do,” he told her cautiously, “and I'm afraid I have no time to stand around talking like this.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Well... Sure, I really only came to give you the turning docket. Are things going okay with Mr. Doe?”
“Everything's fine,” he replied. “He's a little...”
Several words popped into his mind.
Annoying?
Irritating?
Talkative?
“Charred,” he continued finally, “but that's not his fault. He's definitely dead.” He swallowed hard. Had that last sentence sounded weird? Maybe, he pondered. “I'd invite you inside, Doctor Laine, but I'm afraid I'm rushed off my feet.”
“Absolutely. I understand.”
“And I really must -”
Before he could finish, there was a loud churning sound from inside the house, and he realized with a sigh that O'Malley was running the ice-cream maker again.
“Your guest must really love ice-cream,” Natalie pointed out.
“He certainly does,” he muttered as the machine stopped. Checking his watch again, he couldn't help feeling a little concerned that Izzy still wasn't home. He glanced across the yard, hoping to spot her, and then he turned to Natalie again. “I'm sure Isobel will be back at any moment. I should go inside and start making dinner.”
“It must be so hard, being a single parent for a young girl. It must be a very -”
She was cut off as the ice-cream maker started up again.
“Thank you for bringing the documentation,” John told her, raising his voice so as to be heard over the din. “That was very diligent of you. I'm sure we'll see one another soon, and I wish you luck finding someone to take your opera ticket.”
With that, he headed inside and pushed the door shut, and then he peered out the window and watched as Natalie returned to her car. The ice-cream maker fell silent again, but for a few seconds John was lost in thought, wondering whether the turning docket had really been the doctor's only reason to visit, or whether there had been some other matter. Still, once he was sure she'd left, he turned and headed through to the kitchen, although he stopped in the doorway as soon as he spotted O'Malley massaging bright pink strawberry ice-cream into his charred face.
“Do you think this is helping?” O'Malley asked. “It feels like it's helping, it feels very soothing for the burns, but you never know, do you? Sometimes something feels like it's helping but it's really not, or it's actually making the whole situation worse.” He took another dollop of ice-cream and began to smear it over his forehead. “That feels wonderful,” he continued. “I've tried everything to cool myself down. Weird that ice-cream does the trick, huh?”
Heading to the window, John peered out and watched as Natalie's car disappeared into the distance, and then he looked both ways along the street. He waited, holding his breath, convinced that at any moment he'd spot Izzy making her way along the sidewalk with her bag slung over her shoulder, but as the seconds ticked past he couldn't shake a growing sense of concern. No matter how many times he told himself not to worry, his mind was racing with fears and possibilities.
“Relax,” O'Malley told him.
“She's late.”
“She's a sixteen-year-old girl. It'd be more concerning if she came home on time every day like a good little princess.”
“You don't understand,” John replied. “Isobel is never late.”
“Cut her some slack.”
“I have to go and find her.”
“You have to chill,” O'Malley told him. “Nothing's going to happen to her, she's probably just meeting a boy.”
“You already admitted there's a powerful vampire in the area! What if -”
“A powerful vampire hiding in the area, probably well out of town! Believe me, Izzy's in no danger. The Sentinels will clear the vampire problem up, and you and Izzy won't even know it's happened. You should be more worried about the fact that your daughter doesn't know what she is. She's sixteen, she's already a late developer. Pretty soon she's going to have a lot of questions about her own body, and you really need to step up to the plate and help her out.”
“Which means going to find her,” John muttered, grabbing his keys.
“Which means giving her space,” O'Malley replied, grabbing his arm to hold him back. “And being here when she comes to find you. Trust me, when the time comes, you need to be right where she expects you to be, so she can come running. And then you need to talk to her properly, which I'm starting to think might be a bit of a problem for you.” He paused for a moment. “She has a right to know the truth about what happened to her mother.”
Chapter Nineteen
Crouched behind a wall near the park, Izzy winced and held her breath as she dug a broken piece of glass deeper and deeper into the palm of her left hand. The pain wasn't enough to force the hunger from her mind, so she twisted the glass, feeling it grinding against bone.
And still it wasn't enough.
Nothing was enough, not anymore.
Letting out an agonized, breathless gasp, she turned the shard around and tried a different spot, before looking down and seeing blood dribbling between her fingers. Hurting herself had worked for most of the day, but since leaving her final class she'd felt the hunger bubbling through her chest, rising up in her body as if it was about to take over. Every few seconds, her mind seemed to briefly fade, as if some kind of pure animal instinct was trying to take control. She was managing to hold back the worst of that sensation for now, but she could tell her conscious mind was becoming frayed at the edges.
“There's nothing wrong with me,” she stammered, even as she felt a fresh wave of pain in her gut. Her whole body was starting to tremble now, but she figured she just had to wait it all out before going home.
Taking a series of deep, gulping breaths, she closed her eyes and tried to find a state of calm, some way of holding back the hunger. For now, she was just about able to stay in control, but she knew that if the hunger became any stronger, she might not be able to resist the growing scent of blood that hung in the air all across town.
Finally she opened her eyes again, and now her pupils were much larger than before, and the edges were dancing with a rippling yellow flame.
PART THREE
THE ROAD TO NOWHERE
Chapter Twenty
“This'll do,” Rita muttered, pulling a length of rope out from beneath all the other junk in the back yard. She gave the rope a quick tug, to make extra certain that it would hold, and then she slung it over her shoulder and turned to look around.
For once, having a hoarder for a mother was turning out to be useful.
Climbing over a small mountain of discarded metal, she made her way toward the back door. Spotting some old hooks on the ground, she picked them up and took a quick look before figuring that they might also be useful, so she tucked them onto her belt before slipping through the door and into the kitchen. She had to duck down to get beneath a set of old metal rods that had been left to rust across the doorway, and a moment later she almost tripped on some chunks of clear plastic that had spilled out from a large sack.
“I know I made fun of you for loading the truck up with all that garbage,” she muttered, grabbing a dirty glass from the counter and filling it with water, “but it's actually kinda helpful sometimes. The key is just to make do with what you find, rather than getting all fussy and searching for something specific.”
She waited for a reply, before turning to look over at her mother.
“Did you hear that?” she asked with a faint smile. “Your severe psychological problem is actually coming in handy for once.”
“That's great,” her mother muttered drunkenly from the table, where she was trying to complete a crossword while taking regular swigs from a bottle of wine. “You go knock yourself out, girl.”
“Speaking of out,” Rita continued, h
eading over and looking down to see that the crossword had barely been started, “I won't be around for dinner. I hope you weren't planning on making anything special.” She took a sip of water and looked over at the old microwave soup packets that her mother had been collecting, and then she looked down and pointed at the crossword. “Put up.”
“What?”
“Five across. The clue is to raise in both directions. Put up is the answer. It's a palindrome, it goes the same whichever end you start from.”
Muttering something under her breath, her mother scribbled the answer into the boxes.
“And six down,” Rita continued, “is -”
“Who's doing this crossword?” her mother snapped, pushing her away. “I'm busy here, okay? You're not gonna be around for dinner, fine, I guess I'll have to fix something myself. Did you think to stop by the grocery store on your way home from school, or do I have to make do with whatever we already have in the house?”
“I'm sure you'll manage,” Rita replied, heading around the table and making her way toward the door, before stopping and glancing back at her mother, who was already taking another sip of wine. “Don't you wanna know where I'm going?”
“Out. You already told me.”
“With a rope over my shoulder, plus some hooks and an old cycling helmet. Doesn't that pique your curiosity in the slightest?”
“Do whatever you want,” her mother muttered, adding another answer to the crossword before muttering something and crossing the answer out. She paused for a moment, before glancing at Rita. “You think you've got it all figured, don't you?”
“Do I?” Rita asked, genuinely surprised.
“You think just 'cause you're young, and a little bit smart, life's gonna be easy. You think you're better than everyone else and you think you're gonna slip through life without any problems.”
“I don't think that.”
“Yeah, you do. I see it in your eyes. You think you've got it all sorted, but let me tell you something, girl. You might be smart, I'll give you that, but it won't help you, not when the world snaps at you and destroys all your dreams. That's when you'll realize life's just about clinging on and trying to survive. I was smart once too, and pretty, and none of that matters. The world is a cruel place, and it'll cut you down, no matter what you do.” She let out a brief chuckle. “You're not as smart as you think you are, girl. That's your problem.”
“Right, well...” Rita paused, before turning and heading out the door. “Thanks for that, Mom. Enjoy your wine.”
***
“A mine? Are you kidding? It's Friday night, it's time to get wasted!”
Before she could reply, Rita felt someone bump against her from behind, almost knocking her into the table where several other girls were already well onto their second drinks of the evening. The bar was heaving with customers, so many in fact that they were spilling out into the town's main street. Loud music was pumping from a nearby set of decks and after a moment there was the sound of a beer glass getting smashed over by the main counter.
“Don't you have a fake ID?” Claudia asked. “Honey, I know a guy who can have one ready for you in thirty minutes. I can call him if you need, he's the best in Sobolton but it'll cost. Two hundred up-front and -”
“I have fake IDs coming out my wazoo,” Rita replied, interrupting her and pulling the rope a little higher over her shoulder. “Come on, I'm giving you the opportunity of a lifetime here. I've found something genuinely cool in the old gold-mine, and we should totally go and check it out! There's like -”
Bumped again by a passing guy, Rita winced and then crouched down next to the table.
“I think there's some kind of weird cult orgy down there,” she continued. “Hear me out, I saw these people down in the mines and -”
Claudia rolled her eyes.
“I did!” Rita insisted. “I think they were wearing robes and shit like that, and they had these masks on, and they looked totally, totally shady. How can you not want to come down there and take a look? If you're worried about it being dangerous, don't be. There's no need to be a pussy.” Reaching under her coat, she pulled out a twelve-inch knife with a curved blade, causing everyone at the table to sit back a little. “I've got a few of these babies,” she continued with a smile. “Do you think anyone's gonna mess with us? Hell no!”
“Put that thing away,” Claudia hissed.
Rita grinned as she hooked the knife back onto her belt.
“Call me nuts,” Claudia continued, “but I'd rather hang out at a bar, drinking and meeting people, than go into some sketchy old mine and wander around on the off-chance that I bump into a bunch of weird-ass orgy mole people. I mean, in what universe does that count as fun, Rita?”
“I thought you liked -”
“I like having fun.” She took another deep swig from her cocktail glass before refilling it from the two-liter jug of bright green liquid. “Put down your rope and your scary metal hooks, and just chill with us for the rest of the night. I get it, you're still kinda new in town so you don't feel like you fit in, but getting all wannabe Lara Croft on our asses is not the way.”
Sighing, Rita got to her feet, letting the hooks jangle against one another in the process.
“Yeah, she's a real Lara Croft alright,” said one of the other girls at the table, trying but failing to cover her face as she laughed. “She's got it all. Apart from the looks and the figure.”
“I'm going down into those mines,” Rita announced, ignoring the insult, “and I'm going to see what's going on. I'll be taking photos, too, and if anyone wants to see them... Well, come find me at school on Monday and maybe I can be persuaded. Otherwise, ladies...” She looked at the bright green cocktails for a moment, and a shudder ran through her body. “Man, do I not need to be out drinking tonight.”
“Have fun in the cold and the dark,” Claudia replied.
“Thanks for that,” Rita muttered. “Enjoy your cocktails.”
Turning, she began to force her way through the crowd. A few people commented on the ropes slung over her shoulder and asked if she was going to a fancy-dress party, but she didn't bother to reply. As much as she sometimes enjoyed hanging out in the center of town, right now she hated the idea of being around so many drunk, loud revelers. They only reminded her of her mother anyway, and as she reached the street and began to make her way along the sidewalk, she was already busy planning her journey down into the mines. Thanks to her photographic memory, she pretty much knew the route already, although she was starting to think that perhaps she should be a little more cautious, just in case the orgy-folk in the mines were unhappy about being -
Suddenly someone bumped against her, almost knocking her into the wall.
“Hey!” she shouted, turning and watching as a girl hurried off into the night. “Watch where you're -”
She paused for a moment, staring at the back of the girl's head as she disappeared into a nearby alley.
“No way,” she whispered, genuinely shocked. “It can't have been...”
Chapter Twenty-One
“There'd better be a proper party this time, Ana,” Violet muttered into her phone, clearly unimpressed as she made her way along the dark alley that ran behind the shopping center. “I'm so officially over lame parties. If there's not beer and guys, I'm just gonna -”
Stopping suddenly, she turned and looked over her shoulder.
A few meters further back, Izzy ducked behind some old crates and held her breath. She knew she'd bumped against the wall slightly, making a noise, and now she was worried that Violet realized she was being followed. As she waited, however, she realized the scent of blood was getting stronger and stronger, filling the air and reaching into her lungs, slipping into her body, calling to her...
“No, it was nothing,” Violet continued, starting to walk away again. “I'm just not in the best mood right now, for obvious reasons. I'll come to the party, but I'm totally not up for anything lame. I'm officially in a Don't Fuck With Me m
ood tonight.”
Getting to her feet, Izzy slipped between the crates and began to follow Violet again. She wasn't quite sure what she planned to do, but she knew that the scent of Violet's blood was calling to her, and that she couldn't bring herself to leave the girl alone. She felt as if her mind was no longer in control, and she figured her body would know what to do when she got close enough. Even though she wanted to hang back so as to not get heard again, she couldn't constrain the hunger, and she began to hurry up behind Violet, feeling the other girl's blood calling to her, almost as if it wanted to be -
“What the hell?” Violet said suddenly, turning and staring straight at her.
Izzy scrambled to a halt, just a couple of meters behind, her eyes filled with shock at having been spotted.
“Izzy?” Violet continued, squinting at her. “Is that you?”
Although she knew she should run, Izzy remained rooted to the spot. She couldn't just smell Violet's blood now, she could sense the aroma swirling through the air, brushing against her flesh and teasing her, promising richness and vitality. It was almost as if the blood was singing to her. She could also hear a faint thumping sound, and slowly she began to realize that the sound was Violet's blood rushing through her veins, throbbing and pulsing with strength and power.
And the song.
Now she was close enough, there was definitely a song.
A song of blood and hunger.
“It's that Izzy freak from school,” Violet said with a sigh, still holding the phone against her face as she rolled her eyes. “I don't know, but she's followed me, and now she's staring at me like some kind of weird-ass idiot. I think she's, like, even creepier than I realized.”
She listened to her phone for a moment, before smirking.
“I totally should,” she continued, “but I don't wanna be, like, an uber-bitch. I think maybe she's got, like, a crush on me. Isn't that -”
