The Vampire of Downing Street and Other Stories
Author: Amy Cross
Date: 2017-05-05 20:45:22+00:00
Keywords: Horror; Anthologies; Fantasy; Vampires
Description: A new prime minister is led down to the basement of Number 10, where he meets a surprising house guest... A man finds his remote cabin being terrorized by a woman who only says the same three words over and over... Billions of miles from Earth, a computer must make a difficult decision about a spaceship's last surviving crew-member... As she struggles to look after her dying daughter, a mother notices strange noises in the house... In the ruins of a planet ravaged by alien invasion, a young girl must decide whether to fight, or to simply try to stay alive... After moving into a new house with
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC - Kdp Print Us

Copyright 2016 Amy Cross

All Rights Reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities, events or vampire attacks is entirely coincidental.

Kindle edition

Dark Season Books

First published: June 2013

This edition: August 2016

This book's front cover incorporates elements licensed from the Bigstock photo site.

A convoy passes through a remote Eastern European checkpoint late at night, carrying a deadly cargo...

A little girl discovers that something is living in the forest near her home. Something dangerous, but also wounded...

A boat sets sail, but none of the crew-members will ever see land again...

For hundreds of years, they were one of the most feared families in all the world. Then, with no warning, they vanished from history, leaving behind nothing but an abandoned castle and vague whispers of vampiricism. And now, they're back...

From the discovery of a field full of mutilated corpses, to the resurrection of a powerful creature and his journey home, The Vampire's Grave is the story of a fearsome beast's lust for vengeance. Through a series of inter-connected short stories, the book follows Edgar LeCompte as he rises from the dead and sets out to find his long-lost sister Madeleine.

The Vampire's Grave is a collection of short stories with a common theme. Each story reveals a little more about one of the most deadly vampire families that ever lived, leading to the final confrontation between a brother and sister who can no longer tolerate one another's existence.

Table of Contents

The Journey

Death of a Vampire

Resurrection

The Empty Girl

The Alderman's Dilemma

Dark Voyage

Change of Heart

The Vampire's Grave part 1

The Vampire's Grave part 2

Epilogue

The Vampire's Grave
and Other Stories

Author's Note

The Vampire's Grave and Other Stories was originally intended as a prequel to the Dead Souls serial. However, Dead Souls went in a completely different direction, and The Vampire's Grave no longer fits in that story.

Rather than changing the names of the characters in The Vampire's Grave, I've decided to leave them as they were. This book is therefore a kind of parallel universe story, one in which the lives of Edgar and Madeleine Le Compte went in very different directions.

The Journey

Prologue

Having driven all night through a rainstorm, the truck was finally forced to stop just before dawn at a customs checkpoint on the border. A group of bored-looking, heavily-armed men emerged from a small shed and shone torches at the side of the vehicle, and finally one of the men wandered slowly to the driver's-side window and tapped on the glass. It had been almost a week since the last travelers had passed this way, and the customs team figured they might as well have a little fun, even if they had to get soaked in the process.

"Papers," the official barked as soon as the window was wound down.

"I'm from the Raftwood Museum of European Archeology in London!" the driver shouted back at him, his disgruntled voice barely audible over the rain. Glancing back along the side of the truck, he saw that the other officials were casually poking the tarpaulin and trying to shine their torches inside. “For God's sake, tell those idiots to be careful!”

“I need to see your papers,” the official replied with a frown.

"I was told I wouldn't have any trouble!"

"I still need to see your papers," the official said flatly. "You show me your papers, and if everything checks out, you won't have any trouble."

The rain continued to pour down as the driver leaned over to his glove-box. It took him a moment to sort through the piles of paperwork, but finally he retrieved a clipboard with a bunch of documents attached to the front. He muttered something under his breath as he held the clipboard up, hoping to keep it from getting soaked. Having spent the past month negotiating with various contacts in the Bulgarian government, he'd hoped that finally he might have a clear run out of the country. Now, however, he seemed to be at the mercy of a bunch of puffed-up provincial officials. With a sigh, he realized that he might be in for an argument.

Taking the clipboard, the official wandered over to find a little shelter under the awning around the side of his shed. He leaned his back against the wall, pointedly displaying a complete lack of urgency.

"I'm in a hurry!" the driver called out. "I have a flight to catch from Bucharest! I can't miss it!"

"We're all in a hurry," the official said, setting the clipboard down on a small plastic table while he reached into his pockets and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. "To our graves."

He chuckled at his own joke.

While his men continued to shine their torches into the back of the truck, the official started work on a new cigarette. Having been stationed at this back-of-beyond little checkpoint for several years now, the official had no patience when it came to busy westerners. They always wanted things done right away, whereas the official preferred to take his sweet time. In this small way, he figured he might keep from developing yet another ulcer.

"You can't go in there!" the driver shouted, suddenly clambering out into the rain and hurrying around to push the men away from the rear doors. "Move! Shoo!"

"Hey!" the official shouted, dropping the clipboard onto the dirty concrete and hurrying over to pull the driver back. "You keep your hands off my men, okay? They're not animals! They're only doing their jobs!" He took a drag on his cigarette, which was still burning despite the rain, and then he nodded at the truck door, lost in thought for a moment. "Open it up. I want to take a look."

"It's very delicate cargo," the driver insisted, unable to hide the annoyance in his voice. "You can't just go ripping the crates open, they're hermetically sealed to prevent atmospheric damage! The slightest disturbance could be catastrophic! It's all noted in the paperwork if you can just be bothered to read!"

"I know what's in these boxes," the official replied, with a hint of grit in his voice. "Everyone here, we all know what you're transporting. We pay attention to the news, you understand? That's why I want to see them with my own eyes. You can either open one of the boxes here, or we can take it to Sofia and file the necessary paperwork, and then we'll impound your truck and bring in a team to do a full search." He waited for his words to sink in. "I don't make the rules," he added eventually, "I just follow them. To the letter. And I make sure other people follow them too. Even the British.” He smiled, revealing several false silver teeth. “Especially the British.”

Sighing, the driver pushed past the men and began to undo the rear door. He hated the idea that these officious, bureaucratic men were going to slow him down, but he'd been in similar situations before and he knew that the best thing to do was just to cooperate. Arguing always made things worse, and he had no desire to get held up in this little Bulgarian backwater. He figured he just needed to give them a little Pyrrhic victory, and then they'd send him on his way.

"How many are there?" the official asked, as his men shone their torches through the door. The interior of the truck contained a series of crates, each of which was carefully labeled. They all looked very ordinary and uncontroversial, which was somewhat surprising to the official since he knew what was inside. Although he considered himself to be a rational and level-headed man, he couldn't help but feel a little uneasy in the presence of such things. It was as if the crates were staring right back at him. He almost made the sign of the cross across his chest. Almost.

But what would be the point? The checkpoint was a long way from the nearest church.

"There are fifteen," the driver muttered. "Fifteen crates, fifteen specimens."

"And you're taking them out of Bulgaria?"

"I'm taking them to London. We're going to study them and then we -"

“Why don't you study them here in our country?”

“The facilities in London,” the driver replied with a sigh, as if he was talking to a child, “are just a little more sophisticated than anything you have in your country.”

"But you're going to send them back here when you're finished, aren't you?"

"Send them back?"

"I know about the British. You take things, you say you're going to study them and look after them, you talk the talk about being historians and conservationists, and then you keep them for yourselves. You put them in a museum and make money selling tickets. Tell me, if I want to see a part of my country's history, why do I have to go to London and pay for the privilege?"

"We're not going to put them on display," the driver replied, sick and tired of the man's truculence.

"What about the mummies from Egypt? You put those on display, didn't you? And the marbles from Greece. You Brits pilfer the treasures of the world."

Sighing, the driver reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope. He knew there was no point getting into an ethical debate, partly because he was aware that he didn't have a leg to stand on. Instead, he was going to try a different approach.

"I have full clearance from the Ministry of -"

"Yeah, yeah," the official replied, waving the paper away. "It's okay. I'm just joking with you. You understand a joke, don't you?"

"What are these things?" one of the other men asked, reaching into the back of the truck and running his hand against the side of one of the crates.

"Don't touch that!" the driver shouted, pushing the man away.

"Hey!" the official shouted, grabbing the driver by the arm. "You don't touch us like that, okay? We're not dogs. It's a good question. Tell him what you've got here. Or are you too ashamed?"

"It's not important," the driver said. "If you cause me to miss my flight, I'm going to register a complaint with your superiors. I'll make sure you're all fired. This is certified museum business and you -"

"Vampires," the official said, taking another drag on his cigarette. "Fifteen vampires." He turned to his colleagues, and they exchanged nervous glances as the rain continued to pour down. "You hear what this man is doing? He's taking fifteen vampires on a little trip in the back of his lorry. How much of a lunatic must he be, eh?"

The man laughed, while exchanging nervous laughs with one another.

"They're just bodies from the sixteenth century," the driver explained with a sigh. "Victims of superstition, men and women like us. They're most certainly not vampires."

"People thought they were vampires, though," the official continued. "They buried them... in a certain way."

"People thought a lot of things back then," the driver said. "I'm with the Lawrence group. We found these bodies in a mass grave near Lovech, and we're going to take them to London so we can study the rituals that were used. Vampires have a major role in Eastern European mythology, and we're going to see if we can learn more about the beliefs that fueled these superstitious ideas. It's all perfectly legitimate work!"

"And you think this is right?" the official asked. "Digging them up and flying them off to your museum? How would you feel if I did the same to your ancestors? How would you like it if I dug up your great-grandmother and drove her to Sofia to cut her open? And what if I put her on display in a museum? Would you like that?"

"I have full clearance," the driver reiterated. "If you don't believe me, and if you don't accept my documents, then put a call through to the ministry. You'll soon find out that I'm telling the truth. I'm sure your bosses'll be thrilled to be woken at five in the morning and asked a question that could be answered just by looking at the bloody paperwork." He waited for an answer. "For God's sake, you know I have clearance! What are you waiting for, a bribe?"

“Are you offering me a bribe?”

“Are you waiting for one?”

“Are you attempting to bribe a government official?”

“I don't know. Do I need to?”

“Do you?”

The driver sighed. “What do you want from me? I'm trying to get the hell out of this country and catch my flight!”

The official took another drag on his cigarette. "It's okay," he said eventually. "I believe you. I know it's true. All of it. I read about all this in the newspaper, so..." He stared into the darkness of the truck for a moment, watching the dark crates. "It's not my job to stop you. Your papers are in order. We just had to check, you understand? We needed to make sure you're not hiding anything else. Clearly you're not, though, so you're free to continue your journey. No bribe is necessary. We're honest people, like you."

"Thank you," the driver continued, pushing the rear door shut. Hurrying back around to the cab door, his feet splashing in puddles that were getting deeper by the minute, he began to climb up into the front compartment, at which point he noticed that the customs men had all come to stare at him. Standing in the rain, they made for a strange and slightly unsettling sight, especially with machine guns slung over their shoulders. For the driver, it was almost as if he'd stepped back in time a few decades to a time when bureaucrats carried weapons and westerners were viewed with disdain in this part of the world.

"You're a brave man," the official said eventually, as the driver pulled his door shut. "Driving alone through the night with fifteen dead vampires in the back of your truck, anything could happen. Are you not worried that while you're out on some lonely country road, you might start to hear a scratching sound coming from back there? Are you not bothered by the same superstitions that afflict us simple, old-fashioned folk?" Grinning, he took another drag from his cigarette.

One of the other men muttered something under his breath, and his colleagues laughed.

"They weren't vampires," the driver said with another exhausted sigh, as he started his engine. "They were ordinary people who were subjected to certain rituals after their deaths because the locals made a mistake. People had strange ideas back then. It was a superstitious time, and these ideas spread. You understand? I've written papers on it, for God's sake. It's all laid out in black and white. There's no such thing as vampires."

"I hope you're right," the official said, standing back to let the truck go. "If you're wrong about even one of those bodies, you might come to regret it, if you know what I mean. Are you carrying a gun?"

The driver shook his head, as one of the other men hurried over and passed the clipboard back to him.

"Figures," the official said. "Wouldn't do much good anyway. I don't suppose a gun would be any use against a real vampire. Good job they don't exist, I guess." Reaching out, he stubbed his cigarette out on the side of the truck. "Go on, get on your way. I'd hate for you to miss your plane and then start blaming me for doing my job. After all, I'm just a simple peasant with simple beliefs, am I not? I can't afford to get fired." He paused. "The roads ahead are narrow and slippery, so you should be careful."

"Thanks for the advice," the driver muttered.

"I just hope you know what you're doing," the official said with a smile.

Without saying another word, the driver accelerated away from the checkpoint. Within a couple of minutes, he'd disappeared into the night, leaving the customs workers to wander back into their shed. Once the others were safely inside, however, the official paused in the doorway for a moment. He wasn't a superstitious man, and he figured those fifteen bodies probably were just a bunch of random old bones, made more interesting by the strange manner in which they'd been buried. Still, the mere mention of vampires was enough to unsettle him. After glancing around at the darkness for a moment, he turned, headed back into the shed and pushed the door shut.

"That man will be dead within a week," he told his men as he slipped out of his rain-soaked coat. "Mark my words. There are fifteen bodies in his truck. All it takes is for one of them to wake up, and he doesn't stand a chance."

One

As usual, Dr. Andrew Marlowe timed his walk up from the museum's storage room to perfection. He stepped out of the door at precisely 22:01, which meant that he was at the foot of the stairs by 22:05 and halfway up by 22:06; by 22:07 he was emerging on the main landing of the east wing, which meant that he was passing the elevators at precisely 22:08, by which point everyone else should have left the building. Marlowe hated being interrupted by other people, so he tended to wait until closing time before getting started with his own work. More than anything, he enjoyed the sensation of being the only person working in the entire museum.

All things considered, he was not a people person.

Tonight, however, he was out of luck. As he reached the hallway at the top of the stairs, he saw a familiar face stepping out from one of the nearby offices.

"We meet again," Dr. Amanda Carter said with a knowing smile, as she pressed the button for the elevator. "This is becoming a habit."

"I was just down in the archive," Marlowe replied, holding up a rolled document that he'd grabbed on his way out, cursing his luck at the fact that he'd been interrupted.

"You prefer working alone?"

"I..." He paused, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Where are your shoes?" she asked, looking down at his feet.

"My what?"

She smiled.

He frowned.

"Oh. My shoes. Sorry, they make my feet sweat," Marlowe replied, glancing down and seeing that there was a hole in his left sock, exposing his big toe. "Um... yes, that's bad," he added unnecessarily.

"So what time are they gonna throw you out tonight?"

"They're supposed to close up at midnight," Marlowe explained, "but sometimes I persuade Jerry to..." He paused, before smiling awkwardly. "I shouldn't tell you any of this," he continued eventually. "Forget I said anything. It's just a little arrangement between friends."

"You arranged a lock-in?" Amanda asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow. "Seriously? A lock-in at the museum?"

"They open up again at five in the morning, so it's not that long," Marlowe continued, stammering slightly. "I know it's against policy, but Jerry realizes I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just get on with my work, alone and uninterrupted, and then I head home when everyone else comes in. It's a little anti-social, but I get more done this way." He paused for a moment. "Not that I'm an anti-social person in general, of course," he added suddenly, with a hint of panic. "I just prefer to work in an anti-social manner, and the result is that I don't have time to be social, which..." He paused, aware of Amanda's amused smile. "I suppose that is rather anti-social of me, isn't it?"

There was another awkward pause, which ended as the elevator door slid open. Lately, Marlowe seemed to be bumping into Amanda Carter several times a day, and so naturally he'd begun to think about her a little more than usual. She was attractive and intelligent, but he knew that she was totally out of his league. He'd long ago given up the thought that such a woman would ever be interested in him, although he had to admit that she seemed friendly enough.

"This is my ride," Amanda said, smiling as she stepped into the elevator. "Have a good night!"

Marlowe nodded politely, before turning to walk away.

"Wait!" Amanda said suddenly, reaching out and forcing the doors back open. She had a mischievous glint in her eyes, and a cautious smile on her lips. "Are you by any chance working on the stuff that came in from Bulgaria?"

Marlowe stared at her, startled by such a direct question.

"Well. Are you?"

"Um..." Marlowe paused, suddenly feeling slightly sweaty. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

"The stuff from the burial site."

"Um..."

"Come on, I know you know."

"I... No, I really don't..."

"Liar," Amanda continued, biting her bottom lip for a moment. The elevator door tried again to close, but she held it open. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. The crates that are supposed to be secret, even though everyone's talking about them in the canteen. They arrived three nights ago on a flight from Bucharest. Before that, they'd come up by land from northern Bulgaria. Somewhere near Lovech, I heard. The whole place is buzzing with gossip about them." She waited for a reply, and there was a look in her eyes that suggested she wasn't likely to give up easily. "There's fifteen of them, right? Fifteen bodies in fifteen crates, all found with markings that suggest they were buried as vampires."

"Official policy is to not discuss the bodies," Marlowe replied uncomfortably. "The Bulgarian government put some very strict restrictions on what we can do and who can see them. Their ministry faced a bit of a backlash at home after they agreed to let us have them, so they had to make it clear that we'd be respecting the dead. I'm afraid I can't... I can't..." He paused. "I mean, I just can't talk about it at all."

"I know it's a sensitive subject," Amanda replied, "but it's not like I'm going to tell anyone, is it?"

"That's really not the issue," Marlowe muttered. "We have certain considerations to take into account."

"Of course you do," Amanda said. "You have to be culturally sensitive while you're pillaging the cultural history of a foreign country." She paused, as if she was trying to decide how far she could push him. "So... can I see them?"

"Out of the question," Marlowe replied immediately. People had been bugging him for a peek for days, and he'd turned them all down. He had a strict policy when it came to the specimens, and he was determined to ensure that they didn't become some kind of freak-show. After all, they were people once, and they deserved to be treated with a modicum of respect.

"Is there no chance at all?" Amanda asked, stepping out of the elevator chamber. Seconds later, the doors slid shut. "I just want to see them. You've got them all laid out, right? They're in one of the rooms in this wing, I know they are. Come on, Marlowe, I won't tell anyone and I swear, I won't touch them. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. What are you gonna do with them when the research is over? Ship them back to Bulgaria so they can be buried again?"

"Dr. Carter, please -"

"Call me Amanda," she said with a smile. "And it's not just morbid curiosity. The work I'm doing on Indo-Chinese cultures has some overlaps. Vampires pop up in pretty much every socio-cultural narrative in the world, so the bodies you're studying could have relevance for researchers around the world. All I'm asking for is a little sneak peek at what you're doing, instead of having to wait for your paper to come out next year. I'd owe you a big favor."

Marlowe stared at her, trying to stay strong

"Come on. Please?"

"I really can't..."

"I'd love to pick your brains about the specimens. Maybe after I've taken a look at them, we could get together and discuss them properly some time?"

Marlowe opened his mouth to tell her that it was quite out of the question.

"Maybe over dinner?"

He swallowed hard, feeling himself starting to weaken.

She smiled.

"You can't tell a soul," he said eventually. "Not one person. Seriously, there are strict rules in place and there'll be consequences if it gets out that I've -"

"It won't get out," Amanda said, grinning. She seemed fired up with a rare kind of enthusiasm that had already begun to infect Marlowe. "Come on. It's late. The place is dark and deserted. If we screamed right now, no-one'd hear us. I think there might even be a storm brewing outside. So let's go. Show me the vampires!"

Two

The bodies were laid out on a series of metal trays, each of which was set on a table in the main laboratory. A humming air-conditioning unit kept the temperature of the room low, which was just as well since the bodies were in various states of decomposition. Some were just a collection of bones, while others still had small amounts of skin; some were dull brown and yellow, while a few were bright and white, as if they'd been bleached by the sun. There was a small marker on each tray, giving the bodies an identification number, and various pieces of lifting and scanning equipment waited on the far side of the room for use later.

"People were driven by fear back then," Marlowe explained, as he and Amanda walked slowly between the tables that held the bodies. "The Black Death was spreading across Europe. People were dropping dead, and no-one knew why. I guess it's no surprise that after medicine failed to provide an answer, people turned to other explanations. They started to anthropomorphize the disease, to give it a face. They sought to pin blame on foreigners and people who were different. It wasn't long before folk stories sprang up, warning of ghoulish figures that traveled the world, bring pestilence and death while sucking the blood of fair young maidens."

"Gotta have some fair young maidens in the story somewhere," Amanda replied wryly. "Even back then, sex helped to sell an idea." She paused by one of the trays, admiring a collection of hones. "So these people were killed because they were suspected of being vampires?"

"Killed or exhumed, yes," Marlowe said. "These superstitious beliefs were flexible, so they could adapt to fit changing circumstances. Obviously there was no specific science involved in the various practices, so there tended to be a lot of variation in terms of how suspected vampires were treated. One thing remained constant, however. The main aim was to dismember the dead body in a manner that would keep the supposed vampire from coming back to life. That's what people were scared of. They believed that the undead were the cause of mankind's suffering. In reality, of course, it was actually all caused by rats and their disease-infested fleas."

The pair of them stopped next to a table that held a complete human skeleton. The bones were laid out fairly conventionally, with one notable exception: a large brick had been rammed into the mouth, evidently with enough force to break the jawbone in several places.

"It seems crazy now," Marlowe continued, "but the idea here was that if the corpse's mouth was kept open, the vampire wouldn't be able to rise and claim new victims. As you can imagine, logic was in short supply. Bodies with bricks in their mouths have been found all across Europe. Based on initial observations of the way in which the bricks were inserted, it seems that some were introduced after death, but some might have been..." He paused for a moment, wondering how much graphic detail he should provide. He usually hated explaining his work to people, but for some reason he was enjoying this little late-night chat with Amanda.

"Some of them were killed by having the brick rammed into their mouth?" Amanda asked, clearly more fascinated than bothered by such a gruesome idea.

"Possibly," Marlowe said. "As I explained earlier -"

"What about this one?" she continued, walking over to a nearby table where a skull was resting between a pair of skeletal legs. "Tell me about this one."

"This was another common way of dealing with a supposed vampire," Marlowe explained. "The head would be removed, and then it would be placed between the legs. Sometimes the arms would be removed as well, possibly to ensure that the head couldn't be re-attached in the grave. The idea here seems to have been to make sure that when the creature inevitably woke up in the coffin, it'd have no way of escaping. Again, they were trying to ensure that the vampire couldn't put itself back together after it had been killed."

"Quaint," Amanda said with a smile. Like a kid in a candy store, she was making her way from table to table, examining each body in turn. "And this one?" she asked, stopping next to another table, where the bones seemed completely jumbled.

"Another ingenious attempt to prevent a vampire from returning," Marlowe said. "The body would be sliced in half lengthways, and one of the halves would then be placed upside down in the coffin. There are a few different variations of this approach. In some cases, the two halves were even buried in separate coffins. Again, the idea was to provide a physical barrier to the body's reconstitution. In the narrow space afforded to the corpse, there'd simply be no way for the vampire to fix itself. I mean, it's a ludicrous concept, but in the absence of clear and rational thought, people believed this kind of rubbish." He paused, looking down at the nearest body. "These were just innocent people who probably aroused curiosity simply by virtue of looking a little weird or behaving strangely, or happening to arrive in strange lands at a time when paranoia was running high. They were scapegoats."

"And people really believed that this kind of thing happened?" Amanda continued. "They really thought these vampires were gonna wake up down there in the graves?"

Marlowe nodded. "It wasn't entirely uncommon for people to be buried alive by accident. Medical capabilities were somewhat primitive, so people could quite easily slip into a coma and be pronounced dead, only to wake up after they'd been placed in their graves. Imagine walking through a cemetery and hearing a faint banging sound from deep beneath the ground. Doctors often didn't want to admit that they'd made mistakes, so they were happy to encourage more lurid explanations."

"It's freezing in here," Amanda said, her eyes fixed on one of the corpses. "They must be so cold."

"Have you heard of Mercy Brown?" Marlowe asked after a moment. "True story. Rhode Island, 1892. Mercy was a nineteen-year-old girl who died of tuberculosis. When multiple members of the same family were also struck down over the next few years, the locals decided a vampire must be responsible. The bodies of the victims were dug up, and all but one of them showed signs of decomposition. Mercy's body was apparently fresh and clean, as if it hadn't decayed at all. Naturally, this set tongues wagging, so the locals acted on their superstitions." He paused for a moment, enjoying the look of rapt attention on Amanda's face. "They cut out Mercy's heart, burned it, and mixed the remains into a potion that they believed could cure people of various conditions. In their rush to defeat the monster, they acted like barbarians. In their rush to protect the innocent, they became savages."

"The Mercy Brown case was over a hundred years ago," Amanda pointed out. "People don't change, though, do they? Not really." Walking across the room, she stopped next to another of the bodies. "What about this one?" she asked eventually. "The head's still attached. No brick in the mouth. It barely looks to have been touched."

"That's an interesting one," Marlowe replied, heading over to join her. "Look at the neck. Don't you see something?"

Peering more closely, Amanda saw that there was a jagged line running around the circumference of the corpse's neck. This was one of the few bodies that retained some of its skin and hair.

"The head was removed at one point," Amanda said eventually, "and then reattached. Do you know why they'd have done that?"

Marlowe shrugged. "These were panicked, superstitious people. They might well have exhumed each body several times, doing different things on each occasion as they desperately tried to prevent the Black Death from spreading. But you're right, it is odd that they seem to have reversed track with this body. Look at the jaw, too. Signs of fracture around the edges. The only logical conclusion is that a brick was inserted into the mouth and later removed."

"But if it healed," Amanda said, examining the clear signs of trauma around the body's mouth, "that suggests..." She turned to look at Marlowe. "This one was alive when it was... for want of a better term, un-bricked."

"Apparently," Marlowe continued. "They inserted the brick and then, for whatever reason, they removed it and the poor bastard began to heal. At a later date, they also seem to have tried staking him." Grabbing a pair of latex gloves from a nearby counter, he made sure to cover his hands before pointing at a contusion on the ribcage. "See here? We've already done some scans of this body, and most of the heart seems to be missing, so I'm guessing they staked him and then opened him up to take the heart away. As for why they didn't take the whole heart, that's something of a mystery. Blind panic, I guess. The procedure was most likely carried out by someone who lacked medical training."

"Death by mob," Amanda replied. "I doubt it's a very pleasant way to go."

"Excruciatingly painful, I'd have thought," Marlowe said, “and probably quite terrifying. At least we have a name for this one, or at least a possible name. Edgar Le Compte. I can't help wondering what poor Edgar did to deserve such a horrific death. Whatever it was, it's almost as if the locals remained scared of him. The evidence suggests that he was dug up and re-buried half a dozen times. They must have been particularly scared of him."

"The terrifying Edgar Le Compte," Amanda said, staring down at the bones. "A man to be feared, huh?"

"You want to know something crazy?" Marlowe asked with a half-smile. "When this specimen arrived, the jaw was closed, but last night I noticed it seemed to be open just a fraction of a millimeter. And tonight, it's open a little more. It's almost as if he's slowly opening his mouth. It's undoubtedly the result of structural pressures, and possibly a change in the gases deep within the bone, but nonetheless, it's a fascinating phenomenon. Even today, and even in death, the human body retains the capacity to spook us a little."

They stood in silence for a moment.

"Do you ever..." Amanda started to say, before pausing.

"Do I ever what?" Marlowe asked.

"Well," she continued, looking around at all the bodies. "I know these were all normal humans who fell victim to superstition, but when you're working here alone, late at night, don't you ever feel..." She smiled nervously. "You know what I mean, right? None of us can truly say that we don't think about things like that."

"Do I ever wonder if they were actual vampires?" He paused. "No. Never. I've studied this kind of thing for too long to let it affect me. It's all about knowledge. If you can explain something, there's no need to be scared of it. If you can't explain something, put aside the fear and keep going until you have an answer."

"You really believe that?"

"I think humans are humans," Marlowe replied. "Any place, any time, humans have certain basic fears. Other animals do, too. Superstition is part of being alive. Until the day when we understand everything around us, every phenomenon and every event, we as a species are going to be prone to this kind of fear." He looked back down at one of the skulls. "Given the right circumstances, this kind of thing could easily happen again. This kind of paranoia and superstition, it's still inside us all, waiting until the next time we're scared."

"Edgar Le Compte," Amanda said, staring down at the nearest body. "What a way to die. Poor Edgar, huh?"

Three

"You're in a good mood," said Wade early the following morning, as he carried a set of beakers over to his desk.

"Am I?" Marlowe replied, not looking up from his examination of some scar tissue on one of the bodies. "Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Quite the reverse," Wade continued, pausing for a moment to watch his supervisor. "I might be out of line here, but I can't help noticing that every time I look over at you today, you have this weird little smile on your face. Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing, but you're normally less..." His voice trailed off as he realized there was no appropriate way to finish that sentence.

"Less?"

"Less... happy?" He watched Marlowe for a few seconds. "Did you talk to that woman again?"

"What woman?"

"That one you keep bumping into. The kinda hot one from down the hall."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Marlowe said gruffly, focusing on his work.

"Yeah, you do. Medium tall, good figure, dark hair, dresses plain but has a smile like maybe there's a bit more to her when you get under the bonnet."

Marlowe turned to glare at him.

"You know who I mean, right?"

"I'm just getting on with the task at hand," Marlowe replied as he turned back to look at the scar tissue. He was determined to avoid all mention of his conversation with Amanda the previous night, not only because it was of no consequence, but also because it was none of Wade's business. He'd never felt a desire to 'bond' with Wade, viewing the man as nothing more than an annoyance. The pair of them had no relationship away from the museum, and Marlowe was more than happy to keep things that way. "I'm just a little tired. How are you getting on with those samples? Can you have the first results ready by one?"

"I can try," Wade said, with an annoyingly cheery tone to his voice.

"Does the process involve sitting around and making idle smalltalk?" Marlowe continued, unable to hide his annoyance at the slow pace of work. "We've only got these bodies until the end of the month, so maybe we should push ahead a little faster. I still want to get some more imaging of each specimen before we're done."

The two men worked in silence for a few more minutes, with Marlowe finally managing to drift into the 'zone' that allowed him to really get on with things. More than anything, he hated distractions and unnecessary complications; he was convinced that he'd get more work done if he didn't have to deal with an assistant, and he viewed Wade as little more than an annoyance. Still, his departmental heads insisted on supplying someone to 'help out', and that someone was Wade. It was tiring, having to come up with jobs for Wade to do each day, and having to answer inane questions. The man seemed incapable of shutting up for any decent period of time.

"Boss, did you change the markers?" Wade called out eventually, as if to prove Marlowe's point.

"The markers?"

"The little cone things on each table."

"I know what the markers are," Marlowe replied tersely. "Why are you asking if I've changed them? Why would I do that? It'd defeat the whole point."

Wade paused for a moment. "I thought specimen 1A was supposed to have a 5mm fracture around the lower left side of the face, but..." He turned to one of the other bodies. "I don't know, but I swear to God there's been a numbering mistake. This one's labeled as 1A, but it has..." He paused again, before grabbing a clipboard and double-checking the numbers. "Okay, 2B's causing problems. According to our original manifest and inspection, 2B is supposed to have minimal scarring and skin, but I'm looking at 2B right now, and I'm seeing both scarring and skin around the cheekbones."

"No," Marlowe said, trying to hide his annoyance as he walked over to join Wade. "That's not right, 2B is..." He paused as he saw that Wade was right: specimen 2B definitely had some large patches of skin on the cheekbones and, upon closer inspection, also around the lower neck area. After double-checking the clipboard, Marlowe turned to look over at 1A.

"Is there any way the markers could have been switched?" Wade asked. "Has anyone else been in here? A janitor, maybe? Anyone who didn't have authorization?"

"Of course not," Marlowe snapped, before thinking back to his conversation with Amanda. It was an insane idea, but the only logical explanation for the confusion was that somehow Amanda had ended up moving a few of the markers. She'd probably done it by accident and then felt too embarrassed to admit to her mistake. Having relied on each marker to help keep track of the different bodies, Marlowe suddenly found himself uncertain as to which body was which. Apart from the visual clues, some of the sets of bones were very similar, and he wasn't yet sufficiently familiar with each body to be able to recognize them without referring to the paperwork.

"Something's definitely gone wrong," Wade said. "I swear, I didn't touch the markers. I looked at them last night, right before I left, and I know I'd have noticed if there was anything wrong."

"We'll have to check the photos again," Marlowe said with a sigh, realizing that a whole morning's work was now on the verge of being wiped out. "Get the images, hopefully they've got the markers in all of them and we can set things right."

"Sure," Wade said, "but don't you think we also need to work out what went wrong? If it happened once, it could happen again."

"I'll deal with that," Marlowe replied tersely. "Just do what I asked. We're supposed to be good at our job, but apparently we can't even keep a goddamn numbering system in order."

"But if -"

"Just do it!" Marlowe said firmly, momentarily allowing his annoyance to spill over. "Jesus, can't you just follow a simple order for once? Get the photos and match the original markers to the images, and make sure everything's back in place. I can't work if I'm not able to keep a clear indication of which body is which!" He looked down at the specimen that was currently labeled as 2B, and for a moment he was filled with doubt; he was certain that none of the bodies had displayed that particular formation of skin, but at the same time he also knew that mistakes could creep into even the most tightly-controlled situation.

"Sorry," Wade muttered, heading over to the desk in the far corner. It was clear that he'd taken offense.

Marlowe opened his mouth to apologize for the outburst, but the words didn't come. He didn't feel bad for what he'd said or how he'd said it, but he was worried that Wade might be a less effective worker if he felt under-appreciated.

"Let's get this mess sorted by lunchtime," Marlowe said eventually, hoping to calm things down without necessarily having to resort to a full apology. "It's not a big problem. At least we caught it early, before it screwed everything up. Let's just get it fixed and make sure it doesn't happen again, okay?"

Wade nodded cautiously.

For the rest of the morning, the two men worked in silence. It was the kind of environment that Marlowe had been craving since the project started, except that he was coming to realize that it was the wrong kind of silence. Occasionally glancing over at Wade, he could tell that he'd caused offense with his outburst, which meant that Wade was probably sulking. Sighing, Marlowe realized that somehow Wade was louder when he was silently sulking than when he was nattering away.

Dead people, even five-hundred-year-old corpses, were infinitely better company.

Four

"I'm sorry to have called you down here," said Jerry, the museum's head of security, as he led Marlowe along a corridor, "but he refuses to leave. I've tried dealing with him, but he insists on speaking to you in person. I figured it might be best to just let him have his moment and then send him on his way. Frankly, he's been ranting at everyone in sight for the past half hour."

"So I hear," Marlowe replied. Even before they reached the front hall, he could hear the man shouting angrily. Although he'd known that a protest like this was possible, Marlowe was still disappointed to find that it had materialized in such a vocal and uncivilized fashion. Besides, he thought that men like Jerry were paid specifically to deal with this kind of problem, so he didn't really see why he'd been dragged away from his work in order to speak to some idiotic member of the public. He made a mental note to speak to someone about Jerry's performance.

"Mr. Varvel," Jerry said as he and Marlowe reached the main reception desk, where a short, angry-looking bald man was berating a startled member of staff while banging the handle of his umbrella on the desk. Unfortunately, the little man was so busy shouting, he didn't seem to have noticed that anyone else was trying to talk to him.

"Mr. Varvel!" Jerry said again, raising his voice a little.

"What?" Varvel asked, turning to him with an angry look in his eyes.

"Mr. Varvel, I'm sorry it took a little longer than expected," Jerry continued, flashing a fake and condescending smile, "but Dr. Marlowe was in the middle of some very important work. However, he's very kindly taken the time to -"

"You're Marlowe?" Varvel asked with a thick Eastern European accident, waving his umbrella in the air as if he meant to use it as some kind of weapon.

Marlowe opened his mouth to reply.

"So you're him, huh?" Varvel continued, regarding him with evident disgust. "You're the one."

"I'm the one what?" Marlowe asked, feeling both annoyed and slightly amused by this angry little man. He took a step back, keen to ensure he was out of range of the umbrella.

"Come on," Varvel said, lunging at him and grabbing his arm, before attempting to lead him back along one of the corridors. "You can take me to see. Right now, huh? You can take me to see them. We'll wrap them up for the journey home."

"Get the hell off me!" Marlowe said firmly, pulling free.

"Dr. Marlowe has come down here to answer your questions," Jerry said, clearly struggling to remain polite. "I thought perhaps he could allay some of your fears, but that's only possible if the situation remains non-violent and non-threatening. Can you do that, Mr. Varvel?"

"Fears?" Varvel replied. "I have no fears. I'm just here to stop you making a big mistake. You don't think there are consequences to disturbing hallowed ground? You think you can just rip bodies out of the soil and do whatever you want with them, and no-one's going to notice?"

"What are you talking about?" Marlowe asked with a sigh, before turning to Jerry. "No-one's been ripping bodies out of the ground, hallowed or otherwise. I don't have time for this bullshit..."

"Gentlemen -" Jerry began to say.

"This is ridiculous," Marlowe said firmly. "Mr. Varvel, or whatever your name is, I'm a busy man. If you have something to say to me, I'd appreciate it if you could say it. I'm not going to listen to you, but if it'd make you feel better to shout at me, at least do it quickly."

"You're a smart-ass, are you?" Varvel asked, glaring at Marlowe.

"I can assure you that Dr. Marlowe is not a smart-ass," Jerry said.

"You're the one who's desecrating the bodies," Varvel spat back at Marlowe. "You have a load of human bodies up there, and you're cutting them open and playing with them and doing whatever you want! You're ignoring the will of God, and the will of the people who buried those bodies in holy ground!"

"Not quite," Marlowe replied. "I'm conducting a series of tests -"

"You're abusing them!" Varvel shouted. "You're playing with them! They were buried in accordance with the wishes of God, and you dug them up and brought them here so you could fiddle with them and stick things in them and do awful things!"

"No-one's sticking anything in them," Marlowe replied, trying to remain calm. "No-one's cutting them or slicing them, either. We're using scanning technology to look inside the bodies and get a better idea of what happened to them. It's all perfectly valid science, and it doesn't harm the tissue in any way. The bodies are going to be in exactly the same condition when we're done as they were when they arrived, and then we're going to send them back and it'll be like they never left their graves."

"And you think God won't notice?"

"I don't think an imaginary deity has much to say about anything," Marlowe said coolly.

"This is immoral!" Varvel shouted, before adding something in his own language.

"That's your opinion," Marlowe said calmly, "but frankly, it's none of your business."

"None of my business?" Varvel roared. "None of my business?" He turned to Jerry. "You hear this idiot? None of my business? He drags my countrymen halfway across the world and then he claims that it's none of my business! How would you like it if I dug up a load of your ancestors and hauled them off to some laboratory so I could poke them and dishonor their bodies? Those people were buried in accordance with God, and with respect to their souls, and now you come and dig them up like you're a dog digging up some juicy bones!"

"I don't have time for this," Marlowe replied, turning to Jerry. “Get rid of him.”

"Get back here!" Varvel shouted, finally making use of the umbrella by whacking it against Marlowe's arm.

"Jesus!" Marlowe shouted, leaping out of the way.

"Okay," Jerry said, stepping between the two of them. "I don't want to have to call the police -" Before he could finish the sentence, the umbrella thwacked him on the side of the head, sending him stumbling back a few paces.

"You hide behind your security," Varvel said, keeping his eyes fixed on the startled Marlowe. "You tell yourself you have total rights to be doing what you're doing. So what? It's just words. You're going against the wishes of these people and their families and our traditions." He paused for a moment. "It doesn't matter how deep you hide yourself under your clever words. God will find you, Mr. Marlowe, and the evil of Thaxos will strike you down!"

"You have to leave now," Jerry said firmly, maneuvering Varvel to the exit. "Verbal disagreements are one thing, but physical violence is not tolerated. I'm going to have to physically prevent you from returning, do you understand? You're banned from this building indefinitely, and if you attempt to contact any member of staff in any capacity or at any time, the police will be involved. Okay?"

"Whatever," Varvel grunted, pulling free and starting to walk down the steps. He called something back at them, but it was in a language that neither Jerry nor Marlowe understood.

"Some people are nuts, huh?" Jerry said as he walked back over to Marlowe.

"Next time some asshole comes and tries to cause trouble," Marlowe replied, "do me a favor, yeah? Do your job instead of calling me down to deal with him."

"I just thought -"

"Do your goddamn job," Marlowe said again, before turning and storming back along the corridor. He'd had enough of all these interruptions, and he was determined to get back to work. Day in, day out, he came to the museum and got his job done. He hit every deadline and he came in under every budget, and he couldn't help thinking that if everyone else was so conscientious, the world would be a much calmer place.

He hated dealing with members of the public. At least dead bodies stayed put, and didn't answer back. Sure, they occasionally revealed surprises and fresh mysteries, but at least they didn't get up and start hitting people with umbrellas.

Five

As soon as his clock reached 22:00, Marlowe stepped out of the storage room and began the slow walk up to his office. Once again, he was hoping to avoid bumping into anyone. Wade had left an hour ago to meet some friends at the pub, and all the other offices should be empty by now. With the building empty, Marlowe would be able to get on with his work, free of interruptions. All he needed was peace and quiet.

When he reached the elevators, he was relieved to find that there was no-one around. After a moment, however, he stopped to undo his shoelaces and retie them. He told himself at first that his shoes had felt a little loose, but eventually he had to acknowledge the truth: he was loitering in case Amanda Carter happened to be around. As much as he hated to admit it, he'd come to quite enjoy their accidental meetings. Tonight, though, there was no sign of her. Figuring she'd probably left earlier in the evening, Marlowe walked dejectedly through to his office and then finally to the laboratory, where the fifteen sets of skeletal remains were laid out as before. With Wade having spent the afternoon reassigning the markers and re-cataloging the condition of each specimen, the main work could finally begin in earnest, and Marlowe had decided to spend yet another night alone, doing what he did best: getting on with things, without any interruptions.

"Let's start with you," he said as he approached specimen 2B. "You're my favorite."

In many ways, 2B was both the most interesting and the most puzzling of all the bodies. For one thing, 2B was the corpse that seemed to have had its head removed and then later reattached; for another, 2B had considerably more skin and hair left, which Marlowe assumed was a result of different environmental factors. There were even pieces of cartilage left in some of the sections, which was remarkable given that the body was recorded as having been buried in 1680. Every time he came to look at 2B, Marlowe was surprised by the amount of extant tissue. If he didn't know better, he'd think it was slowly growing.

In fact, if he was a superstitious man, he'd also swear that the lower jaw was moving a few millimeters each day, as if the skull was very slowly opening its mouth.

"What did they do to you?" Marlowe whispered, leaning closer and examining the thin, dry skin that still clung to parts of the face. The left side, in particular, seemed to be partially preserved, and there was even a small amount of matter left in the eye sockets, as if the eyeballs had shriveled in the grave. Peering into those two dark voids, Marlowe felt the irresistible tug of his imagination, trying to make him believe that there might be some vestige of the body's soul still lingering in the bones like a fine mist. Smiling, he reminded himself that this was just the way the human mind worked, and that souls existed only in fairy-tales.

Looking closer at the cut around the neck, Marlowe noticed two unusual things. First, the incision seemed to be very clean and neat. Given that most decapitations in the seventeenth century would have been performed with a blunt instrument such an ax, Marlowe was surprised to see that in this case, a much sharper and more delicate blade had been used. Second, he couldn't help but notice that the skin on either side of the cut seemed to have partly begun to heal. The only logical explanation was that the head was placed back on the neck shortly after decapitation, which meant that the skin perhaps made a cursory attempt to patch the wound even though the man was already dead. Although this was kind of an odd idea, it was the only thing that made sense right now, and Marlowe made a mental note to consult with a few colleagues in order to see if the theory could be defended.

"Wait here," Marlowe said, deciding that he wanted to get a better look at the wound. Setting his voice recorder on the table next to the corpse, he hurried through to the next room, where he grabbed a thermal imaging camera and quickly attached the lens he needed for such a delicate job. He was hoping to get a very specific and highly magnified image of the edges of the cut, in order to see if he could get a better estimate of the time difference between the head being severed and then the attempt to place it back on the neck. If he could -

Suddenly he heard a noise from the main room, as if something had been knocked to the floor. Setting the camera down, he hurried back through, but there was nothing to be seen. All the bodies were still in their usual places, and the main door was still shut. Nevertheless, Marlowe knew better than to question his senses, and he was certain that he'd heard something. Walking slowly between the tables, he was looking out for any sign that something unusual had happened. He was very much aware that a lesser mind would be filled with fear, but he reminded himself that he was a man of logic. Finally, he spotted something on the floor, and it took him a moment to realize that his voice recorder had somehow dropped from 2B's table.

"Don't like modern technology, huh?" he said with a smile, as he walked over and rescued the device. He was sure he'd placed it well away from the edge of the table, but he figured he must have made a mistake. Rewinding to the start of the tape, he hit the Play button and listened for a moment.

“Wait here,” he heard himself say, followed by footsteps heading away.

He smiled.

Just as he was about to stop the tape, he heard a faint scraping sound, as if something was moving on the tray itself, getting closer to the recorder. A moment later, he heard a bump on the recording, and the tape stopped.

He paused.

“I'm sure it's nothing,” he muttered, despite the chill that ran up his spine. “Just an acoustic trick.”

Putting the voice recorder in his pocket, he went back through to finish setting up the thermal imaging camera, and he made an extra effort to ensure that there were no more sloppy mistakes.

After working for a few more minutes, he finally had the camera ready. This, he reminded himself, was why it was always better to work alone. No-one to explain things to, no-one to pester him with inane questions; just him, and his equipment, and his subjects, and silence. He knew this preference probably made him seem like a bit of a loner, and he was quite prepared to accept that he was anti-social, but he'd come to accept these aspects of his personality a long time ago, and he was tired of fighting them. At the age of thirty-two, he figured he'd achieved as much emotional development as was likely, and he was happy to just settle for his own company and his own way of doing things. The last thing he needed was disruption. In fact, the last thing he needed was other people at all.

"Hey!" said a voice suddenly.

Almost dropping the camera, Marlowe spun around to find Amanda standing in the doorway, with a faint smile on her lips.

"Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just..." She paused for a moment. "Well, I was late leaving work, and when I got to the elevators, I was waiting by myself and I realized..." She paused, as if she was about to say something embarrassing. "Well, I kind of wanted to come and check up on how things are going." She glanced back through to the main room. "So have you come to any conclusions yet?"

"Not really," Marlowe replied, trying to seem calm and collected. For a man who wanted to be alone, and who didn't like company, he had an annoying habit of becoming slightly clumsy whenever Amanda was around. "Just bumbling along, you know? Working methodically and..." He paused, realizing that he was giving a dry and very academic answer. "One of the specimens is particularly interesting," he continued, figuring that it might be fun to share his findings with someone other than Wade. "Do you want to see?"

He spent the next few minutes showing Amanda specimen 2B, and explaining the unusual nature of the cut that had initially severed the head from the body. Although he worried that he was going into too much detail, he reminded himself that he and Amanda shared similar professional backgrounds, which meant that she should have no trouble following his train of thought. It was her intellect, as much as her looks, that attracted him, and he appreciated the opportunity to talk on level terms with a professional equal.

"One thing I've learned," Amanda said eventually, after Marlowe had finished explaining the mysteries surrounding specimen 2B, "is that you can never discount irrationality. Humans sometimes do the weirdest things, for reasons that only make sense in their own minds. Sure, you can figure things out most of the time, but occasionally you'll get totally stumped. It's a good lesson in life, actually. People are weird, and there's nothing any of us can do about it."

"The other fourteen bodies have a substantial number of common traits," Marlowe continued. "This one, however, just seems a little different. The skin is so well-preserved in places, and the traces of hair..." He paused, trying to come up with some kind of explanation. Sure, he'd been telling himself that environmental factors in the burial might have played a part, but in the back of his mind there was a voice that kept nudging him and reminding him that this was unlikely. The mystery excited him, not because he believed in vampires, but because he was certain that there was a rational explanation waiting to be discovered.

"There was a case in South America where a number of Inca burial sites were found to contain well-preserved bodies," Amanda replied. "Have you considered the possibility that herbs were used to create some kind of balm? That's what the Inca were up to."

"There's no comparative tradition in the region," he told her, "and besides, I've already done a cursory examination and I found no traces of any kind of substance. There must be a rational explanation, though. Rule out everything else, and what you're left with, no matter how improbable, is likely to be the truth."

"You want to get a drink and talk it over?" Amanda asked suddenly.

"Get a what?" Marlowe asked, feeling his chest tighten and his blood start to run cold.

"A drink," Amanda continued, a little tentatively. "You know, liquid in a container, poured down the throat?" She waited for a reply. "Just a thought..."

"I had coffee a few minutes ago, actually," Marlowe replied, staring down at the body. Suddenly, in the back of his mind, a dusty part of his consciousness kicked into gear and forced him to look over at Amanda, and he realized he was starting to swear profusely. "You mean... now? As in... outside... somewhere?"

"You're planning to work late," she said, looking a little disappointed. "I'm sorry, it was a crazy idea..."

"No," Marlowe replied, desperately trying to back-peddle, "No, it's not. I mean, I have a lot to do, but -"

Before he could finish, a door opened at the far end of the room and Wade appeared, carrying a large plastic crate.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Marlowe asked, feeling as if his late-night sanctuary was being completely invaded.

"You always said I should show some initiative," Wade replied, placing the crate on a nearby desk, "so I bribed Jerry to let me stay overnight. I thought I could get some work done by myself. Don't take offense, Dr. Marlowe, but I've been thinking about it and I've come to the conclusion that I kind of work better alone, when there's no-one to disturb me. I tend to second-guess myself too much if I think someone's watching. I'm sure I can be more productive if I work like this, although obviously I'll have to go and take a nap in the morning."

"But..." Marlowe started to say, before realizing that somehow, in a twisted, roundabout way, he and Wade were maybe a little more alike than he'd realized. He'd never pegged Wade as someone who could show such dedication, and it was the first time in many years that he felt he'd genuinely been proven wrong about someone.

"I should get going," Amanda said. "Good luck with the -"

"I'll come with you," Marlowe said, deciding to seize the moment.

"You will?" Amanda replied, looking shocked.

"We'll get that drink," he continued, feeling a sense of relief flood through his body. "We'll talk about the Inca and their body preservation methods and anything else you think might be useful." He paused, realizing that he didn't really sound much like himself right now. "I'll see you in the morning," he added as he turned to Wade. "Don't forget to get thermal images of 2B's neck area. I've already set the camera up, so..."

He turned back to Amanda, who had a faint smile on her face. For a moment, Marlowe was overcome with fear; he'd spent so long daydreaming about spending time with Amanda away from the museum, he'd neglected to prepare adequately for the possibility that it might actually happen. For a fraction of a second, he felt compelled to cancel the drink, before he realized that it was now or never. Besides, with Wade around, he knew he wouldn't be able to get much work done.

"Come on," Amanda said. "I know a bar just a few streets away. They don't play the music too loud, so we should be able to hear each other."

Glancing at Wade, and seeing the amused look on his face, Marlowe hurried over to the door and grabbed his coat.

"Seeya in the morning," Wade muttered as he pulled some equipment out from one of the crates. It looked as if he was more than capable of getting on with things.

"Don't forget to add some extra iodine to the rinsing solution," Marlowe reminded him as Amanda stepped through the door, "and don't forget to record the glucose levels every three hours, there's a -"

"I won't forget," Wade replied. "Go on. I'll be fine, honestly. I'm looking forward to getting some proper work done."

Marlowe opened his mouth to remind Wade about a few other things, but finally he realized that he was fussing too much. Turning, he saw that Amanda was holding the door open, waiting for him. With a cautious, slightly nervous and embarrassed smile, he followed and they headed toward the elevators.

Six

"Hydrogen diglyceride," Marlowe said, staring down at his glass of wine for a moment. "Could that have somehow got into the groundwater and then seeped into the coffin? If it had pooled in sufficient quantities, it might have absorbed any moisture within the coffin itself."

"Maybe," Amanda replied. "Do you have a water table report for the region where the bodies were found?"

Marlowe shook his head.

"It's definitely possible," Amanda continued, "but unless you've got a full analysis of the soil, it's just guesswork. If you have any contacts out there, you need to get a sample here as soon as possible. I'd be happy to help take a look, if you like. I mean, I don't want to intrude on your work, but I think it could be useful for my own research."

Marlowe stared at her for a moment. The last thing he wanted was to have someone else hovering around while he was working. Then again, Amanda might be different. He felt that they were on the same wavelength, and that they might actually work rather well together.

"Or not," she said, seeing the shocked look on his face. "It's fine -"

"No, I'd be happy to have you help out," Marlowe stammered.

She smiled.

There was an awkward silence. Sitting in the corner of a quiet little basement bar, Marlowe and Amanda were sharing a bottle of wine, although neither of them had actually touched a drop since their brief, slightly forced toast after the bottle was opened. Instead, they'd been engaged in rapt conversation, discussing the details of Marlowe's corpses.

It had already occurred to Marlowe that this wasn't how dates normally went. Most dates involved stilted conversations about simple topics, whereas they'd been talking almost exclusively about water tables and methods of scanning the interiors of dead bodies without disturbing the skin. Then again, Marlowe couldn't be certain that this was a date, and he didn't even know if he wanted it to be a date. He'd never been very good at understanding women, and Amanda seemed particularly inscrutable. Despite his skepticism, however, he couldn't deny that they'd been bumping into one another with increasing frequency over the past few days, and there was a chance that she was interested in more than just a set of old bones.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of something to say, something to get rid of the awkwardness.

“Fungus,” Amanda said suddenly.

He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

"Fungus,” she continued. “There are types of fungus that form very plain, very smooth joins with one another. Don't be insulted by this suggestion, but the skin you think you've found on this 2B specimen... Could it actually be a fungal growth that just looks like skin? Have you actually tested it yet? Sometimes it's the simplest explanations that we ended up overlooking, and you wouldn't be the first person to get fooled like that."

"It's not fungus," Marlowe replied. "I've already removed a sample. Besides, there's also hair, as well as the fact that some of the skin around the neck wound seemed to have started to heal. How can a body even begin to heal a severed head? It's..." He paused, lost in thought. "There's an explanation somewhere. There's an explanation for everything, but right now..."

"This is when a lesser man would start thinking the unthinkable," Amanda said.

"Such as?"

She shrugged. "Vampires. Werewolves. Monsters in the night."

"A convenient fantasy," Marlowe said. "I'd rather keep digging and find the real answer. All the other bodies are explicable. I can show you what happened to them, how it occurred, and what happened next. 2B, though, is infuriating. It doesn't make any sense. In fact, it flies in the face of reason completely, but that doesn't mean there's something supernatural going on. It just means I haven't seen the problem from the right angle yet."

"Have you thought about doing the most obvious thing?"

Marlowe stared at her.

"Remove the head," she continued with a faint smile. "See what the joins are really like from the inside. I know you can take images and create 3D models, but maybe you should just pull the damn thing off and take a look? Really poke around in there. Get your hands dirty."

"We can't," Marlowe replied. "The Bulgarian government only let us have the bodies if we promised to keep them intact. We're barely even allowed to breathe around them."

"They won't know," she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush. "If you do things by the book, you might miss something. You'll end up sending the bodies back at the end of the month, and you won't have got to the bottom of the whole thing. Can you really live with that? After all this work, are you really prepared to send the bodies home when you know there are other things you could try?"

"I can't break the terms of the agreement," Marlowe said. "Besides, I wouldn't learn much by doing something so drastic." He paused for a moment, wondering whether he should mention the other thing that had been bothering him. "There's something else," he said eventually. "This might sound crazy, but you have to remember that I'm certain there's a rational explanation for everything. Still..." His voice trailed off for a moment. "No, forget it. It's ridiculous."

"You can't leave me hanging," Amanda replied. "What's wrong?"

"It's just... I swear, when specimen 2B arrived, its jaw was closed. And then yesterday, I noticed it was open slightly, just a millimeter or two. And today, it seemed to have opened a little more."

"Like it's slowly opening its mouth."

Marlowe smiled awkwardly. "How about that for something out of the ordinary, huh? Obviously there's an explanation. Chemical reactions in the ligaments, maybe, or..." Again, his voice trailed off. "You see how easy it is to let this kind of thing get to you?" he said eventually. "The mind fills in the gap between all sorts of basic observations."

"Either that," Amanda replied with a mischievous grin, "or your specimen 2B is waking up."

Marlowe nodded wearily. Checking his watch, he saw that it was close to midnight. They'd been sat in the bar for an hour and a half, and all they'd done was take a circular route back to the basic facts. So much for any hope of a big breakthrough. On a professional level, the evening had been something of a washout, although he was still enjoying this time alone with Amanda. He always considered himself to be a bit of a loner, but now he was starting to realize that he just needed the right type of people around him.

"So tell me about yourself," Amanda said suddenly.

"What do you mean?" Marlowe asked, shocked by the question.

Staring at him, Amanda bit her lower lip.

"Well," Marlowe replied, "I... You know what I do, right? You know about my background and my -"

"What about away from work?" she continued. "I mean, you do have time away from the museum, don't you? Please, don't tell me you live in the basement."

Marlowe paused, feeling as if his mind had suddenly been wiped. "Well," he stammered, "I mean, I, well..."

"I'll tell you what I do," Amanda replied, clearly hoping to guide him through the conversational minefield. "I like going to the cinema. Sometimes with friends, but also by myself. I know it's supposed to be weird to go alone, but sod it, I don't care. It's almost obsessive. I have to go several times a week, even if the only films that are showing are total rubbish. I mean, I never go and see anything twice, but..." She laughed nervously, before taking another, bigger sip from her glass of wine. "Do I sound like a total sad-sack?" she asked eventually.

"Not at all," Marlowe said. "If you want to see a film, why should you wait until -"

"But it's not even like I want to see the individual films," she replied. "I just want to go out. I want to go to the cinema. I want to smell the popcorn." She paused, as a set of sirens roared past the door to the bar, obviously heading to some far-off emergency. "Of course, I suppose it'd be fun to have someone there with me, and the ushers wouldn't give me such pitying stares."

"Don't you have any friends?" Marlowe asked, before realizing that he could have phrased that better. "What I mean is -"

"Not really," she said suddenly. "There. I admitted it. I've never been very good at shallow connections. I look for real, strong friendships. I'd rather have two or three really close friends, instead of -" She stopped speaking for a moment as another siren blasted past. "Sounds like there's a party somewhere," she said nervously. "I'm sorry, this is veering toward some kind of confessional thing, and that's really not what I wanted." She paused, keeping her eyes fixed on him. "I don't know why I mentioned anything," she said eventually. "I just thought, if you wanted to go with me some time..."

"To the cinema?" Marlowe asked, shocked at such a suggestion.

"It was just..." She smiled nervously. "I mean, it was -"

Suddenly there was a muffled buzzing sound, and Amanda reached into her bag for her cellphone. "Sorry," she said, "I've got to take this. It's my research assistant." She raised the phone to her ear. "Hey, Deborah, what's - " There was a pause, and after a moment the color seemed to drain from her face. "What?" she asked, almost knocking her wine glass over as she got up from her stool. "Say that again."

"What's wrong?" Marlowe mouthed.

"I'll be right there," Amanda said, before ending the call. She stood in stunned silence for a moment, before turning to him as another siren blared in the distance. "There's a fire at the museum. The whole place is going up in flames."

Seven

By the time they reached the museum, it was too late to do anything but stand and watch as flames engulfed the building.

Fire crews were already on the scene, but they were being beaten back by the heat as flames billowed from the doors and windows of the grand old building. High above in the night sky, a helicopter approached the scene and, moments later, dropped its payload of fire-retardant chemicals onto the top of the conflagration; nothing seemed to work, however, and the museum continued to burn with startling intensity. Even though the building housed its fair share of chemicals and flammable materials, this seemed like something different, something more intense: a blaze of white heat that showed no signs of abating any time soon. It was as if the mouth of hell had opened up deep inside.

"Was anyone inside?" Amanda asked a passing fireman, who simply shrugged. "Was anyone in there?" she asked another, who ignored her completely.

Marlowe, meanwhile, was trying Wade's cellphone, which went straight to voice-mail every time. His eyes fixed on the flames, he couldn't help but think of those fifteen invaluable corpses being destroyed, and he wanted to know whether Wade had managed to rescue any of the specimens before the flames took hold. After all, those bodies could never be replaced.

"Come on, Wade," he muttered, before realizing that the Bulgarian bodies weren't the only things that might have been lost in the flames. After all, there was no sign of Wade either.

"This is insane," Amanda said, standing next to him. "I can't even begin to calculate the losses. Didn't we have fire safety measures? There were sprinklers and alarms all through the building. How the hell did this get so big? It's like someone just doused the whole place in petrol and lit a match."

Marlowe had no answer. Turning to look across the crowd that was gathering to gawp at the scene, he spotted an ambulance, and after a moment he saw a familiar figure being given treatment.

"Jerry!" he shouted, running over and finding the security guard wrapped in a blanket, taking regular breaths from an oxygen machine. "What happened in there?"

Jerry shook his head. He looked old and tired, and it was clear he'd been badly shaken by the whole experience. His uniform was scuffed, and one of his hands had been wrapped in a gel pack, the contents of which were supposed to be cooling a series of burns.

"Come on!" Marlowe continued, shaking Jerry's shoulder. "Talk to me! What happened?"

"He's in shock," said a paramedic, gently easing Marlowe back.

"I don't give a damn!" Marlowe shouted, "I need to know what happened in there!"

"I'm not letting you talk to him," the paramedic said firmly.

"It's okay," Jerry said, his voice barely audible above the chaos. "Let him."

"Let me talk to him," Amanda said, pushing past and crouching next to Jerry. "Was anyone in there?" she asked, her tone sounding a lot calmer and more caring than Marlowe's. "Do you know if everyone got out? Did you see anyone left in the building as you were leaving?"

"There wasn't supposed to be anyone in there at all," he replied, his voice filled with shock. "It was supposed to be empty."

"It wasn't empty," Marlowe snapped at him. "There were priceless artifacts in there!"

"There were people, too," Jerry continued. "I let Dr. Marlowe's assistant stay late. I know I shouldn't have done it. It was stupid, but I never thought... It's my fault he was in there."

"Did he get out?" Amanda asked.

"No-one's seen him," Jerry replied. "No-one's seen anyone, except -"

Before Amanda could ask another question, there was a loud crashing sound as a section of the building collapsed, sending a plume of dust and smoke into the air. The force of the tumbling masonry was strong enough to make the ground tremble.

"What caused this?" Marlowe asked.

"Something in your lab," Jerry said, looking over at him.

"My lab?" Marlowe paused for a moment. "There was nothing in my lab that could possibly have started this. We had safety precautions and set procedures, we had a full series of fire safety protocols. We didn't even have anything particularly flammable, we..." His voice trailed off as he thought once again of those precious bodies being consumed by the flames, taking their secrets with them. There was still a chance that the bones might survive, but the flesh would be lost forever.

"I heard a noise from up there," Jerry continued. "I was down in the main hall and I heard... I don't know, it sounded like a struggle, and there were things being smashed. It sounded like bedlam. I grabbed my radio and started going to take a look, but before I'd got to the stairs I heard a kind of whooshing sound, like something igniting. I swear to God, as soon as I saw the flames, I called for help, but the whole place just went up in a couple of minutes. The sprinklers had no chance."

Marlowe turned to Amanda. "Someone did this deliberately."

"Why would anyone want to burn down a museum?" she replied skeptically.

"God knows, but it's the only thing that makes sense. Maybe they wanted to cover something up. Maybe they stole something and they didn't want anyone to know. There are collectors out there who'd pay enough to make a stunt like this happen. I don't know who's behind it all, but this has to have been deliberate."

"It's my fault," Jerry continued. "I knew I wasn't supposed to let people work late, but I just wanted to be helpful. I figured it didn't matter. I never thought there'd be a problem. He seemed like such a nice guy. I mean, I let you work late so many times, Dr. Marlowe, and there were never any problems."

"When you said you heard a noise," Marlowe said, "what exactly do you mean? Did it sound as if someone was fighting?"

Jerry nodded.

"There was a man earlier," Marlowe continued, turning to Amanda. "He was angry about the work we were doing. I mean, it never occurred to me that he might be dangerous, but what if he came back late at night and tried to stop our work by burning the place down?"

"That's a pretty big leap," Amanda pointed out.

"It explains everything," Marlowe said, looking over at the burning building. "He probably brought petrol, which explains why the fire took hold so quickly. He was probably waiting outside, and then I guess he saw us leave and thought there'd be no-one in the lab."

"We have motion sensors on the doors and windows at night," Jerry replied. "I'd have known if someone got inside."

"Clearly you weren't paying attention," Marlowe snapped back at him.

“Of course I was paying attention!”

As if to undermine his point, another section of the museum's roof collapsed.

"There's something else," Jerry continued, before taking another deep breath from his oxygen mask. "You're gonna think I've lost my mind, but..." He glanced over his shoulder, as if he was checking to make sure that no-one could hear them. "Maybe I have lost my mind, but I swear, just after I called for help, I came out here to wait and..." He paused again. "The flames were really strong, you know? Like, nothing could even get close to the place. I went around to the side, to see if there was anything I could do. And that's when I saw the figure."

"A figure?" Marlowe replied. "A man? Running away? Burning?"

"Not running," Jerry continued. "Walking. Not burning, either. All I saw was his silhouette, and he was limping a little. He didn't look quite right, like his body was kinda twisted and stuff, and he was moving awkwardly. He was right in the middle of the flames, and he was just making his way slowly through them, like he didn't give a damn. He stopped for a moment, and he looked at me and...”

Marlowe waited for him to finish. “And what?”

“And I could see through his head,” Jerry replied, with fear in his eyes. “I could a hole in his mouth, like... It was like he wasn't much more than a set of bones.” He turned to Amanda. “I swear, I'm not making this up. He was real.”

"Who was real?" Marlowe asked, trying to untie the knot of Jerry's ramblings. Glancing over at Amanda, he saw that she was busy talking to a police officer. "You can't have seen anyone come out of there," Marlowe continued, turning back to Jerry. "Look at the place. It's an inferno. What you're describing is literally impossible. You don't seriously expect any of us to believe such a ridiculous claim, do you?"

"I saw him," Jerry continued, "as clear as I see you standing here right now. I don't know where he went, though. The flames were so bright. He was right in the middle of them, and then he just seemed to walk off into the darkness."

Sighing, Marlowe turned and looked once again at the burning museum. It was quite clear that the entire building was going to be destroyed. Parts of the structure had already collapsed, and anything left standing would undoubtedly have to be demolished. He couldn't even begin to understand what the repercussions of this disaster might be, but he knew without doubt that his work on the bodies was over. For a moment, he couldn't help but think of Wade's corpse burning in the heart of the inferno. If this accident had happened on any other night, it would have been Marlowe himself who'd have been in there, except that he had a lingering feeling that he wouldn't have allowed such a fire to take root in the first place.

"They say it won't be put out until morning," Amanda said tiredly, turning away from the police officer. "The fire crews are going to focus on containment for now, and they figure whatever's fueling the flames, it'll start burning itself out within a few hours. None of their usual methods are working. Something's driving the fire, and they won't know the cause until they can get in and look through the rubble, which might take days."

"So they're not going to try to save anything that's in there?" Marlowe asked incredulously. "They're going to let the whole place and its contents burn?"

"Come on," she said, as Jerry was loaded into the back of the ambulance. "There's no point standing around here. We should both get some rest so we're ready when we're really needed, in the morning."

Realizing that she was right, Marlowe turned and walked away with her. It pained him to leave the building behind, and it pained him even more to think of how the site would look in the morning. He'd spent the past five years working at the museum, and now the entire place was being incinerated. He knew it was wrong to feel more strongly about the demise of a building than about the death of his assistant, but he couldn't help how he'd reacted. The museum had been his professional home for so long, and the Bulgarian vampire bones had promised to push his research to the next level. Now it was all gone, and he'd have to start again.

A couple of weeks later, once he and the rest of the museum's staff were back at the still-smoldering site, Marlowe began the laborious task of recovering what remained of the bones. Charred and scorched, they'd nevertheless survived without turning to ash, and Marlowe went through the motions of trying to sort them back into their original batches. He worked on the project alone for the next two weeks, trying endless permutations and consulting hundreds of photos that he and Wade had taken. At first, people offered their help, but he always turned them down. He even rejected Amanda's attempts to get involved, since he was determined to work alone. After a while, no-one checked on Marlowe at all, and he began to be seen as a complete loner. Some people even questioned his sanity.

Still he kept working. Day after day, night after night, often forgetting to sleep and eat. He was rarely seen outside his makeshift office in one of the museum's other buildings, and eventually he forget about the outside world completely. Frantically thin, with the same clothes he'd been wearing for weeks and weeks, he worked without rest. He knew there was an answer somewhere in this pile of bones, but the truth just seemed to be constantly out of reach.

No matter what he tried, no matter how many times he checked the images and tried to rearrange the bones, he could never come up with fifteen separate sets. Fourteen, yes, but never fifteen. There always seemed to be one set of bones missing.

Death of a Vampire

Prologue

Slipping on the bloodied tiles, I fall back from the edge of the bath. Sonja's limp, naked body lands on top of me. Red-stained water trickles from her bare flesh.

“Sonja!” I shout, slipping out from under her and setting her body down on the tiles. I tap the side of her pale face, but her eyes remain closed and she doesn't respond at all.

I check her pulse, first on the side of her neck and then at her torn wrists, but there's nothing.

“Sonja!” I stammer again, shaking her by the shoulder before pulling my phone from my pocket and quickly bringing up the number to get an ambulance. Filled with panic, it takes me a moment to remember the right number for the Swedish emergency services.

As I wait for the call to connect, I look back over at the bath and see that the cloudy, blood-red water is already calm again after I lifted Sonja out. Next to the faucet, three razor blades have been discarded with blood drying on their edges.

One

Today

“This is not a ticket,” the driver says again, in broken English. “You need a ticket, or you pay for a ticket, or you get off the coach.”

This has been going on for a while now.

Still staring out the window, still watching the dark Hamburg street, I can hear the girl sorting through her bag, trying to find the right piece of paper. I'm starting to feel sorry for her, and the coach driver is being more than a little unsympathetic. At the same time, so far the girl has sounded kind of zoned out, as if she doesn't entirely understand the problem. Her voice seems vague, too, maybe a little dreamy and distant. Finally, as the sound of her rooting through her bag continues, I turn and glance at her.

She has shoulder-length dark hair, and she's maybe in her mid-twenties, and she has notable shadows under her eyes.

I immediately catch the driver's glare, and he raises a skeptical, un-amused eyebrow.

“Did you buy a ticket?” he asks the girl with a sigh. “Yes or no? This is not a trick question.”

“I think so,” she stammers. “I...”

She mumbles something else, but once again her voice trails off. She seems barely capable of finishing a sentence, and when I glance at her again I can't help noticing that she's frowning as she sorts through her bag, as if she's genuinely confused. After a moment, she pulls a couple of crumpled sheets from her bag and starts looking at them, but I can already tell that none of them can possibly be a ticket. Finally she starts looking through a leaflet from the coach company, as if she expects a ticket to magically fall out and land in her lap.

Turning to look back out the window, I check my watch and see that it's almost 11pm. Fortunately I don't mind a small delay on this journey to Paris, but I can hear several other passengers sighing with impatience. Most people fly or take the train these days, so the coach is filled with a curious collection of people who – for whatever reason – have decided to take the long trip through Europe in one of the slowest ways possible. Maybe, like me, they prefer to stay at the margins right now.

“Where did you buy your ticket?” the driver asks abruptly.

“Um...” She seems a little hesitant. “From a man.”

“What man?”

“A man at the station.”

“It's too late,” he explains. “The ticket office closed hours ago.”

“He was outside the ticket office.”

“A man outside the ticket office? You gave him money for a leaflet and he said you could use it to board the coach? Did you seriously believe something so stupid?”

“He said he was selling tickets,” she continues, with a hint of desperation in her voice now. “He said it'd be okay if I just showed you this...” She holds up the leaflet again. “I gave him... I didn't have much money, but he said there was an offer so I had just enough.”

My heart sinks. She's obviously been scammed by someone, and to be honest she doesn't sound too smart. Either that, or she's on drugs.

As she explains that she spoke to the man shortly before the coach was due to depart, I watch a late-night kebab store on the other side of the street. Two guys are squaring up outside, and they look like they're ready for a fight. In fact, this whole neighborhood seems kind of sketchy. We're a few minutes out from the coach station and for some reason the driver chose this spot to pull over and make his way along the aisle, checking tickets. He didn't get far before he reached this row, and while I showed him my ticket several minutes ago, the girl in the seat next to me is still struggling.

“You're delaying the coach,” the driver says finally. “You don't have a ticket.”

“I do,” she replies, although sounds a little uncertain. “I just...”

Glancing at her again, I see that she's still holding the crumpled leaflet, even though it's already been established that it's not in any way, shape or form even remotely related to an actual ticket. Her hands are trembling, and I'm starting to feel a little worried about her. I think she might be close to tears.

“You don't have a ticket,” the driver says again. “You can pay now, or you can get off.”

She freezes for a moment, as if she's genuinely shocked, and then she fishes a small purse from the bag. “How much is it?” she asks.

“Where are you going?”

“Where...” She pauses. “Where does...”

“This coach is to Paris,” he continues. “France. The price is eighty-seven euros from here.”

She opens her purse, but it's quite clear that she has little more than a few coins. “I gave all my money to the man,” she stammers, as if she's in shock. “I thought I was buying a ticket from him. He said -”

“You have no ticket,” the driver says with a sigh, “and you can't pay for one, so now you must leave the coach. We're already running late and you're delaying all these people. If you don't leave, I will call the police. Do you understand? Get off right now.”

She closes her purse and drops it back into her bag, before taking another look at the pieces of paper.

“I spoke to a man,” she stammers, “and -”

“Do you want me to call the police?” he asks, before placing a hand on her shoulder. “Okay. You must get out. Go. You are delaying the rest of us.”

Hearing raised voices outside, I turn just in time to see that those two guys outside the kebab shop are really getting into a proper argument now. A couple of women are egging them on from the shadows, telling them to settle things like 'real men', and some other men are sitting on motorbikes nearby, watching the scene with interest.

“I don't know what to do,” the girl says after a moment, her voice trembling with shock. “I...”

“Out!” the driver says firmly. “Right now!”

“Get off the fucking coach!” a voice calls out from somewhere further back. “You're holding us all up, you dumb cow!”

“Wait!” I mutter, reaching into my pocket and pulling out my wallet. Fumbling for a moment, I slip out some cash and count out ninety euros before handing them to the driver. “There,” I continue, keen to just get this whole mess over and done with. “That covers her ticket, right?”

He stares at the money, and he seems not only shocked but also annoyed that his little power trip is coming to a premature end.

“You want to pay for her ticket?” he asks, clearly disappointed. “Why?”

“If it gets us moving,” I reply, before looking out the window again as I see that a fight has broken out near the kebab place, and I can hear police sirens in the distance. “This doesn't seem like a great area,” I continue, turning back to the driver and then looking at the girl.

To my surprise, she's simply looking down at her bag. She hasn't acknowledged me, hasn't even thanked me, which I guess is kind of rude. She must be shy.

“Whatever,” the driver mutters, dropping three coins into my hand before turning and shuffling back to his seat. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, we're on our way now. Don't worry, we should be able to make up the lost time and arrive in Paris right on schedule.”

As the coach finally gets going again, I wait for the girl to thank me, but instead she focuses on sorting out the contents of her bag before finally zipping it shut. After that, she stares straight ahead, and it's hard not to feel as if something doesn't seem quite right in her head. Her eyes are focused on the back of the seat in front, and she's barely even blinking.

“You're welcome,” I say finally, and when even that doesn't elicit a response, I turn and look out the window as we drive through the suburbs of Hamburg, heading south-west. The vast darkness of Europe stretches out for thousands of miles into the night, filled with ghosts.

Two

It's a little after 7am as I haul my backpack over my shoulder and turn away from the coach, heading through to the arrivals hall at Bagnolet station in Paris. I'd been planning to get some sleep during the night's journey, which was kind of a dumb idea since I never manage to sleep while I'm traveling. Still, I figure some fresh air will do me good, so I make my way through the labyrinthine corridors of the station, heading ever upward until finally I emerge on a cold, mid-dawn Parisian street.

If anything, the fresh air actually makes me feel a little worse.

Dropping my bag, I take a moment to pull the printed map from my pocket and double-check the details. I have a hotel booked for tonight near the Gare de l'Est, but I figure it's too early to check in just yet so I might as well walk the five or six kilometers to the center of the city. It's not like I haven't made that trek before during my travels, and I guess there's a chance that a little exercise might wake me from this daze. Besides, after everything that happened over the past week, it might be good to remind myself that the rest of the world still exists. And to spend some time in a loud, raucous city full of distractions.

And then I spot her.

The girl from the coach is emerging from the terminal's main exit, and she looks totally dazed. In fact, I can't help watching for a moment as she looks around, and I swear it seems as if she has absolutely no idea where she is. She doesn't have any luggage, other than the bag she brought onto the coach last night, and she's not even wearing a jacket. All things considered, she looks like something of a space cadet. I even consider going over to ask if she's okay, but I figure it's none of my business and – besides – she was kind of rude last night when I paid for her ticket. The whole way here, she didn't say one goddamn word to me.

Screw her.

She's not my problem.

Dragging my bag back onto my shoulders, I turn and make my way along the street.

For the next hour or so, I wander not-particularly-fast along loud, busy Parisian sidewalks. Most of the shops and cafes aren't open yet, but their owners are starting to set up and delivery trucks are parked all over the place, blocking my way. Messengers bring their scooters to screeching halts outside office buildings. Pigeons barely get out of my way as they examine filthy black sacks that have been left to leak across the pavement. Horns blare and voices shout in the distance, and the general cacophony of the city seems to be building with each passing second. I've lost count of how many times I've made this journey over the years, and I'm still not quite used to the sounds of Paris. Somehow this city seems so much louder than London.

Stopping suddenly after going around the next corner, I stare ahead and realize that I've taken a wrong turn. I wasn't paying attention, and now I'm starting to loop back toward the coach station. Sighing, I turn and -

Someone bumps straight into me, hard enough to send me back a step.

Before I can apologize, however, I realize that I'm face to face with the girl from the coach.

“Hi,” I stammer, as she stares at me with an expression of pure shock.

And then she steps around me and hurries on her way.

“Don't mention it!” I call after her, before realizing that she seems to be just about the rudest person I've ever met in my life.

Sighing, I turn and head back to the corner, and then I take the next left, which takes me onto the road I remember from my last time here. I've still got a long way to go before I reach the hotel, and my feet are aching in these new boots, but at least I have a plan for the next few days.

Even if it's a plan I hate with every atom in my body. Anything is better than being back in Stockholm, back in that apartment where I started to lose my mind.

Three

The hotel room, when I finally get through the door a little before midday, turns out to be small, cramped and old-fashioned, but basically more than enough for my needs. Hell, I don't even know what my needs are anymore.

After all, I'm only staying for one night, so it's not like I need luxury. I guess years of traveling with Sonja trained me to expect a slightly higher standard, but now that I'm on my own, I just need a place to get my head down. There's a TV in the corner, but I doubt I'll turn that on, and there's a kettle with some tea bags, but again...

I'm only here to sleep.

Dropping the backpack onto the bed, I feel several muscles in my back starting to loosen. I hesitate for a moment, praying that none of them will twist and give me real pain, and fortunately the moment passes without the need to curse under my breath. A little discomfort is good, though, since it reminds me that I'm still here. Honestly, if I didn't feel any pain at all, I think I might just turn into a ghost without even dying first.

Checking my phone, I see that I have no new messages. Finally Maria and Michael and all the other people from Stockholm have stopped bothering me.

The cord has been cut.

The bed looks so inviting, and I desperately want to take a shower, but I'm also hungry. Checking my watch, I figure I might as well head to the nearby train station and find a sandwich, and then I can come back and get some rest. Hell, I might just hole myself up here for the entire afternoon and into the evening. It's not like I want or need to go exploring the city. I've seen the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower and all the tourist traps before, and I hate the thought of mingling with crowds. Making my way out of the room and back to the elevator, I can't help feeling very much alone, and I've got to admit that there's still a part of me that wants to turn right around, go to the airport, and fly back to Stockholm. Not to the apartment, but just to Stockholm itself.

But I can't do that.

Not again.

It's over.

For me, Stockholm is a city of ghosts now. A place best avoided. Another day there, and I think I would have really lost my mind. I came so close to madness.

Once I reach the lobby, I drop my key off at the desk and then I head out onto the noisy, dusty street. The train station is just a block away, so I shove my hands into my pockets and set off.

And that's when I see her again.

Stopping in my tracks, I stare at the girl from the coach. She's on the other side of the street, and she's looking directly at me with that same confused expression that hints at great concentration beneath the surface. I wait for her to turn and walk away, but instead she stays right where she is, and she seems not to care about the fact that she's giving off some seriously weird vibes. In fact, as the seconds tick past, I honestly don't know quite what I'm supposed to do in this situation, although finally I simply turn and keep walking, figuring that this run of coincidences has to end soon.

It doesn't end, though, and ten minutes later I'm in a queue at the sandwich bar and I see her staring at me again.

***

“Are you okay?” I ask as I step out with a baguette and potato chips in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other.

To my surprise, this time the girl hasn't hurried away, nor has she averted her gaze. Instead, she's simply standing near the door, staring straight at me. I guess she's getting braver. And weirder.

“Do you want something?” I ask, staring to wonder if she's seriously ill or maybe some kind of psycho. Frankly, I want to turn and head back to the hotel, but I feel like there's a fair chance she might follow me, and I figure it'd probably be best to deal with this situation here and now.

Plus, we're in a crowded place, which seems safer.

“You speak English, right?” I ask. “I heard you last night, on the coach. Remember?”

She tilts her head slightly, the way a dog does when it's trying to understand something, but still she doesn't see fit to utter a goddamn word.

“I bought your ticket,” I remind her. “You didn't really say anything, but... I mean, I didn't want to see you get kicked off the coach in that sketchy neighborhood, so...”

My voice trails off, and I feel like I'm rapidly losing my patience.

“I was sitting right next to you all the way from Hamburg to Paris. You must remember that!”

No reply.

“I bought your ticket!”

Again, nothing. She just stares at me.

“Okay,” I say with a sigh, taking a step back, “so that's cool. No need to thank me. Have fun.”

I turn to walk away, but suddenly I feel a hand on my shoulder and I stop. Turning slowly, I find myself face to face with the girl once again, and it takes a moment before she slowly moves her hand away. From the look in her eyes, it's clear that she seems shocked by something.

“Where are we?” she asks finally. Her voice seems strangely harsh, almost damaged, but at the same time a little monotone.

I hesitate for a moment, starting to peg her as perhaps some kind of drug user.

“Well, this is a train station,” I explain cautiously. “The Gare de l'Est. We're kinda right in the heart of the city.”

She looks past me for a moment, almost as if she's only just noticed all the people milling about.

“What city?” she asks cautiously.

“What -” I can't help smiling a little, but I think she might just be deadly serious. “Um, well, we're in Paris. You know, the capital of France. In Europe.”

I wait for another dumb question, but she's still watching the crowd, and her mouth is hanging open slightly. Suddenly, as if spooked by God-knows-what, she turns and looks the other way.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask, realizing that she's wearing the same clothes from the coach, and that she still has her bag dangling limply from one hand.

When she doesn't reply, I take a step back, telling myself I should just get going. This girl isn't my problem, and I've already done way more for her than most people would even consider. She'll be fine. It's not like she'll just drop down dead if I don't help out, and again, she's 100% not my problem.

“So I should head off now,” I tell her finally. “I hope you have a great time in Paris and... Well, I hope you find wherever you're going. Your friends or... whatever you came here for.”

Again, no reply. She's simply looking along the concourse, and after a moment she turns and looks past me, still watching the crowd with just the faintest hint of confusion. Or maybe even fear.

“Do you want these?” I ask, holding my lunch out toward her. “I can get more, I just... If you're hungry or thirsty...”

My voice trails off, and I honestly don't know if she even heard a word I just said.

“I guess that's a no then,” I mutter, starting to feel just a little frustrated by her inability to thank me. “Well, I've done everything I can,” I add, “so now I think it's time for me to get going.”

I pause, waiting for her to respond, but still getting nothing.

“Bye, then,” I mutter, turning and making my way back toward the exit. I can't help glancing over my shoulder a couple of times, and I see that the girl is still in the same space, still looking around with that vacant, slightly concerned expression on her face. At least she's stopped following me, which I guess is a bonus.

By the time I reach the main exit, I've lost sight of her in the vast, bustling crowd. Still, as I step out into the bright midday sun, I can't help feeling a little bad for her, and I have to remind myself a couple of times that she's really not my problem. I'm still scared that my mind might crack at any moment. Maybe getting away from the apartment won't be enough to keep me sane.

Four

“Fuck women,” the guy at the hotel's front desk mutters with a thick French accent, as he pours us each another shot of whiskey. “They know the game. They play the game. They're as good at the game as any guy, but they won't admit that. And do you know what I hate more than anything in this whole goddamn world? Hypocrites!”

He slides one of the glasses toward me, almost sending it careering off the edge of the bar.

“They act like they're so sweet,” he continues, clearly warming to his theme, “like they're the victims in every situation, but they know how to manipulate the whole goddamn fucking world.” He downs his whiskey and immediately pours himself a refill. “I could tell you stories, my friend. Stories about women that would make your heart do crazy things. Then again, I'm sure I don't need to fill you in. No offense, but you strike me as the kind of guy who's had his fair share of dealings with the other sex.”

I open my mouth to tell him he might be surprised. At that moment, however, the doors to the elevator slide open and a young couple steps out, arm in arm.

“Good evening,” the front desk guy says to them with an easy, friendly smile as they pass. “Enjoy your night out in the city of love.”

He watches as they head outside, and then he rolls his eyes as he turns to me.

“Doesn't she look like a total bitch to you? I mean she's hot, sure, but she looks like she knows it. And he is so pussy-whipped, it's painful.”

“Maybe they're just in love,” I point out. “Not every -”

“He's whipped, I tell you!” he says with a grin, quickly downing another whiskey before letting out a gasp and pouring another. “They were here last night, and I happened to overhear them getting frisky in their room. She was moaning and groaning, but she still managed to give him orders every few minutes. Move this, touch that, harder, softer, twist it a little, all sorts of stuff. I'm surprised she didn't kill him after she was done.”

“You listen to your guests having sex?” I ask, slightly disturbed by the suggestion.

“Just one more drink for me,” he continues, dodging the question. “You know, I can afford to be a little drunk while I work the night-shift, but I can't be too drunk. Just enough to take the edge off, you understand? But you, you are a guest, so you can have as much as you like. Drink up, my friend! Drink!”

I take a sip, but to be honest I really don't feel like getting drunk ever again. Those days are long gone.

“Who is she?” he asks suddenly.

“Huh?” I pause for a moment, before looking at the exit just in case the crazy girl has shown up again.

“You are either running away from a girl,” he continues, “or you are running to one. I am guessing away. So come on, spill the beans. Who is she and how did she rip your heart to shreds?”

“It's complicated,” I reply, feeling a little uneasy. At the same time, my mind briefly flashes back to the blood-filled bathtub, and to the weight of Sonja in my arms as I lifted her out. She'd lost so much blood, I swear she felt lighter. For a fraction of a second, I even remember the feeling of her body as I placed her on the floor, and the slightly oily sensation of water mixed with blood on her flesh.

“Complicated how?”

I open my mouth to attempt an explanation, before realizing that it would take far too long.

“You see that?” he asks, pointing past me.

Turning, I look at the large painting on the opposite wall. It's some kind of abstract piece, like some huge mess of different shades of red paint all smeared together. I noticed it earlier, and to be honest it's a little alarming.

“I painted that,” he continues. “You are impressed?”

“Um, sure,” I reply, figuring I should be polite.

“I call it She Loved Me Once,” he explains. “It's part of a series of thirty-five paintings that I made after my last girlfriend left me. Well, thirty-five paintings so far. Each one is designed to represent a different stage of the grieving process after a relationship ends. When I finally make it as an artist, I will kiss this crappy job goodbye, you understand? I have another thirty-five at least to paint in this series about the girl. Maybe I will even take it to a hundred. And then I will invite her to the first night of my big show, and she will see what she did to me!”

“That seems very... confrontational,” I point out.

“She broke my heart. But you like my painting, yes?”

“It's very... red,” I mutter, unable to think of anything else to say. For a moment, the swirls of red paint almost seem to be moving slightly, as if they're drifting through water, and finally I turn back to the guy and see that he's pouring himself another whiskey. So much for staying sober while he works. “Are all your paintings red?”

“All red,” he says with a knowing, self-satisfied smile. “Red like blood. Blood is passion, blood is hunger, blood is the juice of life. Maybe I use the wrong words in English, but I know what I'm talking about when it comes to art. I love blood. Do you love blood? How can anyone live and not love blood?”

“Sure,” I reply, figuring I just need to drink this shot of whiskey and then make an excuse to go up to my room. This guy is very talkative, and very opinionated. “I mean, we all need blood, right?”

“Especially women,” he mutters darkly. “You know what women are? Women are vampires. They suck the life out of every man they meet.” He clinks his glass against mine as he grins, baring a gold tooth. “The life and everything else too!”

Five

I sigh as my phone buzzes again.

It's getting late, almost 9pm, and I'm just about ready for my first proper night's sleep in over a week. That's the plan, anyway. Grabbing the phone, I'm tempted to just delete the message without reading it, but against my better judgment I tap the screen and sure enough it's yet another missive from Michael, asking where I am and when I'm going back to Stockholm.

I'm not, I type. I'm going home. If you're ever in London, look me up.

A moment later, I receive a reply: Is this because of Sonja?

I pause, not quite knowing how to answer that. Yes, it's because of Sonja, I type finally. I just need to start over again. See you around.

Once I've sent the message, I sit and wait for a few minutes, staring at the screen and waiting for a reply. To my surprise, there are no more buzzes, which I guess means he understands. It's crazy that I packed up and left so suddenly, but my friends in Sweden can't be too surprised that I'm finally heading home to London. After everything that happened with Sonja, I feel like I have to make a fresh start. And sometimes making a fresh start means going back to where you came from, and taking some time to figure out where you're going next.

Hence my slightly long-way-round journey.

For a moment, however, I simply sit in the room and listen to the sound of the street outside. For the past week, I was slowly going stir-crazy in the apartment I once shared with Sonja. Small bumps in the night became footsteps in my fevered mind, and I let myself start believing in the craziest things. I've always been a rational, level-headed person, but I allowed cracks to run through my mind and fill my thoughts with dark fantasies. I even started to hallucinate. And last night, while I was trying to decide whether to go to the funeral...

But that's in the past now.

I'm better.

I'm fine.

What I saw last night was just in my head. It can't have been real.

Once I've checked that all my tickets for tomorrow are in place, and that all the timings line up, I head through to the bathroom and start getting ready for bed. My head isn't tired but my body is exhausted, and I can't help feeling a little surprised when I look at my reflection in the mirror and see rings under my eyes. Sure, the harsh electric light isn't exactly flattering, but I'm only twenty-four years old. I shouldn't look this tired. Then again, after everything that happened over the past week, I guess I can be forgiven for a little fatigue. There'll be time to recharge, to get back to being my old self, once I'm back in London.

After a moment, I spot the reflection of the empty bathtub, and I feel a faint kick in my chest. I could happily live the rest of my life without ever seeing another bathtub again.

Outside, light rain has started to fall, tapping against the window.

“It wasn't real,” I whisper, thinking back to last night. “She -”

Suddenly someone knocks on the door.

For a moment, it occurs to me that it might be the weird girl again. After the way she followed me about earlier, I figure I can't put it past her to show up again, but the more likely option is that the talkative guy from the front desk wants something. I wouldn't be surprised if he's brought his bottle of whiskey up so he can once again lecture me about women, in which case I'll have to politely get rid of him. After checking that I don't have any toothpaste around my lips, I head to the door and pull it open, while forcing a weary smile.

It's not the guy from the desk.

It's the weird girl from the coach.

“What the hell do you want?” I ask, genuinely shocked.

“You said we're in Paris,” she replies, her voice instantly sounding a little clearer and brighter than earlier. “Why? I mean... How? How did I end up in Paris?”

“How?” I pause, tempted to just shut the door in her face. She's either playing some kind of bizarre trick, or she's genuinely out of her mind. “I just... I helped you out on the coach, remember? From Hamburg?”

“Hamburg?”

“The city in Germany.”

“I was in Germany?”

I pause again, trying to figure out her angle. “I got the coach from Stockholm,” I continue cautiously, “and you got on at Hamburg, except you didn't have a ticket and you were gonna get tossed off. You thought you'd bought a ticket from some guy in the street, and it turned out he'd just conned you.”

I wait for her to respond, but she's frowning slightly, as if all of this is news to her.

“So I paid for your ticket to Paris,” I add, “and now... I mean, I was just being nice. I didn't like the thought of you getting forced out onto the street close to midnight in a dodgy part of the city, so I just thought I'd be a good Samaritan. It seemed like you had no money, no-one to call, nowhere to go. I mean... That was it, really. I was just being nice.”

She stares at me for a moment. “But why Paris?”

“Why Paris?”

“Why Paris?” she asks again.

“Because that's where the coach was going,” I explain, starting to wonder if she might just be a little simple in the head. “It terminated in Paris.”

“But why would I...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “I haven't been to Paris in a long time.”

“Lucky you,” I reply. “I've been through quite a lot lately.”

I wait for her to say something else, but she seems lost in thought and genuinely confused by the situation. She's still wearing the same clothes from before, and still holding the same bag, and finally she mutters something and turns, heading back toward the elevator.

“Do you have somewhere to go?” I ask.

She stops, and slowly she turns back to look at me.

Damn it, I should have just let her go, but she seems so lost.

“Do you have somewhere to sleep?” I continue. “Do you know someone in Paris, or do you have money for a room?”

She stares at me, but she doesn't answer.

“Ben,” I say finally, even though a voice at the back of my mind is telling me this is insane. “My name's Ben. If you want...”

I pause. Is this really a good idea?

“If you want, I mean...”

Another pause. This would be an insanely bad idea. So why am I about to offer?

“I mean, you can come inside, if you want,” I continue. “It's raining outside, right? And it's not the warmest night. Are you just going to wander the streets?”

She stares at me for a moment longer, before turning and coming back over to the doorway. She seems hesitant, almost nervous, but she seems to be peering past me as if she wants to see into the room.

“Are you inviting me in?” she asks cautiously.

“I guess so.”

She stares at me for a moment, and I can't help noticing that she doesn't seem to blink very much.

“You're sure?” she asks. “You're actually inviting me?”

“Well, I...” The question seems a little odd, but I take a step back so she has room to come through. “You don't seem like you have anywhere to go,” I continue, “and it's late and...”

My voice trails off, and for a moment we stand in silence on either side of the open doorway. With a sinking feeling in my gut, I realize exactly why I asked if she wanted to come inside. I need a distraction, any distraction, after what happened last night in Stockholm. Inviting some crazy, weird stranger into my room is somehow better than being here alone with just my own thoughts for company.

“I can't exactly turn down an invitation,” she says suddenly, before taking a cautious step into the room and looking around. “Thank you.”

I open my mouth to tell her I've changed my mind, but I quickly realize there's no way I can do that to her.

“There are two beds,” I point out finally, as I swing the door shut. “It's paid for, I've paid for the room, I'm only here for one night but if you need somewhere to crash, somewhere to...”

Again, my voice trails off.

This is nuts. For all I know, she could be some kind of serial killer. She could be a girl who travels all over Europe, slaughtering innocent men she picks up along the way. Hell, in the morning my skin might have been peeled off and stretched across the wall like a goddamn canvas, and my head might be in the sink. At the same time, as she steps over to the bathroom door and looks through, I honestly can't believe that this girl could hurt anyone. Something about her just seems very calm and settled.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what a serial killer would want me to think.

“You have a mirror,” she says after a moment.

“Um... Sure,” I reply, feeling as if that's an unusual thing for her to notice. “So like I mentioned, my name's Ben.”

I wait for a reply, but she doesn't seem very well trained in the usual social niceties.

“What's your name?” I add.

She stands in the doorway for a moment, with one hand resting on the frame as she stares into the bathroom, and then she turns to me.

“Madeleine,” she says finally.

“Hey, Madeleine,” I reply, forcing a smile. “So, like I just...” I take a deep breath. “I guess you're welcome to the spare bed, if you want it. I'm just here for one night, I'm heading off in the morning to catch a ferry and...”

Suddenly my throat feels very dry.

“You're inviting me to spend the night here?” she asks.

“I... I guess so.” Grabbing the bottle of water, I take a swig. My mind is racing and I feel as if I've really gotten myself into something crazy. But again, at least crazy is a distraction.

“I can't exactly turn down an invitation,” she says again, before looking over at the second, undisturbed bed. As she does so, I spot what looks like the top of a nasty, blue-and-yellow bruise poking out from under her jacket, just below her left ear. There's something else, too.

Blood.

She seems to have some kind of head injury, glistening beneath her dark hair.

Six

“So where exactly were you going when you got on that coach?” I ask as I brush my teeth. “Why did you come to Paris?”

I wait for a reply, but when none is forthcoming, I quickly spit into the sink and glance through to the bedroom. To my surprise, Madeleine is still at the window, with the curtain pulled aside as she looks out. She certainly doesn't seem to be much of a conversationalist.

“I told you there's not much of a view,” I continue, hoping to get her talking. “No Eiffel Tower, no Notre Dame, no Arc de Triomphe. Not from that window, anyway. Just a little alley and a brick wall.”

Again, no reply.

To be honest, I'm starting to regret inviting her to stay, and I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking at the time. I guess I panicked about being alone, but that reaction feels kind of dumb now. Still, I guess it's too late to back out. I've made my bed and I'll just have to lie in it. Maybe with one eye open.

“Me, I'm going home,” I tell her, turning and grabbing my toiletry bag. I take out a razor, but the sight of the blade sends a shudder through my chest and I slip it away again. I can shave tomorrow. “I'm just taking the long route. I don't really feel like flying, and I wanted...”

I pause as I realize that perhaps I'm opening up a little too much. I mean, if I start telling her about my journey, I'll only end up having to explain why I'm leaving Stockholm in the first place.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I can't help but notice that Madeleine is still at the window, still staring out at the dark alley. I already had her pegged as someone a little weird, but in a way her weirdness is almost endearing. So many people try to hide their quirks and peculiarities, but Madeleine seems absolutely unashamed. She wants to look out the window, so that's exactly what she's doing. As I step up behind her, however, I can't help trying to get a better look at the wound on the back of her head. There's definitely dried blood in her hair.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

No answer.

“Are you tired?”

Again, silence.

“I guess it's getting kind of late,” I continue. “I don't know if you have any plans for tomorrow, but...”

My voice trails off.

This is hopeless.

“So you're not going to tell me about yourself?” I ask, heading over to the bed. Glancing at her, I realize that while she's still looking out the window, she's not looking down at the alley at all. She's looking up, toward the night sky. “Don't take this the wrong way, but you seemed kind of confused on the coach. Did some asshole scam you in Hamburg? I guess it happens to all of us at least once, right?”

I wait for her a reply, and this time she at least turns and looks at me.

“I was...” She pauses, as if she's struggling to remember. “I wasn't well,” she continues finally. “I was... It all happened very suddenly. Suddenly I was... there. That's it. I must have... There.”

“And then you just jumped on a coach with no plans, huh?”

Her left eye twitches slightly. “Something like that.” She stares at me for a moment longer, before looking out the window again. “Is this really Paris? It's so much bigger and louder than I remember.”

“Um, sure,” I reply, sitting on the bed. “How long has it been since you were last here?”

No reply.

“Places change pretty fast,” I continue. “I'm heading back to London for the first time in a few years. I'm sure it won't be exactly how it was when I left.”

Silence.

“We should probably sleep,” I say finally. “It's late and I don't really feel like going out on the town.”

God, I'm boring.

Anyone else would take her out, get her talking, and generally grease the social wheels a little. I guess I'm just not that kind of guy.

Suddenly she turns and, without saying a word, heads to the bathroom. I watch as she goes through, and I can't help noticing that she's left the door wide open. She's out of sight, and I have no idea what she's doing but I think she's over by the bath.

“I'll turn the light off, then,” I call out.

No reply.

“I guess I might as well,” I mutter, reaching up and hitting the switch on the wall.

Once the room is dark, with such a patch of moonlight shining through the window, I slip under the bed-sheets. I can't help thinking about my friend Michael from Sweden, and what he'd do in this situation. He'd get Madeleine talking, he'd show her the best night of her life, and then he'd probably get her into bed for the night. Sometimes I wish I was like that, but I'm sure as hell no Casanova.

All things considered, however, I've managed to get myself into a pretty strange situation tonight. I just hope I don't get killed and chopped up in my sleep.

When Madeleine comes back into the room, I wait for her to go to the other bed. Instead, still fully-dressed, she returns to her spot by the window and resumes her watch of the night sky.

“Are you going to do that 'til morning?” I ask cautiously.

“I don't know,” she replies. “Maybe.”

I consider asking her what she's looking for, before finally realizing that there's probably no point. Rolling onto my back, I figure I won't get much sleep, but that's okay. I just need to make a mental note to ensure that I never invite random girls to my hotel room again.

Seven

She crawls further along the bed, through the patch of moonlight that shines through the window, letting her press against me until her mouth reaches mine. Our lips brush together for a few seconds, as if we're about to kiss. At the last moment, however, she turns her head slightly and leans closer to my neck, keeping her mouth shut as she kisses me just below the jawline.

At the same time, I feel her hot, shallow breaths against my flesh.

“Madeleine, wait...” I stammer, but the rest of the words don't come. Instead, I reach up and put my hands on her waist, and my fingertips slip beneath the fabric of her shirt, quickly brushing against several thin cuts that run through her skin. As she leans down and continues to kiss my neck, the collar of her shirt slips aside slightly and I see a series of dark bruises.

I run my hands slowly down her waist on either side until I'm holding her hips, and a moment later she swings a leg over and climbs fully on top of me. She's still kissing my neck, but only very delicately, very sensitively, as if she doesn't dare open her lips and really go for it. I can tell she's holding back.

She lets out a faint moan as she continues to kiss my neck, although now she's sniffing loudly, almost as if she's smelling my scent.

I want to tell her that she doesn't have to do this, that I didn't invite her to stay in the room just because I wanted sex. At the same time, my right hand has moved down to her waist and my fingers are brushing against some kind of torn, damaged section of skin beneath the fabric of her shirt. I try to take a look, but all I can make out is a faint, dark line, as if she's got some kind of large wound.

“Wait,” I whisper again.

“Isn't this what you want?” she asks.

She's breathing heavily now, with her lips right against my ear, and her whole body is moving with a slow, rhythmic grace. My fingers are still feeling the wound on her flank, and after a moment I realize my fingertips are wet with blood. Suddenly, she sits up and tilts her hips slightly, and she starts unbuttoning her shirt. A silver necklace dangles in her cleavage, glinting in the room's low light. As she pulls the shirt aside, I see that she has bruises and cuts all over her bare chest, from the top of her panties all the way up to her neck, but for a moment all I can manage is to stare as moonlight shines through the thin lace curtains and casts rippled patterns across her firm breasts.

Her dark hair has fallen partially over her face, but her dark eyes remain fixed on me. They're so dark, in fact, that right now I can't even see the whites.

“Wait,” I gasp again, “Madeleine...”

“Isn't this what you want?”

“I just -”

“It is, isn't it?” A faint frown crosses her features. “You invited me in, and in return this is what you expect.”

She twists her hips a little harder, as if to tease me about what's coming next. I try again to tell her to stop, but I can't bring myself to get the words out. Her hips are grinding and rocking back and forth against me, and I can see sweat running down her chest. I still feel I should stop her, but I feel as if she's in complete control.

Suddenly I see that as I moved my fingertips across her breasts, I left a faint trail of blood.

“You're hurt,” I whisper.

She leans back even further, too far for me to still reach her breasts with my hands, so I run my fingers down her waist until I'm holding her hips again. She lets out another series of low moans, and I feel her legs gripping me tighter than ever, as if she's holding me in position so that there's no chance I might escape. I move my hands down onto the edge of her panties.

“Wait,” I tell her. “Please...”

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” she asks, leaning closer until her breasts brush against my chest. “Isn't it?”

“I just -”

“It's a very good job I was invited,” she adds, before opening her mouth wider to reveal to large, fat fangs. “But tell me... This is what you want. You want me to keep going. Or am I wrong?”

“No, I -”

Gasping, I sit up suddenly and find myself alone in the bed. Morning light is streaming through the hotel room's window, and sweat is running down my face and chest. My penis is so hard, it almost hurts, but when I look over at the other side of the room I see that Madeleine is still standing by the window, still looking out at the alley. After a moment she glances at me, and something seems a little different about her expression, as if she's no longer quite so confused.

“Hey,” I stammer breathlessly, figuring that I must have had some kind of crazy dream. “Did you sleep okay?”

***

Half an hour later, once I've washed, I'm fully dressed and sitting on the edge of my bed. I can hear Madeleine in the bathroom, and when I glance over I see that the door is still slightly ajar. I know I shouldn't look, but when she steps into view with her naked body turned away, I can't help staring for a moment at her bare ass and back.

She has so many cuts and bruises, just like in my dream, and what looks like a large tear in her flesh. Whatever happened to her, she clearly -

Suddenly she turns and sees me looking at her. I immediately turn away, and then I hear the sound of the door gently bumping shut.

“Sorry,” I stammer, figuring that she probably thinks I'm a complete pervert. After all, she has no idea that I had a dream about sleeping with her.

When she comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, she's fully dressed in the same clothes she wore yesterday. She doesn't say anything, and instead she simply starts making her bed.

“You don't have to do that,” I tell her. “They'll do it once I've checked out.”

Still, she finishes the job, before going over to the table and taking a look in her bag for a moment. I have no idea what she has in there, but I can't help feeling as if she's all alone right now, with nowhere to go.

“I'm taking a train at 11am,” I explain, checking my watch and seeing that it's a little after nine. “I'm going to Cherbourg, to get a ferry over to Ireland and then I'm heading on to Dublin. Like I said before, I'm kinda taking the long way home for... reasons.”

I wait for her to reply, but she simply looks into her bag for a moment longer before zipping it shut. Once again she seems lost in thought, almost as if she hasn't even noticed that I'm talking. Still, that dream last night was the first time in months that I've felt remotely like my old self, and the craziest idea is starting to come together in my thoughts.

“Do you want to come with me?” I ask finally, before I even have time to wonder whether it's a good idea.

She turns to me, with a hint of surprise in her expression.

“I can pay for your ticket,” I continue. “I know it's weird, but it beats traveling alone and...” I pause, fully aware that this is probably a very dumb move, but somehow I'm unable to stop myself. It's as if my fear of being alone trumps any other concerns. “Well, if you've got nowhere else to go and you want to come, I guess...”

My voice trails off.

She stares at me for a moment. Actually, more than a moment. At least a minute passes, maybe closer to two, and she almost seems to be studying me.

“Well,” she says finally, “I can't exactly turn down an invitation, can I?”

Eight

“Just checking out,” I tell the woman at the hotel's front desk as I set the key down. “Room eighteen.”

She seems very distracted, barely even paying attention, and instead she seems more interested in looking over at a guy in the back room who's talking to a police officer. I was worried I might be asked to pay extra if someone realized I had a guest in my room last night, but this woman seems not to notice at all as Madeleine slips past me and heads over to the door.

“You were staying here last night, Sir?” the man from the back room asks suddenly, coming out to the desk.

“Sure,” I reply, “but -”

“And you didn't hear anything unusual?”

I hesitate, before glancing toward the door and seeing that Madeleine is peering out at the street. Turning back to the man, I'm a little shocked to note that the police officer has also come out and is watching me with a hint of concern.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, starting to worry that there might be some super-strict French law about having extra guests in a hotel room.

The manager – I'm pretty sure he's the manager, anyway – eyes me with a hint of suspicion, before shrugging.

“No, Sir, of course not. We just had... The night duty desk clerk apparently vanished at some point during his shift, and now no-one knows where he is. Unfortunately, he has a history of drinking too much, so I must assume he simply abandoned his post. Please, I hope you enjoyed your stay, and have a safe journey.”

With that, he turns and starts talking again to the police officer in French. I can't tell what they're saying, but the officer appears a little unimpressed. After a moment, I spot the large red painting on the opposite wall, and I can't help thinking back to my conversation with the guy last night.

“The train leaves in an hour,” I tell Madeleine as I head over to the door and step out onto the bright, busy street. Turning, I find that she's still in the doorway, looking cautiously along the sidewalk as if she's worried about something. “That should give us enough time to get you a ticket.”

I wait for her to reply, but she seems genuinely nervous about something, although finally she steps out and joins me. Still, she's constantly looking both ways.

“What's up?” I ask with a faint smile. “Is someone chasing you?”

She immediately turns and looks at me with fear in her eyes.

“No,” she says after a moment. “Of course not. Let's just get to the station, okay? Let's make sure we catch that train.”

***

“This is the one,” I mutter a short while later, as I lead Madeleine along the platform. We've managed to get seats together, although that means heading all the way to the front carriage.

She glances over her shoulder, and I can't shake the feeling that she seems very nervous, almost as if she's worried that someone might be following us. Still, at least she's no longer in such a daze, and I starting to think I was right when I had her pegged as a drug user. Maybe she was high yesterday, and now she's sobering up.

I turn and look back, but all I see are other passengers making their way along with bags and suitcases.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “You almost seem like...”

I wait for her to respond, but she simply glances at me and then mutters something under her breath. After a couple of seconds she picks up her pace.

“Which carriage is it again?” she asks.

“The one at the front.”

She speeds up even more, as if she's starting to panic.

“You're not being followed, are you?” I ask, hurrying to keep pace. I look over my shoulder again, but I still don't see anything untoward. “Hey, slow down. If there's something -”

“I just want to get to our seats,” she replies, her voice sounding clipped and tense. “It's leaving on time, isn't it?”

“You can tell me, you know,” I continue. “If something's wrong, just let me know. I noticed those bruises on your shoulder.”

“And?”

“And cuts, too.”

“So?”

“Do they...” I pause, thinking back to the dream I had last night. Her whole body was bruised and cut, although I quickly remind myself that it really was just a dream. “Are you running from someone?” I ask finally. “A boyfriend? Something like that?”

“No,” she replies, although she glances back again, and I can see the fear in her eyes.

“Watch out!” I shout, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer just as she's about to walk straight into a suitcase-laden trolley. She instantly pulls away and steps back, staring at me as if she's terrified. “You need to watch where you're going!” I tell her. “Listen, if something's wrong and -”

“I remember,” she says breathlessly.

“You remember what?”

She looks back along the platform again, before glancing up at the window of the nearest carriage.

“Is this ours?” she asks.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I should leave her behind, but finally I nod.

“Sure,” I mutter. “We're in seats -”

“Fifteen and sixteen,” she replies, turning and climbing up the steps into the carriage. “You said earlier.”

Left alone on the platform for a moment, I can't help watching the crowd and looking for some hint of anyone who might be following us. There's no-one, of course, but I'm starting to think that I've ended up caught in something I don't quite understand. Either Madeleine is nuts, or she's being pursued by someone. Or both.

Or I'm the one who's crazy.

I should leave her behind when we get to Cherbourg. It's insane that I've let this girl tag along, and that I'm paying for the privilege, but...

But for the first time in six months, I'm not spending every waking moment thinking about Sonja. Maybe that alone is reason enough to help her out a little more. I'm going to get her a separate cabin on the ferry, though. It's definitely about time to nip that whole thing in the bud. She's just a vulnerable girl I'm trying to help, and I really don't need any more crazy, sexually-charged dreams.

Nine

“So you have a passport, right?”

As we stand in a queue at the ferry terminal, I glance at Madeleine and wait for a reply.

“You have a passport with you,” I continue. “Right?”

“It'll be fine,” she replies, turning and looking back across the hall. She still seems worried that someone might catch up to her.

“We're taking a ferry to Ireland,” I remind her. “Ireland's not in Schengen, so you need a passport.”

“It'll be fine,” she says again, as we shuffle forward and get closer to the three officials up ahead who are checking everyone's ID before embarkation.

“You need a -” I pause, before lowering my voice in case we're overheard. “You need a passport,” I whisper. “They won't let you through otherwise. Or at least some kind of proper ID.”

“Let me worry about that,” she replies, glancing at me before turning to look straight ahead. “Worry about yourself.”

“But -”

“And stop talking,” she adds, stepping behind me. “You go first.”

Starting to panic, I realize that she must be completely insane. She thinks she's going to somehow slip through in my shadow, but now we're almost at the officials and there's no way Madeleine's going to manage this. By the time I'm waved forward and I hand my passport to the guy, my heart is pounding. I watch as he scans my passport, and he stares at the screen for a moment before handing it back to me and gesturing for me to take my bag over to the security guy.

Not daring to look back at Madeleine, I head to the conveyor belt and set my bag down. The guy asks me a few bland questions about who packed the bag and what's in there, and then he shoves it onto a conveyor belt and checks a screen to make sure the X-Ray machine doesn't pick up anything untoward.

Glancing over my shoulder, I fully expect to see Madeleine being led away. Instead, I watch as an elderly man has his passport checked, and then I look the other way and see to my surprise that Madeleine is not only through passport control, but that she's also made it past security already.

“Sir?”

Turning to the security guy, I realize he just said something I didn't hear at all.

“Sir, are you okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” I stammer. “Why?”

“Your bag's fine,” he replies, although he seems a little taken aback by my sense of surprise. “Please board the bus, it'll take you to the ferry.”

Grabbing my bag, I head over to join Madeleine, and I can't help noticing that she has a faint smile as we make our way toward the sliding doors that lead outside.

“So you were joking,” I mutter after a moment. “You had your passport after all.”

“I told you I'd be fine,” she replies.

“But -”

“And I was.”

“I didn't even see them checking your bag,” I tell her.

She leads me out into the bright sunlight and up the steps onto the bus. Taking a seat, she waits for me to sit next to her, but my head is spinning and I'm not quite sure what to ask next. Besides, I doubt she'd give me a straight answer. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the ferry a couple of hundred meters away.

***

“Shouldn't it have left by now?” she asks a short while later, as we head into the bar area after dropping our bags in our rooms. “Why aren't we moving?”

She grabs my arm and pulls the sleeve up, to get a look at my watch.

“We should have left two minutes ago,” she continues, clearly concerned. “What's the hold-up?”

“What's the hurry?” I ask, slipping my arm from her grasp and sliding the sleeve back down. “These things are always a little late.” Heading to the bar, I can't help feeling slightly irritated. After everything I've done for Madeleine, she still seems kind of ungrateful, and she spends most of her time looking over her shoulder as if she thinks she's being followed. I'm starting to think that I've accidentally teamed up with someone who's on the run.

Turning to look for the barman, I feel the ferry shudder slightly, and when I look at the window I realize that we're finally underway.

“See?” I mutter, turning to Madeleine. “We're -”

She's gone.

I look around, but I don't see her anywhere. After a moment, however, I spot her through one of the windows, hurrying along the deck outside.

“Don't mind me,” I say with a sigh, before turning back to the barman and ordering a beer.

A few minutes later, with my beer in a plastic cup, I head out onto the deck. There's a strong wind and seagulls are wheeling and arcing high above as we pull out of the harbor, but I don't see Madeleine anywhere. Making my way toward the rear of the ferry, where several people have gathered to watch the French coast slowly receding into the distance, I finally spot Madeleine over at the far side.

When I reach her, she doesn't even acknowledge my presence. Instead, she seems to be watching the quay below.

Following her glance, I'm surprised to see two figures standing down there, watching the boat. While there are plenty of dock-workers all over the place, these two figures are wearing dark clothing, maybe suits, and they seem completely separate from everything around them. I know I'm probably being jumpy, but I can't shake the feeling that not only are they watching our ferry as it departs, but they actually seem to be staring straight toward Madeleine herself.

“Friends of yours?” I ask cautiously.

She glances at me, and I swear there's genuine fear in her eyes.

“Just a joke,” I continue, forcing a faint smile even though I'm getting a little sick of her lack of answers. “Are you hungry?”

She stares into my eyes for a moment, as the wind ruffles her hair.

“Ravenous,” she says finally, and for the first time she actually smiles. “Like you wouldn't believe.”

Ten

“I want to thank you,” Madeleine says as we sit at a table in the restaurant. “I want to thank you so much, and I want to apologize too. I've been so utterly, incredibly rude.”

I open my mouth to tell her that it's fine, that she doesn't need to say anything, but I guess that's not entirely true. Without really knowing why, I seem to have done a great deal for this girl and I know next to nothing about her.

“It's fine,” I reply. “Don't worry about it.”

“It's not fine,” she continues. “I was very rude, and you've been so kind, and I should make it up to you.”

“You don't -”

“Let me buy dinner,” she adds.

“It's -”

“How much will it be?” Setting her bag on the table, she unzips the top and pulls out the largest bundle of cash I've ever seen in my life. “What currency do they take here, anyway?”

Shocked, I watch as she starts rifling through a collection of different notes. She has euros, sterling, krone, US dollars and other types of money I can't even identify. And she has a lot of it, clearly many thousands and thousands of pounds' worth.

“Maybe you shouldn't sort through that here,” I tell her, glancing at the next table and seeing that she's attracting attention from other diners. “Madeleine? Maybe you should do that back in your cabin.”

“But I owe you,” she replies, slipping out a five hundred euro note. “How much is this worth?” she asks. “How much have you spent on me?”

“That really isn't a problem,” I continue, hoping against hope that she'll put the money away. “Please, can you do that later? You don't owe me a penny, and you're kind of making me nervous.”

She glances at me, clearly surprised, before slipping the money back into her bag.

“Sorry,” she says with a faint smile. “Sometimes I don't...” She pauses. “What was your name again? You told me before, but I wasn't quite in the right frame of mind to take it in.”

“Ben,” I reply, trying not to feel too irked. “And -”

“I'm Madeleine,” she continues, holding a hand out for me to shake.

“I know,” I tell her, shaking her hand. “You told me yesterday in Paris, remember?”

“I've been remembering a lot lately,” she replies. “Sorry, it's kind of a jumble at the moment, I was...” She pauses, and after a moment a frown crosses her brow. “I was hurt,” she adds finally. “I don't know how I ended up in Hamburg, but I was really badly hurt. It's a miracle I made it out.”

I wait for her to continue, but she seems lost I thought.

“Made it out of where?” I ask. “Who hurt you?”

She glances at me, before shaking her head. “It doesn't matter.”

“If someone hurt you,” I continue, as she rolls up one of her sleeves, “you should go to the -”

I stop as I see that she has bruises all along her arm. Blotchy with blue, green and yellow patches, the bruises look nasty and recent, and I can't help noticing that they seem to be very similar to the patterns I saw in my dream last night when she was naked and on top of me. Still, I know it was just a dream, so I force myself to keep my thoughts on more polite subjects. Which isn't easy.

“So,” I say with a smile, “do you prefer -”

“What are you doing?” she asks, interrupting me.

“I'm sorry?”

“Why are you here?” she continues. “You're running from something. What is it?”

“I'm running from something?”

She nods.

I pause for a moment. “I'm just going to -”

“Someone died,” she adds, interrupting me again. “You lost someone, someone who's close to you. And then you ended up on a bus in Germany, heading to Paris all alone, and for some reason you started paying for some random girl to tag along with you. Call me crazy, but that doesn't seem like normal behavior.”

I open my mouth to tell her she's completely wrong.

“How did she die?” she asks.

“She -”

I pause, and for a moment I find myself thinking back to the day I pulled Sonja's bloodied corpse from the bath.

“You have nightmares,” she continues. “You must. It's only human. I bet last night was the first time in months you haven't seen her in your dreams.”

“Last night?”

A faint smile crosses her lips, but it fades quickly.

“I would have been okay, you know” she continues. “In Hamburg, I mean. If I'd been forced off that coach, I'd have been able to take care of myself, even if I was still hurt.”

“You still didn't answer the question I asked earlier,” I reply. “You're covered in bruises all over. Who hurt you?”

“Bruises are nothing. They heal easily.”

“But -”

“At least I don't have nightmares about it,” she continues, and that smile is back again, as if she can't quite keep it hidden. “I always enjoy my dreams a great deal,” she adds, keeping her eyes fixed on me. “Sometimes I think they're more real than being awake. I mean, who really gets to say which is reality, and which is just in our minds.”

As her smile grows, I'm a little relieved to see that her teeth are perfectly normal. In the dream last night, she briefly had a pair of fangs like a vampire.

“It's a buffet,” I tell her, figuring I should change the subject. “We have to go up with plates to get out food.”

A few minutes later, as I take my plate to the salad bar, I can't help glancing back and seeing that Madeleine is loading hers with meat. She seems markedly different now that we're on the ferry, as if she's no longer confused or scared. She certainly managed to guess a lot about me, and about what happened with Sonja, and if I didn't know better I'd start to think she somehow understands what happened in my dream last night. Then again, another possibility has occurred to me, one that I really don't want to contemplate.

What if she's not real?

Apart from the coach driver in Hamburg, I haven't seen another soul talk to Madeleine or even acknowledge her existence. Putting aside the coach for a moment, I've seen enough B-movie horror flicks to know that sometimes it's possible for someone to hallucinate entire people, and I'm starting to worry that while I think I'm spending time with this girl, in fact I'm simply babbling away to myself. I'd be a little disappointed if my subconscious mind resorted to such an obvious cliché now that I've left Stockholm and my life with Sonja behind, but I guess I have to consider the possibility. Maybe I really did lose my mind in the apartment the other night.

I have to know for sure.

“Is that feta?” an elderly man asks, leaning past me with his nose wrinkled. “I don't like feta. It always tastes like socks. Then again, maybe it's my socks that smell like feta.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I reply.

He turns to me with a frown, although his expression change to a faint smile quickly enough.

“Is it about all this salad?” he asks. “If it is, I can't help you. I'm only over here 'cause my wife's watching. The moment her back's turned, I'm loading up with ribs.”

“Do you see that girl over there?” I continue, turning to look at Madeleine as she makes her way around the other side of the serving station with all the meat. “The girl wearing a dark shirt and jeans?”

“The pretty little thing with... What's that, two entire steaks on her plate?”

“Do you see her?”

“Of course I see her,” he replies. “Why? What's wrong? Are you think of asking her to dance later?”

I feel a faint shudder of relief as I realize that whatever else is going on here, at least Madeleine isn't a figment of my imagination.

“Nothing's wrong,” I mutter, starting to feel a little foolish. “I just... I was just wondering something, that's all.”

“Is she yours?” he asks.

“Mine?” Shocked by the question, it takes me a moment to realize what she means. “Oh, no, I just... I only met her yesterday, and I was wondering...” I pause, trying to think of an explanation for my strange question. “Never mind,” I continue, “it's a long story. I'm sorry for disturbing you.”

Making my way around to the other side of the salad bar, I'm surprised when Madeleine wanders over with two steaks and a side of ribs on her plate.

“Enough meat?” I ask.

“What were you asking that man about?” she asks, clearly amused by something. “Was it about me?”

“Of course not,” I reply. “I was just making conversation.”

“Huh.” She doesn't seem entirely convinced, but she simply turns and heads back over to our table, leaving me feeling a little nonplussed.

“You want to get that tied down,” the elderly man says a moment later as he comes closer. “Nice little thing like that, you'll soon have competition. There'll be plenty of other guys after her.”

“I know,” I mutter, feeling a faint shudder as I watch Madeleine taking a seat. “I think there already are.”

Eleven

“Careful!”

As the ferry shudders slightly, I stumble against the wall and have to steady myself for a moment. Maybe I shouldn't have had that third beer, especially after staying mostly dry for the past six months, but Madeleine and I are almost back at our cabins. As she grabs my arm to help me along the corridor, I can tell she's slightly amused by my light drunkenness.

“You need to get some sleep,” she tells me. “We get to Ireland pretty early, just after 9am.”

“I'm fine,” I reply, taking the key-card from my pocket as I reach my door. I'm not sure whether it's the boat or my head, but everything seems to be swaying around me and it takes a moment before I manage to get the card into its slot. A green light blinks and I push the door open, and I feel a little disappointed as soon as I see my little cabin.

“Thank you for a fun evening,” Madeleine says. “It's been quite a while since I got to watch a man get drunk.”

“I'm not drunk,” I reply, turning to her, “I'm just... tipsy. And you should have let me get you a drink or two.”

“I don't like alcohol,” she explains, taking her key-card from her pocket. She glances over her shoulder, looking along the empty corridor as if she still thinks that someone might be after her. “I prefer to keep my head clear,” she continues, turning back to me. “You really need to -”

Suddenly she looks up at the low ceiling, as if she's startled.

“What?” I ask after a moment.

I wait for a reply, but she seems distracted and the fear has returned to her eyes.

“I know I got us separate cabins,” I continue, “but that was just me being... careful. We can share a cabin if you like. I mean, we shared a hotel room last night and everything was okay, neither of us woke up with our head missing or...”

My voice trails off as I realize that once again she doesn't even seem to know that I'm here. Instead, she's still staring at the ceiling, although she seems to be looking at a different spot.

“So,” I add, “there's no pressure, but -”

“I think we should both get some sleep,” she says suddenly, grabbing my arm and leading me into my cabin before pushing me back gently until I slump down onto my bed. “Thank you for everything, Ben. I mean that. I would have been fine alone in Hamburg, but...” She stares at me for a moment, before leaning closer and briefly kissing me on the forehead. Then she steps back. “You've restored my faith in humanity,” she explains. “I'm very glad I happened to bump into you when I returned to the... Well, you know.”

She pauses, and then she heads to the door.

“Was that goodbye?” I ask, feeling a little woozy. “That sound like goodbye.”

I wait, but she pulls the door shut as she leaves and I'm left sitting completely alone. Stumbling to my feet, I almost fall flat on my face, and instead of going to the door I end up leaning against the opposite wall, looking out at the dark sea.

“I'm fine,” I continue, heading back to the bed and settling down flat on my back. I swear this boat is swaying more than ever, although I should probably admit that I might be just a little drunk. “I'll stay right here. I'm okay.” My eyes slip shut, but I'm merely resting them. I'm not going to sleep just yet. “Goodnight, Madeleine,” I whisper. “Sleep tight. Don't let the bedbugs...”

***

Opening my eyes suddenly, I realize I've been fast asleep. The lights of my cabin are still on, and when I sit up on the bed I feel a faint, thudding pain in the back of my head. Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 3am, which means it must be a little over three hours since Madeleine brought me back from the bar.

“Great,” I mutter, staggering to my feet and grabbing the bottle of water from the table, only to find that it's empty. “Double great.”

Figuring that I need to drink so that I don't end up with a hangover in the morning, I head to the door and pull it open. There are vending machines on some of the upper decks, so I guess I'll grab something and then come back to my room. As I pull my door shut, however, I glance along toward Madeleine's room and see to my surprise that her door is hanging wide open.

“Madeleine?” I say cautiously, heading over and peering into her cabin, only to see her unmade bed. I step inside and double-check that there's no sign of her, and then I make my way back out into the corridor.

A few minutes later, having made my way up the stairs, I find myself all alone in the seating area directly outside the bar. Both the bar and the restaurant are closed by now, as is the information desk nearby, but I head to the vending machine and get a bottle of water, before taking one more for Madeleine. Once I'm done, I turn and head back toward the stairs, but then I stop and look along the corridor that leads to the shops and entertainment area.

We're on a ferry in the middle of nowhere, halfway between France and Ireland.

There aren't exactly many places Madeleine could have gone.

Figuring that I probably wouldn't sleep too well anyway right now, I make my way along the corridor, hoping to spot some sign of Madeleine on one of the seats. When I don't find her, I head around to the other seating area, but she's still nowhere to be found. I take a look at the other restaurant, and than at the embarkation area, but once again I don't see her at all. Finally, once I've checked every possible area except the bathrooms, I find myself back in the first seating area. There's nowhere else she could be, unless...

Looking over at the door that leads out onto the deck, I see a few spots of rain falling against the glass.

There's no way she'd be out there, it'd be madness to go out in the middle of the night. At the same time, I think maybe Madeleine isn't the kind of person who can really be judged according to conventional ideas of what's sane and what's not, so I wander over to the door and pull it open, before leaning out and looking along the deck. Sure enough, just as expected, I'm immediately buffeted by wind and rain, and there's no sign of anyone at all. I want to believe that even Madeleine wouldn't be outside in the middle of the night, but...

Stepping out, I let the door swing shut as I make my way toward the rear of the boat. I have to keep hold of the railing, and the deck is a little slippery, but when I reach the aft section I see lots of empty seats but no sign of Madeleine.

And then I hear a splashing sound nearby, as if something heavy just fell into the water from the other side of the ferry. Before I can react, I hear another splash just a couple of seconds later, and then silence again.

“Madeleine?” I whisper, making my way across the deck until I reach the walkway that runs along the ferry's port side. There's no sign of anyone out here now, but those two splashes were definitely not a figment of my slightly-drunk imagination, so I stumble along the damp deck, worried that she might have -

Suddenly I stop as I see a figure up ahead, sitting on the ground with its back against the railing. I pause for a moment, before making my way closer, and sure enough it's Madeleine.

“Are you okay?” I ask, as the wind picks up and the rain becomes a little stronger. “Madeleine, are -”

She looks up at me, her dark eyes filled with shock, and there are fresh cuts all over her face. Not only cuts, but blood-smears as well.

Twelve

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask yet again as I support Madeleine's weight, helping her into her cabin.

Flicking the switch on the wall, I take her over to the bed. The light flickers to life above us as I ease her down, but now I can see her properly it's clear that she's more badly hurt than I'd initially realized. She looks like she's taken a real beating, and I can't help thinking that some kind of maniac must have assaulted her out there on the deck.

“I'm going to get a doctor,” I tell her.

I turn, but she quickly grabs my arm to hold me back.

“Wait,” she gasps, and once again her voice seems harsh and damaged. “Just... wait...”

I want to pull away, but she's holding me too tight. No matter how hard I try, I'm unable to wriggle loose.

“You're bleeding,” I point out. “You look like you've been beaten to a pulp. Your lip's split, your left eye's bloodied, your -”

“I'm fine,” she stammers, before wincing as she tries – and fails – to sit up. Lowering herself back down against the bed, she reaches toward the table. “Give me that cup.”

Spotting a plastic cup, I grab it and hand it to her, only for her to immediately spit out a thick wad of blood. A dribble of saliva follows, and she hesitates for a moment before pulling back.

“Thanks,” she groans. “You can... You can go now, I'm...”

Suddenly she slumps back against the bed, breathing sharp, shallow gulps that seem to cause her a great deal of pain.

“What the hell happened to you?” I ask, still trying not to panic.

I wait for a reply, but she's simply staring up at the ceiling. One eye is bloodied and swollen shut, but the other looks undamaged.

“Madeleine,” I say firmly, “you have to tell me what happened. Did someone attack you out there?”

“They took a...”

She lets out a slow, pained groan.

“They took a what?” I ask.

“Swim,” she gasps, before starting to laugh and then wincing again. “Both of them...”

I wait, but her eyes are squeezed tight shut now and she seems to be caught in a moment of immense pain. Her grip on my arm is loosening, too, and I manage to slip free. I know I should go and find a doctor, but for a moment all I can do is stay by her side and hope that her injuries aren't as bad as they seem. Finally, just as I'm starting to worry that she isn't breathing, her eyes flick open again. She suddenly seems a little calmer.

“Madeleine,” I say after a few seconds, “if someone attacked you, that person is still at loose on the boat. They could -”

“They're gone,” she replies, her voice seeming more monotone again.

“What do -”

“I didn't think they'd catch up so fast,” she continues, turning to me. “They almost reached the ferry before it left Cherbourg. When I saw them on the quayside, I made the mistake of assuming they wouldn't be too bold. I went out onto the deck tonight just to reassure myself that they weren't still coming. I underestimated them, but that's not a mistake I'll make again.”

“You're delirious,” I reply. “If they didn't board the ferry, then they -”

“Read between the lines, Ben,” she gasps, sitting up and leaning against the wall. I swear, I can hear broken bones jostling and scraping in her chest. “It'll be a little more difficult for them this time. The water'll weigh them down, make it much harder to get into the air. I think I've bought myself some time. What I need now is a really good storm to wash the bastards a few hundred miles off course.”

“Madeleine, you...”

My voice trails off as I see the steely determination in her eyes. Everything she's saying right now sound insane, but I think she truly believes it all.

“How bad do I look?” she asks.

She stares at me. When I don't even manage to answer, she allows herself a faint smile.

“That bad, huh?” she continues. “Hell, maybe I shouldn't be so vain. Who cares how I look? At least I'm alive.” She sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, finally sitting next to me even though she has to clutch her chest. “I need to start getting my priorities straight.”

We sit in silence for a moment, but slowly I become aware of a persistent, faint crackling sound coming from Madeleine's body. I turn and look at her, but she's staring straight ahead, lost in thought. The crackling sound is getting louder, however, as if something very busy is taking place beneath her skin.

“Who are you?” I ask finally.

“You know who I -”

“What are you?”

I wait for a reply. When she doesn't answer, I get to my feet and take a step back. My mind is racing, and I'm half-certain that I'm losing my mind, but at the same time I'm starting to worry that I've gotten myself caught up in something I truly don't understand.

“You seem like a smart guy,” she says after a moment, eyeing me with a hint of amused concern. “Don't make me spell everything out for you.”

“But...”

“Just walk away,” she continues. “I'm sick right now, and weak, which makes it safe for you to be around me. That won't be the case for much longer. I'm exactly what you think I am, and the only reason you've been okay so far is that you kept inviting me into places. If I'm invited, I can't hurt you. But as I get stronger, that'll change.”

She pauses, before getting to her feet.

Flinching, I back against the wall.

“Now I almost kind of like you,” she mutters, limping past me and making her way into the cramped bathroom in the corner. She glances back at me. “Don't look so terrified,” she continues. “I just need a moment.”

With that, she pulls the bathroom door shut, leaving me almost trembling with shock as I try to make sense of everything that has happened in the forty-eight hours since I first met this girl. There's a part of me that's tempted to believe all the madness, but my rational side is pretty damn strong and I figure the whole thing is just some kind of localized hysteria. Madeleine's charismatic and attractive and persuasive, but I can't start buying into what's clearly a form of delusion. In fact, as she continues to bump around in the bathroom, I realize I have to get the hell out of here.

Turning, I pull the cabin door open and almost trip as I stumble out into the corridor, and then I race toward the steps at the far end. I don't even know where I'm going, and I sure as hell can't start babbling to anyone about what has happened tonight, but right now I need to get away from Madeleine. Suddenly it's abundantly clear that leaving the apartment in Stockholm didn't end the madness at all.

Madeleine's not real. She's just a figment of my increasingly fractured imagination.

Thirteen

There's no-one else in the ferry's seating area right now. I'm sitting at the far end, with my back toward the wall, watching the long open space as the first rays of dawn appear on the horizon. Nearby, fruit machines are blinking and flashing, but I feel as if I'm the only person who's awake on the entire boat. I've been here for a couple of hours now, just praying and hoping that I can make it all the way to Ireland without going completely nuts.

And then suddenly I see her.

She's at the far end of the seating area, a good fifty meters or so away, and she's staring at me.

“Go away,” I whisper, “please, just go away. Leave me alone.”

She stays there for a few minutes. I tell myself I can run, that I can go to the main desk at the rear of the ferry and ask the night-duty guy for help, even if that means gibbering in public like an idiot. There's something creepy about the way Madeleine is watching me, almost as if she's trying to assess whether it's safe to make her move.

Finally, she starts walking this way.

I flinch, ready to run, but suddenly I notice that as she passes the mirrored walls, she has no reflection. I wait, convinced that there has to be some kind of optical illusion, but there's absolutely no hint of her as she makes her way slowly, calmly toward me.

“You're not real,” I whisper, closing my eyes in the hope that she'll vanish. “You're in my head.”

I pause for a moment, and then I open my eyes again.

She's standing just a few feet away, with one of the flashing casino machines right behind her. She stares at me for a moment longer, with those same dark, ringed eyes, and then she takes a seat opposite. Already, she looks less badly hurt than before, as if her injuries have begun to heal.

“Those two men were after me,” she says finally, “because of what I am, and because I did some bad things a while back.”

“I know what you are,” I tell her, my voice trembling with fear.

She nods. “Good. But if -”

“You're an illusion,” I stammer. “You're in my head.”

She raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“Don't even try to deny it,” I continue, through gritted teeth. I glance around, to make sure no-one can see me arguing with myself, and then I turn to her again. “Just leave me alone!”

“The human lifespan is, what, seventy or eighty years?” she continues. “It's pretty easy to be a good person for seventy or eighty years. But when you've lived as long as I have, it gets much harder. People like me, we can't...” She pauses, and then she sighs. “I'm making excuses. Of course we can be good, we can stay good, but it's difficult. There are things we need, things we have to have in order to survive, and sometimes we just have to take those things. Do you understand?”

I swallow hard. My throat is so dry right now, it actually hurts.

“I was lucky this time,” she adds. “I managed to get a drop on them and toss them in the water. It was a miracle, really. The time before... Let's just say that they damn near got their job done about a week ago. If they'd just killed me when they had me, it'd all be over by now, but instead they let their natural proclivities take over. They held me captive, they tortured me, they tried to make me suffer. And all the time they were torturing me, I was working out how to get away.”

We sit in silence for a moment. She's going to disappear at any moment. She has to.

“When you met me,” she continues, “on that coach, it was about thirty-six hours after my escape. I'd spent most of that time hiding in the bushes in a nearby park, waiting for my body to recover enough that I'd be able to keep moving. My mind was shot, I barely remember what happened next, but I think I...”

Her voice trails off.

“I'm pretty sure I grabbed a woman and dragged her into the bushes,” she says finally. “I fed. I needed to feed, it was the only way to gain some strength, and then I stole her clothes too. And then I staggered out into the city center, into Hamburg, and I knew I had to get away. I still don't quite remember how I ended up boarding that coach, and to be honest I don't recall very much until the next day, when I was in Paris and I'd started hunting you.”

“Hunting me?” I ask, feeling a flash of fear in my chest.

“See?” she replies with a faint smile. “I told you I do bad things sometimes.”

Again, silence falls.

“I came to your hotel room to kill you,” she continues. “To feed. I chose you because I recognized your scent from the coach, and because my head wasn't quite straight yet. You're lucky, though. For one thing, I managed to feed just before I knocked on your door. The man at the front desk was drunk but very talkative, and it didn't take much to lure him into the alley behind the building. I'm sure someone has found his drained corpse by now. For another thing, you invited me into your room, which earned you a certain degree of protection. By the time I was free to feed from you, I'd begun to like you.”

“You're not real,” I say firmly. “You're just in my head!”

She laughs. “You're cute.”

“Vampires aren't real,” I continue, “and neither are ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” She frowns. “Who said anything about ghosts?” She tilts her head slightly, and it's clear that she's amused by me. “You're not well, are you? You've been through something traumatic. Tell me, what did you see?”

“Nothing!”

“Not long before you met me. You saw something, something that -”

“I didn't see anything!” I shout, before realizing that I need to keep my voice down. I glance around, but fortunately no-one else seems to be up and about yet.

“I want you to know that I'll leave you alone once we get to Ireland,” Madeleine continues. “I don't want to put you in danger, so I'll head off on my own. I'm more or less healed now, and I can look after myself just fine. I still have a long way to go before I'm fully recovered, and I'm sure you've got your own plans too. Let's just consider this to have been a happy little accident. I hope you won't look back on me as a complete monster.”

She waits for me to reply, but she seems a little amused by my state of absolute, frozen panic.

“Do you still not think I'm real?” she asks.

“I know you're not! I know you -”

“Someone died,” she replies, interrupting me. “Someone important to you.”

I freeze. Did I already tell her that? No, wait... She knows about Sonja because she's part of my imagination. That's the only explanation.

“You had a dream about her,” she continues. “That night in the hotel room, in Paris. I took a little look around your dreams. You fished her out of a bath, huh? She killed herself.” She pauses. “I guess that's the ultimate mortal act. Unnatural, too. All life should want to persist, to survive. For life to seek its own destruction... That's pretty messed-up, don't you think? I mean, for a member of my species, death is humiliating. Embarrassing. It's very hard for a vampire to die, there are only a few rare circumstances in which it -”

“Shut up!” I snap.

“Ben -”

“Leave me alone,” I say firmly. “For the love of God, just... Stop!”

She pauses, before getting to her feet.

“Once the ferry docks,” she replies, “you'll never see me again. Even if we're both in Dublin for a short while, I'll steer well clear of you. Although you might want to go to the national museum and check out their permanent exhibition on the Irish famine of the mid-nineteenth century. If it hasn't changed, there's a photo of some people in hall C that you might want to see. Right down in the bottom left corner of the photo, there's someone you might recognize. Proof, if you like, that you're not losing your mind.”

“Promise me you'll go and look at that picture,” she adds.

I shake my head.

“Why not?” she asks. “Because you're scared? Because you know that if I'm real, maybe that ghost was real too?”

“Get out of my head,” I tell her. “Now!”

With a faint smile, she turns and walks away, although she stops in the doorway and glances back at me.

“I'm sorry for the times I entered your mind without permission,” she tells me. “I think maybe I disturbed you more than I'd realized. I didn't want to be alone after that night in Paris, so I'm afraid I nudged you to invite me on this trip. I also entered your dreams and...” She pauses. “I told you before that death is humiliating for a vampire. It goes against everything we're supposed to be. That's why it's so hard for me to accept that it's happening to me.”

“You're dying?” I ask, shocked by the suggestion.

“I'm thousands of years old,” she continues, “and I thought my life would never have to end. And now here I am, facing something that shouldn't be happening to me. I'm afraid I'm not handling it very well.” She pauses again, and this time there seem to be tears in her eyes. “Well, you don't need to know all of that, not if you think I'm just a figment of your imagination. Goodbye, Ben, and thank you for everything.”

And with that she's gone, heading out toward the stairwell, leaving me to sit in stunned silence. A few minutes later, a cleaning lady arrives and starts vacuuming the seating area.

***

Two hours later, once the ferry has docked, there's no sign of Madeleine on the bus that takes foot passengers from the boat to the terminal. When a couple of police officers come onboard to check passports, I realize that there's no way she could have simply slipped away without being noticed. There's now no doubt in my mind at all.

She wasn't real. I've been hallucinating.

Fourteen

“Man, that must have been rough,” Davey mutters as he swirls another chip through a dollop of ketchup. “When I heard about what happened to Sonja, I just thought... Fuck it, dude, I feel for you, really I do. It's good to see you're doing okay, though.”

“I'm fine,” I mutter, although I can't help glancing over my shoulder and looking across the crowded Dublin pub, just in case there's any sign of Madeleine. Deep down, even forty-eight hours after leaving the ferry and arriving in the city, I find it hard to believe that she simply went away and left me alone. I'm sure madness doesn't clear so quickly.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Davey asks. “You said you're done with Stockholm, so are you gonna head home to London for a bit?” His eyes brighten suddenly. “You're always welcome to stay here for as long as you want. Dublin's a great city, man. I can introduce you to some people, and you can crash with me, it's no problem.”

“I've got a ferry booked to London in a few days,” I tell him, glancing the other way across the pub, “but... Thanks for the offer.”

I continue to scan the crowd, and after a moment I turn back to Davey and see that he's eyeing me with a hint of suspicion.

“Are you sure you're okay, man?” he asks finally. “No offense, but you seem jumpy as hell, like you're expecting the Devil himself to come bounding up behind you.”

“I'm fine,” I reply, “I just had a -”

I pause, wondering whether it's safe to tell him about Madeleine. Davey and I are old friends, and it might help if I told him about the crazy hallucinations I've suffered over the past few days.

“I met this girl,” I continue finally, “on the journey here. Or at least, I thought I did. She was a little weird, that's all. She said some...”

My voice trails off, and suddenly I pull my phone out and bring up a web browser.

“Just give me a moment,” I mutter, searching for the name of the hotel where I stayed for that one night in Paris. I immediately find some news stories in French, and when I run them through a translator I feel a rush of panic in my chest.

“What's up, man?” Davey asks. “You look kinda pale over there.”

Reading the translated story, I find that police have discovered the body of a man named Mathieu Rohmer, a twenty-eight-year-old who until recently worked the night shift at the hotel. According to the story, Mathieu's body was discovered in the alley behind the hotel, and police are refusing to comment on claims that he'd been completely drained of blood via two puncture wounds to the neck. Just like Madeleine said.

My hands are shaking as I set the phone down.

“I need another drink,” I stammer, getting to my feet and heading to the bar. I know Davey probably thinks I'm a complete lunatic by now, but my mind is racing and I feel as I might be on the verge of a real breakdown. I've been trying to hold it together so far, but when I get back to London I'm going to try to find a psychiatrist. I need to talk to a professional about all of this.

Reaching into my pocket to find some cash, I feel something cold and sharp bumping against my fingers. To my surprise, I find that somehow I have Madeleine's necklace. I don't know how it ended up in my pocket, but I can't deny that it's here now, and that it definitely exists.

I can't quite work out which parts of this madness are all in my head, and which parts are rooted in something real.

By the time I get back to the table with two pints of Guinness, Davey has managed to start talking to two girls who are sitting nearby. He's always been the kind of guy who can strike up a conversation with anyone at any time, and he's already managed to get the girls laughing and chatting.

“These fine ladies are having a bit of an all-day party,” he explains to me as I sit down. “I've just scored us an invite to tag along!”

“That sounds great,” I reply, although I can't help thinking about something that Madeleine said to me shortly before she disappeared. “I might have to catch up to you, though. I kinda need to go check something out first.” I pause, realizing that I have to at least take a look. “How far are we from the national museum?”

***

It feels good to get away from the bars on Dame Street and slip across a bridge to the south side of the river. Light rain is falling and the skies are darkening, but I'm filled with a sudden urge to put one of Madeleine's stranger claims to the test, even if I know deep down that I should just get her out of my mind. By the time I reach the steps of the museum, however, she's all I can think about.

It doesn't take long for me to find Hall C, and sure enough there's an exhibition about the history of Dublin. I take my time wandering from display to display, and I'm fully aware that I'm stalling. There's a part of me that wants to find evidence that Madeleine was telling the truth, but there's a much more rational part of me that wants to prove she was full of lies. And of course there's another part of me that makes me keep looking over my shoulder, just in case she might be somewhere around.

Finally I get to the far corner, where I find several photos showing early images of people in the city. It's strange to see the faces of so many people staring back at me, and to think that more than a century and a half has passed since these images were captured. In photo after photo, I see the faces of men and women, and children too. Some of them are dressed in old suits and dresses, whereas others seem to be wearing little more than rags. The pictures are part of a collection that aims to explore the entire spectrum of nineteenth century Dublin society, from the poorest workers to the richest businessmen.

And then I see her.

I swear, my heart jumps slightly in my chest as I see a very familiar face staring out from the bottom left hand corner of one of the photos.

She's staring at the camera with an expression that seems to be a mix of curiosity and amusement. Curiosity, perhaps, because back then most people had never had their photo taken, and many of the other people in the image share that expression. Amusement, however, seems to be hers and hers alone, making her stand out somewhat from the rest of the crowd.

The label next to the photo simply describes these people as a group who were photographed in a Dublin street. There's no mention of any names, but I can't deny the fact that the girl looks exactly like Madeleine.

She's even wearing the same necklace.

Reaching into my pocket, I take out the necklace and hold it up. Sure enough, it looks the same as the necklace in the photo, even though I know that's not possible.

I feel a chill run through my body as I contemplate the idea that everything Madeleine told me might have been true, but then I take a step back and remind myself that the whole idea is preposterous.

She's a liar.

Or a fantasist.

She must have come to this museum once, seen the girl in the photo and noticed the resemblance, and then concocted some strange fantasy in her head about having actually been that girl. As for the necklace, it wouldn't be too hard for her to commission someone to produce a cheap copy, and then she'd be all set to play her little game. I'm sure I'm not the first guy she's tricked like this, and I probably won't be the last. She's just some kind of very clever, very manipulative psychopath who's traveling Europe and pretending to be a vampire.

She might have been real and not a figment of my imagination after all, but that still doesn't mean she was telling the truth. There are no vampires or ghosts or other weird creatures in the world. There can't be.

Fifteen

The party, when I finally get there later that evening, is loud. Too loud. Ear-splittingly, soul-crushingly loud. I've never been much of a party guy at the best of times, and this whole thing is way out of my comfort zone.

But I stay anyway.

To be honest, I need something to jolt me out of my own thoughts. Since leaving the museum, I've been lost in contemplation of that photo, and it doesn't help that I dropped by the gift shop and found a small book of photos that includes the same image. I have the book even now, tucked into my coat pocket, and it takes all my willpower to keep from pulling it out and spending the rest of the evening staring at the picture that appears to show Madeleine.

Davey was right, though.

I need to find a way to relax and enjoy myself.

“So I studied film,” Karen explains as we sit on a sofa in one of the less busy rooms. “To be honest, that was a total waste of time, but at least I got to be in an environment that encouraged me to think in different ways. I work for a company that does online marketing, and I kinda like that.” She smiles, before taking a sip of beer and keeping her eyes fixed on me. “So what about you, Ben? What do you do with yourself?”

As I tell her about my online graphics work, while skating around the whole part about Sonja's suicide, I find my thoughts still drifting back to Madeleine. Something about her just seems to have stuck in my head, to the extent that I can't stop thinking about that final conversation we had on the ferry. Meanwhile, I'm telling Karen about my graphics work without even having to think about the words, so it's something of a surprise when she suddenly puts a hand on my leg.

“Davey told me about what happened,” she says with a faint, knowing smile. She leans closer, close enough for me to smell her minty, beery breath. “You have sad eyes. I know this might seem a little full-on, but do you wanna come up stairs to my room, do a few lines of coke, and see if we can fuck you happy?”

I open my mouth to reply, but the suggestion has caught me completely off-guard.

Grinning, she grabs the front of her t-shirt and pulls it down until her bare left breast pops out.

“I'm fine,” I stammer, getting to my feet so fast that I almost spill half my beer. “I really need to... I just...”

I take a step back, nearly tripping over the edge of the coffee table in the process. I know I should probably just go with this girl and lose myself in a night of wild hedonism, but that's never been my style and right now I don't think anything can clear my mind. I've never touched cocaine in my life, and even though this girl is offering herself to me on a platter, casual sex really doesn't seem like the answer to any of my problems.

“I'll be upstairs in the room next to the attic steps,” she continues, getting to her feet and brushing her body against me as she steps past. “If you're not in there with me in the next five minutes, I guess I'll just have to find someone else to keep me warm.”

As she leaves the room, I can't help feeling that this is exactly the kind of situation I've been wanting for a while now. I need to move on from everything that happened in Stockholm, but at the same time something seems to be tugging at my thoughts. Finally, I head over to the doorway and look through into the corridor, and I swear I half expect to see Madeleine staring back at me.

“So you're gonna take her up on it, right?” Davey asks, suddenly bounding into me and putting an arm around my shoulders. “I believe my dear friend Karen just made you an offer you can't refuse.”

“She's very nice,” I say with a sigh, “but -”

“But nothing, mate,” he continues, steering me toward the stairs. “Trust me, she's dynamite in bed, and you need to blow the cobwebs away.” He leads me up toward the first floor, and for some reason I don't pull away. “I see it in your eyes, man. You're still only half here. The rest of you's back in Stockholm, still mourning Sonja. This might sound harsh, but you've gotta put it behind you and move on with your life.”

“I know, but -”

“So in you go,” he adds, opening the door next to the attic steps and shoving me through. “Enjoy!”

As he pulls the door shut, I look over at the bed and see that Karen has already stripped down to her underwear, and she's arranging lines of coke on a mirror.

“I was hoping you'd show up soon,” she says with a broad, knowing grin. “Look the door, honey. I don't want anyone walking in on us. This isn't a cam session.”

Even though I know this is an awful idea, I turn and slide the bolt across. I can't help thinking that maybe Davey is right after all, that while my instinct is to get out of here, I should force myself to surrender. After all, Karen's a pretty girl and she seems to only want some fun. There's no chance I'm going to take any of that coke, but as I make my way over to the bed and sit on the edge, I realize that if I don't go through with this, I might very well spend the rest of my life mourning what happened in Stockholm.

Karen takes a snort and then leans her head back, laughing and shuddering slightly.

“Your turn,” she gasps.

“It's not for me,” I tell her. “Really, I -”

“Don't be a pussy,” she replies, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer. “And take off that jacket, for God's sake. You're staring to make me feel like you're not really into this.”

“But -”

“Her name was Sonja, right?” she continues. “Your sister, the one who killed herself in Stockholm?”

I pause for a moment, before nodding. “Half-sister,” I add. “On my father's side. He died a long time ago.”

“That's, like, so awful.”

I want to tell her that this whole thing is a mistake, but instead I look down at the lines of coke and start to wonder whether I should give it a go. After all, playing it safe hasn't exactly worked out too well so far, and it might be good to try something completely new. Sonja always used to tell me that I tended to stay within my emotional safety zone, and I know that if she could see me now, she'd be urging me to dive in and worry about the consequences later. My half-sister was always one for living life to the fullest.

“How about a slightly different approach?” Karen asks with a grin. Slipping out of her bra, she settles flat on her back and then sprinkles a line of cocaine across her bare breasts. “Come on,” she continues, “we've got to get you in the mood. Trust me, it's the most amazing sensation you could ever feel in the world. If you've never had sex on coke, you've never really lived.”

Even though every atom in my body is telling me to hold back, I can't help thinking that maybe she's right. And maybe one full-on, out-of-character night like this might be enough to shake me out of this growing madness.

Finally, I lean down toward her breasts, forcing myself to give it a go.

Suddenly a loud scream fills my ears, with enough force to make me pull back and fall off the bed. The scream is already over as I hit the floor, but its echo is still ringing in my ears.

“Are you okay, honey?” Karen asks, still on her back. “I can't exactly sit up and help you without spilling all this coke. What's going on?”

“Did you hear that?” I stammer.

“The sound of your ass hitting the carpet? I sure did. Now get back up here.”

Getting to my feet, I look toward the window. That scream seemed familiar, almost -

“No!” Madeleine shouts suddenly, and for a fraction of a second I see her ahead of me. She's in a dark forest, bloodied and badly hurt, trying to drag herself away from two men who are towering over her.

The image is gone in a flash, but for a moment it all felt so real and vivid.

“You're kinda starting to piss me off,” Karen mutters, still flat on her back with cocaine on her breasts. “You are gonna get with the program, aren't you? It's kinda hard for me to snort this off my own tits.”

For a moment, all I can think about is that image of Madeleine desperately trying to get away from whoever's pursuing her. I tell myself that it was just a flash of madness, a lingering thought from those insane few days in France and on the ferry, but at the same time her panic was so vivid and palpable, it's hard not to wonder whether she was somehow reaching out to me. Then again, I quickly remind myself that such things simply aren't possible.

“I'm fine,” I stammer, “I just -”

The scream hits again, and this time I take a step back, genuinely shaken by her fear and pain. I blink, and in that millisecond of darkness I see Madeleine being dragged back across the forest floor. Her fingertips are digging into the soil, but she's powerless to keep herself from getting pulled toward what looks like a set of ancient ruins in the moonlight. By the time I open my eyes, the image is gone again, and I turn to see Karen staring up at me with clear irritation in her eyes.

“Are you serious?” she drawls, her face filled with disgust. “I'm giving you one more chance to get your sorry ass down here for some fun, or I'm gonna kick you out of this room, do you understand?”

“I have to go,” I stammer, turning and unbolting the door.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I'm sorry.”

“At least fetch me a straw! What am I supposed to do like this?”

Ignoring her stream of expletives, I hurry along the corridor and down the stairs. I'm vaguely aware of Davey calling my name, but all I can think right now is that I have to get outside so I can clear my head and work out whether these flashes in my mind are real or just another part of the madness.

Finally reaching the front garden, I stagger over to the gate and then I wait, ignoring the sounds of the city and instead listening to anything that might start flickering to life in my mind. The party is still raging behind me, but my whole body feels strangely sore, as if every layer of skin has been peeled away and then slapped back roughly – and crudely – in place. I wait, trying to stay calm, but I'm certain I'll hear that scream again, and maybe even -

Suddenly there's another flash.

Madeleine is being grabbed from behind and pulled back toward a ruined church. Something thick and large and dark is embedded in her chest, glistening in the moonlight, and a moment later she's twisted around and I see that she's been impaled on what looks like a broken chunk of wood. Two figures are holding her by the shoulders, dragging her closer and closer to the church, and she's sobbing and screaming as she tries desperately to fight back. She can't run, however; instead, the figures continue to pull her along and her knees bump through the muddy ground. Her arms and legs look weak and immobile, as if now she can barely even move at all.

After a moment, I realize the two figures are speaking softly and quietly, their voices barely audible beneath Madeleine's scream.

I think they're chanting.

“Hey dude,” Davey says suddenly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

Spinning around, I find him grinning at me. Before I can react, he shoves an ice-cold can of beer into my hands.

“You look totally out of it,” he says with a smile. “Drink up, my man. The night's still young.”

“I -”

Suddenly I hear Madeleine's scream louder than ever, and I flinch. At the same time, I see her on her knees once again, and this time she's burning. Flames are rippling across her flesh, burning her to the bone, but she seems powerless to fight back. Dropping forward and resting on her elbows, she seems to be waiting for something, and all the while her silhouette is becoming darker and more charred as the flames eat through her flesh. The fire is spreading, too, and has reached several nearby trees, as if the whole forest is going to burn around her.

Finally she raises her head and looks toward the ruined church, and I see that most of her skin has been destroyed, leaving just a few strands of burning flesh still clinging to her skull. Her eye sockets are just empty holes now, and -

She screams one more time, loud enough to make me take a step back, and then she's gone.

“Ben?” Davey says cautiously. “Dude? Are you okay?”

Staring at him, I realize that I'm still at the party, and that the music is still pounding.

“I should go,” I stammer, feeling as if this is the last place in the world I want to be right now. “I need to... I...”

“Go where?” he asks with a frown. “Dude, you're staying on my couch, remember?”

Sixteen

Cold morning light streams through the window as I make my way downstairs. The party finally ended a few hours ago and the house has fallen quiet, although the place is a complete mess and there are several random sleeping bodies slumped in the hallway. It's like the aftermath of one of those huge parties we used to hold when we were students, like a throwback to a time when everything was simpler. So much has changed in three years.

“Hey dude,” Davey says as I enter the kitchen. He seems to be the only other person who's awake right now, and he's cooking fried eggs. “Hungry?”

“You're still up?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

“You know me, I like to motor through the hangover. Sleep's the enemy.”

I head over to the fridge and grab some milk, but after a moment my attention is caught by the screen of his laptop. I see pictures of fire engines and police cars in a forest, and my blood runs cold as I realize that the scene looks very familiar.

“Oh yeah,” Davey mutters, as he turns the eggs over, “there was this big fire last night out in the woods. They reckon someone tried to burn down the trees near the old church.”

***

By the time I get out to what's left of the church, the gray morning sky has brightened a little, although the air remains cold and somehow the entire world still seems to be asleep.

Stopping in my tracks just as I reach the edge of the burn-zone, I see that the church is exactly as I imagined it in those flashes last night. Just a few stone walls left standing without a roof, and what's left of a tower. Reaching the fence, I stop for a moment and look around, but all the police and fire crews are long gone. Police tape rings the scene, fluttering in a low morning breeze. According to news reports, the current belief is that someone tried to burn the old church down but eventually gave up, so I guess this scene isn't exactly a priority.

Ducking under a line of tape and making my way around the side of the church, I can't help thinking about those flashes last night. I swear I heard Madeleine screaming, and I saw her body burning, but I was tired and I guess I must have imagined the whole thing. Still, it all felt so real and so vivid, and I have no idea how the images got into my mind in the first place.

When I reach the spot where I saw her on fire, I find nothing but a patch of scorched ground. At that moment, the wind picks up a little, blowing charred and blackened leaves past me.

She wasn't here.

She can't have been.

This is all just a massive coincidence.

“Shame, isn't it?”

Startled, I turn to find a middle-aged man limping over to join me. He has a rake in one hand and a black plastic sack in the other, and he seems a little disappointed as he looks over toward the ruined church.

“I can't even begin to imagine why someone would want to burn this place,” he mutters, as he drops the sack and leans the rake against the tree. Turning to me, he holds out a gloved hand. “Cy Goodson, I'm the... Well, I'm supposed to be the custodian of this place, but it doesn't look like I'm doing a very good job.” He smiles as we shake hands. “Then again, what can anyone do to stop a bunch of vandals? I guess the church has always been a target.”

“Was anyone hurt?” I ask as he limps past me and heads toward the ruins.

“The police didn't find any sign of that,” he replies, reaching the steps and making his way up slowly to the empty archway that once held a door. “They didn't find any sign of much, to be honest. All they could tell me was that someone tried to burn the place down, and to be honest, I could've figured that part out by myself.”

He steps through the archway and into the ruined church.

“Not that there was much left to destroy,” he continues. “The place has been in ruins for years. Thirteenth century, that's what it is. Almost a thousand years old, one of the most beautiful churches of its kind.” There's a trace of bitterness in his voice now. “Look at it now. Wasted. Hated. Abused.”

Making my way past the steps, I head around the crumbling wall and join him in what's left of the church itself. It's clear that this place has been abandoned for a while, with ivy covering the walls as the forest starts to reclaim the place. There's no roof. Instead, when I look up I see the slate-gray sky high above.

“Were there screams?” I ask.

Cy turns to me. “I'm sorry?”

“Last night,” I continue, trying not to panic even though so far this entire scene matches those flashes of vision I experienced. “I mean... Did anyone report hearing screams?”

“Well...” He pauses, with a faint frown. “The police didn't mention anything about it. Then again, this place is quite a way out of town. Why, did you hear anything?”

I turn and look at the spot where, in my mind last night, I saw Madeleine burning.

“Come to think of it,” Cy continues, “why are you here? No offense, but you don't look much like a hiker.”

Turning back to him, I realize that he seems a little suspicious.

“I just... I heard about the fire,” I tell him, forcing a smile, “and I wanted to...”

My voice trails off as I hear Madeleine's screams echoing through my mind.

“You don't know anything about what happened out here, do you?” Cy asks. “If you do, you should go to the police. Even if you tell them anonymously, I'm sure they'd appreciate it if you could help them catch the sons of bitches who did this. People need to learn that there are consequences if they go around attacking our heritage.”

“No, I don't...” I pause. “I don't know anything.”

And that's true. I don't, not really. I can only imagine the reaction I'd get if I went stumbling into a police station and starting babbling about some random girl I met on a coach, and about all the weirdness on the ferry, and if I then topped the whole tale off by talking about seeing visions of her burning to death right here in front of the church. They'd lock me up in a padded cell, because the story truly does sound insane, and maybe they'd be right. Maybe I really did imagine most of it.

Maybe I should be in a padded cell.

“Are you okay, my friend?” Cy asks. “You look... I don't know, like you've seen a ghost.”

I turn to him, but I honestly don't know what to say.

“Maybe there's no point trying to save a place like this,” he continues, looking around. “Maybe the glory of its past has no bearing on its future. Nothing lasts forever, not even churches, so maybe it should just be left to rot. There's a bunch of campaigners from the city who're trying to raise money, they think if they restore this place they'll be able to get it up and running again as a church, but I'm starting to think...” He sighs. “I'm starting to think that some things just run their course. Even very old things, even things that counted for something once. They just reach a point where it's best to let them go. Don't you agree?”

“I should get out of here,” I tell him, taking a step back. “I need to...”

I pause, and the truth is, I feel I need to go somewhere – anywhere – and get my head together. I need to work out what's real and what isn't, because I'm veering between acceptance and denial. One moment I'm convinced Madeleine doesn't exist, the next I think she's some kind of fantasist and freak, and then in-between there are flashes where I actually start to consider the possibility that she was telling the truth.

“Sorry,” I mutter, turning to leave, “I just -”

Stopping suddenly, I see a figure standing in the distance, watching us from between the trees. Whoever it is, it seems to be a big man, tall and broad.

“Oh, that's just my friend,” Cy tells me. “Mr. Cole. He hung back while I came to talk to you. He's always been a little more cautious, that's just in his nature.”

I stare at the figure for a moment, before turning back to Cy.

“We complement each other pretty well,” he explains with a faint, amused smile. “I'm the friendly, chatty one who's good at lying, and he's the one who broods. That kind of twin approach has always served us just fine over the years. Whatever we're tracking, whoever we're after, we find that we always get there in the end.”

“You do, huh?” I reply, glancing back at the distant figure.

He's still watching us.

“One thing you might not guess about him, though,” Cy continues, “is his speed. My word, that man can run. In fact, I've never seen him give chase to anyone and not manage to haul them right back. He has a wonderful sense of humor, though, that really belies his appearance. Of course... You don't have to meet him at all. You could just be completely honest with me about why you're really here, and then you can go on your way.”

I pause for a moment, and suddenly I feel as if I really need to get out of here.

“I'll let you get on with your work,” I tell him, before turning and making my way around another of the ruined walls. “Thanks for -”

And that's when I see the dead body. Just a few feet away, partially covered by a pile of leaves that has already begun to blow away, an elderly man is flat on his back with a patch of blood smeared against his face. His glassy eyes are staring straight up toward the gray morning sky, and his mouth is hanging open.

Behind me, footsteps crunch closer across the charred ground.

“That's the chap who came up a few hours ago with the rake and sacks,” Cy explains. “Shame. If he'd just come a few hours later, we'd all have been gone and he could have got on with his work. Instead, he decided to get an early start.”

I turn to Cy, and now his smile has grown.

“Relax,” he continues. “We just want to ask you a few questions about someone you might've bumped into recently. A mutual acquaintance, if you like.”

I pause for a moment, before turning and hurrying back toward the forest. Before I can manage more than a few steps, however, another figure steps into my way and I find myself staring into the eyes of a man with a scarred, slightly charred face.

“Like I said,” Cy explains, “my friend Mr. Cole is much faster than he appears. Still, I understand if you choose to run. Most people do. Just don't feel bad when he hauls you back for questioning. I'm afraid you're caught up in something a little bigger than you might have realized.”

Seventeen

The handle of the rake smashes into my jaw, sending me slamming back against the church's ruined wall. Slumping down against the cold forest floor, I feel for a moment as if I'll never be able to get up again.

“She must have told you something,” Cy continues, watching from a distance as Cole towers above me. “Where she'd been. Where she was headed. Who she was planning to meet.”

I open my mouth to reply, but the pain in my chest is too extreme. I think I might actually have a few fractured ribs.

“Why did she come here?” he asks. “Why Ireland? Why Dublin?”

“I...” Taking a deep breath, I try to stay calm. “I brought her,” I gasp finally.

“Come again?”

“I brought her,” I continue, managing to sit up a little and lean back against the wall. Wiping my lip, I realize I'm bleeding from a cut just above my chin. “I met her on the coach and -”

“You've told us that already,” he replies, interrupting me, “but something about the whole thing doesn't quite add up. What the hell was someone like Madeleine doing on a coach? The whole thing seems strangely... mundane.”

“She was confused,” I stammer. “She seemed lost, like she didn't really know what she was doing?”

“Is that right?” Cy pauses, before turning to Cole. “Maybe she was more badly hurt than we realized.” He turns back to me. “The last time we caught up to Madeleine, she was injured. I'd never actually seen a vampire in such an awful state before. You must understand, we're trying to help her. She's the most wonderful creature, and usually she'd never need anything from the likes of us. While she's hurt, however, she seems to be acting somewhat... irrationally.”

I try to get up, but Cole steps closer and I quickly realize that any further attempts will simply lead to more pain.

“I don't know where she is now,” I gasp. “Please, you have to believe me...”

“Are you working for her enemies?”

“What -”

He swings the rake at my face again, knocking me back with a thud.

“What enemies?” I stammer, feeling a sharp pain on my cheek.

“There are those who seek to tear her down,” he explains. “Isn't that a strange thing about the world we live in? No matter how beautiful or how majestic something might appear, there will always be those who seek its destruction. If you've never seen a vampire in all its glory, you've never really seen nature at its finest. Popular culture might paint them as an aspect of humanity, but really, they're something else entirely.” He steps closer, towering over me. “Why do so many people persist in seeking gods in the heavens, when we have gods walking the planet all around us? To worship a vampire is to accept mankind's true place in the world. And that's Mr. Cole and I have to find Madeleine. For once, she might actually need our help.”

Shaking my head, I try to get up. Cy quickly places his foot on my right hand, however, and the prospect of more pain causes me to instinctively pull back.

“She's dying,” he continues. “We've been researching the situation and we believe she can be helped, but only if we catch up to her before it's too late. As her familiars, we are usually restricted to mundane tasks, but right now we must rise to the greatest challenge of our lives.” He crouches next to me. “Please. If you've spent any time with her at all, you must understand that she needs our help. Then again, I'm struggling to understand why she didn't just kill you. At a time like this, she must need all the blood she can get.”

“She said I invited her in,” I stammer, as I try to work out whether I have a chance to get out of here.

“That would do it,” Cy mutters. “Absolutely. If you invite a vampire, you bind them to you in certain ways. She certainly would have had a hard time killing you in her current, weakened state. I'm sure that was very hard for her. I hope you understand your privilege.”

“You're lying,” I gasp, trying once again to stand. This time Cy doesn't stop me, and I manage to get to my feet, even if I have to lean against the cold stone wall.

“I am, am I?”

“This is all madness!” I hiss.

“You struggle to believe?”

I try to keep walking, but I can already see Mr. Cole up ahead, blocking my way. I have no doubt he'll stop me, so instead I turn back to Cy, who has taken his phone from his pocket. He taps the screen, before turning it so I can see a photo of what looks like a dead man covered in blood, on a blood-soaked bed.

“Just one of Madeleine's many, many victims,” he explains, and now his smile has faded somewhat. “Henry Tompkins, a carpenter from Macclesfield who was found drained of blood in 2001. I know what you're thinking, it's hideous to see a human body in such a state, but really... It's the natural order of things. To worship a vampire means accepting certain aspects of the world.”

He swipes to bring up another photo, this time showing a rotten corpse on a beach.

I look away, feeling as if I might be about to throw up.

“An unidentified female,” he continues. “Another of Madeleine's victims. For a while, she roamed Europe as part of a small pack. Unusual, really, since she seems to have been solitary for most of her life, but while she was in that pack... Well, let's just say that she had her fair share of kills. Always for food, though. Never for sport. As vampires go, she has always been rather restrained.”

He brings up another photo, and then another.

“She might have seemed like an attractive young lady to you,” he mutters, “but appearances can be deceptive. Then again, a wounded vampire is easy to mistake for a strong, powerful human. The stronger she gets, the more her vampire side will begin to show through.” A faint smile crosses his lips as he slips the phone away again. “We won't let her die. Such a fate would be absolutely obscene. According to all our records, only three vampires have died in the past thousand years. Madeleine can't be the next.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a blood-stained knife.

“And I'm very sorry to have to tell you this,” he continues, “but part of our job is to ensure that all traces of a her life are removed from the world. We can't allow the general public to understand that Madeleine exists, or there'd be widespread panic.”

“I don't know anything,” I stammer, turning and leaning against the wall as I try to stumble away. “Please -”

“It's nothing personal!” Cy explains as he calmly follows, easily keeping pace with me. “I'm sure you'd be able to understand if the circumstances were different. And I'm sure that when we inform Madeleine of your fate, she'll be... wistful.”

“I won't tell anyone,” I reply, “I swear, I just -”

Feeling a sudden rush of pain in my ribs, I drop to my knees.

“We can't rely on your word,” Cy continues, stopping next to me with the knife still in his hand. “It's not our fault, though. The moment she revealed her nature to you, Madeleine must have known she was signing your death warrant. If it's any consolation, however, your death won't be strung out. I'll make this quick and relatively painless.”

“If you're on Madeleine's side,” I gasp, “then why did she fight you on the ferry?”

“Fight us?” He frowns. “What ferry? We flew in from London this morning, as soon as we detected her presence here in Dublin. Why? Were you and Madeleine on a ferry? Did you -”

I hear a sudden bumping sound.

“What's wrong?” Cy asks, turning to the ever-silent Cole, who seems to be troubled by something over at the far side of the ruined church. “What did you hear?”

Stumbling to my feet again, I try to make my way to the far end of the stone wall, but a moment later I spot a flash of movement between the trees. I freeze, certain that I just saw someone, and sure enough a moment later I hear a faint rustling sound.

“Did you see a face?” Cy continues, his voice filled with concern. “Cole, answer me! Did you see anyone? It's probably just children from the local estate, they -”

He spins around and looks the other way, and it's clear now that there are at least two other people nearby, watching from the far side of the ruins.

“It can't be them,” Cy says firmly. “We know for a fact that they're hundreds of miles away. Madeleine separated from the rest of her pack before the last time we ran into her.”

Pulling a large knife from under his jacket, Cole sets off across the abandoned church, while Cy seems a little more cautious.

“What is it?” I ask, trying not to panic. “What's happening?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, but he's clearly lying. His eyes are filled with fear, and after a moment he takes another step back. “They can't be here,” he continues. “It's just not possible. We've been keeping tabs on them, we know their movements over the past couple of months, we know for a fact that Madeleine had begun to distance herself from her pack.”

Turning, I see that Cole has made his way around the far side of one of the church's walls. He's out of sight now, but I can still hear faint rustling sounds.

Suddenly an abrupt, pained cry fills the air.

“Cole!” Cy shouts. “Get back here! We're pulling out!”

He waits, but now the church and the forest have once again fallen silent.

“What is it?” I ask, still trying not to panic. “Are the -”

Before I can finish, Cole lumbers back into view, staggering as blood pours down one side of his body. The flesh has been torn from one side of his face, and his left arm is hanging from the shoulder by little more than a few scraps of meat.

“Please, no,” Cy stammers, taking another step back. He watches as Cole collapses, and then he turns to me with pure fear in his eyes. “We have to get out of here! I think her pack might be closer than we'd realized.”

With that, he turns and runs, stumbling a little as he races toward the treeline. I watch in horror as he gets further and further away, but then suddenly I see a dark shape rushing through the forest. Whatever the shape is, it crashes into him and knocks him to the ground, and he cries out briefly before falling quiet.

Turning, I start hurrying toward the far end of the ruined church. I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I'm convinced that the whole thing has to be another hallucination. In my damaged state, I've clearly begun to lose my mind entirely, which means I have to get back to London as quickly as possible and see a doctor. As I race around one of the church's broken walls, however, I suddenly slam into a male figure, and I'm quickly pushed back until I slam against the ground.

“Who are you?” the guy asks, towering over me.

“Wait,” I stammer, “what -”

“Are you one of them?” he continues, as a girl steps into view and follows him toward me. “Where's Madeleine?” He stares at me for a moment, before opening his mouth to reveal a row of sharp fangs.

Eighteen

“He's not one of them!” the girl hisses, grabbing the guy's arm and pulling him back as he towers over me. “Don't let your anger take over! Look at him, he's nothing to do with those bastards! He's just an ordinary human! He's pathetic!”

The guy doesn't seem convinced for a moment, and I can see the large, sharp fangs in his mouth as he stares at me.

“Marston, please,” the girl continues, placing a hand on his arm as if to hold him back. “Remember what we talked about. Stop.”

“Who are you, then?” the guy asks, still watching me with great suspicion. “If you're not one of her wretched familiars, what are you doing here?”

“He has her scent,” the girl whispers. “He has Madeleine's scent.”

“Of course he does,” the guy sneers. “If he helped kill her, he -”

“No, not like that!” She pauses, eyeing me with a hint of concern. “I think he spent time with her. Not when she died, but before that. Can't you tell from the way her scene has settled on him?”

I wait, too terrified and shocked to move a muscle or say a word. My mind is racing, and I can't help hoping that this entire situation is a product of my fevered imagination. It has to be.

“We got them,” the girl says finally, before stepping past the guy and taking a closer look at me. “My name is Sheffield,” she continues, “and this is Marston. We're... We were friends of Madeleine's. Is that what you were, too? Were you her friend?”

“I...”

Shaking with fear, I can't even manage to get any words out.

A faint smile crosses her lips.

“You were her friend,” she says after a moment. “I can tell from the scent. You spent time with her, and she wasn't scared during that time. And you weren't with her when she was attacked last night, but...” Her voice trails off. “You're mortal, right? You're just a human.”

“He's pathetic,” the guy mutters darkly. “Look at him. He's only good for one thing.” Grinning, he reveals his fangs once again.

The girl crouches in front of me. “Like I said,” she continues, “my name is Sheffield and this is Marston. We were in a pack with Madeleine, before we all got separated. We were friends for a long, long time. Longer than most humans can even imagine.” She pauses, before holding a hand out toward me. “There's no need to be scared,” she adds. “If we were going to kill you, we'd have done it by now. And that's a promise.”

Staring at me, she seems lost in thought for a moment, but there's a faint smile curling across her lips.

“Boo!” she yells suddenly, leaning closer.

I pull back, briefly filled with panic until I realize that she's giggling.

“That was great,” she continues, clearly very amused until – with no warning at all – she suddenly snaps back to sorrow. Her eyes fill with tears and she genuinely looks utterly bereft. “We should hold a funeral,” she says finally, her voice trembling slightly. “We have to mark Madeleine's death. She was a vampire and we have to hold a funeral for her.”

Marston sighs. “We don't even know that she is dead. If she really burned last night, she -”

“Clearly she's dead,” Sheffield replies, interrupting him. “We must mark her passing.”

***

“We killed them way too quickly,” Marston hisses, tossing Cole's drained corpse aside. “We should have tortured them for weeks! We should have introduced them to more pain than the human mind can stand!”

“They're dead now,” Sheffield replies, staring down at what's left of Cole before slowly turning to me. “These two bastards have been tracking us for a couple of years. They believed themselves to be on Madeleine's side, they thought they were her familiars, but really they were just glorified stalkers. We always managed to stay one step ahead of them until recently, but they're so persistent. We had a plan, we thought we could get rid of them but...” She smiles. “For mortals, they were remarkably pig-headed. They irritated us more than you might imagine.”

She pauses, and now there are tears in her eyes once again. I swear, her mood seems to change with the breeze.

“Madeleine,” she whispers finally. “I can't believe she's gone. She was...”

Her voice trails off, as the first tear trickles down her face.

“They had no right!” Marston shouts, grabbing Cole's dead body once again, and this time starting to tear the stump of his neck. He seems to be in the throes of a tantrum, and I watch in horror as he rips the body apart and starts pulling out the rib-cage. It's as if, consumed by anger, he's tearing Cole apart.

“I never thought she'd actually die,” Sheffield sobs, ignoring Marston's continued tantrum. “I always thought we'd find a way to help her. No matter how bad things seemed, I always...” She takes a deep breath, as if she's trying to get herself back under control. “Of all of us, Madeleine was the one who should have survived. She was the one who had something better in mind. She always told us we were too immature, that we needed to grow up a little. She was right.”

“Damn them!” Marston snarls, finally throwing what's left of Cole's boy to the ground. “There was no point torturing them anyway! There's not enough pain in the world to make them suffer for what they did to her! We'd have to invent something new, something worse than pain.” He turns and looks toward the forest. “I should drag the corpse of the other one over here. Maybe there's still a glimmer of life left in his meat.”

“I have a few ideas about how to avenge Madeleine's death,” Sheffield says darkly, before giggling again. Her eyes are still fixed on me, which is kind of creepy. “But first, we need to hold a funeral. Madeleine was a good egg, I liked her a lot. I'm not usually a big fan of tradition, but we should mark her passing in the proper manner.” She pauses. “Have you ever seen a vampire funeral, mortal boy?”

She waits for me to reply, but I simply stare in horror.

“You're not real,” I whisper finally.

“Huh?”

“None of this is real,” I continue, starting to shiver. “I'm imagining the whole -”

She bursts out laughing.

“Stop!” I hiss, starting to get to my feet. “I swear -”

“Don't,” she says firmly.

“Don't what?” I ask.

“Run. Don't do it.”

“How do -”

“That's what you're thinking,” she continues. “I'd know it even if I couldn't slip into your thoughts, but...” She pauses again, before her smile grows. “Who's the bird in the bathtub?”

“What do -”

“A dead mortal in a bathtub,” she adds. “Cut wrists. I'm getting this really strong image of her, and you're -”

“Stop!” I say firmly.

“Why? Because it upsets you?”

“I just don't -”

“She killed herself,” she continues, with a hint of wonder in her voice. “Someone you loved, she cut her own wrists and you blame yourself for not finding her in time.”

“No,” I reply, keen to shut this conversation down. “Absolutely not.”

“It all seems very melodramatic,” she adds, before starting to giggle. “Why the hell did the dumb bitch kill herself, anyway? Human lifespans are already so short, you might as well stick around for all of it. Let me guess, she was all emotional and troubled and -”

“You don't know what you're talking about!” I say firmly. “Sonja -”

“Sonja!” she laughs. “That's the name! I was struggling, all I was getting from your head was this sappy -”

“Shut up!” I shout, lunging at her and knocking her to the ground. She pushes back, but for a moment I actually have the strength to hold her down, at least until she starts laughing uncontrollably.

“Are we doing this funeral or not?” Marston asks from nearby. “I want to get out of this goddamn place.”

“I am so turned on right now,” Sheffield giggles, staring up at me. “I've never mated with a mortal but -”

“Go to hell!” I mutter, getting to my feet and turning to walk away, only to find that Marston is blocking my way. “What do you want with me?” I ask, as I hear Sheffield getting to her feet behind me. “Am I just dinner for you guys? Is that it?”

“Why do you assume we want anything?” Marston asks. “We always just take what we want. End of discussion.”

“You're not real,” I tell him.

“I'm not?” He smiles. “Then try to walk away. I promise you, you won't get far. Maybe I'll cut your ankles, leave you writhing on the ground until I can be bothered to drain you. But if you think we're not real, if that's what you truly believe, then by all means try to leave.”

He steps aside, as if he's inviting me to run.

“What's wrong?” he asks. “Are you starting to think that maybe we are real after all?”

I want to tell him to go to hell, and to get out of here, but I can't quite bring myself to take the risk.

Marston stares at me for a moment. “Let's just get on with Madeleine's funeral,” he says finally. “We don't have a body, but that's okay. We each need something she gave us, though. Do you have something, Ben?”

“Yeah, Ben,” Sheffield whispers, leaning close to my ear from behind, until I can feel her hot breath on my skin. “Do you have anything that Madeleine gave to you?”

Nineteen

“It's just a diamond,” Marston says a short while later, as we stand at the edge of the lake. “I don't even know where she got it, but she said she it didn't really mean anything to her. She told me I...”

He pauses, staring down at the small chunk of diamond in the palm of his hand. After a moment, he leans down and sets it atop the bundle of twigs he's tied together, and then he sets fire to one section of the makeshift raft before pushing it out across the water.

“It's not much,” he continues, watching the flames as they build. “Madeleine and I were never close like that, but we were friends. I'm going to miss her.”

“This is her hair,” Sheffield says after a moment, holding up a set of dark strands. “One night a couple of years ago, Madeleine and I talked about what would happen if either of us died and we had to hold a funeral. The idea seemed crazy at the time, like a kind of fantasy. We tried to think of something we could give each other, for an occasion like this, and in the end we each cut off a lock of our hair. I guess she still had mine somewhere, but...”

Her lips twitch slightly, as if she's about to start laughing, but finally she sets the hair on her own little pile of twigs, which she lights before pushing it away from the shore.

“I know it's dumb,” she continues, “but I'm gonna miss having that part of her around. I swear to God, those bastards who tracked her down and killed her...”A flicker of pure hatred crosses her features. “No vampire should ever die. It's unnatural. Madeleine was more than a thousand years old. She should have had eternity ahead of her, like the rest of us.”

I watch as the two little rafts continue to burn on the surface of the lake.

“Your turn,” Marston says finally. “What do you have, anyway? What did Madeleine give you?”

Reaching into my pocket, I take out the necklace that I guess Madeleine must have slipped in there at some point.

“I don't even know why I have this,” I tell them. “She didn't say anything about...” My voice trails off for a moment. “I saw a photo in a museum in town, Madeleine was in the picture and she was wearing this. I guess -”

“No need for a speech,” Sheffield mutters, holding her hand out toward me. “Pass it over.”

I look down at the little bundle of twigs I tied together.

“The reason for sending these offerings out onto the water,” Sheffield continues, “is so that they can find their way to the deceased vampire in the next world. Unfortunately, it only works if they're sent by other vampires, so I'll have to do it for you.” She still has her hand outstretched, waiting for me to give her the necklace. “Let's get this over with.”

“But if -”

“Just give it to me,” she adds, with a hint of irritation in her voice. “For God's sake, are you always this indecisive? You have to give it to me voluntarily, I can't just rip it from your cold, dead hands. Believe me, if that was an option...”

I hesitate for a moment, before dropping the necklace into the palm of her hand and taking a step back.

“Finally,” she whispers, her eyes filled with relief. “I thought... Well, I thought I'd never see this thing again.” She pauses, before turning and tossing it over to Marston. “See? What did I tell you? Now we can really finish the bitch off.”

“What do you mean?” I ask cautiously. “Aren't you going to -”

“You're very easy to fool, aren't you?” she continues, taking a step toward me. Her left foot crushes the little raft of twigs that was supposed to carry the necklace out onto the water. “I mean your whole species, not just you. Very each to manipulate.”

“I actually began to doubt that I'd ever get this back,” Marston says with a smile, holding the necklace up and watching as it glints in the midday sunlight. “Madeleine was always so keen to keep it guarded. Then again, I don't blame her. I'm sure it carried great sentimental value.”

“Do you remember how long it took her to choose that goddamn thing?” Sheffield asks, still grinning wildly as she turns to me. “When a mortal becomes a vampire, they're allowed to take one thing from their old life. Just a memento, a little knick-knack so they can remember how they started out. Madeleine decided to take her mother's necklace. I watched as she slipped it off the dead woman's thin neck, outside their burned village in a Pottalucian village more than a thousand years ago.”

“You were there?” I ask, before turning to Marston. “You were both there when Madeleine became a vampire?”

“How do you think she was became one in the first place?” he asks, closing his fist around the necklace. “Sheffield and I were just wandering aimlessly when we found their little village. We weren't even particularly hungry at the time. We just killed them all for sport.”

“We drank their blood one by one,” she adds, “until all that was left were two children. Poor Madeleine and poor Edgar, her brother, cowering in the corner.” She chuckles, as if she still finds the memory amusing. “And then I figured, why don't we give them another chance? We'd never offered anyone the gift of immortality before, so Marston them in just the right way. After that, they had no choice but to come with us. Edgar ran, he wanted nothing to do with us, but Madeleine was more confused. She needed comfort and guidance. We became a tight little pack, roaming Europe for hundreds and hundreds of years until...”

Her voice trails off.

“Until what?” I ask, trying not to panic.

“Until she became a major league bitch,” she spits back at me. “Eventually she wanted us to stop killing so many innocent people. She started harping on about the need to fight our instincts. God, she started to bore me.”

“We decided to get rid of her,” Marston continues, squeezing his hand tight around the necklace. “Since I was the one who converted her, I was the only one who could do it, but I needed this tatty piece of crap first.” He pauses. “If there's one thing that bugs me about our species, it's all the ridiculous rules. A vampire can only be killed by whoever gave them immortality in the first place. I was the only one who could make her mortal again.”

“We caught up with her a few times,” Sheffield explains, “but she always gave us the slip. And then last night, we pushed her to the brink of death and then we found she'd passed the necklace along to someone else. Without it, we couldn't quite finish her off, but fortunately we knew she couldn't have just tossed it away.”

“Another rule,” Marston adds. “She had to give it to someone she cared about.”

“This is insane,” I stammer, taking another step back. “None of this can be happening...”

Sheffield tilts her head to one side. “You think we're crazy?”

“He thinks he's crazy,” Marston tells her. “You know what mortals are like. Their minds are so fragile.”

“We needed to trick you,” Sheffield continues, “into giving Marston the necklace. Now he has it, he's free to take back the gift of immortality that he gave to Madeleine. And the necklace had to be placed willingly in his hand, he couldn't just take it by force. Madeleine never would have done that, but you did. And all it took was for us to invent some garbage about a vampire funeral.” She giggles again. “You're just so typically credulous for a mortal, aren't you? I hope I wasn't so dumb back in my mortal days.”

“She's close,” Marston says suddenly, turning and looking the other way. “She must know what we're planning.”

Sheffield turns and follows his gaze, and now they both have their backs to me.

“I think the dumb bitch is going to stand her ground and fight,” she chuckles. “Oh, that's cute. She's really in over her head. Then again, she's only a thousand years old. I remember when I was that young, I had ideas above my station too. Such a shame she'll never have the opportunity to grow up and become more mature.”

Turning, I start running back into the forest, but it only takes a couple of seconds before Sheffield catches up and yanks me back down to the ground.

“Not so fast, hot stuff,” she continues, placing her boot against my chest and pushing hard. “We might still need to use you as bait. You're my wriggling little worm on the end of a great big hook and -”

Suddenly something slams into her from behind, and a chunk of wood comes bursting out through her chest. She gasps and stumbles forward, dropping to her hands and knees right next to me, and I immediately see blood dribbling from her mouth.

“Damn it!” she gasps. “Right through the...”

She tries to reach around and grab the wood, but her hand is trembling and finally she rolls onto her side.

“Staked me,” she stammers. “That's gonna... hurt in the...”

“She threw it!” Marston shouts, turning and looking around at the trees. “That's -”

Another chunk of wood flashes through the air, and he barely steps aside in time. Opening his fist, he lets the crushed necklace fall to the ground and then he turns and looks toward the trees again.

“I freed you from my control!” he calls out. “Now I'm going to free you from the gift I gave you! There's no point fighting back, Madeleine! You know you don't have a chance!”

“Be a darling,” Sheffield gasps, reaching out toward me, “and get this... splinter out of me, huh? It's kinda... cramping my style...”

I pull away, horrified as I realize the chunk of wood must have pierced her heart.

“Marston!” she hisses. “I need a little help here!”

“Wait!” he says firmly, stepping away from us and heading toward the trees. “I think I -”

Suddenly another chunk of wood slices through the air, this time missing him by a good few feet. He turns and looks back across toward another part of the forest, and his smile grows.

“Is this your plan?” he calls out. “You might have managed to get the drop on Sheffield, but you know this is never going to work with me! Come out and face me properly, Madeleine! This is inevitable and you know it! Don't want you to show a little dignity in the face of death?”

“I'm still pissed about the way she threw us off that ferry,” Sheffield gasps, trying but still failing to get the wood out of her chest. “I've got to admit, when she's desperate and cornered, she can be quite creative. After she's dead, I certainly won't forget her in a -”

She stops suddenly, staring at something behind me, and finally her smile grows again.

“Well hello there, Madeleine,” she continues. “I was starting to think you might stand us up.”

Turning, I'm shocked to see a burned, naked figure standing just a few feet away. Her skin is reddened and black, glistening in the sunlight as blood dribbles from her charred body, but her eyes are wide open and I can see – despite all the damage – that it's definitely her.

“Just accept the inevitable,” Sheffield stammers, still fumbling in a vain attempt to pull the stake from her chest. “Marston gave you immortality, bitch, and now he's changed his mind. You must have figured out by now that there's no way you can run.”

“Where is it?” Madeleine asks, her voice sounding harsh and damaged. “It belonged to my mother and I want it back.”

“The necklace is just dust now,” Marston tells her, taking a step closer. “There's nothing left to protect you. I'm going to make you mortal again, and then I'm going to kill you. You must have known this day was coming once you left our pack.”

“Get this thing out of me!” Sheffield hisses, clearly annoyed. “I want to join in the fun!”

“You kill innocent people,” Madeleine tells Marston. “You kill for food, you kill for fun, for sport... You kill because it's a habit.”

“And?” Marston asks with a smile. “So what?”

“I don't want to be like that,” she replies.

“Sickening,” he sneers. “You're letting your old mortal emotions show through. How can you degrade and insult the vampire species in such a way? It was a mistake to grant you this gift in the first place.”

“Just drop the bitch,” Sheffield gasps, as she tries but fails to get to her feet. Clutching the stake, she tries again to pull it out, but her hands are still trembling too much. “I hate these things! I'm going to have a hell of a scar for the next few days.”

“Get out of here, Ben,” Madeleine says, turning to me. “Please, you have to run.”

Sheffield immediately starts laughing. “Run?” she blurts out. “How the hell do you expect him to run? That's like telling an ant to run from an elephant!” She reaches out and tries to grab me, but her hand falls just a few inches too short. “You should feel privileged,” she sneers, clearly getting weaker. “Very few humans get to witness one vampire before they die, let alone three. At least you have the honor of experiencing this moment before your miserable, short life is snuffed out.”

“Please run,” Madeleine tells me. “It's the only way you've got even the slightest chance.”

Turning, I scramble to my feet and start limping away through the forest. Before I've even made it a couple of steps, however, I hear a horrific scream over my shoulder and I realize that Madeleine and Marston have begun to fight.

Twenty

Letting out a gasp, I lean against a tree and take a moment to get my breath back. My mind is racing, but I keep telling myself the same thing over and over:

This isn't real.

None of this is actually happening.

Madeleine has been a figment of my imagination since the start. Maybe there was a girl on the coach. Maybe. And maybe I paid her fare for her, and maybe – just maybe – I spotted her one more time in Paris. But everything since then has been part of some psychosis, of some addled and warped reaction to Sonja's death. I haven't been well, I know that now, and I need serious help as soon as I get back to London.

I flinch as I hear a cry of pain nearby.

Turning, I look back through the forest. I can't see anyone, but I definitely hear what sounds like a struggle. For a moment, I catch myself imagining Madeleine locked in some kind of battle with Marston and Sheffield, but again I tell myself that the whole situation isn't real.

Marston?

Sheffield?

What kind of names are those, anyway? Clearly my subconscious mind isn't very creative. I've managed to conjure up some kind of over-cooked, melodramatic soap opera starring impossible creatures. I should have heeded the warning signs when I thought I saw Sonja in my apartment before the funeral, but I guess it's very easy for anyone to let their guard slip. The human mind can only take so much horror before it starts to crack.

“This isn't real,” I whisper again, trying to regain a grip on my sanity. “This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.”

With that, I start limping away.

Twenty-One

Stopping again, I realize I can hear Madeleine crying out.

“She's not real,” I say firmly, trying to make myself believe those words. “She's not real, she's not -”

She screams again, and this time there's pure, ragged agony in her voice. Instinctively, I turn and look back through the forest, and at that moment I see her in my mind's eye. She's being hauled up from the ground, bloodied and naked, and Marston is baring his fangs as he reaches down to dig his fingers into her chest.

“She's not real,” I stammer again.

Deep down, however, I can't ignore her screams. I remember the day I walked out of the apartment in Stockholm, convinced that Sonja would be okay for a few hours, and when I returned she was dead in the bathtub. Now I'm running away from a woman who's screaming as she dies, and if there's even the slightest chance that she's real...

I hesitate for a moment, before heading back the way I just came. I already let one person die in the past week. I'm not going to do it again.

Twenty-Two

“Madeleine!” I shout, limping through the forest. I almost slip several times, but I know I have to keep going. If there's even a sliver of a chance that she's real, I have to get to her.

Up ahead, I can hear voices shouting.

“Can you please get this thing out of me?” Sheffield hisses, still struggling on the floor as she tries to pull the chunk of wood from her chest. “I want to join in, dammit! I deserve some fun!”

A little further away, Marston is holding Madeleine's ragged body by the neck. After a moment, he smashes her against a nearby tree and then lets her fall to the ground. As I get closer, I still can't see whether she's alive, but she's clearly in a bad way and Marston is already leaning down to grab her yet again.

“Oh great,” Sheffield says with a smirk, spotting me as I limp past. “The pesky mortal wimp is back. What's your plan, vermin? Are you going to whine and hope you manage to bore us all to death?”

Ignoring her, I spot a broken branch on the ground and pick it up. The damaged end is ragged and sharp, and I figure it's the only possible weapon right now. Ahead, Marston still has his back to me as he holds Madeleine by the neck, while his right hand is reaching deeper into her ravaged chest, as if he's groping to find her heart. After a moment, she lets out a faint, bloodied gurgle, which at least means she's alive.

Raising the jagged piece of wood above my head, I limp up behind Marston, ready to strike.

“Hey!” Sheffield yells. “Watch out for -”

Before she can finish, I smash the branch against Marston's back with all the fury I can manage. To my surprise, I manage to force the wood beneath his shoulder-blade and deep into his chest, and he immediately turns and snarls at me with the wooden tip poking out just below his collarbone.

“Sorry,” I tell him, taking a step back, “I was aiming for your heart.”

He stumbles toward me, trying to grab my neck, but instead he loses his footing and drops to his knees. Letting out a gasp of anger, he lashes out, reaching for me but missing by a few inches as he once again lunges toward me. He tries for a third time, this time throwing his entire body in my direction, but I step back and watch as he slumps down against the forest floor. The branch is embedded in his back, glistening with blood, and he can't pull it out even as he tries to reach around.

Hearing a faint gasping sound, I turn and see that Madeleine – her body still burned and bloodied – is trying but failing to get to her feet. I rush over to help her, but she slumps back down and lets out a series of groans.

“Tell me what to do,” I stammer, even though she looks to be beyond help. There's blood on my hands now, her blood, and for a moment I can't help thinking back to the bathroom in Stockholm when I was covered in blood from Sonja's lifeless body.

Clearly in pain, Madeleine tries to say something, but her words are garbled.

“What was that?” I ask, as blood dribbles from her lips. “You have to tell me what to do!”

“Dig!” she gasps, her whole body trembling with shock. “I need you to... dig...”

***

Pushing against Marston's shuddering body one more time, I finally manage to shove him over the edge and down into the pit I've dug in the forest floor. He lands hard at the bottom, slamming onto Sheffield before rolling onto his side. They both still have stakes through their hearts.

“Now fill it in,” Madeleine groans, watching from nearby. She's on the floor, leaning against a tree, and it looks as if she can barely keep her eyes open. “Hurry!”

“You can't bury us alive!” Sheffield gasps, trying once again to get up, despite the chunk of wood that's embedded in her chest. “Have some pity!”

“Fill it in!” Madeleine says firmly.

“No!” Sheffield hisses, still trying desperately to get up even as Marston shudders and gurgles at her feet. “You can't do this! You're not a monster, Ben! You can't bury us down here in the dark!” There are tears in her eyes now, and I can tell she's starting to panic. “You can't do this to me,” she sobs. “It could be centuries before someone digs us up. You can't leave us down here in the dark, staked and helpless, trying to scream with dirt in our mouths. We'll lose our goddamn minds. Maybe we won't ever be found! You're condemning us to an eternity of madness!”

Staring at her, I momentarily feel as if she might be right. She and Marston are clearly both incapacitated, and I feel as if I could just get Madeleine away from here, so that they have no chance to catch us.

“Please,” Sheffield continues, as tears rolls down her cheeks. “I'm begging you, give us one more chance...”

“Fine!” Madeleine says firmly, forcing herself up and staggering over to join me. “If you won't do it, I will!”

With that, she starts using her burned hands to push the mound of dirt down onto the two writhing figures below. Sheffield coughs and splutters, trying to cover her face, but after a moment she slumps down as more and more soil tumbles down into the hole. Finally she lets out a horrified scream, but the sound is quickly drowned out as Madeleine continues to push soil into their grave.

“Isn't there another way?” I ask, turning to Madeleine and seeing the determination in her eyes. “You can't just kill them like this!”

“I'm not killing them,” she mutters darkly. “I want to, but I can't. I'm just making sure that it's a very, very long time before anyone finds them and pulls those chunks of wood out of their chests. While they're staked, they won't be able to free themselves.” She lets out a gasp of pain. “I'm sure one day they'll find their way out and come to bug me again.”

As Marston and Sheffield continue to struggle, I step back and watch Madeleine pushing more soil down on top of them. I can't bring myself to help, but finally the cries become more muffled and I realize that most of the soil has now been pushed back into the hole. Madeleine still doesn't stop, though, and she keeps going until all that's left is a slightly bulging mound of mud. Only now does she slow down, and finally she slumps against the ground with a long, pained sigh.

“Are they...” I hesitate for a moment, staring at the mound. “Are they still alive down there?”

“They're vampires,” she gasps, “just like me. So what do you think?”

“But what will they -”

“They're monsters,” she continues. “Again, just like me.” She pauses for a moment. “I was friends with them once. They made me what I am, they taught me a lot of things, but eventually I decided I didn't want to be like them, I thought I could fight my instincts. That's when they turned on me and ran me down. They've been chasing me for the past year and -”

She lets out a gasp of pain, clutching her waist as she steps back and leans against a tree.

“I had to turn against them,” she explains, “but Marston was the one who turned me into a vampire, so I couldn't fight him until that bond was broken. Fortunately, he also needed to break the bond so he could take away the gift of immortality. He'd never have done that if he'd realized it was what I wanted too, so I had to trick him. I needed him to destroy the necklace.” She glances at me, and I swear the faintest hint of a smile crosses her charred lips. “It was a slightly convoluted plan, but it worked out in the end. I just wish -”

Gasping again, she drops to her knees.

“You need a doctor,” I tell her, hurrying over to see if I can help. “I'll call a -”

“Are you insane?” she snaps. “Leave me alone!”

“But -”

Suddenly she opens her mouth and hisses at me, baring her fangs as her eyes momentarily seem to fill with a yellowish hue. I pull back, but she lunges at me and I have to duck out of the way. Panicking, I scramble past the nearest tree and then look back, just in time to see her slumping back down with her eyes having returned to their normal color. Still, for a moment there she seemed like a completely different person, as if some other instinct had taken over.

“Didn't anyone ever teach you,” she whispers, clearly in more pain than before, “to never mess with a wounded animal?”

“Animal?” I ask, making sure to keep a safe distance this time. “What are you -”

“You have to run,” she continues, interrupting me. “You have to get as far away from here as possible, and then you have to pray that it's far enough. I can't hold back for much longer.”

“Hold back from what?”

I wait for an answer, but instead she seems focused on trying to get to her feet.

“I want to help you,” I continue. “Madeleine, I -”

“You helped me enough already!” she hisses. “It's not safe for you, not now! My instincts will kick in, and I need blood to accelerate my healing process. I need lots of blood.” She stares at me. “Soon that's all you'll be to me. Blood.”

“But back in Paris, you -”

“You invited me into your hotel room!” she points out. “I can't attack people who invite me! After that, I was still weak, and I needed your help. Believe me, there are rules that govern the life of a vampire, and you just happened to invoke a few of them! Trust me, that luck is gonna run out pretty damn soon!”

“But if you -”

“Look at me,” she continues. “What do you see?”

Staring at her, I can't help noticing that her naked body is covered in cuts and burns, with blood having soaked across her flesh.

“What have you seen ever since you met me on that coach?” she asks.

“I've seen a...” I hesitate. “A girl.”

“Like the girl in the bathtub?” she continues, with a faint smile. “Someone who needs your help?”

“Exactly. I mean...”

“Maybe a chance to redeem yourself? You couldn't save her, but maybe you can save me?”

I open my mouth to tell her she's wrong, but a shudder in my chest makes me realize that she might be right after all.

“I'm a vampire,” she continues. “I might look like a mortal girl, especially when I'm weak, but I promise you...” She winces, as if some inner pain is rippling through her body. “I'm dying,” she continues. “Maybe I can save myself, maybe I can't, but my instincts will kick in and I won't hold back. Please, Ben, don't make the mistake of trying to help me, because I promise I'll turn on you. I'm not some lost girl who wandered onto a coach in the middle of the night. I'm a monster.”

“No, you -”

“I'm a monster!” she hisses, and once again her eyes briefly fill with a yellowish tint. “I will kill you, don't you understand? That's not a threat, it's a promise! Humans and vampires just don't mix. I can already feel my instincts bubbling up, and I'll end up using you for your blood. No creature in all of existence can resist its instincts, not for long. That's as true of humans as it's true of vampires. We are what we are, every one of us. And soon, my instinct will be to kill you and drink every last drop of your blood.”

Staring at her, I wait for her to tell me she's joking, but she seems deadly serious. I can't help thinking back to the confused, wounded girl I met on the coach just outside Hamburg, and it's clear that over the past couple of days she's begun to get her strength back. Even in the last few minutes, she seems to have become a little stronger, as if her body is recovering from the beating she suffered at Marston's hands. But as I stare at her, in the heart of this vast forest, I can't help noticing that while the world all around us seems natural and calm, Madeleine herself looks...

Unnatural.

“Are you real?” I ask finally. It's a dumb question, but I still feel as if I might be imagining this entire experience. As if I might wake up at any moment.

She watches me with cautious, wounded eyes.

“Are you?” I ask again.

“Does it matter?” she replies, her voice trembling with pain. “Walk away. Run. Don't look back. Once you get to the city, does it really matter whether something like me was real out here in the forest? Just forget.”

“But if...” I pause, and for a moment I think back to the sight of Sonja's dead body in the bath, back in the apartment in Stockholm.

“I see that,” Madeleine whispers.

“See what?” I ask, shocked by the realization that I felt her in my mind.

“Was that her? Your sister?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“You're scared,” she continues. “Why?”

“Because if you're real,” I reply, “then that means she might have been real too. In the bath, I mean. After she was dead.” I pause again. “If something like you is real, then maybe I really did see Sonja's ghost that night before I left. And the look in her eyes... She blamed me for her death.”

Madeleine shakes her head. “It doesn't work like that. Just because I exist, you can't go assuming that ghosts and all other -”

“But if you're not real,” I continue, taking another step back, “then that means I can tell myself that none of it happened. That none of it is real. Even that night in the apartment.”

“Is that what you want?” she asks.

I watch as she tries to limp toward me, but she's clearly still very weak.

“Do you want me not to be real?” she continues. “Would that make you feel better?”

“Maybe,” I tell her.

“Then you need to run,” she explains, “because I'm about to lose control and kill you. I need your blood.”

I shake my head. “Madeleine, you don't -”

Suddenly she lunges at me, snarling and baring her fangs. I step out of the way and she slumps down to the forest floor, but she quickly starts getting to her feet again.

“I can't fight it,” she gasps. “Run, damn you! Get away from me!”

“Madeleine -”

“Run!” she snarls, rushing at me again with her mouth wide open, exposing her fangs.

This time, I turn and run. And I keep running, racing between the trees as I head toward the edge of the forest. I don't dare look back, but I can hear her hurrying to catch me. I think she's still weak, still stumbling, but I can almost sense her hunger, and I swear I can feel her reaching into my mind, begging me to go back so she can feed on me. My heart is pounding faster than I've ever known before, so fast that I can feel my chest throbbing as I race through the forest. Finally, as I reach the treeline and find myself on the edge of an industrial estate, I stop and -

Suddenly I find myself face to face with a startled-looking man wearing a bright green jacket and a woolly hat.

“You alright, mate?” he asks with a faint, nervous smile. “Not being chased by a bear, are you?”

“I have to go,” I stammer, pushing past him. “Just get -”

Before I can finish, I hear a loud thudding sound directly over my shoulder. I stumble slightly as a scream briefly fills the air, and I almost slam into a tree as I turn and look back.

To my horror, I see Madeleine straddling the man, whose face is now bloodied and torn. Leaning down, she uses her teeth to tear at the man's throat, and I watch in stunned silence as she starts draining his blood. His hands are still twitching and I hear a series of faint gasps coming from her victim's throat, but he seems powerless to fight back as Madeleine tries to drink his blood. I know I should turn and keep running, but for a moment I'm struck dumb by the sight of her strength and power. It's as if I'm witnessing the pure, animal fury of a completely new beast.

And with each passing second, the burns on her body seems to be healing a little more, clearing to leave pink spots of flesh.

Finally she sits up, with the man's blood smeared all over her chin and dribbling down onto her bare breasts. Her mouth is hanging open, and I can see blood on her two large, sharp fangs.

“Run, Ben,” she says breathlessly. “When I'm done with this guy, I won't have any choice. I'll come for you next.”

She hesitates for a moment, before leaning down and digging her teeth back into the man's neck. His body is no longer twitching. After a few seconds, however, I realize that although she's still drawing blood from the corpse, her dark, yellowish eyes are staring straight at me.

Turning, I start running again. I don't know how long it's going to take Madeleine to finish with that guy's body, but he was already looking extremely pale and I'm certain that at any moment she'll come after me again.

I race along the side of a small river that runs through the estate, and then I make my way across a rickety metal bridge. Reaching the cover of some factory buildings, I hurry toward what looks like a work-site up ahead, but I still don't see any sign of other people. By the time I reach the far end of the first building, I feel confident enough to stop and catch my breath for a moment, although I quickly turn and look over my shoulder.

She's still coming.

She's on the bridge, headed this way.

I start running again, stumbling slightly as I make my way past the next building, heading toward the gate in the distance. No matter how fast I run, however, I can sense Madeleine right behind me, and I can feel her hunger reaching out to my mind.

She's hunting me, and she's getting closer.

Twenty-Three

Reaching the gate, I find that it's locked. With panic flooding my mind, I immediately grab the metal links and start climbing up. There's barbed wire at the top but I don't care. All I know is that Madeleine is right behind me, and if she gets to me she'll pull me down and drain my blood.

Twenty-Four

Pushing through the barbed wire, I feel scores of jagged little edges tearing my skin. I keep going, however, until finally I fall through the other side and crash down against the ground.

Suddenly I hear something behind me. I turn, just as Madeleine lunges at me.

Twenty-Five

“Move!” Cy screams, reaching down and grabbing my throat before hauling me to my feet. “It's your turn soon!”

He starts dragging me across the dark cave, with only flaming torches on the walls to light our way. I try to get free, but he's holding me too tight and finally he shoves me forward until I trip and land hard against the rocky ground.

“She's ready for you,” he explains, kicking me hard in the side. “She needs your blood. She needs a lot of blood.”

Turning, I see that one side of his face has been horrifically scarred and damaged. Clearly he survived his encounter with Marston and Sheffield in the forest, and now he's once again working for Madeleine. Unless all of this is just the latest stage of my fevered nightmare, although somehow the pain in my cracked ribs seems more than enough to make it all feel real.

“Where am I?” I stammer, looking around. The last thing I remember is getting attacked by Madeleine in the forest. “How did I -”

“Move!” Cy shouts, pushing me forward.

Stumbling to my feet, I lean against the wall as I make my way along the passage. Just as I'm about to turn back and ask Cy what's happening, however, I see that the passage ends just a few feet ahead, leading into what looks like a large, red-lit chamber with flickering lights on the walls. Too shocked to say a word, I take a few more steps forward until I find myself staring out across a vast, circular room with a high domed roof.

In the distance, I can hear howls of pain.

“She has fed on almost one hundred mortals over the past twenty-four hours,” Cy explains. “I have twelve more ready for her, after you. I fear that won't be enough, but it should be a good start. I just have to keep bringing offerings to her.”

“No,” I stammer, turning and trying to go back, only for him to shove me forward.

“You don't have a choice,” he says firmly.

Stumbling along the passage, I step into the huge domed room and see a scene of utter horror.

There are bodies everywhere. Discarded like rag dolls, they all have thick wounds on their necks. Just a few feet away, there's a dead child, a little girl who can't have been more than four or five years old. Two large puncture wounds have been sliced into her neck, and her eyes are open wide with horror, as is her mouth. It's as if she died screaming. A little further away, the upper half of a dead woman has been discarded with her guts trailing out, while part of her face – including most of her left eyeball – has been gouged away. All the other bodies look similar, torn and ripped apart, left crumpled on the rocky ground.

Ahead, in the center of the chamber, a pool of rich red blood fills a large pit. In the center of the pool, Madeleine is kneeling naked with another corpse in her arms, and she's slowly drinking from its neck.

“She's getting stronger,” Cy tells me, pushing me forward again. “With each body she drains, she gains more energy. I'm sure eventually it'll be enough for her to hold back death forever, but no-one knows how much blood she'll need. No vampire has ever tried to save its own life in this manner before. But isn't she utterly magnificent?”

“Wait,” I stammer, still stumbling forward, “what -”

Suddenly Madeleine tosses her latest victim aside and turns to me. Her eyes are burning with a yellowish hue and her mouth is open, revealing her large, sharp fangs. Every inch of her bare body is covered in blood, and there even seem to be small fragments of bone stuck to her flesh. She tilts her head slightly as she looks at me, and a faint smile crosses her face.

“No,” I whisper, stepping back, “this isn't happening, this is just...”

Before I can finish, Cy pushes me hard in the small of the back. I stumble forward, tripping and landing hard on my hands and knees in a puddle of blood. I wince, feeling a rush of pain in my arm, and then I realize that Madeleine has already crawled closer. Turning, I see that she's just a few inches away, grinning at me as she opens her mouth a little wider. A moment later, a slow hiss emerges from her throat.

“It's me!” I stammer, convinced that she has to realize she's making a mistake. “It's Ben!”

“You're just food to her now,” Cy calls out, keeping a safe distance. “Isn't she stunning, though? Now that she's almost back to her full glory, you get to see what a real vampire is like. You and I, my friend, are among the most privileged mortals who have ever lived!”

“No,” I gasp, pulling back, only for Madeleine to continue crawling toward me on her hands and knees. “This isn't real. I'm going to wake up now. Please...”

She tilts her head again, as if she's trying to decide where to strike my neck.

“You're not real,” I say firmly, even though my voice is trembling with fear. “Something like you can't be real.”

Suddenly she leans closer and lets out a loud hiss, spraying my face with a fine mist of saliva and blood. She reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder, and this time I'm powerless to pull away. It's as if I can feel something in my mind, some kind of extra presence that's forcing me to stay in place while she prepares to drain my blood. Her yellow eyes are fixed on my throat now, and I can hear her rapid, rasping breath. After a moment, I realize I can see her chest throbbing, as if her heart is pounding so fast that it's about to burst through her ribs.

“Please,” I whimper, still unable to pull away, “you have to remember me. I helped you, I saved you...”

“You can't appeal to her better nature,” Cy explains, with a hint of anticipation in his voice. “Humans have a tendency to romanticize vampires, to imagine them as just ordinary people with a penchant for blood. The truth couldn't be further from that. Look at her. Isn't she the most awe-inspiring thing you've ever seen in your life? She won't show you any mercy. That part of her soul has been pushed aside. Her instincts are too strong now, but she's one of the most perfect predators on the planet.”

Madeleine lets out another faint gasp. Her mouth opens a little wider, and I see that her fangs are already stained red thanks to the blood of her earlier victims. She's studying me, almost as if she's teasing herself and enjoying the anticipation.

“It's me,” I whisper. “It's Ben. Please, Madeleine, don't do this! I don't want to die! You're real, I see that now, but I don't want to die!”

“I can't fight it,” she gasps. “I'm so sorry...”

“Stop!”

Suddenly she grabs my head and forces it back, as if she wants to get a better look at my neck. She leans closer and closer, and finally I feel the tips of her fangs pressing against my flesh, ready to dig into my throat.

“I will not die!” she hisses. “I refuse! I will not die!”

“Help!” I scream, powerless to resist as she presses me down against the rocky ground and climbs on top of me. Her fangs are starting to break through now. “Help me! Somebody -”

***

“Help!” I gasp, opening my eyes and suddenly seeing the slate gray sky above.

Sitting up, I find that I'm back in the forest. I stagger to my feet and turn, but there's no sign of anyone. Reaching up, I feel the side of my throat, and after a moment my fingertips brush against two very small tears in my flesh. Not big enough for fangs to break through, but perhaps just big enough for their tips to have briefly begun to sink onto my throat.

She had me. I was at her mercy. So how did I end up back here in the forest?

***

“Whoa dude, what the hell happened to you?”

Stopping in the doorway, I see the look of shock in Davey's eyes. It takes a moment, however, before I realize that I've been running for my life, and that not only did I scramble over the barbed wire fence but I also took a hell of the beating out in the forest. And then everything that happened in that chamber...

Hurrying to the mirror in the corner, I take a look at the cuts on my throat. Sure enough, there are two tiny marks, as if Madeleine started to sink her fangs into my flesh but then – for some reason – decided to hold back.

“Did you get, like, jumped at the cashpoint?” Davey asks. “Or mugged? Dude, seriously, you look like shit!”

“I'm gonna...”

My voice trails off, and suddenly I turn and look back toward the house's front door. I can see the bright light of day through the frosted glass panel, and for a few seconds I actually expect to see Madeleine's silhouette coming closer. I'm not exactly sure how I ended up getting away from that chamber, but finally I realize that I don't sense her anymore. I guess I'm safe now that I'm back in the city.

“Dude?”

Suddenly Davey puts a hand on my shoulder and I flinch. Startled, I turn back to him.

“Your face is, like, cut all over,” he continues. “Seriously, what the fuck happened?”

“I just...” I try to think of an excuse, and for a moment I even consider telling him the truth. Then again, I guess he'd think I'm completely insane, and he'd most likely be right. “I think I just had a bad moment,” I say finally. My legs feel weak, and I take a seat at the kitchen table. “I was out in the forest and... I think maybe I need to see someone when I get back to London. Someone who can help me deal with...”

My voice trails off, and finally I force a smile.

“Never mind,” I tell him. “I'll deal with it.”

“But you're okay, right?”

I nod, and he heads back to the kitchen.

For the next few minutes, I sit in silence. I keep telling myself that everything that happened with Madeleine was just in my head, that she can't possibly exist. Hell, I'm a rational, normal guy in his mid-twenties and I know without a shadow of doubt that vampires are just fantasy creatures in books and movies. In fact, I studied them briefly once, as part of my English Literature degree course, and I know that the whole vampire myth taps into some of mankind's deepest, darkest fears. In that context, it's totally reasonable to think that my damaged, grief-filled mind somehow conjured up someone like Madeleine as a means for me to deal with everything that happened back in Stockholm.

But as I once again touch the two small wounds on my neck, I realize that there's only one way to find out for sure.

Twenty-Six

In broad daylight, the Hamburg bus terminal seems far less busy and frenetic. Coaches are constantly arriving and departing, and touts are calling out to passing tourists, offering dubious deals designed to snare the unsuspecting.

“Need a coach ticket?” a scruffy-looking man asks me, holding out some leaflets. “Buy from me, get half off the price.”

I shake my head and walk on, before stopping and glancing back at him. He's already talking to someone else, to some girl who seems to be falling for his scam.

“Hey,” I tell the girl, heading over to her, “he's trying to trick you. You won't end up with a real ticket.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” the guy shouts angrily. “Get out of here, idiot!”

“You need to go to the ticket office,” I continue, “that's where -”

“Fuck off!” the man yells, shoving me back against the window of a fast food restaurant. For a moment, as he steps toward me, I think he might actually be about to get violent. “Leave your nose out of other people's business!”

He turns away, but the girl has already hurried off, heading toward the ticket office.

Figuring that I've at least helped one person avoid that fate, I make my way toward the office at the far end of the building. I know this is a long-shot, but it's my last chance to learn the truth and I figure I'll be able to find some way to persuade these people to give me what I want. Frankly, I'm feeling a little desperate, and my search so far has come up with nothing. Reaching the door, I tell myself that if this doesn't work, I have to give up and go back to London.

“Break for one hour!” a familiar voice calls out nearby. “If you're not back on the coach in exactly one hour's time, we leave without you! Okay?”

Turning, I spot the same bus driver from the other night. He looks even more pissed-off and irritable than before, as passengers file off the coach and he clambers back into his seat. I know I should go into the office and ask one of the managers, but after a moment I realize that it can't hurt to try a more direct approach first.

“Hey,” I say as I reach the bottom of the coach's steps, “can I ask you something?”

“We leave in one hour,” he snaps, barely even glancing at me as he studies his clipboard. “No exceptions.”

“You drove the coach from here to Paris the other night,” I continue. “I don't know if you remember me, but I paid for the ticket of a girl who was having problems.”

He studies the clipboard for a moment longer, muttering under his breath, before finally turning to me. “What are you talking about?” he asks, clearly annoyed. “Who are you?”

“There was girl,” I remind him, “and you were going to toss her off the coach, but I paid for her ticket. I just wanted to know if you remember that happening at all. It's important.”

He frowns.

“I'm busy,” he says finally, with a sigh. “This is my break.”

He reaches out and hits a button on the dashboard, but I step inside before the door swings shut.

“Get off my coach!” he yells. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”

“I've been everywhere,” I tell him, feeling as if I have to somehow persuade him to help me. “I've been to the ferry company, but no-one there remembers seeing her coming onboard with me. I've been to the hotel in Paris, but they wouldn't let me look at their CCTV footage and they said someone else had been arrested for the desk guy's murder, I've been everywhere searching for some kind of proof that she was real and now this is my last chance. Please, I just need you to tell me that you remember her.”

He stares at me for a moment, and then he glances toward the terminal, almost as if he's a little nervous.

“Please,” I continue. “Just try to -”

“I don't remember anything,” he replies, interrupting me. Reaching over, he hits the button on the dashboard again, and the coach's door opens behind me. “Now get out. I'm taking my break.”

“You have to remember her,” I tell him. “You were going to throw her off, and then I bought her a ticket. That can't happen every day, it must have stuck in your mind.”

He shakes his head.

“Please -”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says firmly. “Now get off my coach before I call security.”

“What about the security footage from the coach's cameras?” I ask. “Maybe if you could let me -”

“No!” he shouts. “Off! Now!”

I want to argue with him, to beg him to help, but finally I step back down and the doors immediately swing shut. That guy was pretty much my last hope, and now I've run out of options. I've retraced my entire journey all the way back from Dublin to Hamburg, and it's as if every trace of Madeleine's existence has been carefully wiped away.

Either that, or she simply never existed in the first place.

Turning to head back to the street, I spot the scam artist still trying to fleece unsuspecting tourists. He casts a dark, angry glance toward me as I hurry past, but after a moment I stop and look back at him.

“What do you want?” he snaps. “Go on, fuck off!”

“Do you remember a girl a few days ago?” I ask, stepping closer. “Dark hair, maybe she seemed a little confused. She might have mentioned something about taking a late-night coach to Paris. I'm not certain, but she might have given you money, thinking she was buying a ticket.”

“Listen,” he replies, “I'm not talking to any cop, okay? I'm just an honest -”

“I'm not a cop!” I say firmly, feeling a sense of panic in my chest. I just need one scrap of proof that Madeleine was real. “I need to know if you remember her. Come on, you can't have conned that many people over the past few days.”

He eyes me with a hint of suspicion, and then finally he holds his right hand out.

“What?” I ask.

“You want to know what I remember,” he replies, “so first you pay me.”

I can't help sighing. “You've got to be kidding.”

“Time's ticking, my friend. You must be desperate to be asking around like this. It just so happens, I do remember the little lady you're asking about.”

I'm tempted to give him a few euros, but I'm pretty sure the guy is trying to screw me over.

“Forget it,” I mutter, turning to walk away. “Enjoy your -”

“She had a necklace,” he continues. “A little silver thing shaped like a crescent moon, hanging right down to the gap at the top of her titties. You can't blame a guy for remembering something like that, can you?”

I stop for a moment, before slowly turning back to him.

He grins, with his hand still outstretched. “See? Now if you want more, show me how much you value the information.”

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a small bundle of notes and pass them to him. He snatches them quickly and counts them, and I realize that in my haste I accidentally gave him way too much. I can't help feeling like a fool as he stuffs fifty euros of my money into his pocket.

“You remember her?” I ask cautiously. “You remember the necklace from the other night?”

“Sure, man,” he replies, “but that's not all.” He eyes me with a hint of suspicion. “What's this about, anyway? If you're just after pussy, I know where -”

“What else do you remember?” I ask, stepping closer. “I paid you! Now tell me!”

“I remember her being here the other night,” he continues. “She seemed... confused, would be the polite way to put it. Frankly, I was kinda wondering whether she'd taken a little something mixed in with her drink, if you know what I mean. But that's not the reason she's fresh in my mind. The reason she's fresh in my mind is that I saw her again, not more than ten minutes ago.”

“What do you...”

I pause, before looking around at the crowd. For a fraction of a second, I actually think that I might spot Madeleine. Hearing the man starting to laugh, I turn back to him.

“Are you sure it was her?” I ask.

Nodding, he points toward the coach that's just pulling out. “She was talking to that guy. The little ratty dude with the mustache.”

I look over, just in time to see that the coach is being driven by the same man I spoke to a few minutes earlier. He doesn't even look this way as he turns the wheel.

“She didn't get on the coach,” the guy continues. “She seemed to be asking him for something, and then she slipped him some cold, hard cash, and then she headed off. Looked to me like she was buying a favor. She even looked at me for a moment, like she recognized me, but then she kept on going. Disappeared right into the crowd.”

I watch as the coach pulls away. It's too late to go after the driver now, but I can't help thinking back to his absolute insistence that he didn't remember Madeleine. For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe she's been one step ahead of me ever since I left Ireland, removing every scrap of evidence that she ever existed and finally getting to Hamburg so she could pay the coach driver to keep his mouth shut. Then again, that's just the kind of rabid idea that someone with an unstable mind might come up with in order to justify his delusions.

Still, as the scam artist continues to laugh at me, I hurry around the side of the building and watch as the coach disappears into the distance.

Turning, I head back to talk to the scammer some more, but to my surprise I find that in the space of just a few seconds, he appears to have completely vanished. His leaflets are on the ground, as if he dropped them suddenly, and a moment later I spot a faint smear of blood on the wall, leading all the way over to a metal service door. I step closer, and for a moment I think that maybe I hear a faint chewing sound coming from the other side of the door, but then a nearby coach blasts its horn and I realize that I'm probably just being jumpy.

Hurrying away, heading to the taxi rank so I can get a ride to the airport, I tell myself that my earlier suspicions were correct. Madeleine wasn't real. She can't have been.

Epilogue

Eighty years later

“Is this the place?” Hayley asks, looking out the window as the limousine slows at a gate. She turns to me, her eyes wide with shock. “It's a mansion! We're going to a mansion!”

I watch as the gate opens, and a moment later the limousine turns and crawls along a driveway that twists through a small forest. Turning, I look back and watch the gate swinging shut behind us.

“Come on, Gramps,” Hayley continues, “you must know someone rich!”

“I'm afraid not,” I reply. “This is as much a mystery to me as -”

Before I can finish, I break into another coughing fit. Hayley hands me a handkerchief and pats my back. By the time I've recovered, the limousine has made its way along the driveway and has come to a halt outside a huge house, and I watch as the driver climbs out and steps around to open the door next to me.

“Just one moment,” he mutters, pressing some buttons on the side.

Slowly, the wheelchair ramp starts to slide out, ready for me to leave the car.

“Why would someone who lives in a place like this,” Hayley continues, with a hint of awe in her voice, “send a car to bring you here? Come on, Gramps, seriously, you must have some idea!”

“I honestly don't,” I reply, still looking out at the huge house and finally, after a few seconds, spotting the faintest hint of a figure at one of the windows. A shudder runs through my chest. “There's no-one I can think of.”

***

“Are you sure my grand-daughter can't come through with me?” I ask as my electric wheelchair carries me along the corridor. “I know she'd love to see the whole of the house.”

“I've been instructed to keep her entertained in the drawing room,” the butler replies calmly, stepping ahead of me as we reach a set of double-doors. “She will be quite alright.”

“Instructed by who?” I ask.

This time, he doesn't answer. He simply opens the doors and steps back.

“Who am I here to see?” I continue.

I wait, but he doesn't reply. Clearly, he has been instructed not to answer.

I hesitate for a moment, looking through and seeing a grand room with a large chandelier hanging high above. Finally, realizing that I might as well see what this whole fuss is about, I steer my chair through, and the doors immediately swing shut behind me, leaving me alone in the quiet room. Or at least, I seem to be alone. I drive to the center, until I'm beneath the chandelier, and then I stop again, looking around at the ornate furniture, and at the oil paintings on the wall. I've never been a rich man, and I can't imagine why someone would even want to live in such a huge house. The heating bill alone must be enormous.

“I traded up,” a familiar voice says suddenly.

I freeze, not daring to turn as I hear footsteps coming closer.

“Eventually I decided I needed certain comforts,” she continues. “Please don't think any less of me. Sometimes I think I've betrayed my roots entirely, but...”

She steps around me and stops, and slowly I look up to see her face again, after all these years. She hasn't changed at all. She still looks as young as that night when I first met her on the coach.

“You remember me, don't you?” Madeleine asks, with a faint smile. “Please, tell me I didn't wait too long to call for you. You look so old, Ben.”

I reach for the control panel on my chair, ready to reverse.

“I've kept track of your life,” she continues. “I wanted to know how things went for you. If anything really bad had happened, I would have stepped in to make sure you were okay, but I'm told that you've done well for yourself. A journalist, I believe?”

Her smile broadens.

“Editor of a newspaper? Establisher of a charity in your sister's name? Champion of -”

“What do you want?” I ask suddenly, trying not to panic. I suppose, deep in the back of my mind, I half-suspected that I might find Madeleine here waiting for me, but I pushed those thoughts aside. What I'm seeing now is simply impossible.

“Oh, your voice...” She pauses. “You're so old, Ben. I thought it wouldn't bother me, but...”

She tilts her head slightly, as if she can't quite believe what she's seeing.

“So do you believe in me now?” she asks. “You seemed to think, back in the day, that I was some figment of your imagination. You said that, remember? During our conversation on the ferry? I assume you've thought about me occasionally over the years, so I'm curious... Now that you're at the end of... Well, now that you're getting on in years and you've had more time to ponder the matter, I wanted to bring you here and ask you one final time... Do you believe in me now?”

I stare at her for a moment, still utterly shocked to see her again after all these years.

“Yes?” she continues. “No? Come on, man, you must have an answer for me. I've waited so patiently.”

Reaching for the control panel again, I tap to put the chair into reverse.

“Leaving so soon?” she asks. “Relax, your grand-daughter is quite alright. I wouldn't hurt her, I promise. And you're perfectly safe as well. If I wanted to kill you, I'd just do it.”

She pauses, as if she's waiting for me to say something.

“You still can't do it, can you?” she continues. “Even after everything you saw when you were younger, and even seeing me now like this, you can't bring yourself to believe in what I am.”

She turns and walks over to the far side of the room, where she takes two glasses from a cabinet and sets them on a table.

“Drink?” she asks, reaching under the table and picking up a bottle of wine. “I usually have someone pour for me. It's a perk of all this wealth, although I don't really like to -”

Turning my chair, I start driving back toward the double-doors.

“Why can't you believe that I'm real?” she asks.

Damn this chair, it's so slow. I feel like such an old fool, driving away like this.

“I think it was your sister's death that opened your mind, Ben. You saw her ghost, didn't you? Even if you don't want to admit it, you believe it was really her that night, a week after she'd died. And once that possibility had taken root in your thoughts, you just happened to bump into me on the coach and... Well, you were in a perfect state to notice me, even if you didn't quite understand why. You were briefly alive to the possibilities. You weren't a stubborn old man.”

I tap at the control panel, but my hands are trembling.

“You saw me, Ben,” she continues, starting to sound a little irritated. “You saw me when I was weak, you felt me in your mind while you slept, you saw me getting stronger and stronger, you saw me in my element once I was drinking blood again, and now you see me today, but you still can't let yourself believe in me. Why not?”

Finally getting to the doors, I reach for the handle.

“I'm not dying,” she adds. “Marston didn't manage to take back his gift, and he won't get the chance again. In fact, there's been no further sign of either Sheffield or Marston, so I assume they're still down there in the dark soil. Then again, I suppose it didn't help that I bought that patch of land and had a rather large chunk of concrete built on top. Do you think they're insane by now?”

I hear the sound of a cork being pulled from the wine bottle.

“They must be,” she continues. “I think they've lost their minds, especially with the weight crushing down onto them. I'm almost tempted to dig them up temporarily, just to check. But I won't. I don't want to tempt fate. I would so love to hear their agonized screams, though.”

I pause for a moment, before slowly turning back to look at her as she pours us each a glass of wine. There's a faint smile on her lips.

“I understand why you can't bring yourself to believe that I'm real,” she says finally. “The mortal mind just isn't prepared to contemplate such possibilities.”

She sets the bottle aside and picks up the two glasses, before making her way back toward me.

“We're all around you, you know,” she continues, “and yet you don't ever see us. Why? I guarantee you, every mortal in this world has encountered a vampire at some point, and all of them... They refuse to see us. I think it's because you're too scared to admit that we're real. I think the human race is simply programmed to not believe in the existence of anything more powerful than itself. You want to believe that you're the peak of all life on this planet, and when faced with evidence to the contrary, you pretend that we're just illusions. You simply choose not to see us. Isn't that remarkable? Instead, you read books about us, to help maintain the idea that we're just fiction. It's the only way you can ever possibly feel safe.”

She pauses.

“You're not safe, though. Every so often, one of us comes across one of you in a vulnerable position, and we feed. From the slums of the third world to the heart of New York and London, there's always space for the occasional mortal to disappear.”

Reaching me, she holds one of the wine glasses closer.

“But I thought maybe you would be different,” she adds. “You saw so much. What's wrong, did it all seem too melodramatic? Too violent? Too visceral? Do you still think the whole thing was your fevered mind's way of dealing with the death of your sister?”

She waits for me to reply.

“You don't want the wine?” she asks. “It's a very good vintage. I picked the grapes myself.”

Staring at her smiling face, I can't help wondering if I'm finally going insane. Perhaps this is some awful hallucination at the end of my life.

“Your grand-daughter,” she continues. “If you wanted, I could perhaps give her a gift, just something to -”

“Leave her alone,” I stammer. “Please.”

“But if -”

“Leave her alone!”

She hesitates, and I can see a hint of discomfort in her eyes.

“I brought you here today,” she continues, “because I wanted you to finally see that it all really happened. I thought you deserved that, now that you're so old. I thought you should see that the world is so much more interesting than most mortals perceive. Was that a mistake? Should I have let you go to your grave in the belief that I was just a figment of your imagination? Aren't you grateful?”

Again, she waits for me to speak, but there are simply no words. Either I am face to face with an illusion, or...

“You're free to go,” she explains. “I won't stop you. I just... I suppose I wanted to hear you say the words.”

“What words?” I ask.

“That you believe. In me. In what I am.”

I pause, before shaking my head.

“Even though I'm right in front of you?”

I swallow hard.

“That's why I let you live, you know,” she continues. “So that I could wait and one day hear you say that you do believe.”

I stare at her for a moment, before turning and opening the double-doors. Tapping my chair's control panel, I drive back out into the corridor., but then I stop again. I know she's right behind me, still watching, still waiting. I should just leave, but there's one thing I want to ask her first.

“I was in Edinburgh many years ago,” I say finally, still not turning back to look at her. “With my wife, God rest her soul. I was walking along a busy street, with tourists all around, and suddenly I noticed a man looking at a shop window. He wore mostly black, although the lining of his jacket was purple. After I'd been staring at him for a few seconds, he turned to me and I saw something in his eyes. He seemed amused by the fact that he had caught my attention, and surprised. We watched one another for a few more seconds, before finally I was filled with the sense that I should hurry on. For several days after, I couldn't help looking over my shoulder in case I saw that man again. Was he...”

My voice trails off.

“I told you that there are others like me,” she replies calmly. “Because you had encountered me, perhaps it became easier for you to recognize another vampire when you saw him. And he, in turn, noticed your attention and probably wondered why you, of all the mortals on that street, had seen his true aspect. He probably did follow you for a day or two, out of curiosity. After all, it's very rare for a mortal to pierce the veil of fear and see one of us for what we really are. Perhaps you do believe that I'm real after all, Ben, even if you can't bring yourself to say the words.”

“No.”

“But you saw the man in Edinburgh, so -”

“He was right in front of me.”

“But you saw him, Ben. You wouldn't have done that if you didn't believe, deep down.”

I hesitate for a moment, before tapping the control panel again and steering my wheelchair along the corridor.

“I won't disturb you again,” she calls after me. “Goodbye, Ben. I have learned a great deal from our two meetings. I have learned about the mortal mind.”

By the time I'm back outside, with Hayley beside me once again, I feel a shudder of fear in my chest. I keep running through everything I heard while I was in that room with Madeleine. As I wait for the driver to open the limousine's door, I tell myself that she wasn't really there at all, that I imagined her. Then, as Hayley helps me into the car, I decide that Madeleine has pulled some kind of trick on me, that perhaps she found someone to imitate her. A moment later, while Hayley is securing my chair ready for the journey back, it occurs to me that I experienced some kind of brief hallucination in that room. And then, a few minutes later as the limousine heads back along the driveway, I go back to the theory that I have somehow been duped, even if I cannot imagine why anyone would go to such lengths. There are explanations. I just have to choose one.

“Are you okay?” Hayley asks. “You seem very quiet. What happened back there?”

“Oh, it was just...” I pause, as the limousine slows and the gates start to open again. “An old friend,” I add finally, figuring that it would be best to avoid specifics. “Nothing important, she just... It was nothing.”

“She?”

Now that the gates are open, the car crawls through.

“She must be loaded,” Hayley continues, “and she obviously went to a lot of bother to bring you here. What did she want?”

“She wanted me to tell her that I believe in her,” I reply, before I can help myself. “I mean... Something like that.”

“Believe in her? How?”

“Never mind.”

“But Gramps -”

“Never mind,” I say firmly. “Please, Hayley, I'm tired. Don't pester me.”

“You're being very mysterious,” she mutters, as the limousine waits for a gap in the traffic, ready to drive away from the mansion. “Whoever she is, she must care about you if she brought you all this way just to hear you say you believe in her. Who is she, anyway? An old girlfriend? Someone from before you married Grandma?”

She asks more questions, but I can't focus on her voice. Instead, I find myself thinking back to that moment in the room with Madeleine just now, and once again I try to imagine myself saying the words.

“I believe in vampires.”

My lips move slightly, but some part of my soul rebels against the very idea.

Leaning back, I feel for a moment as if my head is fit to burst, as if conflicting beliefs are crushing my skull from either side.

“Are you okay?” Hayley asks. “Grandpa?”

“I'm fine,” I whisper. “Just let me be.”

It takes a few seconds, but finally I force myself to stay calm.

Perhaps I must simply focus on the facts. Not supposition, not flights of fancy, not beliefs. Just facts. Turning, I look back at the mansion's gates as they swing shut. I met a girl named Madeleine on a coach many years ago, and I met her again today, finding her un-aged and barely changed. I can't bring myself to say that she is a vampire. I simply can't. I am too rational and too sure of the world and its nature. But equally, I can't deny that it was her both times.

Resurrection

One

"MOMMA!" Eva screamed, standing at the back door. "MOMMA! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Seconds later, she heard a set of panicked feet racing down the stairs, and eventually her mother appeared at the back door, staring at her with a look of terror in her eyes.

"What's wrong, Eva?" she asked, fumbling to get the door unlocked. "Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?"

Eva stared up at her, waiting until finally the door swung open.

"Let me see," her mother said, kneeling in front of her. She pushed the hair from across Eva's face and looked frantically for any sign of injury. "Where are you hurt?" she continued, her voice trembling. "Eva, where is it? Tell me! Talk to me, sweetheart!"

"I'm not hurt," Eva said, finally allowing herself to smile. "I just couldn't get in the back door, that's all. Someone locked it again."

"You..." Her mother stared at her. The panic had been all-consuming, and it was clear that she was taking a moment to reset her thoughts. "You know we keep the back door locked these days, sweetheart. You have to use the front door. I told you that."

"I didn't want to go all the way round," Eva said. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

For a moment, Eva could see a hint of anger in her mother's eyes. If she was annoyed at her daughter's actions, however, she quickly managed to contain herself. More than anything else, she was just relieved that nothing bad had happened. Reaching out, she put her arms around Eva and gave her a hug.

"You mustn't scare me like that," she said eventually. "Sweetheart, when you shout and bang on the door, it makes me think that something's wrong."

"You worry too much," Eva said, allowing herself to be hugged but not reciprocating. She knew it was mean, but she couldn't help having fun with these little tricks. There was just something so funny about the way her mother – usually such a reserved and cautious person – fell to pieces whenever she thought something was wrong. "I'm eleven, Momma. I'm not gonna get hurt every time I go outside."

"No," her mother said, releasing her from the hug. "You're not. And do you know why you're not? Because you have a mother who takes care of you, and who looks after you, and who keeps you safe." She glanced across the back garden, her eyes briefly fixing on the nearby woods. Ever since they'd moved to the new house, Eva's mother had been haunted by the thought of the creatures that could be lurking beyond the treeline. She had constant nightmares of foxes, badgers and all sorts of other beasts attacking her precious little daughter.

"I just wanted a drink," Eva continued, feeling a little bored with the game now. She'd only wanted to scare her mother, not to drive her into total panic.

"What kind of drink?" her mother asked, getting to her feet and walking through to the kitchen.

"Cola," Eva said, following her.

"You know we don't have cola in this house," her mother said. "That stuff's full of sugar. We have water, milk or fresh juice."

Eva sniffed, before glancing over at the phone. She hated the phone. Any second, that phone could start ringing with bad news. Eva didn't understand why the phone couldn't just be disconnected and thrown away. For a moment, she imagined someone hundreds or thousands of miles away, picking up another phone and getting ready to call. She waited, terrified that at any moment, the phone might -

"Water, then," her mother said, grabbing a glass. "You don't want cola. God knows what's in that stuff. I don't think bubbles are good for you, either. There are all sorts of chemicals in those drinks, and there's no way to be sure that they test them properly. No daughter of mine is going to eat or drink anything that doesn't have a proper list of ingredients. I don't want you ingesting chemicals!"

"Have you heard from Daddy?" Eva asked, still staring at the phone.

"No," her mother replied quickly, having anticipated the question. "It's Tuesday. We never hear from him on Tuesdays. You know that."

"We did once," Eva said. "About a year ago, he was supposed to call on a Wednesday, but he called a day early instead."

Her mother opened her mouth to argue with her, but finally she realized that there was no point. Passing Eva the glass of water, she took a deep breath and tried to stay calm. She'd learned long ago that arguing with her daughter only made things worse. Eva was an intelligent girl, and she often rang rings around her mother thanks to her ability to accurately recall even the tiniest detail of past events.

"Do you think Daddy's mission went well?" Eva asked.

"I don't know anything about your father's missions," her mother said.

"But you know they're dangerous. He goes out in big army jeeps with lots of guns. That's got to be dangerous."

"Well..." There was a pause. "He's in a dangerous part of the world, sweetheart, but he's going to be okay. He's got all the training and all the equipment he needs, and if he really gets into trouble, he can phone a friend who'll come and blow up the bad guys for him from high up in the sky."

"Why do people keep trying to kill him?" Eva asked.

"No-one's trying to kill him."

"People shoot at him."

"They're shooting at the army, not specifically at your father."

"But he's still there," Eva continued. "He could still get shot. Maybe a bullet will -"

"He's not going to get shot!" her mother snapped, raising her voice a little. "Oh," she added, rushing forward and giving Eva another hug, spilling half the glass of water in the process. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Momma never means to shout at her angel, it's just..." She paused for a moment. "You mustn't think bad thoughts. If you think bad thoughts, you're tempting fate. You must think good thoughts, only good and happy thoughts. Daddy's coming home in six weeks. That's not really such a long time, is it? Just six more weeks of positivity. Do you think you can manage that?"

"I suppose," Eva replied non-committally.

"That's my girl," her mother said, stepping back and smiling. She had tears in her eyes, which was pretty much par for the course these days. It was clear to everyone, even to Eva, that her mother was cracking up. Sometimes, Eva felt as if her mother lived in a bubble, spending all her time worrying about other people. Even those rare smiles seemed forced and nervous.

"I'm going to go and play again," Eva said.

"Where?"

"Outside."

"Where outside?"

"In the woods."

"Are you sure you want to do that?" her mother asked nervously. "Wouldn't you like to play inside, with your books or your dolls? I'll even let you watch a DVD if you're good."

"I won't go far," Eva said. "I promise. I'll make sure I can always see the back gate, so I can hear you if you call for me." She was just parroting the instructions her mother had given her many times before; she had no particular intention of staying within those boundaries.

There was a pause, and Eva wondered if she was going to be made to stay inside again.

"Fine," her mother said eventually, sounding tired. "Just... not for too long, okay? I'm worried it might rain, and you could get ill if you end up soaked. Do you understand? The last thing I want is to have to tell your father that his little princess has got pneumonia."

Eva nodded.

"I mean it. I'll be mad at you if I have to come and search for you out there."

"I'll stay close," Eva said. "I won't be more than an hour, and I won't go any further than the old oak tree."

"No climbing."

"I won't climb it," Eva replied, turning and heading back out into the garden.

"I'll know if you climbed it!"

"I won't climb it!"

"And if you meet anyone out there," her mother called after her, "come home immediately, do you hear? You're not allowed to talk to strangers!"

"I won't," Eva said, hurrying along the garden and out through the little gate. This was when she was at her happiest: running away from the house, alone, heading out into the wilderness beyond. She knew that if she went far enough, she wouldn't be able to hear the phone, even if it rang all day.

Finally, she reached the edge of the woods. With her mother having become a nervous wreck lately, Eva loved spending as much time as possible away from the house. Of course, she kind of wished that she had some friends, perhaps just one person she could take to the forest and teach about the place. The problem wasn't that Eva was anti-social, it was just that there were no girls her age nearby, and she hadn't started at the local school yet, so she had no choice but to play alone. Anyway, she felt certain that the woods were good for her; they fired her imagination and kept her busy, and she was happy to just wander between the trees, making note of the things she saw and occasionally collecting little samples of foliage.

She felt safe out there as she trudged through the piles of dead leaves. Safer than she felt at home, where the phone might ring at any moment with bad news from the other side of the world.

Occasionally, she imagined she heard someone nearby, but it always turned out to be the wind or some kind of harmless animal. One time, she even saw a deer. Few people in this dull little town ever bothered to venture out far from the housing estate, and Eva knew that she didn't have much to worry about. Besides, she was good at running, and she felt certain that she could easily get home without anyone being able to catch her. The woods were her world, where her rules applied, and she felt much safer out there than she did when she was in town. At least in the woods, everything moved nice and slowly. Eva had even come up with a plan to move out there one day and just live in the wilderness.

Hearing a screeching sound high above, Eva glanced up and saw a small black creature circling the forest. At first she thought it might be a bird, but as it swooped down and flew past her, she realized it was darker and more ragged. A bat, maybe. Whatever, it was soon gone.

After a few minutes, she reached the large old oak tree that stood alone in a clearing. Towering high above her, the tree had obviously suffered some kind of disaster in the past, and its trunk was split and twisted, opening at the top into two gnarled arms that seemed to reach up to the sky. Eva liked to imagine what kind of tragedy had struck the tree long ago in the past; a lightning strike, perhaps, or some kind of huge battle between a pair of giants. So many of the trees in the forest were tall and thin and straight, but this tree was different.

This tree seemed powerful and important.

In fact it was this tree, more than any other in the forest, that attracted Eva's attention, and she kept promising herself that one day she'd try to climb all the way to the top. Looking up, she could see thick branches that would surely provide support, and she longed to know what it was like up at the very top, beyond the leaves. She couldn't help imagining herself all the way up there, breaking through the canopy and looking out over the whole world. She'd never come down again, either. She'd just stay up there forever and ever, watching the rest of the world and not having to talk to anyone or wait for the phone to ring.

But today wasn't the right day. Climbing the tree would require preparation, and she knew it might be a long time before she was ready. Still, she was pleased that she had a goal in life, and she was certain that one day she'd live up there and just watch the world from a distance. All things considered, she felt that it wasn't a bad plan. Some people wanted to be lawyers, some people wanted to be teachers or pop stars or astronauts, but Eva wanted to be the queen of the forest. Even her mother would have to agree with it eventually, since no-one could hurt Eva if she was up in the tree. Besides, she'd need her mother to come and deliver food, since Eva didn't much fancy eating bugs and leaves for the rest of her life. There were still a few flaws in the plan, but she was sure she'd have everything worked out eventually.

After a moment, from high above, she heard a faint rustling sound.

“Hello?” she called out.

Silence.

And then, a moment later, the same sound, from a different part of the tree.

“Is someone up there?” she asked, suddenly shocked by the idea that another person might have moved into her tree.

Again, silence.

“This is my tree,” she continued, “so if you want to play up there, you have to get my permission, do you understand?”

No reply.

“Okay,” she muttered, picking up a stick and starting to draw shapes in the mud. Every so often, however, she glanced back up at the tree, as if she expected to see someone hiding among the branches.

As the afternoon draw on, and as she played at the base of the old tree, she became more and more aware that sooner or later she'd have to go home. At one point, she even thought she heard the phone ringing, even though she was certain that she shouldn't be able to hear anything from the house, not when she was this far out in the forest. Delaying her return as long as possible, she waited until the light began to dim before accepting that it was time to go back. Still, though, she loitered, delaying the inevitable.

A couple of hours later, when Eva returned home, she found her mother sitting by the phone with tears in her eyes.

Two

Eva had never been to a funeral before.

Basically, what happened was this: a bunch of people turned up, some of whom Eva recognized, and then there was a car journey to the local church. Everyone sat around and listened to the priest, while Eva's father's coffin was displayed at the front, with the lid closed and a Union Jack flag draped over the top. After that, everyone went to the cemetery and the coffin was put into the ground, and then some people threw dirt down into the hole before everyone went back to Eva's house and had lunch. It was much neater than Eva had expected, and much more quiet. Everyone seemed to be whispering most of the time, and although some of the people were trying to pretend that they were smiling, they weren't very convincing. Every so often, one of the adults would look over at Eva and tell her that she was brave, which made no sense at all.

She didn't feel brave.

Eva couldn't stop looking at the photo of her father in his military uniform. She remembered when the photo was taken, and she found it odd to think that it was now being used to mark his death. He looked so proud and heroic, and Eva kept imagining that uniform being ripped to pieces and covered in blood. She knew she shouldn't be thinking about such things, but she was bored. No-one really spoke to her at all during the whole day, and even her mother seemed busy with other things. For the most part, Eva was left alone.

Although no-one had officially told Eva what happened to her father when he was killed, she'd managed to work most of it out by listening to conversations. It seemed that he'd been out on patrol in Afghanistan when a bomb exploded by the side of the road. The vehicle was badly damaged, but Eva's father and another solider managed to get away. They were properly hurt, but they started making their way back to their base on foot. Eventually, however, Eva's father got too tired, probably because he was bleeding a lot. The two men had to stop, and although help turned up after a while, it was too late for Eva's father, who turned out to be dead. It wasn't quite the heroic death that Eva had hoped for, and she wasn't sure why her mother kept insisting that it was a noble act of sacrifice and courage. Still, Eva was aware that she was probably still too young to understand the whole thing; she felt as if she was experiencing everything through a filter that prevented her from understanding the truth.

As the afternoon wore on, Eva's boredom became more and more intolerable, until finally she decided that she'd had enough. She tried to go and tell her mother that she wanted to go outside, but the house was so full of guests that it was impossible to even get to the front room, so Eva figured she'd just go out to the woods for a while. Opening the back door, she made her way to the gate and then out toward the trees. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she felt something change deep inside. It was as if being out here made everything better, almost as if the trees themselves were able to take away all of Eva's doubts and fears. She glanced back at the house and found herself wondering why everyone else didn't come out with her. Then again, she didn't particularly want them to interrupt her private world, so she decided not to go back and invite them.

Walking between the trees, she found that her mind was getting emptier. This, she felt, was a good thing, since it prevented her from thinking too much about her father. Because her mother had cried so much, Eva had barely cried at all. She figured her mother had borrowed all her tears, so she had none left. She felt that her mother should share the tears, but for now there was nothing to be done about all of that.

Unfortunately, thoughts soon came tumbling back to fill the void. What she wanted, really, was to just forget about everything. She knew that her mother was going to be a mess for quite a long time, and she was dreading the whole thing. The funeral would be over in an hour or two, but life without her father would last forever. Sure, he hadn't been around much lately, but there'd always been the idea that he'd eventually come home. Now, however, Eva knew that he was gone for good, and that his final moments had been spent bleeding to death on the other side of the world. Although she didn't really like thinking about it too much, she couldn't help imagining what it must have been like for him as he died. She hoped it hadn't been too painful, and that he'd thought of his family.

While the trees made her feel much better, it was the old oak tree that really calmed her nerves. She had no idea why, but this twisted old tree seemed to understand her. In fact, it seemed to understand the whole forest, as if it was the heart of all the other trees. As soon as she reached the trunk and put her hand on the bark, she felt like she was reunited with an old friend. It occurred to her that, now her father was gone, this might be a good time to climb up the tree and start a new life, but she knew deep down that she still wasn't ready. There was a great deal of planning and preparation to undertake, and the last thing she wanted was to rush things and end up having to come back down. No, the whole idea was to go up the tree and stay there, which in turn necessitated a more thoughtful and guided approach. Still, it was nice to think that one day she'd be able to leave the ground behind and live alone among the branches.

As she stood with her hand on the tree, she suddenly realized that there was a noise nearby. Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned. She was used to hearing little noises out here, but this seemed different. It was almost as if someone was breathing, and Eva was filled with the sense that she was being watched from somewhere. Looking in every direction, she tried to work out who or what could have snuck up on her, but there was nothing to see. Still, the sensation persisted, and although she kept her hand firmly planted on the tree, she craned her neck to look around the other side of the trunk. She was absolutely certain that someone was out here with her, and she was pretty certain it wasn't another deer.

And that's when she felt it.

Something wet and warm on her hand.

Slowly, she turned and saw that a single, dark red line of blood had dribbled down the side of the tree, picking its way over the rough bark, between two of Eva's fingers, and onto the flesh of her hand. There was a now a small bloody bead making its way slowly down toward her wrist.

For a moment, all Eva could do was stare at the blood. It wasn't hers, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Eva knew that blood had to come from somewhere, and trees couldn't bleed, so...

She knew she should look up.

She knew should look straight up and see what or who was bleeding. Whatever it was, it must be up in the tree. Still, she was nervous, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what was happening. There was a part of her that wanted to turn and run, but at the same time she also felt as if she had to be brave. Wouldn't her father want her to be brave? Then again, it was being brave that had got her father into trouble in the first place.

She took a deep breath.

She watched as the bead of blood trickled all the way down to the cuff of her shirt.

She took another deep breath.

Her heart was pounding.

Slowly, she looked up into the tree.

There was nothing.

Squinting, she tried to peer into the darkness, but she couldn't see a thing. Her first thought was that somehow there was a mistake. Perhaps a tiny bird was the source of the blood, or maybe it was just some kind of weird red sap, or the juice from a berry. After a moment, however, she realized that there was a more likely explanation. Whatever was up there, it must simply be higher in the branches, out of sight.

Hiding.

"Hello?" she called out. Immediately, she realized she might have made a mistake. After all, she wasn't sure if she wanted to draw attention to herself.

Silence. In fact, the only sound came from the wind, gently rustling the nearby leaves.

"Is someone up there?" Eva continued. "Are you hurt?"

She waited.

No reply.

Looking at the blood on her hand, she realized that there was no blood anywhere else. She couldn't help wondering if this was a coincidence, or if whatever was in the tree had chosen very specifically to bleed onto her.

"Is anyone up there?" she called out again as she took her hand away from the tree. "If you're there, just say something, just so I know."

Again, she waited.

Again, there was nothing.

"If you don't say anything," she continued, "I'll assume there's not..." Her voice trailed off as she suddenly found herself wondering whether she'd lost her mind. After all, the death of her father had left her feeling strangely blank and unemotional, and now she was starting to think that the stress might be coming out in other ways. Then again, the blood on her hand was real. She could see it and she could feel it. To test herself, she forced herself to lick the blood, and its taste immediately filled her mouth. She was certain she couldn't have imagined such a strong sensation, so the blood had to be real, which in turn meant that it had to have come from somewhere.

"One drop of blood isn't much," she said, looking up at the tree. "If that's all you've lost, you must be okay. I mean, no-one ever bled to death from..."

Again, her voice trailed off. This time, she found herself suddenly thinking about her father. Hadn't he, out in Afghanistan, ended up bleeding to death after he was injured by a bomb? Staring up at the tree, Eva briefly allowed herself to think that perhaps her father was trying to send her some kind of message; after a few seconds, however, she realized that there was a more likely explanation. Suddenly, everything made perfect sense.

"Are you a soldier?" she asked, staring up into the dark branches.

Silence.

"Are you hurt? Did you get hurt by a bomb, or a gun or something like that?"

Silence, and then a low groan, almost like a growl. It was brief, and barely audible, but it was definitely there.

Eva took a deep breath. She was fairly sure she knew now what was happening. It was a little unlikely, especially since she thought all the wars happened on the other side of the world, but it was the only idea she could come up with. Somehow, an injured soldier from far away had found his way to the woods, and he'd climbed the tree. Obviously it was quite a big coincidence that this had happened just after her father's death, but Eva knew that coincidences did happen from time to time. Just because something was unlikely, she knew it couldn't be ruled out if it was the only logical explanation.

There was a soldier in the tree. It was the only thing that made sense.

She couldn't help thinking about the poor, injured man hiding up there. He was probably scared and in pain. Although Eva hoped that his injuries were minor, she knew that war could be nasty and that there was a strong chance the soldier was badly hurt. He probably didn't really know where he was, and he was probably scared of Eva. She wanted to help him, but she knew she'd have to win his trust first.

"My name's Eva Wilson," she said, trying to sound calm and friendly. "I live nearby. I play in these woods a lot. This is my favorite tree, but it's okay, you can use it and I won't tell anyone."

She waited for a reply. Staring up into the branches, she desperately tried to see some indication of who or what was watching her. She knew it could be an animal up there, but she had a strong feeling in her gut that she was being watched by something more intelligent, something that understood her words. Perhaps, she reasoned, the injured soldier was still scared of her, or maybe he couldn't speak properly.

Either way, she felt that she had a duty to help him, especially since no-one had been able to help her father on the other side of the world. This soldier probably had a daughter of his own, and Eva didn't like to think of that other little girl having to go to a funeral. The horrible phone call, the crying, the pain, the constant dreams and thoughts about death, the family gathered at the church... Eva had been through it all, and she wanted to make sure that this soldier's daughter didn't have to do the same.

"Do you want some food and water?" Eva asked. "I can bring you things. You don't have to thank me if you don't want to, but at least I can bring it out to you. Would you like that?"

Silence.

"I might not be able to come back for a few hours," she continued. "I don't think my mother would understand, so I'm not going to tell her. She'd tell me to stay away, and she'd probably call the police and an ambulance, but they probably wouldn't be able to help you. I'll try to come out when it gets dark. Is that okay? Can you wait that long?"

Silence.

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'll be back, I promise. Don't worry, you're going to be okay. I swear, you can stay up in that tree as long as you need. I'll make sure you have something to eat. I can even keep you company. There's no need to be scared."

With that, she turned and started running home. For the first time in her life, she finally felt as if she had something important to do. No-one had been there to help her father when he was dying in Afghanistan, but now she'd been given the chance to help another soldier, and she wasn't going to let him down. He'd be her secret, and he'd be a chance for her to prove to herself that she could do things without her mother's help. By the time she reached the back gate and ran through into her garden, she was already planning what to take out to her soldier later.

Three

As quietly as possible, Eva pushed the back door open, disturbing the fine mist that had spread from the forest to the house. It was close to midnight, and she couldn't be certain that her mother was sleeping. After all, for the past few hours she'd been able to hear her mother sobbing in the main bedroom, and the sobbing had only ended a few minutes earlier. Eva knew she should probably wait a little longer, but she lacked the patience. Besides, she was worried about the soldier in the tree, and she felt that even a minor delay could prove fatal.

Once she was certain that she hadn't been heard, she hurried out across the grass. She'd decided not to wear shoes, since she didn't want to make too much noise. It was a cold night and the grass was damp, but Eva figured wet feet were a small price to pay. As she reached the garden gate, she climbed over rather than risking the squeaky latch. Stopping for a moment, she glanced back one final time and saw that there were still no lights in the house. Her mother was clearly asleep, at least for now. If she woke up and found Eva's empty bed, there'd be hell to pay, but Eva figured it wouldn't take too long to just go and deliver her little food parcel to the soldier. Her mother would never have to find out.

Eva had never been out in the forest at night before. The further she got from the house, the wetter the grass seemed to get. She'd often dreamed of doing such a thing, of course, and she'd even managed to convince herself that there were probably all manner of strange creatures out here. Strangely, though, she wasn't scared. If she'd headed the other way and into town, toward all the people and cars, she'd have been terrified, but out here among the trees she felt as if she was among friends. At the same time, she knew that she had to stay calm, and she was fully aware that there was still a danger of getting hurt. She was taking a risk, but it was a calculated risk that she felt was necessary. After all, a soldier's life was at stake.

As soon as she reached the old oak tree, Eva slowed down. The clearing seemed so calm, as if the buzz of insect life had completely died away. She was always so aware of the sounds around her, and now she felt that all the bugs had moved away from the tree, leaving it in the middle of a kind of dead zone. With every step closer to the tree, she could feel the grass getting less wet, until eventually it felt dry and crispy between her toes. The mist seemed stronger and thicker in this part of the forest, as if the soldier was pulling it around the tree like a shroud, in order to keep himself hidden. Eva couldn't help but think that the entire scene seemed a little unusual, as if this part of the forest had been drained of all its life. She understood why the soldier might be hiding from his enemies, but was he also hiding from every living creature?

"Hello?" she called out, immediately noticing that her voice sounded thinner in the night air. "I brought you some food!"

She waited for a reply, hoping against hope that the soldier would recognize her kindness and start to trust her.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she continued, as her bare feet crunched cautiously through the dry grass. "I'm just worried about you. I don't know..." She turned and looked over her shoulder. Mist was drifting in the moonlight between the trees, but there was no sign of anyone else nearby. In fact, it was hard to believe that the rest of the world existed at all. "I don't know who you're running from," Eva continued, turning back to look up into the tree again. All she could see was darkness, but she was certain that he was up there somewhere, watching her. He was probably terrified. "There aren't any wars around here. Not that I know about, anyway. And there's no-one here with me. If you're running away from an army, I think you've lost them. I haven't seen any armies nearby. Don't worry, it's safe to come down."

Again she waited, and again she was disappointed. Still, she was certain there was a soldier up there. She could feel his presence, as if his mind was reaching out toward her. She imagined his thoughts as a series of thick dark tentacles reaching down from the tree, poking their way into her brain and finding out as much as possible about her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she focused on happy, friendly thoughts, with the aim of making him feel more comfortable. The most important thing was to make sure that he recognized her as a friend, or at least as someone who cared. Slowly, however, she felt those imagined tentacles slipping back out of her brain and retracting back up into the tree. Finally, she opened her eyes again.

"It's not much," she said after a moment, unwrapping the small parcel to reveal some cucumber sandwiches and a bottle of water. "It's from the funeral lunch. Normally we have nicer food, but today..." She stared at the pieces of cucumber that poked out from between the fluffy white bread. Somehow, the sandwiches represented everything she'd hated about the funeral. "I know no-one likes this kind of stuff, but I had to be careful and only take food my mother wouldn't miss. Maybe tomorrow it'll be steak or something. She normally makes really nice food, but today was a bit unusual. My father -" She paused, realizing that the soldier might get upset if he knew about her father's death. "Would you like meat tomorrow?" she asked eventually.

For a moment, she heard nothing but silence, but finally there was the faintest hint of something moving up in the branches. It was a subtle, quick sound, as if the bark of the tree was being slowly scratched. Although she still couldn't see him, Eva was convinced that she'd attracted the soldier's attention, and she was determined to get him to at least acknowledge her presence. He was clearly scared, but that was no reason for him to be alone. She wished that her father had been visited by someone with cucumber sandwiches while he was dying. No-one should ever have to die alone.

"Here," she said, holding one of the sandwiches up, hoping that the soldier might reach down and take it.

No response.

"It's good for you," she continued, still holding the sandwich up. She stood on tip-toes, keeping the sandwich wobbling high above her head for as long as possible. "Just eat it tonight, and I promise there'll be something nicer tomorrow. This is just to keep you going."

No response.

"What's wrong?" she asked after a moment. "Don't you like cucumbers? I don't either, but I didn't have any choice. Can you please just maybe think about eating them, just this once?" She paused. "I'm sorry," she muttered eventually, balancing the cucumber sandwich on one of the lower branches. "I did my best. There just wasn't anything else in the house."

There was a faint creaking sound from high up in the tree. Eva didn't know if this sound was caused by a slight breeze, or by the soldier moving through the branches.

"I hope you're not mad at me," she continued. "I did my best, even if it wasn't the best food in the world." Kneeling in front of the tree, she set the rest of the sandwiches down, and then she loosened the top on the bottle of water, just in case the soldier's hands were hurting. Finally, once the meal was laid out, she stood up and stepped back.

"No-one knows about you," she said. "I swear to God, I didn't tell anyone, and I made sure I wasn't followed. I'm the only person who knows you're here, and I'll make sure it stays that way. You can trust me, I promise."

More than anything in the world, she wanted to see the soldier and to watch as he ate the food, but at the same time she knew that she shouldn't be too pushy. There were probably lots of reasons why the soldier might not want to be seen. He might be badly hurt, or he might just be shy. After peering up into the darkness of the tree one final time, she took a deep breath and turned to walk away.

And that's when she saw it.

Over by the edge of the clearing, next to one of the smaller trees, there was a body. Something dead.

Eva's first reaction was to turn and run, but she managed to make herself stay calm. Her heart was racing, but she could already tell from the shape and size that the body obviously wasn't human. Instead, as she stepped closer, she saw that it was a small deer. She'd seen deer in the woods from time to time, although she'd never seen a dead one before. This one, though, seemed to have been ripped apart. As she got to within a few feet, she could see that its neck and most of its torso had been torn away, exposing blood and bone, while two of its legs appeared to have been chewed. The creature's head was mostly intact, although there was a pair of deep round holes just below its jawbone, and the animal's eyes and mouth were wide open, as if it had died screaming.

Slowly, Eva turned to look back at the tree. She was certain that this deer hadn't been here earlier, and she was also sure that these woods weren't filled with predators. Although it pained her to think such a thing, she couldn't shake the idea that perhaps her soldier had climbed down and killed the animal. He must have been so desperate for food, and so crazed with pain, that he used his bare hands to rip the beast apart. For a moment, she imagined him wrestling the deer, forcing it to the ground and pummeling it into submission; as she pictured him ripping the animal's flesh apart and eating its raw meat, she couldn't help but shudder.

Glancing at the cucumber sandwiches, Eva suddenly realized that her own offering seemed pitiful in comparison to the feast that the soldier had caught for himself. Whereas she'd previously assumed that the soldier was weak and frail, now she began to imagine him as something altogether stronger. If he could bring down a deer, even one that looked to be relatively young and small, he must be fairly powerful. In which case, she wondered, why was he still hiding up in a tree? Was he recovering from his wounds, or was he scared of something? Or was he just waiting?

Without saying another word, Eva turned and began to make her way home. She was starting to think that her understanding of this situation might not be quite right, and while she was glad that she'd taken food out to the soldier, she felt that it might be dangerous to go again. Walking faster and faster, she eventually broke into a run and, by the time she reached the back gate, she was out of breath. Hurrying through the garden, where the grass was once again wet underfoot, she got to the back door and was just about to reach out to grab the handle when she heard a noise nearby. She froze, not daring to look back, until finally she heard another noise, closer this time, and she spun around.

There was nothing.

She stood on the back step and stared across the garden, her eyes fixed on the dark woods. She almost expected to see a figure moving between the trees, but there was nothing. The soldier hadn't followed her at all. In fact, he was probably barely even aware of her existence. Feeling a little relieved, Eva slipped quietly back into the house, making double-sure that the door was locked behind her.

Four

Standing in the doorway, Eva watched her mother sleep.

It was almost 2am, and although it was more than an hour since she'd got back from the woods, Eva still felt wide awake and restless. She wanted to go and climb into bed with her mother, but she was worried that she might face a barrage of questions. For one thing, Eva felt like she smelled of the forest, and for another she knew that her mother could always tell when she was lying. There was also the fact that her mother was sleeping so peacefully, which was something of a miracle given that the funeral had only ended a few hours earlier.

"Are you awake?" Eva whispered, even though she knew it was a bad idea.

There was no reply.

"Are you awake?" she asked again, raising her voice a little more.

Again, no reply.

Glancing at the bedside table, Eva spotted a pill bottle. With a heavy heart, she realized that her mother was using sleeping pills again, which meant it'd be almost impossible to wake her. Whenever stress got on top of her, Eva's mother always took to the pill bottle, with the result that she ended up sleeping long and hard. It was at times like this, with her mother virtually impossible to rouse, that Eva felt as if she was completely alone in the house.

Heading through to her own room, Eva pushed the door shut and decided that she should probably just go to bed and try to close her eyes for a while. A week after her father's death, she was still waiting to cry properly, and right now she was expecting the tears to ambush her at any moment. She was worried about bursting into tears while she was out in public, so she figured it'd be better to make it happen in the safety of her own room. She wanted to cry, to get it over with. Now that her mother didn't cry all the time, Eva felt that there might be some spare tears left for her.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't quite manage to make the tears come. Even when she spat on her hand and wiped the saliva into the corner of her eyes, she knew it wasn't real. She blinked a couple of times, trying to wash the saliva all over her eyeball and maybe kick-start the tears, but it was no use. She could only conclude that she was obviously a very bad daughter, and that she hadn't loved her father enough. She wished, on reflection, that she was a better person.

Before going to bed, she walked over to the window. Staring out across the back garden, she focused on the woods. The whole scene looked so calm and peaceful, with moonlight streaming through the faint mist that drifted between the trees. Eva found it hard to believe that, just an hour ago, she was out there all alone. There was still a part of her that hoped she might one day be able to leave the house behind completely and live permanently in the woods, and she felt that the big day was slowly getting closer. There really wasn't much that she liked in the world, and she felt there was little point forcing herself to hang around other people when she knew she'd be happier living in the woods.

"One day," she whispered. "I'll be a much better -"

Suddenly she stopped speaking, as she saw movement out in the forest. Although she immediately told herself that it must be a deer or some other kind of animal, the tightening sensation in her heart told her that it was something more. She watched as, slowly, a dark shape moved awkwardly between the trees, coming closer and closer until finally it stopped on the very edge of the forest, just a few feet from the garden fence.

The soldier. Her soldier.

Eva waited for the figure to come through the garden gate, but instead it just seemed to be waiting. It was clearly a human figure, even though there was something a little odd about its shape. It seemed to be hunched over a little and crooked, and its walk was affected by a pronounced limp. As she stared, Eva was convinced that the figure would push the garden gate open at any moment, but instead it looked as if something was forcing it to keep back. Although she was still nervous, Eva's heart-rate started to settle a little as she lost her fear that the figure might come all the way up to the back of the house.

As the minutes ticked past, Eva became more and more convinced that the figure was watching her, and perhaps waiting for her. It was too dark outside, and the end of the garden was too far away, for her to make out any details on the figure's face, but she felt quite certain that its eyes were fixed on her. Once again, she was overcome by the feeling that somehow the soldier's mind was reaching out to her, and she could almost feel those tentacles slipping deeper than ever into her mind. She focused on trying to make the soldier leave her alone, and gradually the sensation began to fade. Whatever had just happened, it made her feel a little stronger, as if she wasn't entirely defenseless.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the figure turned and limped back into the forest, as if it had finally given up waiting for her. Eva stood and watched it go, and in some strange way she felt as if she'd just scored a victory. There was nothing stopping the figure from coming closer, but she'd managed to face it down and make it see that it wasn't welcome. Although she'd previously wanted to help the soldier, she was starting to seriously doubt whether he was the good kind of soldier. Her father had been a good soldier, but she knew there were bad soldiers in the world. Her father would never have killed a deer with his bare hands, or rejected cucumber sandwiches, or refused to even say thank you, or come up to someone's house in the middle of the night.

All she wanted right now was for the visitor to go away forever, which she assumed he'd do as soon as he'd healed up enough to get moving. She figured she merely had to keep out of the woods for a week or two, and eventually the soldier would leave her alone and go somewhere far away.

Five

"Don't you want to go and play in the woods?"

Looking over at her mother, Eva realized this was the question she'd been dreading. It had been almost two weeks since she'd last been out beyond the garden gate, and she'd slowly learned to have fun in the house. Well, 'fun' was a strong word, but at least she was able to amuse herself, and she'd almost managed to make herself forget about the soldier who'd been living in the tree. In the back of her mind, she'd been aware that she perhaps needed to venture back out there some time and double-check that he was gone, but she'd been putting that day off for as long as possible until...

"Did something happen out there?" her mother continued, putting some more plates in the dish-washer. It was clear that she'd noticed the change in Eva's behavior, and she was obviously curious. After seeming a little vague and zombie-like in the weeks immediately after the funeral, her mother was starting to get back to her old self.

"What do you mean?" Eva asked, worried that her mother somehow knew about the soldier.

"It's just that you always used to go out there, but these days you seem so... Well, you just seemed to stop very suddenly. I just wanted to make sure there's no problem."

"There's no problem. I just felt like sitting inside and reading."

For the next few minutes, Eva sat in silence and continued to read her book. Eventually, however, her mother sat next to her and started watching silently. Eva tried to ignore her, but she knew there'd be more questions eventually.

"Are you worried about something, sweetheart?"

Eva shook her head.

"You know you can tell me, don't you?"

Eva nodded.

"If something's bothering you, I want you to talk to me about it, okay? This is a very difficult time for both of us. I just don't want you to be scared."

"Of what?" Eva asked.

Her mother took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to talk to you about this, sweetheart. What happened to your father happened in a very particular place, at a very particular time. He was in an extremely dangerous situation, but I don't want you to think that the whole world is like that." She paused, waiting for Eva to respond. "The point is, I don't want you to shutter yourself away in the house all the time. I know I can maybe be a little over-protective sometimes, but I think it's important that we both learn to face the world again. You know Daddy wouldn't like to think of you sitting around the house, scared to go outside, right? He'd want you to go out there and have fun. Don't you remember how he'd always tell me to stop fussing so much?"

Eva nodded.

"He used to laugh at me for being worried when you went into the woods," her mother continued, with tears in her eyes. "He used to say that I was too fussy, that I wanted to seal you up in a plastic bubble and never let you really touch the world." She paused again, as if she was finding it difficult to speak. "Maybe he was right. Just... don't be scared, okay? The world really isn't that scary, sweetheart. I think it'd be good for you to get back out there once or twice and remember that. I want to see you having fun again."

Eva looked over at the back door. For a moment, it occurred to her that maybe she should tell her mother all about the soldier. After all, her mother would know what to do. Then again, Eva also felt that it was her own job to deal with her fear. She imagined her father sitting at the table, watching her and feeling disappointed that she was so scared. Even though she was worried, Eva could feel herself getting ready to go back out into the woods. She felt that she had to know if the soldier had left, or if he'd died in the tree. She'd delayed this moment long enough.

"I might go out now," she said, her voice filled with tension.

"I didn't mean you have to drop what you're doing," her mother replied. "I just meant, in general, you should do the things you like doing. Ease back into things slowly."

"I want to go out," Eva said, closing her book and standing up. "I won't be long, I just need to... I just want to go and take a look."

"Be back in an hour," her mother said. "I'm making pancakes."

Nodding, Eva leaned forward and gave her mother a hug, before turning and walking over to the back door.

"Hey, remember not to talk to strangers," her mother added suddenly. "That rule still applies, sweetheart, okay? If you see anyone out there, just come straight home. Deal?"

Eva nodded.

"And sweetheart... Can you stop unplugging the phone? I know why you do it, but there's no need. Not anymore."

Eva nodded again, before opening the back door and stepping out into the garden. Not only had she avoided the woods over the past few weeks, she'd also avoided the garden, figuring that she didn't want to be seen by the soldier. She couldn't shake the feeling that he might still be out there somewhere, keeping an eye on her house, and for that reason she'd also kept away from her bedroom window. Then again, she reminded herself, the soldier was probably all healed by now, and he'd probably moved on. Why would he stick around here, living in a tree?

Once she'd gone beyond the garden gate, Eva started walking through the woods. This place used to feel like a second home to her, and she'd once hoped to live out here forever, but now it felt strange, as if she was walking on the surface of an alien world. The dead feeling, which she'd first felt around the old oak tree, seemed to have spread a lot further, and it felt like night even though the sun was high in the afternoon sky. As she walked, Eva realized that she saw and heard no signs of life: no moths or flies in the air; no insects; no sounds up in the trees. Even the breeze seemed to be dead out here, and the whole forest was bathed in an eerie, light blue mist that hung languidly in the air. The only sound came from Eva's bare feet as she walked across the dry, brittle grass.

Finally, in the distance, she saw the old oak tree, the heart of the forest. This, at least, seemed not to have changed, and in fact its leaves looked to be bigger and more numerous than ever. As Eva emerged into the clearing, she felt as if the air itself was completely still, and she glanced to one side and saw that not only was the dead deer still on the ground, but there were a couple more nearby, all of them in an advanced state of decomposition. This made Eva feel a little better, since it appeared that the soldier was no longer feasting. In fact, as Eva looked back over at the tree, she realized that there was no sense of anyone being here at all. It was as if all life had completely left the area.

When she reached the tree, Eva stopped and looked up into the branches. Even today, when the sun was out, the tree seemed strangely dark, as if light was either being scared away, or drawn deep inside. Staring up into the darkness, Eva tried to detect any sign of life up there, but there was nothing. It was as if the tree was now, finally, completely empty.

She began to relax as she realized that the soldier was almost certainly gone. Still, there was only one way to be certain, and it required Eva to be braver than she'd ever been before. Unable to shake the image of her father from her mind, she realized that he'd be disappointed in her if she didn't go and check properly. She'd long dreamed of climbing this tree, and now she felt it was time. After all, if she didn't go up there, she'd spend the rest of her life wondering if there might still be a soldier hiding somewhere in the branches.

"Dear God," she whispered, "if I climb this tree and take a look, do you promise I won't fall, and that nothing else will happen to me?"

She waited. She knew there'd be no answer, but she still wanted to give God time to hear her message and hopefully agree. She'd never really thought much about God before, but right now she was counting on him to keep an eye on her and make sure that nothing bad happened.

Realizing that she was delaying the inevitable, she cautiously reached up and grabbed one of the lower branches. Lifting a leg and gaining purchase on the trunk, she summoned all the strength in her body and slowly raised herself up until she could grab hold of the lower branches properly, at which point she hauled herself up a little further and managed to wriggle onto part of the split trunk. Looking back down, she realized that she was already a couple of meters off the ground, and for a moment she felt slightly dizzy until finally she reminded herself that she needed to just get on with the climb. Besides, if she got all the way to the top, she might finally be able to look out and see the whole world, even the far-off part where the wars happened.

Holding herself steady, and still terrified of falling, she reached up and grabbed the next branch, and slowly she climbed up a little higher. She double-checked, even triple-checked every move she made. Turning and glancing over her shoulder, she saw that although it was dark up here in the tree, there didn't seem to be anyone or anything else up here. She tried to imagine what it must have been like for the soldier to have lived up here, and she figured it must have been pretty miserable. Wherever he was now, he was probably having a much better time, unless he'd been caught by whoever was after him. The weird part was that she knew she'd never find out the truth; if the soldier had left, she'd never know how he ended up in the tree or what happened to him next.

Reaching up for the next branch, Eva felt something wet against her hand. At first she assumed it was just dew or sap, but when she pulled herself up a little higher, she realized that many of the higher branches were soaked. She held her hand out to the light and saw that she had blood running down from the palm of her hand and onto her wrist. Looking down at the branch, she saw that her clothes were now smeared in even more blood. She turned and looked into the darkness, but there was no sign of anything moving.

Despite the fact that she was starting to panic, she forced herself to remember that the soldier was gone, which meant that the blood was probably just some old blood that had been left here a few days ago. That's all it was, all it could be. Eva knew better than to let superstitions take root in her imagination. It would be far too easy to imagine all sorts of things up there in the tree, but then she'd be no better than her mother. What mattered, she told herself, was that she had to stay calm and focused.

She stayed completely still for a few minutes. She wanted to keep climbing, but her heart was racing and she was worried that the blood was making the branches slippery. The more nervous she became, the more she tried to force herself to think rationally. She was still imagining her father watching her, but she was no longer sure what he'd want her to do. Would he want her to keep going and reach the top, or would he tell her to go back down? If he was in the same situation, what would he do? Would he tell her to be cautious and safe, to run and get help? Or would he tell her to be brave, like he was when he shipped off to war?

While she tried to decide, however, she slowly became aware of something moving nearby.

At first, it was just a very faint rustling sound, like the wind brushing against the tree. After a moment, however, Eva realized that the sound was much closer and much more deliberate. She turned and looked over at some other branches, but there was no sign of anyone. Still, she was suddenly filled with the feeling that she wasn't alone, that there was something watching her from the darkness, and finally she knew that she had to go back down as fast as possible.

Lowering herself back onto one of the thicker branches, she tried to stay calm as she began her descent. There was so much blood on her hands, it was hard to keep a proper grip, so she had to move much more slowly than she would have liked. She could feel her heart pounding, and there was a part of her that just wanted to jump down, but she knew she'd end up breaking her legs if she fell from such a great height. Forcing herself to stay calm, she carefully inched down the branches, all the while convinced that she was being watched and followed. As hard as she tried to stay focused, however, she couldn't help but move faster and faster, and finally her foot slipped and she dropped, landing hard on another branch before tumbling further down. She reached out, trying to hold on and at the last moment, just barely, she managed to hang on with one hand to the lowest branch.

She waited for a moment, to make sure she was secure. Looking down, she saw that she didn't have much further to go. She lowered herself as far as possible, and then finally she allowed herself to drop the final couple of meters, landing hard on the forest floor and falling forward onto her hands and knees.

Standing up immediately, she started brushing herself off. She was covered in blood from the tree, which was making dirt and soil stick to her. It was pretty obvious that her mother would be angry when she got home, and she knew that there was no way she could hide the state she was in. She figured she'd just have to be honest and tell her mother everything about the tree, and about the soldier. She hoped her mother would understand, although she knew this was unlikely. Already, she could imagine her mother shouting at her, telling her off for ruining her dress and putting herself in danger and -

Suddenly Eva realized there was a noise coming from up in the tree. She stood completely still, too scared to look. There was no way the soldier could still be up there; there was no way anything or anyone could be up there at all. She tried to tell herself that it was all in her mind, and that only an idiot would even bother to look up.

Finally, however, she turned and looked.

More blood was coming down from the tree, washing down the trunk and spilling onto the ground. Eva took a step back as she stared, unable to comprehend just how much dark red liquid was coming down. There was so much, it was even dripping from some of the branches. Within just a few seconds, the entire trunk seemed to be absolutely soaked. It was by far the most disgusting thing Eva had ever seen, and although she wanted to turn and run, she felt strangely compelled to stand here and wait to see what would happen next.

Finally, however, she realized she'd seen enough. She turned to run -

And that's when an arm reached down from the tree and grabbed her by the neck. Not just any arm, either. This arm was jet black, its skin thick and foul and crusty. It was as if it had been badly burned, and there were a few glistening cracks of bloody pulp beneath the crispy skin. Trying to get loose, Eva felt the hand tighten and tighten around her neck, the fingers almost digging through her flesh. The more she fought, however, the tighter the hand seemed to hold her.

Slowly, kicking and screaming and trying to get loose, Eva was lifted up into the dark tree.

The Empty Girl

One

Kerry Herbert turned round to me today and accused me of following her! Right there in front of everyone, she just started ranting on about how wherever she went, she kept seeing me, and then she started accusing me of being a lesbian, and her friends were laughing and it just turned into this huge scene.

I swear, I almost brought the plan forward and killed her there and then.

Fortunately, I managed to stay strong. I knew all along that this project was going to be difficult, and that there'd be times when I'd be tested. I mean, I totally expected that she'd notice me lurking nearby a few times. Well, maybe I didn't totally expect it, but I knew it was possible. Kerry Herbert might be a fucking idiot, and she might have her head up her own ass most of the time, but she's still got fucking eyes. Anyway, I already knew she'd spotted me, and I didn't give a damn. Let the bitch see me. Let her realize that she's on my fucking radar and that I'm watching her. It won't do her any good. Not after Saturday.

There's one problem, though. She was shouting her mouth off outside the train station, and a lot of people must have noticed. Not just her friends, but random idiots passing in the street. That's a problem, 'cause it means people are going to start talking about me when Kerry disappears. There are cameras at the station, too, which means I might have some explaining to do. Sometimes, I think every fucking thing everyone does is logged and recorded and analyzed over and over. Fortunately, I think I'm starting to become invisible to cameras, the same way I can make myself invisible to mirrors. Besides, it's not like a public argument is proof of anything. As long as I keep to the plan and don't fuck anything up, there's not going to be any evidence against me, and no-one's gonna trip me up. I'm way too smart for that.

Hell, there won't even be a body.

Still, I'm in a foul mood. Walking home the long way, trudging through the rain, I feel myself starting to go into one of those dark periods. I hate it when this happens, but I've learned over the years that there's nothing I can do except let it pass. It feels like some kind of thick, heavy burden is slowly being lowered onto my shoulders, weighing me down and making it hard for me to keep going. It's like I can sense everyone starting to look at me. I know it's all in my head, and I know my pills would probably make it stop, but I need a clear head. Besides, what kind of idiot needs a pill to fix their moods? Everyone gets sad and pissed off occasionally, especially if their life sucks. And my life is a fucking train-wreck right now.

It'll all blow over.

It always does.

I'll be back to my usual happy self soon. Hell, when this little project is over, I'm gonna be the life of the fucking party. Finally, people will understand me. I won't be so alone.

As soon as I get home, I see with great displeasure that my both my parents' cars are in the driveway. I can handle it when one of them gets home early, but it's a nightmare when they're both here. They tend to kind of spread out through the house, which makes it hard to avoid them. Sometimes, I feel like I want to sit them down and set out some ground rules. It's like, they're supposed to be out working, but they just come home early when they feel like it. If they say they won't be home before a certain time, how fucking hard is it to stick to the plan? Don't they realize that the days are my time? I want to be alone, and I don't necessarily want to have to go outside every time I want some peace and quiet. I just want to sit around in the house, thinking about stuff and working on my plans, but it's hard when my idiot parents are constantly threatening to come storming through the front door. I swear to God, I live my life on the fucking edge of a nervous breakdown, and no-one even notices.

No-one cares.

Instead of going straight inside, I loiter in the driveway for a while, trying to decide what to do. I walk around the cars, pacing up and down as I feel my head start to flood with ideas. I don't know why the hell I always get so nervous, but I just wanted some fucking time alone and now the whole thing's gone to shit. Finally, unable to control my frustration, I kick one of the tires of my father's car, but the patheticness of the gesture just makes me more angry and I kick the tire again and again. Finally, glancing over at the street, I see Mrs. Aldershot walking past, and she's staring at me with that usual concerned, nosy look on her face. It's as if she's dripping with condescension and loathing. The old bitch probably thinks I'm gonna grab her bag or something like that.

"I'm alright," I shout at her, raising my arm and nibbling on the sleeve of my jacket. "Thanks for asking! What's wrong with you?"

She doesn't say anything. The old bitch never says anything. Not to me, anyway. About me, though... that's another story. I'm pretty sure she's the one who called the police and made that fake claim about me selling drugs. I've never fucking touched that kind of shit in my life. She's nothing but an ignorant, prejudiced old bitch. Sure, she saw me with some needles in my hand, but that doesn't automatically mean I'm using drugs.

The truth is, before I came up with my plan to deal with Kerry Herbert, Mrs. Aldershot was totally my target. I'd even started working out some of the details, before Kerry Herbert started annoying me at college. That's when I decided to change everything and make Kerry my target, which meant that Mrs. Aldershot was granted a reprieve. Not that the old bitch realizes any of this, of course. To her, I'm just a girl who lives in the same street, just some kid with nothing better to do than hang around on the street corner and observe the world. That's what she thinks, anyway, but I'm more than that. I'm the girl who was almost her executioner. If she knew some of the stuff that goes through my mind, maybe she'd have a little more fucking respect.

Sometimes, I just want to open my mouth and hiss at the old bitch.

Still nibbling on my jacket, I pull at a loose thread.

"Adeline!" calls out a shrill voice.

Turning, I see that my mother is standing at the kitchen window, watching me with her beady fucking bitch eyes. I don't get what the fuck's wrong with her. She does this all the time, and it's starting to wear me out. It's bad enough with all the cameras and surveillance in the modern world, and now I have to endure more of the same from my own mother. Those piercing eyes, filled with poisonous disrespect, just keep on burning into my soul. She blatantly hates me, almost as much as I hate her.

"Dinner's ready," she shouts. "Are you coming?"

I stare at her. One day, if everything goes according to plan, she might end up on my list. I need to get Kerry Herbert out of the way, but then I'll be able to pick a few more targets, and my dear old mother might very well end up in deep shit. I don't see why someone should be allowed to treat me like shit and then expect to be spared just 'cause I was unlucky enough to be born through her vagina.

"Adeline!" she calls again. "Are you coming inside for dinner?"

I nod, but I get a little twitch so I have to quickly nod again, to make sure she understands.

She stares at me for a moment, and then she turns and heads away from the window. For some reason, that fucking woman just seems determined to keep feeding me. It's as if she somehow thinks that all my problems have been caused by a lack of food, which is insane. I eat plenty, but I prefer stuff that's natural and doesn't have anything artificial added into it. That's why I've been trying to train my gut to digest wood, which is just about the only fucking thing you can find around here that hasn't been tampered with yet. Besides, I'm getting closer and closer to the greatest feast of all. If only I could tell my mother about my plans for Kerry Herbert. I know she'd freak out and try to stop me, but that's because she lacks the imagination to see how change and evolution are necessary. To her, these bodies and this life are probably at the fucking pinnacle of the evolutionary tree, whereas people like me, we see the potential for better things. Darker things.

Figuring that I'd better just get the whole damn thing over with, I trudge along the driveway and push the front door open. I can hear my parents in the dining room, but I don't want to go anywhere near them, not until it's absolutely necessary. Instead, I head to the bathroom; after locking the door, I allow myself to become visible to the mirror and finally I slip my hood back and stare at my face. With a smile, I realize that everything's going according to plan. I'm as pale as a fucking sheet of paper, and my eyes look dark and sunken. Sure, there's still a little weight around my face, perhaps even a hint of a double-chin, and my skin's sore and chapped in a couple of places, but I'm still working on overall physical fitness. I need some strength for what's coming next, but hopefully I can get my weight well below triple figures. It's hard balancing strength with a lean body, but I'm getting there slowly. My periods stopped a few months ago, which is a good sign. It means my body's started to take notice of what I'm trying to do. The weight'll start coming off soon. It has to. It's all part of the plan.

This is what happens when you're on the verge of becoming the next step in human fucking evolution.

Two

Sitting alone in my room, I stare at the needles on the little table. This is the part of my routine that I hate, but I guess I don't have a choice. I knew this whole project was going to be tough when I started, and there's no way I'm going to back down now. Pain means nothing. No, wait, that's not true. Pain's important. Pain's necessary. Without pain, how can I know I'm doing the right thing? My whole life so far has been about pain and misery. Finally, I'm on the verge of a whole new type of existence. I'm so close to achieving my destiny.

Reaching out and grabbing one of the needles, I remove the cap before looking down at my bare left arm. Even though my skin is pale, it's still hard to see any veins beneath the surface. I guess I'm running low on blood, which is how it's supposed to be. After all, I remove a load of the damn stuff every night, and although the process makes me feel weak as hell, I'm slowly starting to get used to it. I need to reduce the total amount of blood in my body so that, when the time comes for me to make my strike against Kerry, I can enjoy the experience all the more. I know that an outsider might think that this whole damn thing is just a pointless charade, but all my actions are underpinned by logic. I know what the fuck I'm doing. I'm forcing my body to change.

As I get ready to stick the needle into my skin, I somehow manage to fumble and drop the damn syringe. Reaching down, I find that it's rolled into the pile of cigarette ash and dirty old plates that are scattered around my bed. I quickly find the needle again, give it a quick blow in order to get rid of a few crumbs, and finally I'm ready for the extraction.

The tip slides effortlessly into my skin. I push it deep, until finally I feel it scraping against bone. There's pain, sure, but I can handle it. Pulling the needle back a few millimeters, I start to slowly draw some blood into the chamber. It's a slow process, but finally I'm done and I remove the needle and squirt the blood into a nearby cup. I swear, the blood is looking thinner and less potent these days, as if my body is struggling to produce it properly. I don't really mind one way or the other, but it's kind of useful to see that I'm really pushing myself to the edge. After all, there's no point doing this if I don't take it to an extreme.

Figuring that I should keep going for a while, I extract a few more syringes of blood, pushing against the pain and forcing myself to focus on the overall goal. Finally, with the pain becoming too much and with my arm looking like it's bruising up pretty nicely, I decide to pack it in for the night. I'm feeling pretty weak, and I've still got so much to do before I can even think of going to sleep. Pouring the blood into a small jar, I stand up and try to head over to my closet, but I immediately feel light-headed. Although I try to steady myself, I somehow manage to lose my footing, and I tumble to the floor. The jar smacks down next to me but, mercifully, it doesn't break. All I can do for a few minutes is stare at the blood and wait for my body to regain a little strength. I guess I'm pushing myself pretty hard, but there's no alternative. I have to improve.

"Adeline!" my mother calls out suddenly, knocking on the door. "Are you okay in there?"

Sighing, I wait for her to fuck off.

"Adeline, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Yes!" I shout back at her, trying not to sound too pissed off. "I'm fine!"

She tries to open the door, but it's locked.

"What are you doing?" she continues. "I heard an almighty bang."

"I fell over," I shout. "Is that okay? Am I allowed to just fall over occasionally?"

There's no reply, but I can tell that she's still out there in the corridor.

"Can you just go away?" I shout eventually. "I'm totally fine! If I'd hurt myself, would I be able to talk to you right now? Think about it. The fact that I'm fucking talking to you is a clear sign that I'm fucking okay, yeah?"

"I'd like you to open the door," she says firmly.

I start laughing.

"Adeline, open the door." It's cute, the way she's trying to sound authoritative. Ineffective, of course, but cute. "Adeline, open this door immediately. I want to see that you're alright and I want to see what you're doing in there."

"I tripped over some crap on the floor," I call back at her, with a big, goofy grin on my face. "I'm fine. I didn't even bang anything."

"What are you doing?" she asks. "Are you drinking?"

"Of course not."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Just some shit," I reply, before bursting out laughing again. I swear to God, I don't mean to laugh at times like this, but there's just some part of me that finds my mother's concerns funny. She's a typical idiot, always focusing on the wrong things. She fusses about details, but she can't see the wider picture. If I told her that I'm on the verge of a unique transformation, she'd probably think I'm nuts.

After a moment, I hear her footsteps heading away, and eventually I hear her going downstairs. Seconds later, I hear muffled voices from the front room. I guess my parents are having another of their long conversations about me. I swear, they must be the most bored and pathetic people in the world, because it seems like all they do every evening is talk about me and what's wrong with me and all this other shit that's none of their business. I mean, I'm not even that interesting, not as far as they know. I try to keep under their radar most of the time. I should probably take it as a compliment that they're so into everything I do, but it gets a bit tiring sometimes. I don't ask for their attention. I just want them to leave me the fuck alone.

Sitting up, I look around my room and realize that it probably is time to tidy up. I mean, it's not like I enjoy living in squalor, but I never have time to organize things. Besides, by now it'd a huge job to fix the mess, and I don't have, like, a whole day to dedicate to sorting it all out. I guess I just need to be a little more careful when I'm extracting blood, 'cause the last thing I want to do is pass out. The whole idea of this project is that I'm supposed to be getting better at functioning with less blood in my body, so I just have to push through any discomfort. These low periods are to be expected. They're the price I'm paying for what's going to come next.

I'm not sure whether I pass out, but after a few minutes I realize I'm suddenly leaning back against the wall. Feeling kind of groggy, I grab the jar of blood and crawl over to the closet, where I quickly set the jar in a large box along with all the others. I pause for a moment, feeling as if I just want to sit here and sleep, but finally I force myself up and, this time, I manage not to wobble too much. I swear to God, I feel like absolute shit, but I have to get the hell out of this house. I need to keep up my surveillance of Kerry Herbert, because I'm gonna need to know everything about that bitch by the time we get to Saturday. I can't afford to make any mistakes, so I need to make sure that I understand my target's habits. It's not exactly a huge chore, but I kinda wish Kerry was a more interesting target.

A vampire never pauses, not when there's work to be done.

Three

For some fucking stupid reason, it's raining when I head back out just before midnight. The last thing I want is to get soaked, but at least the bad weather means the streets are mostly empty. It's a long way to the house where Kerry Herbert lives with her parents, so I decide to take a short-cut. Climbing over a series of fences, I make my way stealthily through a bunch of back gardens. No-one sees me, of course, since I'm pretty good at passing unnoticed through the shadows. In fact, sometimes I feel as if I'm part of the shadows. Occasionally I hurry past a window and see some stupid family getting on with their meaningless lives, and it occurs to me that I could bang on the glass and scare the shit out of them. Still, I don't want any complications tonight. I'm not here to do anything. I'm here to observe.

As I reach the end of Somerville Street, I suddenly see a bright light approaching. I freeze as I realize there's a police cruiser slowly making its way toward me. After a moment's panic, I duck back behind a fence and wait, hoping that they didn't see me. This whole fucking town has been on high alert for the past week, ever since some little girl named Eva Wilson went missing a few streets away. Naturally, the local media's whipped the whole thing up into a frenzy, and everyone's convinced their children aren't safe. I don't know what happened to that dumb kid, but she probably just got sick of all the bullshit and ran away.

Smart kid.

The police cruiser drives slowly past as I hold my breath. To my immense relief, it doesn't stop. I know what the cops are like around here, and they'd totally be on my case if they found me out here late at night. Determined not to make a mistake, I wait until I'm certain that they must have gone around the next corner, and then I cautiously step back out from behind the fence. The street's empty again, apart from the rain. People are scared to come out at night. They're scared of creatures like me. The police aren't any better.

"Fucking pigs," I spit, before hurrying away.

The empty streets are kind of depressing, in a way. I feel like people are too keen to scurry into their houses after the sun goes down. If they'd just stay outside a little longer, they'd see the world as it really is. All this darkness is so beautiful, and it's at times like this that the world really seems to reveal itself. Then again, I should probably be careful what I wish for; if people came out more at night, it'd be harder for creatures such as myself to get about. This is my world, and I'll be alone here until I'm able to create more creatures who share my views. I know my victory is coming, but I need to make sure that I don't get too carried away. Slow and steady wins the race, and I'm still not quite at the point where I can make a stand. It'll happen, but not yet. One day, the world will know my name.

When I get to Kerry Herbert's house, I slip carefully down the side and into the back garden. There's this stupid apple tree over by the pond, so I climb up and position myself among the branches. From here, I've got a pretty fucking excellent view of Kerry's bedroom window. I pull a pair of binoculars from my coat pocket and focus on the house, and soon enough I see Kerry sitting at the desk in her room. She's doing something on her laptop, but I can't quite make the screen out properly. As I sit and watch her, I try to imagine how she'd react if suddenly she turned around and saw me here, but there's no chance of that happening. She doesn't suspect a thing, since her imagination doesn't allow her to contemplate the possibility that I'm seriously after her. She thinks it's all a joke, which is fine by me since it means her defenses are down and she'll be a little easier to kill.

After a while, this little surveillance operation starts to drag and I find myself wondering if maybe there are better uses for my time. Still, I'm worried that it'd be a mistake to give up and that I'd lose some valuable intelligence information. Despite the boredom, therefore, I continue to watch Kerry's window, and eventually she gets up and walks away from the desk. It's getting late, and after a moment I see that she's preparing to go to bed. I wait as she changes into a t-shirt, and then I watch her sit back down at the laptop. I don't know what's wrong with the fucking bitch, but she seems to be totally glued to that damn machine. I swear, she must be the dullest girl in the world. At least her final moments won't be dull, though. When I come back and kill her in a few days, she's going to understand the true meaning of pain. Her life might have been boring so far, but her death's gonna be so fucking memorable. She'll be screaming and bleeding and begging for her life, and the very last thing she'll see is gonna be my face grinning at her.

Poetic fucking justice.

I can almost taste her blood right now. The richness, the purity, the passion... I can imagine it running down my throat while I hold her struggling body in my arms. Just the thought of the act is enough to send powerful shivers through my body. Sure, I was born with a pitiful and weak human body, but that's not my fault. What matters is that I'm taking my weak original form and forcing it to change and mutate. I'm not willing to spend the rest of my life like this; I'm going to become the first of a new race of creatures. Eventually, I'll crush these fuckers under my feet.

I'm not really sure what happens next, but suddenly I wake up and realize that I must have fallen asleep for a while. I'm still wedged securely between the branches, but the rain has intensified and I'm totally fucking wet. Kerry's bedroom window is dark now, which I guess means she's gone to bed. I hate it when I fall asleep like this, and when I check my watch I see that I've been out for a couple of hours. Feeling kind of vague and wispy, I take a deep breath and try to re-focus on the task at hand. Sometimes I feel as if these attempts to train my body aren't going too well. Still, the setbacks aren't going to stop me. If anything, they're going to push me onward. My mind is going to win this battle, not my body.

Eventually, with the rain getting worse and worse, I decide that it's pretty fucking stupid to still be up in this tree. Carefully, I climb down and drop onto the wet grass. I'm already completely soaked, which is fine, but I can't help noticing that I seem to be shivering a little. I'm pretty sure vampires aren't supposed to shiver, but I figure that's something I can deal with later. After all, I'm still partly human, and it's going to take a while before I can train myself to be a full vampire. I've been working on this project for a couple of years, and I'm still only at the stage where I'm getting ready for my first kill. There's such a long way to go before I can consider myself to be a true vampire.

Making my way across the grass, I emerge onto the street and start walking back to my parents' house. I'm still feeling weak from the blood extraction, and there's a lot more work to be done. The next time I come to Kerry Herbert's house, however, I'll have my equipment with me and I'll be ready to strike. I happen to know for a fact that her parents are going away at the weekend, which means she'll be alone in the house from Friday afternoon. She has netball practice on Friday evenings, and she often hangs out with friends once she's done. Saturdays, though, are different, and she usually stays home. I guess she thinks she's safe while she's in the house, but one of the last lessons she's gonna learn is that she's never safe, not from me. I'm coming back here on Saturday night, and I'm going to fulfill the first stage of my destiny.

Four

The old guy's watching me.

It's late, and I'm in one of those over-lit all-night convenience stores. There's some old idiot behind the counter, and although there are a couple of people in the store right now, I'm the one who's getting the suspicious glances. One of the surveillance cameras is pointed right at me, although it won't do much good now that I'm invisible to recording devices. I can more or less do as I please, which must be confusing for normal humans.

I make my way to the back of the store. It pains me to be reduced to certain actions, but a lack of resources means that I must scavenge some of the items I need for my plan. I'm sure the guy behind the counter is gonna assume that I'm some homeless, drunk piece of trash, but that's fine by me; I'd rather let him think that, than have him know the truth. I need to stay under the radar for as long as possible, which shouldn't be a problem. I'm an expert at this kind of thing.

Having checked that there's no-one nearby, I grab a pack of razor blades from the shelf.

"Can I help you?" asks a voice suddenly.

Turning, I find that the guy from the counter has come over to join me. He's got a concerned look in his eyes, and it's obvious that he thinks I'm gonna steal the blades. He's right, of course, but for the wrong reasons.

"You want to buy those?" he asks, looking down at the packet in my hands.

I stare at him.

"If you want to bring them to the counter," he continues stiffly, "I can ring them up for you." He waits for an answer. "Are you gonna be wanting to pay by cash or card?"

I glance across the store and see that the other customers are getting on with their business. Still, the place is a little too busy for my liking, and I don't much fancy the idea of causing a storm when there are so many people around. Each of these assholes is a potential witness.

"If you're not going to buy anything," the guy says, "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave the store. Our services are for paying customers only."

I sniff. The guy's seriously getting on my nerves now, and I'm starting to sweat. This kind of reaction is precisely the reason I want to leave my human side behind. Humans are weak and easily panicked, whereas the next stage of evolution is going to be strong and confident. I mean, I'm already strong and confident, but there are these times when my human nature takes over. If I could just be myself, I mean my real self, I'd dispatch this asshole in seconds and leave a trail of his blood from here all the way out into the parking lot.

"Adeline," he says suddenly, "you really need to be moving along, and I don't think you need those, do you?"

I almost rip his head off, but luckily for him I manage to restrain myself. How the fuck does this bastard know my name? He must be friends with my darling mother, or maybe the local shopkeepers have got together and decided that they don't want to serve me anymore. I'm pretty sure it's illegal to deny service to someone who's ready to pay, but I guess none of these assholes care about the rule of law. Still, the last thing I want is for him to start shouting my old, human name and claiming that I've been stealing stuff.

"Okay," he says, reaching out for the pack of razors, "let's just -"

Stepping back, I hiss at him.

He stops dead and stares at me.

Looking over my shoulder, I see that one of the other shoppers has noticed this little confrontation. The fucking idiot probably thinks I didn't see him looking at me, but I did. In normal circumstances, he'd have incurred my wrath and he'd have mere seconds to live, but he's lucky today. I'm not in a position to flex my full potential, and it's hardly likely that I'm gonna even bother to remember his pathetic little face once I'm stronger.

"Adeline -" the store guy says, with a clear hint of fear in his voice, "let's not turn this into a scene. I'd hate to have to call the cops."

I hiss again.

"Adeline -"

Before he can finish, I rip the packet of razor blades open. Some of them drop down to the floor, but I manage to keep hold of three, which is more than enough.

"Okay, Adeline," he continues, clearly enjoying it every time he gets to say my name, "I'll cut you a deal, okay? If you'll just walk out of the store right now, with those razor blades, I'll sort something out with your mother next time she comes in. I'm sure she'll be willing to pay if it means that the police aren't involved." He pauses for a moment, and it's clear that he's making a laughable attempt to stare me down. "But you do have to leave right now," he adds. "Is that something you can do?"

For a moment, I consider hurting him. I could do it. Then again, what's the point? He's just an idiot in a late-night store, and the last thing I need is to get into trouble for some random attack. I need to ignore my foolish human urges and focus on the bigger picture. Stuffing the razor blades into my pocket, I push past the guy and hurry toward the door. As soon as I'm out in the night air, I take a deep breath and run across the parking lot, making for the trees. Climbing through the undergrowth, I can't help but smile as I think of the total fucking victory I just scored. I got what I wanted, and now I'm set for one final act before I'm ready to face Kerry Herbert and taste her blood.

Five

I've been waiting for this moment, but now it's here, I feel... scared? No, that's not quite the right word. Nervous? Yeah, maybe. I guess there are two problems, really. First, there's the fact that I know this is gonna hurt a lot. Second, there's the fact that it's the final stage before I go after Kerry. This is the act that I've been building up to for so long, and all the pain and blood is going to be worth it. One day, when I'm strong and powerful, I'll look back on this as the moment when my preparations and plans become something more concrete. Between now and Saturday night, I'm going to complete my metamorphosis and shrug off this old human soul. This is when the vampire will emerge from my dark heart, pushing aside my humanity as if it's nothing more than an abandoned skin.

So why the hell is my hand shaking?

Setting the razor blade down, I try to reset my thoughts. I guess my human side is holding the rest of my soul back. In a way, I expected this. All my life, I've been subject to the stupidity and whims of my birthright. I've watched as those around me have fallen prey to their weaknesses, and I've felt the same weaknesses tug at my mind. I don't know why, however, but I was lucky enough to be chosen to live a very different kind of life. From an early age, I could feel a kind of darkness growing in my soul, and I nurtured it until it began to speak to me. The vampire life is my destiny, and nothing's going to hold me back. I am what I am, but soon I'll be so much stronger. If my human side is panicking now, it's only because the end is nigh.

I take a deep breath.

My hand has stopped shaking.

Picking the razor blade back up, I glance over at the door one more time. It's 4am and my parents are fast asleep, and hopefully neither of them is gonna wake up and come and disturb me. I'd rather perform this operation in my own room, but I need the benefit of the bathroom mirror. The harsh electric light makes me look particularly ghoulish, which I kind of like. It's fitting and appropriate that I should look so goddamn cool now that I'm on the verge of reaching perfection.

Slowly, I open my mouth and stare at my teeth. I've waited so long for my dull, human teeth to fall away and be replaced by a proper set of fangs. I always assumed that the process would just happen at some point, and that I'd know when the time was right. I remember when I was a kid and my baby teeth fell out, I thought the moment had arrived, but normal adult teeth just came through. I was crushed, but I came up with a new plan pretty quickly. I must have been seven or eight years old by the time I was set on the course that has led me here today. That little version of me would be so proud if she could see me today.

Damn it, I'm delaying.

I'm getting all nostalgic and I'm thinking about the past instead of the present.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I let out a brief hiss.

Fuck, I can be terrifying sometimes.

Holding the razor blade up to my mouth, I tell myself that this is the moment. I gently press the edge of the blade against the enamel of one of my upper cuspids, and I press hard. Slowly, I try to slice down, but the edge of the blade just scrapes along the side of the tooth. Undaunted, I try again, pressing harder this time. Again, however, I meet with no success. Taking a deep breath, I try for a third time, but I scrape the top a little first, hoping to create a scratch mark that I can use. When I scrape down again, I feel some resistance, which is perfect, and I force myself to push and push. It's not easy, and I start to worry that the blade might be about to break, but suddenly the razor slices down and I almost slam my face into the sink. For a moment, I'm not sure if anything happened, but then I spot it: a thin slice of enamel in the basin.

Checking myself in the mirror, I see that it's a good start, but there's definitely a long way to go.

I decide to take a slower, more careful approach. Scraping and scraping at the tooth, I manage to get little pieces away until finally, after almost an hour, it's actually beginning to look just a little bit like the vampire fang I'm seeking. It's only now, of course, that I realize I have no way of lengthening the tooth, which means it's gonna look kinda silly, but I figure it'll still work, and maybe it'll just start growing anyway. I keep going, and soon it's a proper, if short, fang. Tilting my head to one side, I hold my lips back and imagine my handiwork.

Good.

Not perfect, but good.

I hiss, and then I smile.

Figuring that my parents might start getting up around 6am, I decide that I need to work faster. Turning to the other side of my mouth, I start trying to shave away some more enamel. My fingers are getting a little clumsy, and I can feel myself getting more and more tired. Still, I don't have time to succumb to weak human failings, so I just focus on the task at hand. I can do this. I know I can do this. As I work faster and faster, more and more pieces of enamel start dropping into the sink. I don't really have time to stop and check things properly, so I rely on instinct alone. Glancing at my watch, I see that it's approaching 5:30am, which means I need to speed things up. Damn it, why can't my parents just fuck off for once? Why can't they -

And that's when it happens.

I don't know if it's carelessness, or if this tooth is different to the first, but somehow I manage to accidentally scrape a little too much away, and the edge of the razor blade digs into the nerve.

The pain is indescribable. It shoots through my entire body, causing me to drop the blade and fall back. Losing my balance, I slip on the bathroom floor and slam down hard, banging my head against the side of the bath. As I try to recover, the pain arcs through my mind. Raw and exposed, the nerve is screaming. All other thoughts clear from my mind, replaced by pure, undaunted pain. Although I try to keep quiet, I can't help but let out a few gasps as I writhe on the floor, rolling from one side of the bathroom to the other and then back again, all the while clutching at my face and waiting for the pain to go away. It can't last forever. Sooner or later, it has to stop.

Please God, make it stop.

After a few minutes, however, it's worse than ever. Every time I move, every time my tongue brushes against the tooth, I feel the pain increase. I try to get up, but all I can manage is to get on all fours. Looking down at the floor, I see to my shock that I'm bleeding a little, either from the tooth or, more likely, from where I cut the side of my mouth as I pulled the blade out. I reach out and try to wipe the blood from the floor, but I just end up smearing it all over the place. Panicking, and starting to shake, I force myself to turn and crawl over to the sink, where I haul myself up just far enough to be able to see my face in the mirror.

I look like a total fucking mess.

There's pain in my eyes. Sure, I've had tons of psychological pain over the years, but this is the first true, unadulterated physical pain I've ever experienced. Trembling, I lean closer and look at my blood-stained face. The pain in my tooth is getting worse and worse, throbbing with an intensity that I never thought possible. I carefully hold my lips back and see that the side of the tooth has been completely ripped away, exposing a dark blue mass that I can only assume is the nerve. Damn it, I should have studied the structure of teeth before I started doing this, and I should have worked more slowly. This pain is too much, and I'm not sure if I can handle it much longer.

I want to scream, but screaming's not an option. My stupid mother would come banging on the door, demanding to know what's wrong. As always, I have to deal with things alone. Grabbing a couple of towels, I start hurriedly trying to wipe up as much of the blood as possible. It doesn't take too long, and then I run the tap and wash all the little pieces of tooth down the sink. Despite the agony, I'm able to get the bathroom sorted out pretty well, and finally I take a step back and see that I've covered my tracks. I take the razor blades before unlocking the door and hurrying through to my room.

Half an hour later, writhing in agony on the bed as my tooth continues to hurt like a bitch, I hear my mother and father sloping along to the bathroom. They have no idea. No fucking idea at all.

Six

"Did you steal those razor blades?" my mother screams, following me into the kitchen just a couple of minutes after I emerge from my bedroom for lunch.

"What?" I ask, acting as if it's the most insane idea ever. Luckily, I'm a pretty good liar, and I'm pretty sure I sound totally convincing. She probably can't even tell that I'm in agony.

"Did you steal them, Adeline?" she shouts. "This is your last chance to be honest with me. Did you, or did you not, steal razor blades from the all-night store?"

"No!" I mutter, grabbing a glass and pouring myself some water. It's kinda hard to argue with her when I can't look at her properly. The last thing I need is for her to see the injuries to my mouth. However, as soon as I start drinking, the water hits my exposed nerve and I spit the water into the sink. Trembling slightly, I try to keep from screaming.

"What's wrong with you?" my mother asks. "Adeline, look at me!"

"I'm fine!" I shout back at her. Why can't she just leave me alone?

"Look at me!" she says, grabbing my arm and trying to turn me to face her.

"Fuck you," I mutter under my breath.

"You're bleeding," she says, sounding more concerned than angry.

"I'm not bleeding."

"Let me see!"

Turning to her, I let out a loud hiss.

"Adeline, I'm calling Dr. Latimer," she says, taking a step back. There's fear in her eyes. Good. I like it when I scare her. It means she's starting to accept that I'm changing. Not that she can understand me entirely, of course, but it's a good start.

"I'm fine," I mutter, sounding strong and resolute even though my bottom lip is trembling. The pain from my tooth is intense, and I don't know if I can handle it much longer.

"I know you stole those razors," she says, staring at me. "I went into the store this morning and Joe Cale showed me the security camera footage."

"Bullshit," I spit back at her. "I'm not on any security camera footage."

"You are," she replies. "Oh, Adeline, you most certainly are."

I shake my head. She's wrong. She has to be wrong. I don't show up on footage. I've tested the theory myself, and I know it's true.

"Adeline," she continues, her voice trembling a little, "did you hear about that little girl who went missing?"

"Stupid little bitch," I mutter.

"It wasn't that far from here," she says. "They're still looking for her."

"Big deal," I reply, shrugging. "Someone probably grabbed her. Right now, they're -" I stop speaking as suddenly, with crystal-clear clarity, I realize what my mother's talking about. She's doing it in a round-about kind of way, but I swear to God she's testing the water and seeing if maybe there's any chance that I know what happened to that little girl. My own mother thinks I might go out and randomly kidnap or kill some kid! For a moment, I feel tears start to well up behind my eyes, but finally I tell myself that there's no fucking way I'm going to cry.

"I'm going to call Dr. Latimer," she continues, clearly trying hard to stay calm, "and then we'll go and see him, okay? And you need to make sure you take your medication. Maybe..." She pauses for a moment. "Maybe pack an overnight bag, Adeline. It's a long drive, and he might think it's a good idea for us to stay. You know how tired I get when I drive." She waits for me to say something. "Does that sound like a good idea? Shall we do that?"

I stare at her. The last thing I want to do is anything that makes the bitch happy. Still, it might be to my benefit if I'm at least able to get her off my back for a few minutes.

"I need to clean up," I mutter, stifling the extreme anger that's bubbling under my skin, "but yeah, I'll pack an overnight bag. When do you want to leave?"

"I'll call him now," she says, grabbing the phone with trembling hands. "We can head off as soon as you're ready. How does half an hour sound?"

I nod.

She smiles.

Pathetic bitch.

"I'll go and..." I start to say, but my voice trails off. Pushing past her, I make my way through to my room. The poor, stupid cow thinks I'm actually going to get into her car and let her drive me to see Latimer. The odds of that happening, however, are zero. I'm never going near Latimer's office again, especially if my insane mother thinks that there's even a chance that I was involved with that little girl's disappearance. Despite everything that's happened, I'm still shocked that she could even consider the possibility that I'd do something like that. This is exactly the kind of problem I've been dealing with my whole life. My mother's a bitch, and my father's a bastard, and they think I'd kill a kid. A little kid. Not like Kerry. An actual, little kid.

As I push my bedroom door shut, I glance across at the window and I realize that, despite the agony in my mouth and tooth, and despite the fact that it's only Friday night, I have to bring my plan forward. Kerry Herbert has to die tonight.

Seven

By the time I've climbed out of my bedroom window and made my way quietly away from the house, it's still only lunchtime, which means I've got maybe twelve hours before I can go and get Kerry. The delay is definitely a complication, but I figure I can manage, so I head across town and out into the woods. By the time I'm among the trees, I can't help but smile at the thought of my panicked mother realizing that I've done a runner. She'll probably call the police and ask them to help find me, though I doubt she'll get much luck. Right now, the police are more concerned about finding that little girl, and they already know what I'm like. They'll just tell my mother that I'm off doing something crazy, and they'll tell her to stop worrying. I'm sure they'll try to pick me up later, but by then they'll be too late.

Idiots.

My stomach rumbles as I keep walking. I should have eaten something before I left, but I didn't have time to think clearly. Besides, it's probably a good idea to fast for the rest of the day, since I'm going to have such a huge feast once I get hold of Kerry. Deciding that I need to build up my strength ahead of tonight's fun, I eventually find a small, secluded area of wild and untamed undergrowth, and I crawl into the bushes. More than anything, I need to sleep, even though the pain in my mouth is intense. Hell, if I can't sleep, then at least I can relax a little.

Somehow, I manage to drift off for a while. Either that, or I pass out. When I wake up, the sky is getting dark, and I see that it's almost 9pm. Climbing out of the bush, I wipe some fresh blood from the side of my mouth, and I quickly discover that one side of my face is slightly swollen. I guess the cut has become infected, but none of this is gonna be a problem in the long-term. Although my tooth is still hurting, it's a totally bearable kind of pain, and it seems to have become something I can ignore. Feeling slightly weak, I walk slowly and carefully back toward town, aware that my reserves of energy are a little low and therefore need to be conserved. I'm so close to the finish line, but I need to pace myself properly.

I make my way through the dark streets. A light rain is falling, and I have to duck into the shadows a couple of times as people drive past. There are still tons of police cruisers out looking for the missing little girl, and I can't discount the possibility that my asshole of a mother might have somehow managed to mobilize some cops to keep an eye out for me. I guess she probably brought up my previous problems in an attempt to persuade them that I need help. Hell, she might even have claimed that I'm dangerous. Still, I'm a step ahead of everyone else, and I manage to make it to Kerry's house without being noticed.

Heading through to the back garden, I find that there's no-one at home. Her parents have obviously already left for their weekend away, and Kerry's probably at her netball or handball practice or whatever the hell it is that she does on Friday nights. I take some time to take a look around, and then finally, to my surprise, I find that the back door has been left unlocked. For a moment, I can't help but wonder whether it's some kind of trap, but finally I realize that there's no way anyone knows I'm coming here. I slip inside the dark house and decide that I need to hide myself somewhere. After all, I've got the benefit of being able to surprise the bitch, but I need to make that advantage count. I have no idea when she'll be getting home, but I have to be poised and ready to strike at any moment. Sometimes, I feel as if I'm like a coiled predator, hunting these pathetic humans with ease.

By midnight, I've thoroughly explored the house, making sure to keep the lights off at all times. I even helped myself to some snacks from the fridge, just to top my energy levels up a little. Taking a look around Kerry's parents' bedroom, I'm just starting to wonder when the stupid little bitch might actually be coming home, when I hear the front door open, followed by the sound of someone coming inside. I hurry to the top of the stairs and peer around the corner, and sure enough I see Kerry dropping her kit bag on the floor. She locks the front door before heading through to another part of the house, and I realize that she doesn't suspect a thing. So far, my plan is going perfectly, but I'm keenly aware that even the slightest mistake could cause things to go horribly wrong. If I make even the slightest noise, she'll almost certainly bolt and call for help.

For some reason, Kerry doesn't come upstairs straightaway. Instead, I have to wait and listen while she spends almost an hour messing around downstairs. First, she spends some time in the kitchen, making something to eat, and then she takes a long shower. With the pain in my tooth getting worse and worse, I find myself starting to lose patience, but fortunately I'm able to suppress my human side and focus on getting the job done. I remind myself that I have infinite patience and that I've got all night to get this job done if necessary. The last thing I need is to get panicked and end up letting her slip away. In my weakened state, desperately short of food and energy, I need to simplify the whole damn process as much as possible. The bitch is mine. I just need to reel her in.

Eventually, I hear Kerry start to come upstairs. Retreating into the shadows of her darkened bedroom, I feel my heart start to pound as I realize that the moment has arrived. There's no backing out, no chance of changing my mind. I'm standing here, hidden behind the door in her dark room, and I'm going to strike as soon as she enters. I swear to God, I expected to be calmer than this, but my heart is beating so hard, and I've got this horrible grinding sensation in my stomach as if I might throw up at any moment. I'm about to cross the line between human and vampire, and in the process I'll be seizing control of my destiny. This is what I've been waiting for, it's the chance for me to prove that I'm far more than just some pathetic human. Holding my breath for what feels like forever, I wait until I hear Kerry's footsteps nearby, and finally she walks through the door and then stops just a meter away, with her back to me.

I hesitate for a second.

I can do this.

I almost attack, and then I wait.

I can do this!

I hesitate again.

And then I strike.

Launching myself at her, I knock her to the ground and make sure to remain on top of her while she struggles. It's still dark in here, but I have the benefit of being better accustomed to the lack of light. She lets out a brief scream, but I put one hand on the back of her head and push her face into the carpet. She struggles, and she's stronger than I'd expected, but fortunately I'm able to keep her under control even though she's trying desperately to kick me. For a moment, I pause as I try to decide what to do next. I want to knock her out, but I don't want her to die yet and I'm worried that I might be stronger than I realize. I glance across the room, hoping to see something I can use, and that's when I make a big mistake: I allow myself to get distracted for a fraction of a second, and that's enough for her to throw me to one side.

Slamming into the side of the closet, I immediately turn and see her racing to her bedroom door. I hurry after her and manage to catch up to her just as she reaches the top of the stairs. With no other options right now, I throw myself at her back and manage to put my weight on her shoulders, sending her toppling forward. We slide down the stairs, but fortunately I'm able to remain on top so it's Kerry's body that bears the brunt of the force. When we reach the bottom, I immediately climb off her and turn back to see that she's dazed but still conscious. We make eye contact for a fraction of a second, and then she screams.

So I knee her in the face.

She falls back, blood pouring from her nose.

Clamping my hand over her mouth, I try to make her shut the fuck up. I pull her closer and force her mouth shut, and then I wait as she struggles and tries to get free. She's desperately trying to breathe, and her smothered snorts are spraying blood between my tightly-clamped fingers.

"There's no point!" I hiss at her. "Just stop it!"

Her wide, terrified eyes stare at me.

"Stop it!" I scream.

She tries to punch me, but it's a desperate, pathetic effort. Tiring of her constant fighting and struggling, I maneuver us around a little and then I slam her head into the side of the bannister, using a little more force than I'd planned. The impact is strong and heavy, and I'm quite certain that it must have hurt, but she's still struggling. What the fuck does it take to bring this bitch down?

"Nice try," I whisper, before slamming her head into the opposite wall. When that doesn't work, I try it again, this time with so much force that I knock a hole in the plaster. Pulling Kerry's body back, I turn her over and see that she's barely conscious.

She moves her lips, but no words come out.

"You're tougher than you look," I mutter, staring into her half-open eyes. "You should be proud of yourself." I wait, and for a moment I'm tempted to explain everything to her. Finally, however, I decide that the best thing would just be to get this whole encounter over and done with, so that I can move onto the second and final stage. Taking hold of her head between my hands, I tilt her so that she's facing the wall again, and then I slam her face into the plaster with such force that for a moment I worry I might have already killed her.

Finally, once I've checked and found that she has a faint pulse, I sit back and try to regather my thoughts. I've done it. I've actually done it. I feel weak as hell, and the struggle took more out of me than I'd expected. There's blood on the stairs and the wall, and part of the plasterboard has been smashed open. There's clearly no way I'm going to be able to clean the mess up, so there's no point even trying. Still, I'm so desperately close to my goal, I can't stop now. While it's tempting to take a little rest, I know that I have to keep pushing, so I slip out from under Kerry's unconscious body and get to my feet while she slumps face-down against the stairs.

Okay. One more little journey, and then we're ready.

Eight

Maybe there's a God after all. Why else would it start pouring with rain just as I'm lugging Kerry's unconscious body out of the house?

It's 3am by the time I feel strong enough to carry her to the woods. The journey isn't too long, but in my weakened state I can barely sustain my own weight, and having Kerry over my shoulder means that every step is agonizing. Several times, I have to stop and put her on the ground for a moment, and occasionally I try to change my approach and drag her instead. As we reach the edge of the forest, the mud makes it almost impossible to move with any real speed, and I struggle to pull the bitch through the small rivers of rainwater that have already started to flow.

Finally, losing my grip and falling backward, I land heavily in the mud and realize that I can't go any further. Once again, my human body has let me down, but at least this will be the last time.

I'd been hoping to get her to a larger clearing, but this spot will have to do. Patches of moonlight are streaming down through the rain as I kneel next to Kerry and grab her by the shoulders, and then finally haul her up onto my knees. It's a miracle that she's still unconscious, and I'm starting to wonder whether she might have a concussion. I'd been hoping to talk to her a little before I make my final strike, but I guess the only vital thing is that her heart's still pumping. I want my first taste of human blood to be fresh and warm.

"You want to wake up, bitch?" I whisper.

She doesn't reply, and suddenly I feel a little sad that she won't know the full horror of what I'm doing to her.

"Come on," I say, giving her a gentle shake. "Hey! Kerry, wake up!"

Nothing. She's still just limp in my arms.

"Please," I mutter, feeling a little tearful. "Come on, just wake up for a minute or two."

Hearing a screeching sound above, I look up and spot something small and dark moving through the rain. It circles the clearing, and after a moment I realize that it's a bat. In some strange way, it feels appropriate to have such a symbolic visitor. Perhaps it recognizes me as a fellow creature of the night.

Moving Kerry's collar aside, I stare at her bare, rain-soaked neck. The skin looks so tight and clean, it's hard to believe the damage that I'm about to cause. Reaching down, I run a finger across her flesh, and I realize that there's no point delaying things any longer. It's been a long journey so far, but I've finally arrived at my destination. With rain pouring all around us, I take a deep breath and then finally I lean closer and get ready to bite. One side of my mouth is still painful and swollen, and I know that the exposed nerve is going to make this unnecessarily painful. Still, I'm as ready as I'll ever be, and I guess I just have to go for it.

I pause for a moment.

I am ready for this. I know I am.

Opening my mouth as wide as possible, I bite down as hard as I can, but I have to let go as pain shoots through my damaged tooth.

"Fuck!" I shout, taking a deep breath as I try to calm down.

Pulling myself together, I try again, and this time I ignore the pain. I'm not sure what I was expecting, really, but I find that instead of biting clean puncture wounds through the side of her neck, I end up with a big section of flesh in my mouth, and no blood. I bite down harder, and I can feel the veins and arteries being squeezed beneath her skin. I continue to bite, but it feels like I'm just squeezing and squeezing. Finally, determined to get this over with, I decide to try a slightly different approach. After angling my sharpened teeth against the skin, I push down and then I jerk my head back, and to my shock I manage to pull away a large chunk of skin.

Suddenly trying to jerk away from me, Kerry lets out the loudest scream I've ever heard, and the noise seems to be coming not only from her mouth, but also from the hole in the side of her neck.

"No!" I shout, grabbing her head and holding her still before I bite her again. This time, I sink my face into the wound and bite down, feeling her soft skin between my lips and on my tongue. Sucking as hard as I can, I feel blood running into my mouth, but it's not enough. I bite deeper, and this time my tongue brushes against what feels like some kind of tube before suddenly blood bursts into my mouth, gushing so fast that I can barely swallow it all. Closing my eyes, I embrace the strength that pours down my throat, and I try to make sure that as little spills over the sides as possible. I don't want to waste a drop.

With no warning, Kerry finally pushes me away. Blood sprays over my face as I'm momentarily put off my balance, but I quickly grab hold of her again and pull her closer. I bite down again on her neck, and this time my teeth grate against some of her bones. I continue to suck as much blood as possible, and although the exposed nerve on one of my fangs is causing me immense pain, I focus on the glorious feeling of her blood in my mouth. I was born for this moment.

She's trying to struggle, of course, but there's nothing she can do. Not now. She's already weak, and it's strangely reassuring to feel her hands desperately trying to push me away. She's got no chance this time, of course, but I appreciate the gesture. It's as if she's acknowledging my superiority, and accepting that I'm the stronger beast. In a way, Kerry's capitulation is symbolic of the capitulation of the entire human species. She's the first to feed my hunger, but she won't be the last.

After a few minutes, the blood stops pouring with such relentless force, and I relax my bite. Kerry still seems to be clinging on to life, but she can't have long left and I can feel her getting weaker and weaker. With torrential rain pouring down, her face looks strangely peaceful as she slowly looks up at me, and there's a moment of intense intimacy between us, as her eyes fix on mine. I keep expecting her to say something, or to scream, but it's as if she's lost all her strength. Her lips move slightly and I'm certain that she's trying to get some words out, but I can't hear a damn thing, not even when I lean closer. It's as if she hasn't even noticed that there's all this rain.

"What?" I shout, putting my ear close to her mouth.

She's still trying to speak, but I can't make it out at all.

"Louder!" I shout.

Finally, I manage to make out a few words, and I realize to my shock that she's praying. Like, she's actually saying The Lord's Prayer or whatever it's called. I swear, I never even considered that the bitch was religious. In fact, I know fuck all about her at all, really, other than that she's always been the most annoying person on the planet. Right now, however, I can't help but be slightly impressed that she's turning to God. It's a desperate move, and she's clearly lost her mind now that she's looked into the face of a creature with my level of power. Once again, she's inadvertently paying me a great compliment, and I feel as if my initiation into this new vampire life is going perfectly. My first kill is almost complete.

"I don't know if you give a shit," I say firmly, "but I'll always remember you. No matter how many others I kill, you'll always be the first."

She stares at me, but nothing about her vacant expression shows that she understands.

I feel stronger than before, though, as if her blood has infused me with a new kind of power. It's almost as if I can feel her life force coursing through my veins and giving an immense boost to my body. This must be what it's like to be a real vampire, to feed oneself by consuming the energy of another living creature, and to step up to the next level of human evolution. I always knew this moment would come, but now that it's here, I feel as if my entire body is vibrating, almost shimmering with new strength.

Having drunk so much of Kerry's blood, it's kind of hard to know what to do next. The meat of her body is of little use, and I've got no interest in becoming a full-on cannibal. I can just about feel her heart still beating, and I know I have to finish her off somehow, so eventually I lean down and begin to suck as hard as possible on the wound at her neck. After a few minutes, I start biting away chunks of flesh and spitting them out onto the floor, and I keep glancing at her eyes and seeing that she's still not dead. Eventually, however, I notice something else. She seems to be looking at something that's behind my shoulder. I guess she's probably reached some kind of religious peak, which seems strangely fitting for such a fucking bitch. Whatever she thinks she can see, I hope it brings her no peace at all. In fact, I hope it makes her death even more horrifying. Smiling, I turn and look back into the forest.

When I see him, my chest tightens and my body feels like it's about to turn to stone.

He's standing a few meters away, his features hidden by shadows. There's something about him, however, that's instantly terrifying, as if he carries with him some extra kind of darkness. Most humans, if they came across the sight of a girl having her blood drained in the middle of a forest, would just turn and run. This guy, however, seems to be content to stand and watch, as if he's fascinated by the whole thing. Perhaps my imagination is working overtime, but I can't shake the feeling that somehow this person understands me. After years and years of people thinking that I'm some kind of freak, I suddenly feel as if I'm in the company of someone who recognizes me for what I am. It's almost as if his mind is reaching out to reassure me.

I open my mouth to shout out to him, but I'm not really sure what to say. Looking down at Kerry, I see that her glassy eyes are staring up at the sky. Shaking her gently, I realize that she's dead. For a moment, I'm overcome by the realization that I've actually ended the life of a human. If it hadn't been for me, she'd still be alive, and she wouldn't have this horrific gash on her neck. Most of her blood is in my body now, and all that's left of Kerry is a loose, limp cadaver.

Turning to look back over at the dark figure, I realize that there's something very different about him. It's almost as if I can sense a kind of darkness in his soul. Before I can decide what to do next, however, he starts walking slowly toward me. I take a few steps back, and then I watch as he leans down and takes Kerry's body by the neck, carefully lifting her up to the light as if he's examining her. He twists her first one way and then the other, presumably so he can get a better look at the wound on her neck, and for a moment I wait to see what he might do next. Suddenly, he lets go of her neck and the body slumps to the ground, and I realize that he's staring straight at me.

"Who are you?" I ask, even though I doubt he can hear me over the sound of the rain.

No reply.

"What are you doing here?" I continue. "How did you find me?"

Still, no reply.

"You don't scare me!" I shout, as I instinctively start nibbling on the sleeve of my jacket. Taking a couple of steps back, I feel my feet almost sinking into the wet, muddy forest floor. "You'd better stay back!" I continue. "I'm not what I look like! I can fucking take you down if you come near me! Do you understand? I just fed on a live human! I'm strong! I'm..."

My voice trails off.

Slowly, he tilts his head to one side, the way a dog does when it doesn't understand something.

I take a deep breath, fighting the urge to run. If I run, I'll be showing that I'm weak, and I need to stand my ground.

"Go fuck yourself!" I shout eventually, trying desperately to make sure that he can hear me over the pouring rain. "This is nothing to do with you! Go fuck yourself and leave me alone! This is nothing to do with you!"

No response.

"Fuck!" I yell, before turning and running. I know it's a mistake, but I feel as if I just have to get the hell out of here. It's difficult to move too fast across such a wet and boggy landscape, and I don't even take note of which way I'm going. All I care about right now is that I need to get the hell away from this bastard. I can come back in the morning and find Kerry's body and clean up, and I can get my whole plan back on-track, but at the moment I have to -

Suddenly something grabs me by the collar and yanks me back, sending me flying through the air until I land face-first in the mud. For a couple of frantic seconds, I can't breathe: there's mud in my mouth and up my nose, and I just can't clear it away. Eventually, I manage to spit enough out to create an airway, and I try to crawl away on all-fours, desperately gasping for breath.

Before I can get too far, however, I become aware of movement nearby, and I turn to find the dark figure standing over me. I'm filled with an impression of immense, immovable strength, and I realize with a sense of rising panic that he was easily able to run after me and pull me back. I don't know what the fuck this guy's supposed to be, but I swear he's too strong for me to handle. I just need to get my breath back, try to knock him down, and then run for my life. There's no way some stinking human is gonna bring me down, not when I'm on the verge of glory.

"What are you?" I shout, looking up at him as the rain pours down. "Are you a cop?"

Again, no response.

"Are you..." I pause for a moment. "Are you my master?"

He stares at me.

"I didn't do anything wrong!" I scream, close to tears. "I had to kill her! She was inferior! I needed to prove it! I needed to push up to the next level! You don't fucking understand!" Struggling to my feet, I try to hide the fact that I'm trembling with fear. "I'm something you'll never understand," I continue, trying to sound confident despite the fact that I'm starting to really panic. "If you knew the truth about me, even for a fraction of a second, you'd run screaming!"

For a moment, he doesn't reply. Then, slowly, he leans forward slightly, and I catch sight of his face. His eyes are dark and deep, like mine, and with a hint of calm anger, but what really grabs my attention is his smile. As he starts to open his mouth, I see to my shock that he's got two perfect fangs. For a moment, I try to work out how this is possible: how could I have run into someone else who wants to be like me? It's as if I'm staring at someone or something that's a kind of dark and twisted mirror image. Finally, however, I realize the truth.

"You're..." I start to say, as my mind goes almost completely blank with shock. "You're a... You're..."

I take a step back, but he moves toward me.

"I'm like you," I mutter. "Can't you tell? Look at me!" I bare my fangs, but they must look pathetic compared to his. My mind is racing as I try to work out what's really happening. Is it possible? Have I somehow, in the middle of all this madness, stumbled into the path of a real vampire? Or did he find me? Did he seek me out, having somehow learned of my plans? Perhaps, in some strange way, he recognizes me as a kind of kindred spirit, and he wants to reach out to me and draw me into his world? If that's the case, I'm standing on the brink of a greater victory than I could ever have imagined. He's come to congratulate me and welcome me, to help me rise to the next level. I thought I'd have to do it all by myself, but now I have someone to show me the way. For a brief moment, I'm flooded with relief. It's as if his mind is reaching out and trying to calm my panic.

I'm not alone.

Finally, someone understands me.

"Did you see what I did?" I stammer, staring straight at him, trying to face him down even though he's at least a foot taller than me. "Did you -"

Before I can finish the sentence, he reaches out and grabs my shoulder, before leaning toward me and opening his mouth.

"No!" I shout, trying to push him away. I manage to turn and take a step away, but his hand keeps hold of my shoulder and pulls me back. "Don't touch me!" I scream. "I'm not like them! I'm like you! We're the same! I'm a -"

It's too late.

I feel two long, razor-sharp fangs slice straight into my neck and cut through to the jugular, and as I struggle to get free, I realize that he's drinking my blood. I try everything to get free: I kick at him, I try to elbow him in the chest, I even try to bite his arm. Nothing works. It's as if, despite all the blood I drained from Kerry's body, I'm no stronger than before.

Straining desperately, I start to feel weaker and weaker as my blood flows into him, and after a moment I realize that there's nothing more I can do. My only hope is that in some way this is an initiation into his dark world, and soon he's going to declare that I've truly become a vampire. Perhaps this is how it was always meant to be. Any moment now, I'm going to become a full vampire. I'll feel the power start to spread through my body and finally I'll be reborn.

Suddenly there's a loud ripping noise, as if fabric is being torn, and I feel a sharp pain around my neck. Seconds later, he throws me through the rain and I land on the forest floor. I try to get up, but I can't move at all. Something feels very wrong, and finally I see that the figure has something in its arms. It takes me a moment to realize that he's cradling a headless body and drinking blood directly from the stump of its neck. At first, I assume that it must be Kerry's body, but then I realize that it's wearing my clothes. For a fraction of a second, I can't work out what the hell's happening, and then finally, as my mind begins to fade away, I understand that he ripped my head clean off my shoulders. That's my body in his arms, several meters away, and it's my blood that's flowing into his mouth as he stands in the rain.

I want to scream, to tell him that he's made a terrible mistake, but I can't move at all. I can't even close my eyes. All I can do is watch him feed on my corpse as everything slowly becomes darker and dimmer. The last thing I see, as the life ebbs from my body, is rain falling on my dead eyes.

The Alderman's Dilemma

Prologue

"You realize that none of this is reliable, right?" asked Dr. Pettifer.

"But you found something?" Amanda Carter asked, craning her neck to get a better look at the documents Pettifer had brought with him to the restaurant. She'd been waiting three weeks to get her hands on the files Pettifer had managed to unearth. "Those aren't just for decoration, are they?" she added nervously.

"I found something," Pettifer replied, "although I'm not sure it'll be much use." He paused for a moment. "How's Dr. Marlowe doing? I heard -"

"I think he'll be fine," Amanda replied, trying to cut the question off before Pettifer could demand too much detail. "The fire really hit him hard. He'd poured his heart and soul into that work, and then to see if burned to the ground, the whole thing was too much."

"And the death of his assistant," Pettifer added. "Surely that must have been traumatic?"

Amanda paused. "Sure," she said eventually, with a faint smile, even though she knew that Marlowe hadn't given a damn about the death of Wade Summers. Marlowe was a man who focused only on facts and information, so his only thought on Wade's death was probably that it would be inconvenient to have to find a new assistant so soon. Still, Amanda was fully aware that it would be quite some time before Andrew Marlowe was in a position to hire anyone. For now, Marlowe was holed up in a psychiatric hospital just outside Gloucester, where he was being treated for the after-effects of a nervous breakdown.

"So..." Pettifer paused, clearly uncomfortable with the whole topic. "I pulled all this data together as a favor for you, Amanda, but I don't..." He paused again, trying to make sure that he got the right words out in the right order. "I don't want my name attached to any of this work. I hope you understand that I need to protect my reputation, so I can't be connected to any..." Finally, his voice trailed off; the look in his eyes, however, made it clear that he was deeply unhappy about the whole situation.

"Don't worry," Amanda replied. "Just tell me what you found out."

"There's a lot," Pettifer continued. "It took a while to get into the Bulgarian records, but once I'd gained access, I found a lot of information about this Le Compte family. They were pretty powerful back in the day. Go back a couple of hundred years and they're more or less the top dogs in their part of the world. And then it all kind of came crashing down in the late seventeenth century, and today they're more or less forgotten."

"Forgotten?" Amanda asked. "How can they have fallen so far?"

"They lost everything," Pettifer explained, "including their prestige. I've tracked down a lot of information, but there are still some gaps. The whole mess seems to have centered around two twins, Edgar and Madeleine. By all accounts, they trashed the family's good name in record time and then..." He looked down at the documents. "Well, it's all in here. There were some pretty wild and lurid stories, and for a while the whole thing was one of the biggest scandals in Eastern Europe. Word traveled far."

"You make them sound like rock stars," Amanda pointed out.

"If they'd been alive today, they might have been. Back then, they were just regarded as a pair of trouble-makers, although the end of the story's kind of strange. I'll leave you to read that part for yourself. I just hope you're not gonna fall into that classic trap of seeing two inexplicable pieces of information and assuming that there's some kind of spooky explanation. It's easy to get caught up in that kind of stuff, but most of the time we're better off sticking to the hard course and waiting for a story that's more logical."

"And I can these documents this with me?"

"Of course. But..." He paused again. "It's pretty rum stuff, Amanda. I'd hate for you to get drawn into something that's maybe a little fevered and over the top."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that there's two ways a person can lose their mind. Sometimes it happens quickly, like with Dr. Marlowe. You just topple off the edge of sanity and tumble down into the depths of madness. And other times..." He stared at her, watching as she opened the file. He could tell he was losing her attention already. "Other times it happens slowly," he continued, "and it creeps up before you even notice it. You jump from one idea to the next, and you don't notice that they're slowly getting a little less stable."

"I'll keep that in mind," Amanda replied, "and I appreciate your concern. Really."

"Don't make me regret supplying these documents," Pettifer said nervously, taking a sip from his drink. "If I find out that you've been carted off to join Marlowe in a nuthouse, I'm gonna be mightily pissed off."

He waited for a reply, but none was forthcoming. Amanda was already engrossed in the documents, and in the history of the man whose dead body might just have walked out of a burning building. As she read, a slow smile spread across her lips.

One

Bulgaria, 350 years ago

"Bring her to the water!" shouted Alderman Petrov. "There's no time to waste! Bring the heathen down here!"

Turning, he watched as his two assistants dragged the terrified young woman down from the edge of town. A small crowd was following, keen to see the fate of such a vicious and evil creature, and Alderman Petrov knew full well that the locals would be happy with one result and one result only. Having spread her evil through the town for far too long, the woman had finally gone too far, and her actions had compelled the citizenry to cast her out, along with her brother. For Alderman Petrov, there could be no sweeter duty than to bring the vengeance of the Lord crashing down upon the shoulders of this sweet but unholy maiden.

"We have had more than enough of this evil!" he shouted as the crowd reached him. "We have lived for years with vile monsters in our midst, but we shall tolerate such things no more! Some of us recognized the face of evil when first we beheld such a thing, but for others it took a little longer. We must all look deep into our hearts and see the need for action at such times!"

"Let go of me!" the woman screamed as she was forced onto her knees. Dirty and bloodied after being held for a week in a nearby barn, she had the wild-eyed look of an animal. Tangled, jet-black hair framed her pale face, and her neck and shoulders were covered with dark bruises. Reaching out to grab one of her captors, she scratched a large chunk of flesh away from his arm before the other man struck the side of her head with sufficient force to make her let go. With blood pouring from her mouth, she spat a tooth out onto the ground.

"And still she struggles," Alderman Petrov said calmly, with a faint smile on his face.

"I swear to God," the continued breathlessly, rubbing the spot on the side of her head where she was struck, "you're making a terrible mistake! I'm not a -"

"Silence!" Alderman Petrov shouted, puffing out his chest as much as possible. "You have had your chance to speak, vile serpent!" He turned to the assembled crowd, keen to make sure that they were observing his confrontation with the wicked intruders.

"No, you must be silent!" the woman shouted. "You're leading these people into something they can't possibly understand! You're allowing superstition and fear to rule your lives!" Turning to the assembled crowd, she tried to make a plea to the general populace. "You mustn't listen to this man! He's driven by secrets! He's -"

"Speak when you're spoken to!" Alderman Petrov shouted, just as one of his assistants delivered another blow to the side of the woman's neck, causing her to crumple to the ground. "We will not allow your wicked tongue to work its magic on us," he continued. "We have heard the evil lies that come from your mouth, Ms. Le Compte, and we will no longer let ourselves be lured into your deceit. Those days are over! The people of this town have been tested by God, but finally they have seen the light!"

A murmur of agreement rose from the crowd.

"You know nothing of God," the woman muttered, staring up at Alderman Petrov with angry, fearful eyes, "but he knows all about you. Do you think it pleases him less to know that these wicked acts are committed in his name? Do you think he looks down upon your stupidity and cruelty, and considers you to be worthy children? What kind of God is happy to be worshiped by idiots?"

"You have no right to speak of God with such authority," Alderman Petrov replied. "What are you, anyway? Just a pale whore who spreads lies and pain?" He paused for a moment. "As I hear it, you've opened your legs for half the married men in this town!"

"But not for you," she replied, with a hint of a smile.

"No, Ms. Le Compte," he continued, "I think you are much more than just a whore. I think this whole town now knows that you are a far more dangerous presence. Tell me, did you and your brother once adopt the form of a snake and offer Eve the apple that brought about the downfall of mankind?" There was a murmur of approval from the crowd; they were enjoying the theatricality of the alderman's performance. "Did you laugh at our Lord and Savior when you saw him on the cross?" the alderman roared, to more cheers. "Are you, in fact, the spawn of the Devil?"

Still smiling, the woman shook her head.

"Of course you deny it," Alderman Petrov continued, with a calmer tone. "The Devil has no pride in his handiwork. He seeks only to deceive. He targets ordinary people... good, honest people... and he slips his tongue into their minds and possesses their thoughts. It will take many years for our town to overcome the effects of your presence, but I assure you that we will cast away your vile influence."

"Make your mind up," the woman replied. "Am I the Devil, or am I a monster?"

"You are evil!" Alderman Petrov shouted, removing the wooden stake from a sling that hung over his shoulder. "The whole town has seen the effects of your presence. You flaunt your female form in front of the men and you lure them away from God and into your bosom! You seduce them into your bed and you tempt them with the pleasures of flesh, while your brother works to tease them with other gains. Everyone in this town has witnessed the effect of your vile ambition, and we have sinned by allowing you to remain among our number for so long! Now, at last, we are forcing you from our midst, and we can only hope that God takes heed of our efforts!"

"You're wrong," the woman said. The smile was gone from her face, and her eyes were fixed on the sharpened end of the stake. "Why must you carry out such barbarity in the name of God? Why must you drape yourself in His holiness while killing those who have done nothing? Are you trying to distract from your own sins? For what other reason would such a plain man feel so compelled to cast accusations at innocent people?"

"Silence!" Alderman Petrov shouted. He turned to the crowd and paused for a moment to observe their terrified faces. "I have heard stories about these creatures," he continued. "Stories from afar. There is a name for them. They are vampires. They are an ancient evil, so dark and vile that for the most part they were kept out of the Bible. Fortunately, I have learned how to kill them. It will be a swift and brutal death, but there is no other choice. If there is one man among you, just one, who begs to differ with me and who believes that this creature's life should be spared, you must step forward now or forever keep your thoughts to yourself!"

"Cowards," the woman muttered.

"I know what you are," Alderman Petrov sneered, looking down at her. "You came from abroad and you brought drought and famine in your wake. I have heard stories from nearby villages. Your fame has finally caught up with you, my dear. By day you walk in human form, but by night you haunt our streets and take roost in our nightmares. You're nothing more than a vampire, and if we do not drive you from the town, you and your brother will eventually drain us all of our blood!"

"Kill her!" shouted a voice from the crowd.

"Superstitious idiots," the woman whispered. "You actually believe all this childish nonsense. You hear tales of monsters and you allow your scrunched-up little minds to be manipulated so that you -"

"Your words have no effect upon us," Alderman Petrov replied, interrupting her. "Not now that we see through you. The only thing any of us wishes to hear come from your lips is an acknowledgment of your sinfulness and an honest plea to God. Are you capable of such things, woman, or will you take your sin to the grave? Will you be the first of your kind to repent before the Lord?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, before finally spotting movement nearby. Turning, she saw that a group of men had begun to lead her brother Edgar down from the town.

"Are we to die together?" she asked, before panic and fear finally flooded through her body. "Edgar!" she screamed, trying to get to her feet before being forced back down by Alderman Petrov's assistants. "Edgar, they mean to kill us! Is it not time to fight back? Edgar, you must stop this madness!"

A pale and thin man, with a sickly countenance and an uncertain gait, Edgar showed no sign that he'd even heard his sister's words. Allowing himself to be led to the edge of the river, he knelt obediently, as if he had fully accepted his fate. Bowing his head, he looked like a man who expected to have his life ended at any moment.

"Edgar, you must do something!" the woman shouted, trying once again to get to her feet, but finding herself quickly forced back down. "These men are dangerous fools! He has a stake, and he means to use it against us! He thinks we're vampires!"

"Silence!" Alderman Petrov shouted, using the blunt end of the stake to hit the side of her face. "Hold her up!" he barked, turning to the two jailers who had accompanied them down to the river. "There is no need to delay the moment any longer! After all, we carry out this act not for pleasure, but because it is our duty to atone for all sins that have been committed in our town."

"Edgar!" the woman screamed as she was dragged up by the jailers, who held her in place despite her attempts to get free. "Edgar, they're going to kill us!" the woman continued, trying with all her strength to struggle loose. "Are you going to let this happen? We have to do something! We have to get away! Edgar!"

Still kneeling, Edgar didn't even look over at her. He just stared at the river, watching as the water drifted gently past the small town. It was almost as if his mind was somewhere else entirely, and he clearly had no interest in helping his sister.

"As you die," Alderman Petrov continued, placing the sharp end of the stake against the woman's chest, "I sincerely hope that you are finally able to accept God into your soul. It might very well be too late for you to be forgiven your many sins, but at least you might serve as an example to those whose hearts remain pure." Glancing over at the crowd, he noticed several children with their eyes fixed on the stake. "It is saddening indeed," he said eventually, "that young and pure hearts must see such horrific acts. I only hope that these children, who have the misfortune to witness your wretched form, are able to learn from this example."

"Then why don't you -" the woman started to say.

Before she could finish, however, Alderman Petrov grabbed her shoulder and pulled her closer, while thrusting the stake so deep into her chest that it emerged, bloodied, from her back.

Letting out a gasp, the woman stared straight ahead.

"Feel the force of God's power," Alderman Petrov hissed. "Feel the quality of his mercy."

Her eyes wide open, the woman did not respond. The stake had entered her body and run straight through her heart, and blood was beginning to trickle from one corner of her mouth. She struggled for a moment, but it was too late and all she could do was reach up and desperately try to pull the stake loose.

"Such a pathetic gesture," Alderman Petrov whispered. "The last, desperate act of an evil creature that has finally met its fate."

Stepping back, he couldn't help but smile as he watched the woman fumble with the end of the stake. She staggered forward, before finally turning to the crowd. With a grunt, she ripped the stake from her chest and dropped it to the ground, exposing a clear hole that ran all the way through her torso. Blood poured from the wound as she moved her lips, as if she was trying to say something, and then she dropped to the knees before falling forward and landing face-down on the grass.

Silence fell upon the scene.

"Death shall greet all the Devil's workers," Alderman Petrov said eventually, addressing the hushed crowd. "This foul heathen had the chance to embrace God, but she chose instead to let darkness enter her heart. Any one of us could make the same mistake, and it is only through strength, hard work and unity that we can possibly hope to remain strong."

A few meters away, still on his knees, Edgar Le Compte continued to stare at the water. He had not responded to the death of his sister. In fact, he had not even flinched. It was as if he had long been resigned to this moment, and felt that there was no way to react. He certainly showed no inclination to fight back or try to escape, and he seemed to have accepted his fate with a degree of calm and composure that made some members of the crowd feel a little uneasy. He had not looked at his sister's corpse, or at her murderer.

"And what of this miserable sinner?" Alderman Petrov continued, retrieving the bloodied stake from the ground before walking over to Edgar. "What are we to make of a creature that cannot even muster a sliver of emotion when his own sister is slaughtered before his eyes? Does he not recognize that even though she became a sinner, she must have once been a pure and innocent child? Does he not care that the blood spilled on the grass here today comes from his own sibling?" He walked slowly around Edgar, waiting for some kind of reaction. "Does he not weep for the loss of the one person for whom he should care?"

Showing no sign of any reaction, Edgar continued to stare straight ahead.

"Perhaps the vampire does not care," Alderman Petrov said, stopping directly behind Edgar. "Perhaps, to the vampire, death is just an inconvenience. After all, the world must seem very different to one who has such powers. An ungodly heretic, born of the Devil's mind. Does not this lack of emotion serve to remind us why we should show no care for the life of such a beast? His own sister, a mortal girl drawn into his sickening world, and he cares not for her death. What cold blood must flow through this monster's veins, that he utters not one word of sorrow at her passing." Leaning closer, Alderman Petrov smiled as he admired Edgar's pale skin. "Is that why you desire human blood? For its warmth?"

"Kill him!" a voice called from the crowd. "Don't give him a chance to run!"

"He won't run," Alderman Petrov replied. "God is holding him in place."

Slowly, a smile crept across Edgar's lips.

"You find something amusing?" Alderman Petrov asked. He waited for a response. "This game has gone on long enough," he continued eventually, placing the tip of the stake against Edgar's back. "Rest assured, we shall ensure that your body is never again able to rise from its grave. We know how to make a vampire stay dead, Mr. Le Compte. Your villainy shall not rise from the grave. The line of your evil shall end here."

With that, he forced the stake into Edgar's back until the tip emerged through his chest.

"Scream," Alderman Petrov whispered. "Show your pain."

Still staring straight ahead, Edgar showed no reaction to the stake that had been driven through his heart. There was still a smile on his lips, and his eyes held a dark glare that seemed to already contain a hint of death.

"Worthless sinner," Alderman Petrov continued, slowly twisting the stake. "Had you lived a virtuous life, you would now feel God guiding you through the pain of death. Instead, it is Satan who prepares to welcome you. I'm sure you realize that you will burn for all eternity. Perhaps, finally, you will one day realize that you should never have turned your back on the Lord."

As he finally pulled the stake from Edgar's back, the alderman stepped away and waited for the final moment. After a minute had passed, however, he realized that no blood was flowing from the wound. Turning to look at the crowd, he saw worried looks on the faces of those who had gathered to witness the execution of the two monsters. Although they had faith in God, the people clearly worried that the power of Satan might prove to be too strong.

Realizing that he must take the lead, Alderman Petrov walked around to look at Edgar's face, and he quickly saw that the wretch was dead. He had died on his knees, without buckling or falling, without calling out or bleeding more than a couple of drops.

"Is he dead?" asked a nearby voice from the crowd.

Alderman Petrov nodded, although in truth he was concerned that some kind of trickery might be at play. Finally, removing a knife from around his waist, he approached the body. Without saying a word, he placed the blade against Edgar's neck and began to hack away. It took a few minutes for the job to be finished, but finally, as two other men held the corpse's shoulders, Alderman Petrov tore the head away and dropped it to the ground.

"Can there be any doubt now?" he asked the assembled crowd.

A hush fell upon the crowd. Most of the men stared in shocked awe at the horrific scene, while the women and children looked away.

"Take the bodies," Alderman Petrov said to his assistants. "Ensure that they're buried deep, in unmarked graves on the edge of town. And bind their hands and feet together. The male in particular is a wicked creature, and he might yet try to force his way back into our world. We shall have to remain vigilant."

Turning, he walked past the crowd and made his way toward the town. With the bloodied stake in his hand, he reminded himself that God would surely be pleased that such sinful wretches had been executed. Filled with a sense of his own self-importance, Alderman Petrov finally reached the edge of town and looked back to see that the crowd was slowly following him, while his assistants were carrying the two dead bodies away.

With the sinners having been killed, Alderman Petrov was convinced that the town would soon return to prosperity, and that God would allow the people of the region to once again feel the warmth of his love. His only concern was that the graves would not hold such vile bodies, although he felt that God would surely help to press down the soil.

Two

"Was he really a vampire, father?" asked the young girl as she gathered plates from the table. "I mean... do such things exist?"

"It pains me that you even ask such a question," Alderman Petrov replied, glancing with disdain at his youngest child. "Have I not taught you that evil dwells in many parts of the world, and shows its faces in many forms?"

"But why would God create such monstrosities?" the girl continued. "The Bible makes no mention of these creatures."

"Such passages have been excised," Alderman Petrov explained. "The story of Lilith was deemed too horrific to be relayed to honest men and women, but the book of Genesis once explained with great clarity how Lilith seduced Adam before becoming the queen of all those who have taken on demonic form. You should be glad that the Bible has had such dark secrets removed, else the whole world would remain in permanent and rapt fear. These dark creatures have been driven back to the shadows, but they still exist and only our faith will prevent them from returning."

"Yes, father," the girl replied, carefully taking the plates out of the room.

"You mustn't scare the child," Alderman Petrov's wife said after a moment. "She's very impressionable."

"I don't mean to scare her," he replied, "but I do mean to make her aware of the dangers that exist in the world. It's all very well for us to sit and claim that vampires don't exist, but such ideas will not help us when the creatures are climbing through our windows. You saw the famine that came to our land when those two wretches came to the town. Edgar Le Compte was no ordinary man. He was a creature of the night, and he possessed his sister's undying loyalty. We have done the world a great service by cutting short their miserable lives."

"But did it have to be in such a violent manner?" his wife asked. "It seems most distasteful to hack the head from a man's shoulders."

"He was no man," Alderman Petrov replied darkly. "He was a beast."

"But still -"

"I'm afraid there is no other way to deal with such vile creatures. They cannot be killed by normal means, but they can be cut down and buried in such a way as to prevent them ever returning. Even if Edgar Le Compte is not entirely dead, he shall never be able to trouble us again. With his head removed, the vampire can cause no further harm."

"And you're sure of that?"

Alderman Petrov nodded. "I have studied texts, Sarah, and I have heard tales from other towns. I know of these creatures, and I know their weaknesses. There have been others in the world, and there will perhaps be others again. They are powerful, but it is God's will that they must be destroyed. And that is precisely what I have done today. I have obeyed the Lord." He paused for a moment. "Someone had to step up, my dear," he added eventually, with a hint of pride. "I saw no other man in the town show signs of the necessary strength and faith. We must all be thankful that I knew how to deal with the vampire threat."

Smiling politely, his wife rose and left the table, just as the daughter returned.

"Are you sure they can't rise again?" his daughter asked after a moment, loitering in the doorway. "If they're stronger -"

"Put such thoughts from your mind!" Alderman Petrov replied quickly, raising his voice a little. "Edgar Le Compte cannot act against the will of God. Precautions have been taken to ensure that there is no way he is able to return to our world, while his sister was a mere human and thus has passed on to meet her fate in the next world. As we speak, Madeleine Le Compte is burning in the fires of Hell. Does that not make you feel a little better, my dear?"

"Very good, father," the girl said. "Would it be okay if I go and play outside?"

"Not tonight. It's clear that you need to study the Bible more closely. No good can come of constantly playing childish games. Instead, you must work to improve your mind. Go to your room and I shall come through shortly and set you some instructions for the evening. No daughter of mine shall waste her time playing foolish games when there is important work to be done." He paused for a moment, recognizing the disappointment in his daughter's face. "You'll thank me one day, my dear. When your mind is strong and your love of God is unbending, you'll understand that I have always had your best interests at heart."

There was an awkward pause, and although Alderman Petrov was waiting patiently for his daughter to leave the room, the girl seemed reluctant to depart.

"Is something else troubling you?" Alderman Petrov asked impatiently.

"No, father," she replied, "it's just..."

"Go on, child."

"You'll think me foolish, but... I'm frightened, father."

"Frightened?" Alderman Petrov replied, raising an eyebrow. "Of what?"

The girl turned and looked over at the window.

"Of the vampire and his sister?" Alderman Petrov continued. "My dear, you must have more faith in your father. Have I not already explained that the pair of them are dead?"

"Yes, father, but... Are you sure that you can kill them? I mean, if he's a vampire, surely he has..." She paused for a moment. "Well, doesn't he have powers that might be greater than..."

Alderman Petrov waited for her to finish the sentence, although he knew deep down that she probably had more sense than to question her father's abilities too closely.

"I'm sorry, father," the girl said eventually. "I don't know what came over me."

"I am the senior figure in this town," Alderman Petrov replied. "I have held my position for more than twenty years, and I have learned more than a little about how to deal with dangers. Do you honestly believe, child, that I would tell the people of this town that they can sleep securely, if I was not absolutely certain that those beasts had been slaughtered?"

"No, father."

"And do you think that a lowly beast, a child of Satan, would be able to trick me?"

"No, father."

"And do you suspect that I might be some kind of pompous fool?"

She shook her head.

"Then surely your worries are groundless," he continued. "I am telling you, child, that I have banished the danger from this town. Almost single-handedly, in fact. You won't be seeing such creatures around here again. I did what was necessary, and although I certainly did not enjoy slaughtering Edgar Le Compte and his sister, I stepped up and did what needed to be done, at a time when no-one else was willing. Does that not tell you a little, my dear child, about the nature of your father and his mettle?"

"Yes, father," the girl said. "Might I go now? I should like to begin my evening's work."

Alderman Petrov nodded and watched as his daughter hurried through to the far end of the house. Although he was a little disappointed that the girl lacked faith in his abilities, he was aware that she was still very much a child. She would learn, though, and one day she would understand the true nature of evil. Alderman Petrov was firmly of the opinion that he was the most powerful man in the town, and he felt that all the citizens would recognize his strength now that he had dispatched the vampire. More than ever, he felt truly secure in his position.

Taking a deep breath, Alderman Petrov sat back and reflected upon the day's events. The town had been saved from the scourge of a vampire and his vile sister, and now the healing process could begin. There was hard work ahead, but Alderman Petrov was convinced that with faith and discipline, God's favor would return and provide bounties for everyone. In fact, he was quite certain that one day he would be hailed as the man who had brought peace and sanity back to the town by ridding it of the cursed vampire. God had surely been watching on this fine day, Alderman Petrov reminded himself, and order had been restored.

Three

"Alright!" Alderman Petrov shouted, struggling to get dressed as he made his way to the door. It was well past midnight, and he had been fast asleep until some lunatic had begun hammering on the front of the house and demanding his attention. He was used to such interruptions, of course, since he was widely considered to be the leader of the local community. Still, after the day's exertions, he'd been hoping for a full night's sleep. "I'm coming!" he called out as he slid the latch across and pulled the door open. "What do you -"

He stopped speaking as soon as he saw the panicked face of the innkeeper.

"What's come over you, man?" he asked, peering out into the dark street. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"The graves!" the innkeeper said, grabbing Alderman Petrov by the shoulder and pulling him outside. "The graves have been disturbed!"

"Which graves?" Alderman Petrov snapped back at him, pulling himself free. Before he could get an answer, however, he realized exactly which graves must be the cause of the commotion. A feeling of dread began to spread through his body as he thought of Edgar Le Compte's hands reaching up through the soil. "What exactly has happened?" he asked, beginning to fear that the vampire must have found a way to rise from the darkness.

"There are two empty graves," the innkeeper gabbled, "and strange noises. Laughter. I swear to the Lord, there's something devilish happening in town tonight! I thought you said you knew how to stop them!"

"I do!" Alderman Petrov replied.

"Then why is he back?" the innkeeper shouted. "Why is he out of his grave? And why has he pulled up the body of his sister?"

"It's impossible," Alderman Petrov stammered. "I consulted widely. I read texts. We removed his head. There's simply no way he could possibly have risen!"

"And yet he has risen," the innkeeper replied. "I assure you, he has climbed out of that grave, and even now he's probably determined to gain his revenge. None of us can be safe tonight, not with an angry vampire roaming the land."

"I removed his head!" Alderman Petrov shouted, becoming increasingly angry.

"Father?" asked a nearby voice.

Looking back into the house, Alderman Petrov saw that his daughter had come to the bottom of the stairs.

"Go back to bed," he said firmly.

"But you -"

"Go back to bed!" he shouted, causing his daughter to immediately turn and run back up the stairs.

"You'll have to come and see for yourself," the innkeeper continued. "There's no-one in this whole town who'd do something like this for a joke. Everyone's too scared."

"Nonsense," Alderman Petrov replied. "Someone is merely playing a disgusting, deceitful and ungodly practical joke. When we find out who is responsible, they must be driven from this town and prevented from ever returning. This is..." His voice trailed off as he thought of the possibilities. While there was certainly a chance that some local fool was using recent events in order to strike fear into the hearts of the residents, Alderman Petrov was also very much aware that Edgar Le Compte might be capable of raising himself from the dead. Although he'd hoped that decapitation would be enough to prevent Le Compte from returning, he was now starting to realize that he had perhaps underestimated the vampire. Was it possible? Deep in his grave, had Le Compte reached down, taken his head from between his legs, and placed it back on his shoulders?

After pulling his door shut, Alderman Petrov agreed to accompany the innkeeper to the site just outside town where the bodies had been buried earlier in the day. The streets were mostly empty, although once or twice an anguished face peered out from behind a pair of curtains, and it quickly became clear that news of the incident was beginning to spread. The town, which had thought itself finally free of this nightmare, was suddenly finding itself dragged back into the darkness. Everyone was looking to the alderman to find a solution.

"You should have buried the head far from the body," the innkeeper muttered as they made their way through the streets.

"A body must be buried whole!" Alderman Petrov replied firmly. "It is ungodly to take a man and bury him in two graves."

"Still," the innkeeper continued, "there are surely times when God would understand our need to be more certain. This creature, whatever he is, stands for everything evil and vile in the world. Surely we could have begged for God's understanding if we'd simply placed the head far away."

"We will not be swayed from God's work," the alderman said. "That is most certainly not the way to deal with the threat of this vampire. Instead, we must show our faith, and we must trust in God to watch over us. He won't let us suffer. He'll see that we're good people, and he'll -"

"There!" the innkeeper shouted as they reached the clearing at the edge of the forest. "Two graves, dug up and their contents removed! Do you see? The bodies have been stolen. Tell me, who would do that? Who would willingly bring Le Compte and his wretched sister back into the world?"

Stepping forward, Alderman Petrov saw that it was true. Both graves had been emptied, but the soil had not been cleanly dug up; rather, it was as if some force had torn itself from the ground. Although he desperately tried to think of an alternative explanation, Alderman Petrov was forced to acknowledge that the body of Edgar Le Compte must have forced its way out from its resting place.

"We must gather as many men as possible," the alderman said darkly. "We must prepare a force, and we must set out after this vile creature. I'm quite certain that he won't go far, not if he wants to gain his revenge on this town. We must ensure that he learns the full extent of our determination to end his evil. We'll form a perimeter, and we'll find his trail and then we'll track him. He's probably hiding while his wounds heal. We'll follow him night and day until we catch him, and then we'll finish him off. He might have escaped from one grave, but I'll make damn sure he can't escape from another."

"Could we not just let him go?" the innkeeper asked. "If he means to leave these parts, and if he has taken his vile sister's body with him, should we not just be thankful to the Lord for removing this unwelcome influence? By going after him, would we not risk luring him back?"

"This is a test," Alderman Petrov replied, trying to ensure that his voice betrayed none of the doubt in his heart. "The Lord knows that we were negligent in allowing those beasts to remain in our community for so long, and now we're being forced to show that we truly understand the need to face Satan and destroy his demons. If we retreat from this challenge, we will surely be cast into the fires of Hell! Do you not understand that God is testing us? If we are not to rise up and confront the evil, how else would you have us respond?"

"What exactly did you do to my brother?" asked a nearby voice suddenly.

Turning, Alderman Petrov saw to his horror that a familiar female figure was sitting on a nearby wall, bathed in pale blue moonlight as she held Edgar Le Compte's head in her hands. Her clothes were torn open, revealing her plentiful cleavage, and there was a large, bloody stain on her chest where the stake had earlier been driven into her body; in all other respects, however, she seemed to be perfectly fit and healthy. In fact, she had a conspicuous smile on her face, as if she was amused by the whole scene.

"I've never seen him look so peaky," Madeleine Le Compte continued, holding the head up for closer inspection. There was a curious smile on her face, as if she was fully aware of the shock that her appearance was engendering. "Honestly, he's not himself when he doesn't have his body. Still, he's rather quiet at the moment, which I definitely like. I do hate it when poor Edgar starts blathering on and on all the time. I'm sure he'll have a lot to say when he eventually gets things connected again, but for now he's having a nap. Isn't that useful? Peace and quiet!"

"Stand your ground!" the alderman called out as the innkeeper turned and ran, but it was too late and he had already been left alone with the vile beast.

"I've got to admit," Madeleine said, jumping down from the wall, "you might have done me a favor." Still holding Edgar's head, she walked slowly toward the alderman. "Our game had been getting rather stale, and I felt that Edgar and I were starting to repeat ourselves. This little stunt, though, has really given me some new ideas. I mean, there's no way I'd want to actually stop the game. God, no, life would be so boring. But I'm thinking that maybe it'd be useful if Edgar was kept occupied for a while." Smiling, she exposed two sharp fangs. "You can see my point, can't you?"

"Get back!" Alderman Petrov shouted, raising his hands and making the sign of the cross. "By the word of the Lord God Himself, and by the strength of my faith and my duty to my creator, I warn you that you cannot step on hallowed ground!"

"Can't I?" Madeleine replied, taking another step forward. "Funny, I'm not feeling any ill effects. So far, everything seems normal. Is this hallowed ground right now? It's always so hard to keep track. You humans have a tendency to use the most ridiculous names for everything. Tell me, how are the rest of us supposed to keep track?" She paused for a moment. "That was a serious question, by the way. Humans make the world so confusing, always drawing lines in the land and saying that things are different on each side of the line, and..." She paused for a moment. "I'm talking too much, aren't I?" she added eventually. "Here, catch!" With no further warning, she tossed Edgar's head at Alderman Petrov, who instinctively tried to catch it before fumbling and letting it fall to the ground.

The head landed by his feet and rolled a few meters.

"Don't worry," Madeleine continued. "He'll be fine. I'm sure he won't remember any of this when he wakes up. Speaking of which, I should probably get on with reviving him. After all, we have plenty to be doing and it's a little mean of me to leave him suffering like this. Then again..." She smiled. "You know what's funny? When my brother wakes up angry... I swear to God, he gets all filled with rage and he starts acting so violently! He's always been the hot-headed member of the family, though. As far back as I can remember, Edgar's been a problem child. We quite enjoyed your little charade earlier, down by the river, but I think it's time to take a stand. Believe me, if you think I'm difficult to handle, wait until you see what Edgar can be like. I've known men to drop dead at the mere thought of his fury."

Staring at the dismembered head, Alderman Petrov tried to work out what to do. He was rooted to the spot, possessed by a terrible, paralyzing fear that made him feel as if there was no point even trying to run. All he could think about was the fact that he was facing one of the least holy creatures that had ever existed. In his eyes, Madeleine dripped with pure, unadulterated and unfiltered evil. Although he'd long suspected that Edgar Le Compte was a vampire, the alderman had been quite certain that Madeleine was a normal human, albeit one who had been led astray. To find Madeleine out of her grave like this, smiling despite the horrific wound to her chest, was quite possibly the most shocking moment of the alderman's life. He wanted to turn and run, but he felt that God - and the people of the town - demanded that he make a stand.

"I guess I should probably still be mad at you," Madeleine continued, fixing him with an unforgiving gaze. "After all, that little stunt with the stake wasn't exactly painless, you know. Have you got any idea how much it hurt to have a wooden spike rammed through my chest? You're a good aim. You got my heart. I felt that spike ripping through my meat, and I've still got a few splinters, even in the parts that have pretty much already healed. Perhaps I should do the same to you some time? Would you like that? Would you like to know how it feels to be staked? I could even arrange to have a baying mob watching, so you can get the full experience."

"Dear Lord," Alderman Petrov muttered, determined to stand his ground, "your humble servant begs you to deliver us from this evil. We are good people, even though we struggle with our duties, and we ask you to recognize our continued efforts to demonstrate our faith. We seek constantly to root out the evil in our midst, but dark forces are conspiring against us."

After watching for a moment, Madeleine let out a laugh.

"Silence!" Alderman Petrov shouted.

"Watch out," Madeleine replied, unable to stop grinning, "at your age, you're liable to bust a gut." Suddenly, with no warning at all, her smile vanished completely and was replaced by a deathly stare. "So," Madeleine continued, her tone of voice suddenly seeming noticeably darker and more serious, "here's an important question. Do you want to make a deal? 'Cause if you do, I've got something to offer."

"I will take nothing from a minion of Satan!" the alderman roared.

"Pity," Madeleine said quietly. "It seems to me that we each want something, and we could help one another. Besides, I feel a little guilty for the way Edgar and I drew you into another of our little games. Sometimes, I think we can be quite immature when we're together. I suppose that's another reason why the pair of us should spend some time apart. Incidentally, that's where you come into the equation."

"Dear Lord," Alderman Petrov said quietly, looking to the dark sky, "I beseech thee to deliver me from the vile temptations of this serpent, and to help me gather the strength I need if I am to remain true to the faith of my one true master. Banish this foul demon, this villainous temptress. Burn her in flames wrought of her own poison." Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited for a sign from God that his prayers had been answered.

Just one sign would be enough.

Anything.

Just one little word.

"Cute," Madeleine whispered into his ear.

"Get away from me!" Alderman Petrov shouted, stepping back. Having not heard Madeleine approach while he was praying, he managed to trip over a rock and land hard against the ground.

"I've seen men like you before," Madeleine continued with a weary tone, standing over him. "I know what you really want. You want power. You want all the people of this town to look up to you and regard you as their savior. That's why you were so keen to kill Edgar and me earlier, and it's why you had to have that big crowd standing around. You want the crowd to roar for you, but there's a problem. I seem to be alive again, which means that your grandstanding from earlier suddenly looks rather foolish. How do you think the locals would feel if I walked right back into town? How would your precious daughter feel if she learned that her father's brave words had come to nothing? You told her she was safe. She believed you, because she loves and trusts her father. Do you want me to go and break her heart?"

"The Lord will guide me," Alderman Petrov spluttered. "The Lord will recognize my faith and show me the way -"

"What if there was a better way?" Madeleine replied with a smile. "A more complicated way. I have a dilemma for you. What if you could make the greatest sacrifice any Christian man could possibly make? What if there was a way to prove to God that you're his most dedicated servant?" She paused for a moment. "You're interested now, aren't you? Let me explain. You want to rid this town of vampires. Not gonna happen, at least not without my help. You can stuff bricks in our mouths and lop our heads off and all that crazy stuff, but you're just wasting your time. Here's the thing, though. I'm willing to walk away voluntarily and never, ever come back. You can tell the locals anything you like. Tell them you killed me. Tell them I was driven away by the naked power of your faith. Whatever, I don't care. Just tell them something that makes you sound like a big, tough man. Tell them something that makes them feel safe. I swear, I'll never come within a hundred miles of this place again."

"And what do you want in return?" Alderman Petrov asked, filled with terror.

"Bury my brother," she said. "Do it ceremonially. I'll tell you how. I'll teach you the real trick to taking a vampire down and making sure he stays buried. There's only one way. Once I've done that, you'll know how to deal with any more of my kind who come to your village. Real knowledge. Real power. Isn't that tempting?"

"You want me to kill your brother?" Alderman Petrov replied, horrified that Madeleine could be so cold-hearted.

"Not kill him," she replied with a smile. "You can't possibly do that, and even if you could, it's not what I want. But you can incapacitate him. He and I have been playing a game, you see, but I'm tired. I could use a century or two off, to really kick back. Unfortunately, the ritual doesn't work when one vampire performs it on another. I need help. So I'll show you how to bury him properly, and that way you'll know he's safely stored underground. You won't hear a squeak from him. Of course, one day, maybe hundreds of years in the future, some idiot's gonna come along and dig him up. You'll be long gone by then, so I'll be the one who has to deal with his bad mood. Still, I'm pretty sure this is a good plan. I get to be free of my brother for a while, and you get to be known as the man who spared this town from the curse of two vampires."

The alderman stared at her. The deal made sense, in a twisted kind of way, even if he hated the idea of entering into an arrangement with such a creature.

"Think about it," she continued. "Think of their praise. Think of how they'll venerate and praise you."

"And what if I refuse?" he asked eventually.

"I'll shred you," she replied with a sneer. "And then I'll go into town and I'll shred your family, and I'll kill all the children, and everyone'll know that you failed." She paused for a moment. "I know you probably don't want to work with me, but try to look at it from a different perspective. You'll be making a sacrifice, in order to save the lives of all the children in the village. And I'll be getting some much-needed respite from my brother's constant whining. So, do we have a deal, or not?"

"You are a creature of Satan," Alderman Petrov spat at her. "You are a servant of pure evil."

"Totally, but do we have a deal?"

"As God is my witness," he continued, "I would smite you down."

"You've tried smiting me. You're not very good at it. At least if we go with my plan, I won't have to go and kill all those precious little children. You know there's no other way to stop me. It's not a bad bargain, all things considered."

"May the Lord have mercy on our souls," Alderman Petrov said, closing his eyes and hoping against hope that God might tell him what to do.

"Come on, make up your own mind," Madeleine continued. "It's a good deal. The children get to live, you get to be a hero, and I get to be free from my brother for a while. The only reason not to do this is if you're unable to sacrifice your holiness. Can you allow yourself to sin, in order that everyone else might live happily? Can you enter into a sinful pact with me, and sacrifice your soul, in order to save so many others from pain and misery? Can you make the ultimate sacrifice of a good and god-fearing man, or will you refuse to surrender your good soul and, instead, let this whole town burn?" She paused for a moment, and then she leaned much closer to his face. "Do we have a deal," she asked slowly, "or not?"

Four

"It is just as I thought," Alderman Petrov said as he peered closely at Edgar Le Compte's dead body, which rested in a makeshift coffin. "The creature shows signs of regrowth. He is both stronger and more evil than even I could have contemplated, but fortunately there are further measures we can take in order to prevent his return."

Turning to look across at the gathered crowd, the alderman saw that they were all watching with rapt attention. Truly, it was as if they hung on his every word, and it was clear that many of them were absolutely terrified. They had come to witness the final burial of the dreaded creature that had tormented them for so long. As far as they were concerned, Edgar had begun to show signs of returning to life, while his sister Madeleine remained dead in her grave. They waited patiently for the alderman to perform his usual heroics and save their town.

They were not to be disappointed. Not today.

"Bring me the ceremonial brick," the alderman said calmly to one of his deputies.

As the deputy approached, and as the crowd watched with hushed concern, the alderman took hold of Edgar's face and forced his jaw open to reveal a pair of sharp fangs. Staring straight into the mouth of the vampire, Alderman Petrov was momentarily stunned by such a horrific sight. He felt as if he was face to face with one of the Devil's own, and he had to summon every last ounce of courage in order to keep from dropping to his knees and begging for God's intervention.

"Place the brick between the beast's jaws," he said, stepping back and waiting as his deputy inserted the brick as best he could. The beast's mouth was too small, of course, for the brick to really go all the way inside, and the deputy eventually stood back and waited to see what would happen next.

"Sometimes," the alderman said, taking a hammer from the ground, "we must do things that seem so horrific, we wonder why God puts us to such tests. Nevertheless, on this occasion, I feel the spirit of the Lord moving through my body." Raising the hammer, he paused for a moment before finally swinging it down, driving the brick so deep into Edgar's mouth that the foul creature's jaw was cracked open.

"This beast shall not rise!" the alderman shouted, slamming the hammer against the brick once again. This time, to his shock, he saw that Edgar's eyes flicked open. Without a moment's hesitation, the alderman continued to hammer the brick into the vampire's mouth until, finally, it was firmly ensconced. The beast's jaw had been shattered, and blood trickled from the sides of his head. It was by far the most hideous vision that the alderman had ever seen.

"Next, we must place the head between the creature's legs," the alderman said, reaching into the coffin and taking hold of the head before moving it down to a spot just below the knees. "This will ensure that even if the beast is able to regain consciousness, there will be no way for it to reattach its mind to its body," he explained. "Finally, we shall fill the space with herbs that deter the creature from waking. Garlic and rosemary, primarily, but also a little bergamot and Rose of Hay."

Standing back, he watched as a group of women hurried forward and threw a collection of herbs into the coffin. It seemed to be such a futile gesture, yet the alderman had been assured by Madeleine Le Compte that this precise ritual would indeed deter Edgar from climbing back out of his coffin. Although Edgar's body was now mutilated to the point where it was almost unrecognizable, and although it pained the alderman to have these women see such a gruesome sight, these were still prices worth paying if they meant that the town would be forever free of the vampire curse.

"Enough!" the alderman shouted, causing the women to scurry back to the crowd. Stepping back over to the coffin, the alderman looked down one final time at Edgar's corpse. "You will terrorize us no more," he said quietly, "and this town will be free again. Our crops will grow and our children shall be raised free of fear. Never again shall your kind run amok in our community, and never again shall we look to the heavens and wonder why the Lord has forsaken us. We have driven evil from this land, and in doing so we have proven ourselves to God."

Once the ceremony was over and the deputies had sealed the coffin, Alderman Petrov made his way solemnly to his wife and daughter, who were waiting at the edge of the crowd. Many of the locals had decided to stay and watch the coffin being buried, but the alderman chose to steer his family away from the scene. He knew that there was no way for Edgar Le Compte to return from the grave, although he was not able to explain to anyone else how he knew. Still, he trusted Madeleine Le Compte. Although she was a godless creature, he felt that she would honor that bargain that had been struck. And while he felt certain that one day, some idiot would end up exhuming Edgar's grave and bringing the beast back to life, he knew that such a day would not come for many, many years.

Glancing over at the horizon, he saw a figure watching from afar. Moments later, Madeleine Le Compte turned and walked away, leaving her brother - and the town - far behind.

"Everyone says you're a hero, father," said his daughter, staring at him with wide-eyed wonder. "They say there might be a ceremony held every year to honor your fight against evil!"

"Oh, I'm not a hero," he replied, putting an arm around her shoulder and leading her back toward their house. "I'm just a man of God who was fortunate to have the strength required to do face down the beast." The alderman knew that he would burn in Hell for having agreed to make a pact with Madeleine. He also knew that, by sacrificing his soul, he had ensured that his family, and the town, would be spared from any more visits by the vampires. While he could tell no-one of this pact, he was at least able to console himself by looking down at his daughter's carefree smile and knowing that he had saved her, and all like her, from any further torment.

Dark Voyage

One

"Dear Lord," Saffron whispered, with his eyes closed and his hands clasped together. "I beseech you to watch over your children and deliver us from this tempest. Guide us safely to shore, Lord, that we might humbly carry out our work and..."

He paused for a moment.

"That we might humbly carry out our work," he continued hesitantly, "and that we might, um... That we might..."

He paused again.

"Oh, fuck it," he muttered, opening his eyes. "Fuck everything."

Seconds later, the boat hit ploughed head-on into another huge wave, pitching first one way and then the other. High up at the very top of the vessel, perched in a bare metal lookout tower, Saffron was sent slamming into the railings. The chain around his waist was pulled tight for a moment, before Saffron grabbed hold of the handrail and steadied himself. When it came to a choice between God or a sturdy railing, Saffron chose the railing every time.

He looked up at the dark and stormy sky. The thick black clouds were so close, Saffron was convinced he could almost touch them if he reached up.

It was getting late, well past midnight, and Saffron had definitely pulled the short straw again. Although the Demeter V was equipped with a couple of rudimentary radar systems, the boat was basically an old Soviet-era tug that had been dragged back into service and given little more than a quick spit and polish. Most of the crew felt that the damn thing was liable to break in two at any moment, and that was before they came upon the worst storm Saffron had ever encountered. The captain, a Swede by the name of Mathias Efferson, had decided that someone needed to keep watch from the lookout tower. It seemed like an archaic practice, but Saffron was just a lowly engineer and therefore couldn't really argue. Tonight, it was Saffron's turn to be up on lookout, so there he was, chained to the railings as he sat up high in the rain.

Below him in the darkness, picked out by a few lights that still shone in the driving rain, the huge deck of the Demeter V was decorated with large shipping containers bound for port in Albania. In the distance, the stormy horizon betrayed the curve of the planet.

"Shoulda stayed home," Saffron muttered, as the boat briefly tipped toward the starboard side before righting itself. Even the slightest of pitches down at deck-level resulted in the top of the boat swinging wildly through the rain, and Saffron couldn't help but grab the railing, just in case the chain should slip and send him plummeting down to the deck below. Railing before God, every time.

After a moment, his radio crackled into life.

"Bridge to Saffron," said a static-filled voice. "Checking in. All good up there? Copy."

"All good," Saffron replied with a sigh, as rain ran down his face. "As good as it's gonna get, anyway. But did we slow down a while ago?"

"We've got a problem with the breach pump," the voice said wearily. "I'm going down to check it in a minute, but we're probably gonna have to take a slower pace until we get to port. We might have to add a day and a half to the journey time."

"Figures. Do we get paid more?"

"You know the answer to that question."

Saffron sighed.

"Someone'll be up to relieve you at 6am," the voice added. "Try not to get washed overboard until then, okay?"

"I'll try," Saffron said, giving the chain a quick yank just to make sure he was still firmly attached to the railing. "If I go down, though, you'll know soon enough. It'll mean the whole fucking boat's underwater."

"Over," barked the voice, before the radio fell silent.

"Over," Saffron muttered, setting the radio back in his pocket just as a huge wave rocked the boat. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed the handrail, just as the force of the impact unseated him and sent him sprawling toward the edge of the steps. The chain rain taut for a moment, and Saffron was easily able to get himself back in position. "Nice try," he muttered darkly, looking up at the stormy sky.

Glancing down at the port cargo deck, Saffron frowned as he noticed something moving between two of the shipping containers. Knowing that only a madman would venture up on deck in this kind of weather, he narrowed his eyes a little, hoping to see better. Sure enough, he realized there was definitely a dark silhouette moving across the deck, but the figure quickly disappeared behind one of the containers.

"Hey!" Saffron called out, but he knew there was no way anyone would be able to hear him above the storm. He reached down for his radio, figuring he should probably check with the bridge, but finally he decided it was probably nothing. Considering how tired he was feeling, he couldn't discount the possibility that he was imagining things. Anyway, even if there was someone, he reckoned it wasn't any of his business. If Efferson or one of the others felt like going for a suicidal stroll across the deck in the middle of a force nine gale, that was their problem, not his.

As the boat was rocked by yet another wave, Saffron looked up again at the stormy sky. There was no God up there, of that he was sure. There were just dark clouds, twisting and curling into one another as they sent down wave upon wave of torrential rain. At least the lightning seemed far away. Saffron wouldn't be surprised, though, if it came directly over the boat. The way this night was going, a lightning strike seemed just about par for the course. If he were a god-fearing man, he'd have asked the Lord for forgiveness for his many sins, but all he could do in the circumstances was hope for the best.

"I'll be alright," he muttered, as the boat pitched again. "I don't need no stupid God to get me through a storm."

Two

"Jesus Christ, it's worse than I imagined"

Ducking down as he entered the engine room, Efferson shone a torch through the darkness of the boat's innards. He'd never seen such a rundown vessel. There was rust everywhere, along with a disturbing stink of motor oil mixed with rat droppings. It was, by far, the most disgusting place Efferson had ever stood, and he would have been worried standing in this neglected old hulk in the safety of a harbor, let alone out at sea in force nine winds. Beneath his feet, the vessel's floor let out an ominous groan as the Demeter V was rocked by yet another wave. Efferson couldn't help but wonder if the whole damn vessel might break apart at any moment.

"I know, I know," said Claremont, pushing past him. "You think it was my idea to come to sea in this shit-heap? You think I didn't tell 'em it was dangerous?"

"Let me guess," Efferson said, holding onto the bulkhead as the boat was tossed yet again. "The guy who declared this thing to be seaworthy was some inexperienced little idiot who's never been to sea in his life?"

"The guy's probably sitting in some office in Southampton as we speak," Claremont replied with a resigned sigh, "checking his watch and wondering why we're taking so long to get the cargo to Durres. He probably thinks we're slacking off on some beach somewhere, having a great time."

"So what's the problem?" Efferson asked, shining the torch up at a series of compression tubes that ran across the low ceiling. Nearby, a set of pistons were making a painful-sounding grinding noise. Whatever was wrong with the boat, it sounded serious and it sounded chronic. "Sounds like the engine's giving up on us. Please tell me the engine isn't giving up on us."

"The engine's giving up on us," Claremont said, grabbing a hammer from around his waist. "There's water in the uptake valve, probably 'cause there was no plate over the inlet. It's illegal to set sail without a plate in place, but of course the company doesn't give a damn about that, does it? All they care about is that we keep costs down. It's not gonna sink us, but it's gonna slow us down. That's why I wanted to get your ass in here. You've gotta see this fucking place. It's like something from the nineteenth fucking century. I know I've got a habit of performing miracles with the guts of these tubs, but there's nothing I can do down here except see if I can keep the damn thing going. If I can't find a way to flush the valve, we're gonna have to go down to doddering speed and hope we make it to port."

As he finished speaking, there was a loud bang somewhere beneath their feet, as if the boat had hit something large and heavy. The sound of the impact reverberated through the metal bulkheads.

"Probably the wreck of the last poor bastards who tried to get through this storm," Claremont said tensely, as he and Efferson exchanged worried glances.

"You'll just have to do the best you can," Efferson replied, shining the torch across the room and shuddering as he saw the banks of archaic machinery. "Jesus, some of this equipment's old Russian stuff, isn't it?"

"If only," Claremont said, having to raise his voice to be heard over a nearby steam piston that was starting to spin loudly. "It's Soviet, at best. Don't ask me where they found this shit-heap. Fucking pile of junk should be in a knacker's yard, not out here trying to carry a load of cargo across the Med, especially not with the forecasts we've been having lately. Only a crew of desperate idiots would ever have accepted such a job."

"Jesus," Efferson replied with a wry smile, shining the torch over at the far corner of the engine room and pausing as he tried to work out what, exactly, he was looking at this time. "What the hell's that?" he asked.

"Oh, that's the best part of the whole fucking thing," Claremont said, walking over to what appeared to be some kind of large black mold in the far corner. "Do you happen to know what this is?" he asked, turning back to Efferson. "Any ideas?"

"Not a clue."

"Me neither." Reaching out, he tapped his knuckles against the solid surface of the mold. "It's like some kind of dry oil. Damn stuff's just frozen to the bulkhead. I tried chipping some of it away, but whatever it is, it's stuck pretty damn fast." Leaning a little closer, he gave the mold a brief lick. "Tastes like cinnamon. What do you reckon that means?"

"It means you're a disgusting old man," Efferson replied, stepping across the room and shining the torch directly at the mold. "Didn't customs have something to say about this when we left Southampton?" he asked as he ran his hand over the hard, smooth surface. "They're always panicking about foreign objects. I'd have thought they'd have a field day about something like this."

"It wasn't there when we left Southampton," Claremont said dourly. "Whatever it is, it's grown during the voyage."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Efferson stared at the strange mold, finding it hard to believe that such a huge mass of matter could have built up in barely a month's time. There were pieces of wire mesh fused into the surface, along with sections of wood and metal, as if other parts of the ship had been used to bulk up the mix. "It's almost like a nest," Efferson said after a moment.

"I was gonna mention it earlier," Claremont replied, "but I've been too busy trying to make sure the goddamn boat doesn't sink. Anyway, it doesn't really matter, does it? A bit of mold's not gonna hurt anyone, and it's not gonna add too much to the weight. It's not even in the way. It's basically the same stuff that mushrooms are made of, right?"

Efferson turned to him.

"Isn't it?" Claremont asked innocently.

"Just don't serve it up for dinner," Efferson said with a sigh. "And see if you can get rid of it. I don't want to spend hours at Durres arguing with some antsy Albanian customs official who thinks we're bringing the Black Death to their country. We have enough trouble with them when we're just transporting spare parts. God forbid that any of those officious bastards catch sight of this stuff. They'll all have heart-attacks, and then they'll stick us in quarantine for a month."

"Yeah, but -"

"Just get rid of it," Efferson said firmly. "Damn thing gives me the creeps."

"And when would you like me to remove this huge piece of mold?" Claremont asks. "Before or after I've fixed the engine and dealt with half a dozen other problems that are bound to crop up before sunrise?" He waited for an answer. "Can you seriously believe they sent us out with just a four-man crew?"

"Just get it done," Efferson said, turning and heading over to the door. "I've got to get back up to the bridge, but I want the engine sorted before anything else breaks. The storm's set for another couple of hours at least, so no-one's getting any time off until we reach port. Got it? We're under-manned as it is, and the last thing I need is to deal with crewmen taking impromptu naps."

Efferson waited for a reply, but all he got from Claremont was a grunt of acknowledgment.

"I'm gonna take that as a sign that you understand," Efferson said bluntly.

Heading out onto the deck, Efferson shielded his eyes from the pouring rain and looked up at the main lookout tower. Sure enough, Saffron was still up there, braving the worst of the weather and keeping an eye on the boat. Smiling as he reflected upon the fact that there was at least someone else who had a worse job than him, Efferson hurried over to the door that led into the main drive-room, from where he planned to make his way up to the bridge. As he did so, however, the boat lurched to one side, almost knocking him off his feet, and when he pulled himself back up, he noted that the drive-room door was already hanging open. He was certain that he'd pushed the door shut a few minutes ago, but he knew there was no way any of the other crew would be out here in the storm. Figuring he must have made a mistake, he headed inside, and this time he made doubly certain that the door was shut behind him.

Three

"That's right," Saffron muttered bitterly as he watched Efferson pulling the door shut. "Get back inside, where it's nice and warm."

With a heavy, hulking groan, the Demeter V crashed into another wave, which sent water crashing across the bow. Reaching out and grabbing the chains that secured him to the mast, Saffron double-checked that he was held in place. If anything, the storm seemed to be getting worse, and he knew he'd never survive a fall from such a great height. Glancing up at the sky, he realized he was probably closer to the clouds than to the deck of the boat.

"Come on," he muttered as the boat creaked yet again. "You can do it. Not much further now."

Four

"Got anything on the radar?" Efferson asked as he walked into the bridge, only to find that the entire compartment was empty.

Walking across the room, he looked around, expecting to find Carlton tinkering with some out-of-the-way piece of equipment. Glancing over at the main control panel, he saw that the boat was under the control of an autopilot.

"Carlton?" he called out, as the storm lashed the windows. Given the strength of the gale outside, Efferson knew that shouting for someone was a forlorn hope. Grabbing his radio, he opened a channel and listened to the static for a moment.

"Bridge to Carlton," he said eventually. "Repeat, this is the bridge calling Carlton. Where the hell are you?"

He waited for a reply, but all he heard was more static.

"Bridge to Carlton," he said again, failing to hide the hint of annoyance in his voice. "Answer your fucking radio or I swear to God, I'll leave you behind at the next port."

Again, there was no reply.

"Bridge to all crew," Efferson said with a sigh, "if anyone's seen Carlton, kindly tell him he's out of a job unless he gets his ass back up here in the next ten seconds." Wandering over to the main computer bank, he checked a couple of readings and saw that somehow, miraculously, the Demeter V was still just about on the right course. "Bridge to all crew," he said again, "can someone -"

"Saffron to bridge," came a sudden reply, breaking through the static. "I haven't seen Carlton, but I thought I saw someone down by some of the containers near the engine room. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Carlton, though. It was too tall. It didn't look like any of you."

"No-one's been near the containers," Efferson snapped back at him. "What are you -"

"Just telling you what I saw," Saffron replied. "I know it's a dark night, but I'm not imagining things. There was someone down there. I figured it could maybe have been you or Claremont at a push, but there's no way it was Carlton." There was a pause. "If anyone had come out of the bridge after you, I'd have seen them. That door stayed shut the whole time."

"Great," Efferson said, "so what you're saying is that in the middle of a storm, some asshole has climbed up the side and decide to stow away? Get real, Saffron. You're no use to me up there if you're not reliable."

"Charming," Saffron replied.

"I'm not trying to be charming," Efferson muttered. "I'm trying to run a fucking boat." Before he could continue with his ruminations, however, there was a loud banging sound, followed by a tremor that shook the entire vessel. "What the hell was that?" Efferson shouted into the radio as he hurried over to the window. Staring out into the darkness, he could barely see a damn thing. Seconds later, a flash of lightning lit up the horizon.

"I didn't see anything," Saffron replied, sounding noticeably less calm than before. "Apart from the lightning. Should I come down?"

"Not yet," Efferson said. "Hold position. Claremont, are you okay down there?"

He waited for a reply, but all he heard was static.

"Claremont!" Efferson shouted. "Are you -"

"What do you want me to do?" Claremont asked suddenly, his voice coming across loud and clear. "Do you want me to fix the engine, or do you want me to clean up the mold, or do you want me to stand around chatting shit all the fucking time on the radio? Seriously, tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it. I'll follow any fucking order you give me, but just stop trying to get me to do a hundred things at once!"

"Keep working on the engine," Efferson said, trying to stay calm. "If either of you see Carlton, tell him to get his ass up to the bridge. I don't care what the hell's dragged him away. He's supposed to be here at all times." Walking through to the rear section of the bridge, he glanced around one final time, just to make sure that there was no sign of anyone else. "I'm not kidding," he added. "Carlton, if you're listening in on this frequency, get your -"

And that's when he saw it.

Over on the other side of the bridge, next to one of the aft windows, there was a patch of blood. Not a lot, but enough to instantly send a shiver down Efferson's spine as he slowly walked over to take a closer look. Smeared across the floor and partially up the wall, there was enough blood to make Efferson immediately realize that something serious had happened.

Setting the radio on a nearby ledge, he knelt next to the patch of blood and then glanced along the corridor. Sure enough, a little further along, there was some more blood, as if something had been dragged away from the bridge. Efferson paused for a moment as the boat tilted slightly, and for a moment it was as if the entire vessel was creaking and groaning. Rain was still driving down and hitting the windows, and lightning was flashing on the horizon. Keeping his eyes fixed on the bloodstain at the far end of the corridor, Efferson tried to work out what, exactly, he should do next. On the one hand, it was clear that Carlton must have hurt himself. On the other hand, it wasn't clear how he could have cut himself so badly.

Either way, Efferson realized he had no option but to go and take a look. After all, Claremont was busy in the engine room and Saffron was up on the top deck. The Demeter V ran with a tight crew of just four men, which was considered by head office to be the optimal number to maintain operational standards while maximizing efficiency. In reality, they were hopelessly undermanned, and Efferson couldn't afford to have one of his men out of action. The computer would handle any necessary course corrections for a few minutes, and given the amount of blood smeared across the wall and floor, it was clear that Carlton might be seriously hurt.

"Hey!" Efferson called out, walking cautiously along the corridor. "You down here, man? You okay?"

When he got to the next blood stain, he stopped and glanced back toward the bridge. For a moment, he considered the possibility that pirates might have managed to get on-board, but he quickly put such a crazy idea to the back of his mind. Pirates didn't operate in these waters, and even if they did, they wouldn't sneak onto the boat like this, especially not in such bad weather. The Demeter V was an old heap of junk, and any self-respecting pirate would turn his nose up at such a dismal haul.

"Hey, Carlton!" Efferson called out. "Come on, man. You down here or what?"

The boat lurched to the starboard side for a moment, forcing Efferson to reach out and hold onto a bulkhead.

"Come on, we don't have time for this!" he shouted. "If you're hurt, we can patch you up. What did you do, anyway? You hit your head or something?"

Silence. The only sound was a deep groan from somewhere far below, as the boat was pitched against yet another wave.

"Fuck this," Efferson muttered, losing patience as he hurried along to the door that led through to the mess. Convinced that he'd find Carlton on one of the benches, either nursing a wound or simply passed out, he was surprised to see nothing more than another patch of blood, this time in the recognizable form of a hand-print. Stepping into the room, Efferson took a look around, wondering what the hell Carlton had been doing. Despite having worked in the merchant navy for more than a decade, Efferson had never experienced anything quite so unusual as a bleeding man who seemed to have completely disappeared.

"Carlton!" he shouted, determined to track the missing man down. "Where -" Before he could finish, however, the boat lurched to the port side, sending Efferson tumbling to the floor and then sliding over to the far wall. As the vessel settled a little, he paused for a moment and waited until he'd got his balance back, and then he stood up and turned to go back out into the corridor.

Stopping dead in his tracks, he saw that there was someone standing in the doorway, watching him. A man, except he seemed somehow bigger and darker than a man; with pale skin, almost paper-white, this strange figure had dark shadows under two dark eyes that stared at Efferson with menacing intent. As the boat continued to pitch and yaw, the figure seemed to have little trouble staying upright, even as Efferson found himself grabbing hold of the bulkhead in order to keep from falling over.

"Who are you?" Efferson shouted at the intruder. "Where the hell did you come from?"

There was no reply. The figure seemed interested only in staring at Efferson with the determined, steely expression of a hunter that had finally cornered its prey.

"How did you get onto this boat?" Efferson asked, starting to panic a little. Having left his radio through in the main part of the bridge, he knew he had no way of contacting the rest of the crew. After a moment, as he saw that the stranger had a patch of blood smeared across his chin, Efferson found himself looking around the mess, hoping against hope that he might find something he could use as a weapon. Spotting an old water-pan on one of the counters, he considered making a move, although he was certain that the figure would try to stop him.

The boat shifted again as a heavy wave smashed into the side, causing the lights to flicker.

"Were you drifting?" Efferson asked. It was a long-shot, but it was the only explanation that many any sense. There was no other way this figure could have come on-board. He certainly hadn't been on the boat when they'd left Southampton; not only had Efferson and his crew completed a full inspection, but customs officials had checked the boat over before giving it permission to set sail. "Did you climb aboard from the storm?" he continued. "If you're hurt, we can give you food and water. Did you see a man somewhere around here? His name's Carlton. He's a member of my crew."

The figure continued to stare darkly at him.

"I can't help you if you won't tell me who you are," Efferson explained, trying to remain calm. "I'm not a mind-reader."

"How much longer?" the figure asked suddenly, his voice sounding dark but also a little fragile.

"Until what?"

"We're going to Albania," the figure said.

"That's right," Efferson replied. "We were supposed to be there first thing in the morning, but the storm has slowed us. We'll probably need another twenty-four to thirty-six hours." He waited for the figure to ask another question. "Is that where you're going?" he asked eventually. "Albania?"

"Tarnovo," the figure said.

"Tarnovo? I'm not sure -"

"On the Yantra."

Efferson stared at him for a moment. "The Yantra? That's a river, isn't it? In Bulgaria? Is that where you want to go?"

"She's there."

"She?"

"The empire has fallen."

"I don't -"

"It's gone," the figure said. "The Ottomans too. It's all gone."

"I don't know what you mean," Efferson said after a moment. "This ship is the Demeter V. We're a merchant vessel sailing from Southampton to Albania." He waited for some hint of recognition in the figure's eyes. "Southampton? In England?" Again, he waited. "My name is Stefan Efferson. I'm the captain of the vessel. Can you tell me your name?"

The figure stared at him.

"If you -"

"Edgar," the figure said suddenly. "I'm the first and only son of the Le Compte family. My father was a baron, and we owned more than ten thousand peasants. Men like you. Worthless, replaceable runts."

Efferson paused. "Okay..."

"You're still on your feet," Edgar said. "Why have you not bowed before me?"

"Well, I'm not sure..." Efferson said, trying to work out whether he should be amused or terrified. The stranger was clearly out of his mind, but that didn't necessarily mean he was dangerous. Then again, there was still the matter of Carlton's disappearance to resolve.

"My sister is still alive," Edgar continued. "She's at our home. I'm going there, to find her. The last time I saw her, she had me sealed in a grave. I feel it's time I returned the favor."

"So you're going to Bulgaria?" Efferson asked, trying to buy some time while he came up with a plan.

"I'll need transport from the port. The journey's long, and I'd prefer not to walk. There are vessels that travel fast. I've seen them. You must arrange passage for me. As a peasant, you have a duty to ensure that my journey is completed quickly and without discomfort. This is how the world works." He waited for a reply. "Do you not recognize your duty, peasant?"

"Peasant?" Efferson glanced over at the water-pan again, figuring that this Edgar Le Compte individual seemed to be a little strange. In fact, he was clearly out of his mind. "Listen, I'm looking for someone. Maybe you've seen him. His name's Carlton. He's a member of my crew and I'm worried about him. There's blood. Is it his?" He waited for an answer. "Is it yours?" He waited again, aware that he needed to tread carefully in case this intruder turned out to be dangerous. "Why don't you tell me what happened?" he asked eventually. "From the start."

"You must arrange passage for me," Edgar said. "Nothing else is important."

"I'll see what I can do," Efferson replied, edging across the room. When he reached the door, however, he found that Edgar was showing no willingness to move out of the way. "First," Efferson continued, "I need to find my missing crewman. He might be injured. Do you understand? He's hurt. He was on the bridge when I left, but now I can't find him. He's not supposed to be away from his post, but there's blood on the floor."

"He's dead," Edgar replied.

"What?"

"He's dead."

Efferson paused. "What do you -"

"He's dead," Edgar said again. "His remains are in the next room. There's no need for you to see. He's beyond help."

"What happened?" Efferson asked, frantically trying to think of a way to get back through to the bridge. At least if he could reach the emergency cabinet, he could retrieve a flare-gun, which might prove to be some kind of weapon. It was becoming increasingly clear that this Edgar guy was a threat.

"He died because I took his blood," Edgar replied, staring blankly at Efferson. "You should have chosen your crew more carefully. He was a weak and easy target, and he showed no bravery whatsoever. He tried to hide, and he screamed as he died. It was a pathetic sight. I told him to honor and respect me, but he refused to do so."

"You killed him?" Efferson asked, feeling a sense of panic start to rise through his body.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He was the first one I found."

"Okay," Efferson replied, forcing himself to stay calm, despite the fact that his heart was pounding. "We need to go through to the bridge. Do you want to wait here or do you want to come with me?"

"Tell me about Madeleine," Edgar said.

"I don't know who -"

"My sister. Madeleine Le Compte. Tell me about her. Tell me everything you've heard. How far has her legend spread? Is she feared and loved around the world?"

Efferson stared at him. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Has her fame not reached across the world?" Edgar asked with a frown. "Is her name not known by every man who has ever lived? My sister's beauty is world-renowned, and she has never been shy when it comes to using her looks to get what she wants. Surely every man on the planet must lust after her."

"Is she a movie star?" Efferson asked, squeezing past Edgar and emerging in the corridor. "Wait here. I have to go and get something that might help." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started walking along the corridor. Every step felt like a mile, and he knew it was insane to turn his back on this maniac, but he was consumed by one thought: he needed to get to the flare-gun so he could defend himself. No-one could survive a flare-gun to the chest.

"My sister should be the most feared and reviled woman in the history of the planet," Edgar said, following Efferson along the corridor. "Her name should strike terror into the hearts of all men. If this is not the case, it can only mean that she has chosen to go into hiding. Either way, I must return to our ancestral home and learn the truth. It has been many years since she had me placed in a grave, and I am eager to resume our game. You will help me."

"Huh," Efferson said, hurrying over to the cabinet by the door. Fumbling with the lock, he finally managed to get the cabinet open. Pulling out the flare-gun, he double-checked that it was loaded before turning to find Edgar standing just a few feet away. Efferson had never fire a flare-gun indoors before, but as the boat pitched against another wave, he felt certain that this was his only chance to disable the madman. He could worry about explaining the guy's sudden presence later; right now, he needed to secure the ship.

"The world has changed," Edgar said calmly. "Would it surprise you to learn that my sister imprisoned me for more than three hundred years?"

"Sounds kinda mean," Efferson said, poised to fire the flare-gun straight at Edgar if necessary. "Listen, I need to ask you to do something. I need you to go into the room next to the mess, and I need you to stay in there until we reach port. I'm going to close the door on you and keep you locked in there, purely as a precaution. If you didn't hurt Carlton, there's no -"

"I killed him," Edgar said firmly, as if the matter was of no great importance.

"Right," Efferson said, holding the flare-gun up and aiming it straight at Edgar's chest. "That's why I need to have you locked up for the rest of the voyage, okay? Can't have you wandering around the place, can we? You can give your side of the story when we get to port, but -"

"What is that thing?" Edgar asked, staring at the flare-gun.

"Doesn't matter right now. Just -"

"Do I have to kill you?" Edgar asked, stepping toward Efferson.

"Stay back!"

Edgar smiled as he came closer.

Realizing he had no choice, Efferson pulled the trigger. A bright white blast erupted from the end of the flare-gun with enough force to step him staggering back against the wall, as the blast hit Edgar square in the chest and exploded in a bright red flash of light and fire. Designed to be shot into the sky in order to attract the attention of passing ships, the flare was a massive force within the confines of the bridge, burning the air and forcing Efferson to shield his eyes as he tried to crawl to safety. After a few seconds, the brightness began to fade and Efferson found himself over by the far bulkhead, his clothes singed and scorched.

Turning, he expected to see a bloody mess where Edgar had been standing. His intention had been to disable the intruder rather than kill him, but he felt there was no way the flare-gun would have caused anything other than fatal injuries. There would undoubtedly be a lot of blood, and Efferson was already trying to work out how the hell he was going to explain what happened, not only to the rest of the crew but also to the authorities when they reached Albania. The killing had been self-defense, but he was worried that others wouldn't see it that way.

As the smoke cleared, however, Efferson was shocked to see Edgar stepping toward him, seemingly with no injuries at all. With the flare-gun now empty, all Efferson could do was stare up in horror as Edgar reached down and grabbed him by the collar. Finally, when they were face to face, Edgar opened his mouth to reveal his fangs.

Five

"Is everything okay?" Saffron shouted into the radio, keeping his eyes fixed on the bridge windows far below. He'd just seen a bright red flash, and now he was finding it impossible to get a reply from Efferson. "This is Saffron! What the hell just happened down there?"

He waited for a reply, but all he could hear was static.

"Carlton!" he shouted. "Claremont! Can anyone fucking hear me?"

"What's wrong?" Claremont replied after a moment.

"I just saw something," Saffron said, trying not to sound too panicked. "Like a flash of light on the bridge. Like a big red flash. It was huge."

"I'm not on the bridge," Claremont said wearily. "I'm in the engine room."

"No-one from the bridge is answering," Saffron said. "Do you think I should go down and check?"

"If you like," Claremont replied. "I'm busy with the engine. I'm not leaving this room 'til I've got it sorted."

"I'll go and look," Saffron said, setting the radio down as he fumbled in his pockets for the key that would unlock the chains. Just as he was about to free himself, however, the boat lurched to one side, tossing him against a railing and causing him to let go of the key. Reaching out, he succeeded only in knocking the radio, which followed the key over the edge and crashing down to the deck far below.

"Damn it!" Saffron shouted, tugging at the chains and realizing he was trapped. He wouldn't be able to get free until one of the others came up and helped him.

Moments later, he spotted a figure emerging from the bridge and climbing down onto the main part of the deck. Instantly, Saffron could tell that this figure wasn't Efferson, nor was it Carlton. It was someone else, moving slowly and defiantly through the darkness. Saffron's heart began to race as he realized there was definitely an intruder on-board, and that there was no way he could warn the others.

Six

"Damn thing!" Claremont shouted as the wrench slipped yet again, almost slicing a hole in the side of his hand. With the boat still pitching and tilting as it crashed through the waves, it was proving impossible for Claremont to get a good grip on the bolts that held the old vent panel in place. Consequently, he was unable to get into the canopy, which meant he couldn't remove the old valves, which meant the whole engine was rapidly eating itself and there was no way to keep it steady.

"That's it," Claremont muttered, sitting back and staring at the mess of engine pieces. He was hoping for a moment of inspiration, some flash of realization that would help him realize how he could do the impossible, pull another miracle out of his ass, and get the damn thing running. Instead, all he saw was a pile of broken bits that stubbornly refused to work together. Having worked in the engine rooms of cargo ships for more than thirty years, he'd never come across an engine he couldn't fix, not until now. A lifetime of engineering genius, and finally he'd hit a brick wall.

"I guess we'll have to coast into port," he said, sighing wearily as he turned and walked across the cramped engine room. In truth, he hadn't given up, not quite. He still felt that there was a solution, and that he merely needed to wait for inspiration to kick in. Finding himself over in the far corner, facing the huge mass of oily black mold, he figured that a distraction might help. He grabbed a hammer from the tool rack, paused for a moment, and then finally he struck the mold as hard as possible. A small sliver fell to the ground, and to his surprise Claremont saw that the mass of mold seemed to be hollow.

Taking a deep breath, he slammed the hammer down once again, this time knocking an even larger chunk of mold away. Whereas his earlier attempts had been somewhat half-hearted, this time he was filled with determination. All he needed, he figured, was to take his mind off the engine for a moment. He knew how his mind worked, and he was convinced that a solution to all his problems would pop fully-formed into his mind as soon as he found some other focus. That was how he always came up with his most ingenious ideas, so he set about dismantling the mold until, finally, he'd managed to break through to find a hollow space that had seemingly been carefully concealed from the crew.

"That's mine," said a voice nearby.

Turning, Claremont saw a dark figure standing in the doorway on the other side of the engine room. Although the boat was continuing to rock as it hit the waves, the figure seemed to be having no trouble standing upright. In fact, he was conspicuously not even bothering to hold onto the bulkhead.

"What?" Claremont said after a moment, still trying to work out what was happening.

"Leave it alone," the figure continued. "That's mine. It's nothing to do with you."

"Efferson?" Claremont asked, even though he was certain this figure was not one of the usual crew-members.

"Tell me about my sister," the figure said, stepping closer. "My name is Edgar Le Compte. My sister is Madeleine. Tell me about her. It's been a long time since I last saw her. I need to know if she's changed. Her strengths, her weaknesses... Tell me everything you know about her and about my family."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Claremont replied, squinting as he tried to get a better view of the stranger, "and I don't know who you are. How'd you get on this boat?"

"Tell me about Madeleine," Edgar said, stopping in the center of the room. Now that he was near a set of lights on one of the terminals, his face was a little easier to see. Despite having dark, intense eyes that hinted at great age, he seemed otherwise quite young, as if he was no more than twenty years old. He stared firmly and without pause at Claremont, his eyes almost burning into the old man's soul.

"I don't know any Madeleine!" Claremont said, raising his voice a little as he strengthened his grip on the hammer. He could feel the stranger's mind reaching out to him, like dark tentacles slipping into his head. "Why don't you start by telling me who you are, eh? How'd you got on-board?"

"She must have chosen to go into hiding," Edgar replied, seemingly lost in thought. "It's hard to believe that my sister would do such a thing, but perhaps she found that she missed me after all. She spent so long trying to trap me, and then she discovered that she needed me in her life. She must have withdrawn from the world. She's undoubtedly waiting for my return. I must get home as soon as possible and let her see that I've returned."

Grabbing his radio, Claremont opened a ship-wide channel. "This is Claremont in the engine room," he shouted. "I need someone down here right now! There's a -"

Before he could finish the sentence, however, Edgar grabbed the radio from his hand and threw it back across the room. Instinctively, Claremont swung his hammer at Edgar's arm, but he missed and almost fell over as the boat hit another wave. Clinging to one of the bulkheads, he tried to turn and attack again, but Edgar was too quick for him, grabbing his arm and trying to force the hammer from his hand. Despite Edgar's immense strength, Claremont was determined not to let go, no matter the strength of Edgar's grip.

"Don't make me hurt you!" Claremont said firmly. "You might think I'm an old fool, but I've taken on bigger men than you!"

"Release the weapon," Edgar said firmly.

"Don't make me -"

Slamming Claremont in the bulkhead, Edgar took hold of his arm and finally began to tear the limb away from the old man's shoulder. No matter how hard Claremont struggled, he couldn't get free of Edgar's iron grip, and slowly the flesh at the top of his arm began to rip and tear until he screamed with pain. Staring in horror, Claremont watched as the muscles and sinews of his arm were stretched until they began to tear, and finally he saw the bone itself being eased out of the stump at his shoulder.

As soon as he'd removed the arm, Edgar tossed it to one side and smiled, before leaning closer and drinking the blood that erupted from the wound.

Desperately reaching out for some kind of weapon, half stupefied by the pain, Claremont finally managed to grab hold of a wrench. Bringing it crashing down on the top of Edgar's head, he waited in vain for his attacker to show some sign of injury. Instead, Edgar simply grabbed the wrench and threw it to one side, while grinning at Claremont with a mouth caked in the old man's blood. It was as if he found the old man's struggles to be amusing.

"I don't know how and why my sister's fame has vanished from your world," Edgar said after a moment, "but I can assure you, now that I'm back, that the Le Compte family will be known in every land, and our names will be feared wherever we go. There will be no more dirty, ignorant little old men who claim not to know who we are. I'm tempted to keep you alive so that you can see the error of your ways, but I still need to feed. Three hundred years is a long time to spend trapped underground, so I'm sure you'll understand that I can't turn down a meal."

"What are you?" Claremont asked, his heart racing.

"What do you think I am?" Edgar replied with a grin. "Are you so foolish that you've forgotten all about my kind? Have we obediently hidden in the shadows?"

"You won't get away," Claremont said, still trying to pull free. "Whatever you think you're doing, you'll fail.

Already feeling weak thanks to the blood-loss, Claremont turned and tried to get away, but Edgar merely pulled him closer and sank his teeth into the old man's neck. Feeling the blood being drained from his body, Claremont tried again to get free, but his old body was already starting to fail as the vampire pushed him against the wall, wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing tight in an attempt to get the blood out faster.

Seven

"Come on!" Saffron yelled at the top of his voice, desperately hoping that one of the other crew-members might hear him. He knew there was no chance, of course, but he figured he still had to try. The last thing he wanted was to be chained up at the top of the boat until the storm passed. "Get me down!" he continued, but every word that left his mouth was swiftly blown away by the howling wind.

Turning to the chain, he tried once again to pull it loose with brute force. He knew there was no way he'd succeed, but as the boat pitched against another huge wave, he reminded himself that he had to try something. He didn't much fancy the idea of being up at his post for another five hours, but that was how things were looking unless he could find some way to get down. Giving the chain another frustrated tug, he let out a roar of anger. He was annoyed with himself for dropping the key, he was annoyed with the crew for not bothering to check on him, and he was annoyed with the heavens for cooking up such a massive storm.

Sighing, he looked down at the deck and saw, to his surprise, that there was a figure far below, staring back up at him. Saffron's blood immediately began to run cold, not only because he knew that this figure was not a part of the crew, but also because there was something steely and determined about the figure's gaze. Even from this position, almost fifty feet above the deck, Saffron could tell that he had the figure's full attention. As the boat crashed against another wave and tilted first one way and then the other, the figure stood firm, as if untroubled by the turbulence around him. And then, slowly, he stepped over to the base of the mast and began to climb.

Grabbing the chain, Saffron tried to stay calm as he desperately worked to release the padlock that was holding him in place. As his frustration began to boil over, however, he realized that there was simply no way he could ever loosen the bond. Glancing down, he saw that the figure was slowly making progress despite the rocking of the boat. In just a few minutes, he'd be up at the top and Saffron would come face to face with whatever creature had managed to sneak onto the boat.

"Hey!" he shouted, hoping against hope that someone might hear him. "Help! I need help up here! Someone!"

As if to mock him, the wind picked up a little and swept past him, buffeting him with its icy shoulder while howling a hundred, maybe a thousand times louder than he could ever hope to push his voice. Looking down, he saw that the determined, indomitable stranger was already halfway up the mast, even though the entire boat was swaying more frantically than ever before. It was as if the entire storm was building to this moment, and Saffron was starting to wonder whether he might ever be rescued.

Shuffling back from the edge of the platform, he stared straight ahead and waited for the figure to arrive. He shifted a little, positioning his feet in case he needed to kick out. He had no doubt that something was wrong, and he figured he could always try to push the stranger away. Although he was not usually someone who gave in easily to panic, tonight Saffron was filled with dread. Somewhere deep in his soul, he could tell that the stranger meant to cause him harm, and he was consumed by the fear that his crew-mates were by now probably all dead. He imagined the corpses rolling across the floor as the boat continued its tumultuous journey, and he tried to imagine what kind of creature could suddenly appear on-board and caused such damage.

Eventually, a hand appeared at the edge of the platform, and finally the figure hauled himself up. A striking and imposing sight, the stranger stared at Saffron with a determined scowl, although there was also a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he found Saffron's situation amusing.

"You're the last one," the stranger said, his voice just about audible over the howling wind and streaking rain.

"The last what?" Saffron shouted back, poised to kick him away.

"The last living creature on this vessel," the stranger replied, as thunder rumbled overhead and lightning reached down to the sea. "Not counting myself, of course."

"Where are the others?" Saffron shouted. "What did you do to them?"

"I used their bodies to gain strength," the stranger said calmly, as if it was the most natural and normal thing in the world. "Their blood is in me now, and for that I am grateful."

"No," Saffron stammered, "you... There was no-one else on-board when we left Southampton. There were just the four of us!"

"You're forgetting your cargo," the stranger said. "I chose to travel without attracting too much attention, although as you can see I became hungry along the way." Slowly, he eased himself all the way onto the platform as the boat tilted toward starboard. "I just need to get back to my sister," he continued. "It has been far too long since I was last with her, and the world has changed in remarkable ways. I have no idea whether she has changed too, but I have to see for myself. The journey has proven to be very tiring, and I still need to feed following my long wait in the grave. In normal circumstances, I would most likely have allowed the crew of this vessel to live."

"If you come even an inch closer to me," Saffron replied firmly, "I swear, I'll push you straight over the edge. I don't give a damn, I'll do it. Do you understand?"

"Are you threatening me?" the figure asked with a smile.

"I'm warning you," Saffron said. "I'm telling you what's going to happen."

"You don't know what I am, do you?" the figure asked. "You probably don't even know my name. I'd have thought my sister would keep us burning in notoriety, but evidently she has had other priorities." He paused. "I am Edgar Le Compte, of the Le Compte family. There was a time when the merest mention of my name would have sent ripples of fear through the souls of even the strongest men, and a wretch such as yourself would have dropped dead before I got within a thousand paces. Can it be that my sister has allowed the Le Compte name to die away?"

"You can't kill me!" Saffron blurted out suddenly. "If I'm the last man on this boat, you need me! You don't know how to sail this thing!" He paused, waiting for Edgar to reply. "If you kill me, you'll end up alone out here, on a boat you can't sail, in a huge storm! There's no way you could ever hope to survive!"

"You don't know my limits," Edgar replied darkly.

"You still need me," Saffron said again, as much to persuade himself as to warn Edgar. "You need someone to keep this boat going. We're still miles from port, and that means you need me. You can't kill me."

"You're right," Edgar said after a moment. "If I had any intention of taking this boat to the port, I would need of your help. As things stand, however, I'm quite happy to find some other way to reach the shore. All I needed was to get close enough. I'm afraid that I have no desire to go through any port, so this boat can run aground for all I care. I won't even bother to look over my shoulder and watch as you hit the rocks."

"I can help you in other ways," Saffron continued, desperate to find some reason why the stranger should keep him alive. "Are you all alone out here? You need someone. I know this part of the world."

"I was born here," Edgar replied with a faint smile. "A long time ago, though. I suppose things might have changed while I was in my grave."

"Whatever you want," Saffron said firmly, "I can get it. Whatever you desire, wherever you need to go, I can help. You just have to unchain me. Let me guide the boat to port. I won't tell anyone about you. I'll say that pirates attacked us, and then later I can meet you and help you get to wherever you're going. I swear, I won't let you down. You need me!"

"Need you?" Smiling, Edgar stepped forward, towering above Saffron. "You think I, a member of the house of Le Compte, need you? Tell me, to what house do you belong?"

"House?" Saffron asked.

"Your family name," Edgar continued. "What is the name of your house?"

"Smith," Saffron said, swallowing hard. "The... house of Smith."

Opening his mouth, Edgar revealed his two sharp fangs. "Do you have any offspring, human?"

"Dear God, no!" Saffron shouted. "Get away from me!"

"Your lineage will stop here," Edgar said, stepping closer. "As you die, at least be aware that your blood will enrich a far nobler, far more worthy individual."

"No!" Saffron screamed, kicking out at Edgar but succeeding only in nudging his leg. Tugging on his chains, Saffron tried to move over to the other side of the platform, even though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable.

"Do you have any final words?" Edgar asked. "I won't remember them, but it might please you to mark the moment of your passing, even in this cold and godless world."

"Dear Lord," Saffron said quietly. "I swear, if you save me, I'll be your loyal servant for the rest of my life. I'm sorry I doubted you, but I'll spread your word. I'll live by your code. I'll spend my every moment teaching others about your glory and about the value of a life lived according to your teaching. I'll -"

And that's when it happened.

Flashing down from the dark clouds, accompanied by an ear-splitting crash of thunder, a single fork of lightning hit the platform, sending a shower of sparks into the air and throwing Edgar clear of the railing. Shielding his eyes, Saffron watched in shocked awe as Edgar's burning, smoking body fell down to the edge of the boat, smashing into the deck-side railing before slipping overboard and crashing into the stormy waves. His heard racing, Saffron could only stare as Edgar's body was quickly tossed further away by the waves, finally disappearing beneath the dark surface.

Taking a deep breath, Edgar looked at his hands. Despite the direct lightning strike, he seemed to have escaped without so much as a mark. It was as if all the energy from the lightning had been absorbed by Edgar, leaving Saffron unharmed. Stunned by what appeared to be a miraculous escape, he finally looked down at the chains and saw that yet another miracle had occurred: the metal had been melted and re-fused by the heat of the strike, and part of the railing had been knocked loose. With shocking simplicity, Saffron simply lifted the chain away and saw that he was finally free.

For a moment, he was frozen in place. Finally, turning up to look at the clouds, which seemed so close he could almost reach out and touch them, he realized that he'd been saved by some kind of divine intervention. His soul fell still as he reflected that some higher power had seen fit to pluck him from the jaws of death, and the foul beast had been consigned to the unforgiving depths of the sea. It was as if the Lord had reached down and swatted the vampire away.

Trembling, Saffron began the slow climb down to the deck. As he got further down, he couldn't help but notice that the storm seemed to be abating a little, and the boat was much calmer. It was truly as if God was parting the clouds and guiding Saffron to shore. His cynical side wanted to dismiss such insane notions, but there was a part of him that felt maybe he was being saved by a great power from above. Reaching the deck, he walked over to the edge and looked out over the calming sea, and he realized that the storm was most certainly dying down. The boat still rocked a little, but it was more like a gentle, lulling motion than an assault by the elements.

"Dear Lord," Saffron said slowly, mesmerized by his escape, "I thank you for your mercy. For delivering me from such evil, I can only pledge to give you my remaining days, to honor you and worship you, and to spread your word throughout the world as your humble servant." If he'd said such words a day ago, he'd have felt like a fool. Right now, however, he believed truly and completely, and he felt a great hushing calm wash over him, as if the chaotic world had suddenly reorganized itself and become much simpler.

"Amen," Saffron whispered softly.

In the distance, a dark line had begun to appear on the horizon. The rocks of the Albanian coast were looming, and the boat would soon run aground if Saffron couldn't get it back on course.

Turning and walking across the deck, he realized he'd have to get to the radio and inform the Albanian coastguard of his situation. There was no way he could get the boat to port alone, even with his engineering experience. There'd also be the matter of explaining what had happened during the journey, a task that would be made more difficult by the fact that the vampire had been thrown overboard. Still, Saffron reminded himself that he had God's blessing, and he was confident that the Lord would guide him and ensure that he could get on his way swiftly to spread the world of true faith. Feeling an unfamiliar sense of total inner peace, he opened the door to the bridge.

He stopped dead in his tracks, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Efferson was standing on the other side of the door, staring at him.

"You're alive!" Saffron said, his joy tinged with fear.

Slowly, Efferson stepped toward him. There was something strange about the way he moved, something stiff and awkward. His skin was pale and sickly-looking, and there were two round wounds, like bite marks, on one side of his neck.

"How did you escape the creature?" Saffron asked, taking a step back. "How did you persuade him to spare you?"

"I didn't," Efferson said as he reached out, grabbed Saffron by the shoulder, and pulled him closer. Smiling, he revealed two sharp fangs.

Change of Heart

One

"- but honestly, I'm just waiting for a girl."

"I'm a girl."

"A particular girl."

"Oh, I see." She paused for a moment. "So you're that kind of guy."

"I guess so."

She smiled. "What's her name?"

"Lucy."

"Lucky Lucy, huh?" There was an awkward pause. "And where is she right now?"

"On a bus. She should be here in a few minutes."

"How romantic."

"Not really."

"You don't think so? A guy meeting his girl off the bus, late at night in the heart of Sofia? You don't think that's fabulously romantic."

"Maybe. I hadn't thought of it like that."

"Lucky Lucy. Her guy doesn't even realize when he's being romantic."

"I guess."

"Well, anyway, that counts me out. My name's not Lucy. My name's Madeleine. Better luck next time, right?"

Adam smiled. Sitting here in a little cafe near the bus station, he'd never expected to have company while he waited for Lucy to arrive. He'd just planned to sit and drink a few cups of tea, while waiting for Lucy's bus to pull in on the other side of the rain-soaked late-night town square. But this strange girl, this Madeleine, had plonked herself down at the next table and started up a conversation, and something about her interested Adam. She was beautiful, sure, but that wasn't why he was talking to her. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.

"I keep expecting Monsieur LeClerc to come stumbling through the door," Madeleine said with a smile. "Small cafes always make me think of that TV show. What was it called again?"

"Sorry," Adam replied. "No idea."

"I guess you're too young to have seen it."

"I'm twenty-two. You don't look any older."

"That's a fabulous thing for you to say."

Taking another sip from his tea, Adam reminded himself not to get too deep into a conversation with this woman. He'd made mistakes in the past, but although Madeleine was certainly attractive, he was in no mood to get flirty. Not tonight. Not after everything he'd been through with Lucy. He wasn't that kind of guy anymore.

"So how long have the pair of you been dating?" Madeleine asked after a moment, as she rolled a cigarette. "You and this Lucy girl, I mean."

"We were together for two years," Adam replied, wondering how much he should tell this total stranger. "Then we kind of... Things went a little wrong, and we haven't seen each other for six months."

"But she's coming to meet you now?"

He nodded.

"So you're getting back together?"

"Yeah," Adam said, glancing over at the window as the wind changed and blew a fresh blast of rain against the glass. "Maybe. That's the plan."

"She must love you."

"I don't know," he replied, feeling a little uncomfortable. "I mean, we had a good thing going for a while, but..." He paused, and after a moment he realized that Madeleine was staring right at him. "I fucked it up," he said eventually, with a faint smile. "There, I admitted it. I fooled around with another girl, and it all got out of hand. Lucy found out and broke up with me. It was my fault. I totally deserved it."

"Huh," Madeleine said, eying him cautiously. "But... she's giving you a second chance?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? How far's she traveling to see you tonight?"

"A couple of days," he replied. "She's been staying in Bucharest."

"A couple of days? My God, she's definitely giving you a second chance." Lighting her cigarette, she took a long drag before grabbing her glass of wine and taking a sip. "Everyone deserves a second chance," she added eventually, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Well, almost everyone."

"I've changed," Adam replied, sipping from his cup of tea. "I'd never do anything like that again. I've told her over and over again. It was a one-time mistake. There was just this girl I met at a party and..." He paused for a moment. "Okay, you know what? I have no idea why I'm even telling you all this. I'm sorry. I should just shut up."

"Don't apologize," Madeleine said, biting her bottom lip for a moment. "I just have that kind of face. People always feel like they wanna tell me all about their lives." She took another drag from her cigarette. "It's not something I encourage, but I've given up fighting it. People just seem to look at me and figure I'm a good listener."

"And are you?"

"What makes you think you've changed?" she replied evasively. "What makes you think anyone can change?"

"I've learned from my mistakes."

"Bullshit."

"It's true. I made a colossal error of judgment, but I've learned from it. There's no way I'd ever hurt Lucy again. Not ever."

"Let me give you some advice," Madeleine replied. "Humans, and in fact creatures in general, don't change. Sure, they can learn stuff, but deep down, on a basic level, there's no room for change. There's nothing we can do about our most innate characteristics. You can never get rid of the part of yourself that cheats on girls, just as I can never..." She paused. "We are who we are. It's dangerous for us to think we can change."

"Speak for yourself," Adam said, feeling a little annoyed by Madeleine's insistence. He'd spent the past few months forcing himself to become a better person, and he damn well wasn't going to have some random woman in a coffee shop tell him he was wrong.

"It's the truth," Madeleine said eventually. "A leopard can't change its spots, a tiger can't change its stripes, and a cheater can't stop cheating. We're all born into a mold, you know."

"And what's your mold?" Adam asked testily.

Madeleine shrugged.

"Don't you have any faults?" Adam continued, determined to pick away at her cool and calm demeanor.

"Perhaps one or two," she replied. "I've left a trail of blood behind me, just like everyone else. My brother, in particular, has suffered dreadfully because of my actions. He could have lived such an interesting life over the years, but unfortunately I put him in a situation that prevented him from doing very much at all."

"Isn't he mad at you?"

"I expect so. It's been a while since I heard from him, although I have a feeling he might very well be showing his face before too long. Call it female intuition." She paused for a moment as she studied Adam's face. "You remind me of him a little," she added eventually. "Your eyes, and your jawline."

Adam paused, determined to pick his words carefully. "I admit that I made a mistake when I cheated on Lucy," he said firmly, "and I admit that it was difficult to face up to what I did and address my failings. But I did face up to it and I have changed. It's too easy to just sit around and claim that no-one can change. That's an easy excuse. Change is difficult, but it's worth it. If you can't manage it, maybe you just haven't tried hard enough."

"Maybe," Madeleine replied with a sigh. "Let's see how you feel in a few years' time, though. Right now, I bet the future seems so rosy. But do you really think you can change the fiber of your being? I don't just mean your behavior, but your thought processes. Can you actually become another person?"

"I don't think there's much point in us continuing this debate," Adam replied. "You've got your opinion, I've got mine, and it's probably best if we just..." He turned and looked over at the window as a car drove past, and for a moment he wondered if perhaps Lucy had arrived a few minutes early. Realizing it wasn't her, however, he noticed that rain had begun to fall outside. "I'm not really into esoteric theoretical discussions," he continued, turning back to Madeleine. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd kinda like to sit and gather my thoughts for when Lucy arrives."

"Of course," Madeleine said, gathering her wine glass and newspaper and getting to her feet. "It's a little drafty by the window anyway. I think I'll shift over to the back."

"I didn't mean you have to move," Adam said.

"It's fine," Madeleine replied, glancing out the window. "It's a night for being alone, anyway. Good luck with your girl. I hope you're right. I hope you've changed, and I hope you'll be very happy together." With that, she made her way over to a table at the other side of the cafe.

Taking a deep breath, Adam stared over at the door. He knew Madeleine was wrong; he knew he had changed, and he knew he could be the kind of man Lucy deserved. Since the break-up, he'd come to realize just how important Lucy had been to him, and he was determined to make sure this time that nothing could possibly go wrong. He knew there'd always be cynics in the world, but deep in his heart he was absolutely certain that his love for Lucy would be enough to see him through any bad times. Love, he believed, was transformative, and ultimately it would be love that would help him to change. If Madeleine or anyone else didn't understand that, he figured it wasn't his job to teach them. It would just have to be their loss.

Two

Standing in the doorway, sheltering from the rain, Adam stared out at the dark, deserted town square. There was no sign of a bus, no sign that a bus was even expected, and as he checked his watch he saw that it was close to midnight. If Lucy didn't arrive soon, he was going to start getting worried, but he figured the bad weather had probably just caused some delays. He'd waited months for this chance, so he figured he could wait a few more minutes.

Turning and pushing the door open, he headed back inside. As he walked over to his table, he glanced over at Madeleine and briefly made eye contact with her, before she looked back down at her book. Sitting down, Adam was careful to position his chair so that he was facing the window. The last thing he needed was to get into another conversation with that crazy woman. In fact, he was getting kind of annoyed by the fact that she was still in the cafe at all. It was almost as if she was waiting for something to happen, and Adam felt a slight shiver run down his spine as he realized that he was being tested.

"You don't think she'll show," he said suddenly, turning to Madeleine. "You don't, do you?"

"Don't I?"

"You think she won't give me a second chance."

"Do I?"

Sighing, Adam immediately realized that he shouldn't have said anything. He glanced over at the old guy behind the bar, who seemed engrossed in his newspaper. Turning back to Madeleine, Adam paused for a moment. "You think she's gonna stand me up," he continued. "I can tell. It's why you're still sitting there."

"I'm just reading my book," Madeleine said, her voice filled with innocent surprise.

"No," Adam said, shaking his head. "You think the bus is gonna pull up and there'll be no sign of Lucy. That's what you think, and you're waiting to be proved right, except you're not! You're wrong! She's gonna be here!"

"Who are you trying to persuade?" Madeleine asked, still sitting with her book open.

"She loves me!"

"Oh, God," Madeleine said, rolling her eyes. "Why does this always happen to me? I can't go anywhere without someone starting up a conversation and trying to prove something."

"You said -"

"I just gave you my opinion earlier," she replied, sounding a little annoyed. "That's all. It's still my opinion, and I hardly think that love has anything to do with it. Love's just a word that humans made up years ago to cover a range of very different emotions. Desire, fear, pity, hatred, anger... You just took all these concepts and instead of dealing with them each individually, you mashed them together and invented this new word. Love. It's not magic, you know. Love doesn't mean a damn thing."

Shocked by her comments, Adam stared at her for a moment.

"What?" she asked eventually. "Are you going to prove me wrong?"

"I just feel sorry for you," he replied. "How can you live if you don't believe in love?"

"I didn't say I don't believe in it," she continued. "I merely said that I don't think it works like some kind of magic drug. Do you really think love is going to keep you from making a mistake? You say you love this Lucy girl, but you cheated on her. So are you now claiming that you can stop yourself cheating on her again if you love her a little more? Is that your great plan?"

"Have you ever been in love?" Adam asked.

"Me?" She paused. "That's a rather personal question."

"So you haven't?"

"Of course I have."

"How many times?"

Smiling, she took a sip from her wine. "Only once," she said eventually, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. "No-one can love more than once in their lifetime. It just doesn't work that way. We can only give our love to one person, and we have to take it back before we can give it to someone else. Real love... True love... It's a powerful thing, even after many, many years."

"So you do believe in something, then," Adam replied.

"I believe love can do many things," Madeleine said, "but it can't save us from ourselves. That crack that runs through your soul, the flaw that allowed you to cheat on the woman you claim to love, is still there. It doesn't matter how much you say you love her, the crack will always be a part of you. The best thing to do is to acknowledge it and treat it wait caution. Don't make the mistake of fooling yourself into believing that you've managed to make it go away."

"I have."

"You're like a man in a tiger cage," she continued, "who brings the beast down and then turns his back on it, believing it to be dead. A terrible mistake. So much blood." She paused for a moment. "That's not a metaphor, either. I actually saw a man do that once, and my God, there was so much blood when the tiger got its claws into him. The poor man never stood a chance. Then again, it was all a long time ago. But the tiger couldn't change. He needed to kill that man. The man made a mistake when he thought he'd calmed the tiger's instincts. Like I said before, we are what we are, and we must accept that if we're to keep from causing terrible pain to others. If I walked out the door right now, and then I bumped into you again in a hundred years, you'd still be exactly the same person, and so would I."

"You're wrong," Adam said. "I'm in love, and when Lucy gets here, we're going to be together forever."

"She's very late, though," Madeleine replied, checking her watch. "What do you think could possibly have delayed her?"

"Maybe the bus broke down."

"Maybe," Madeleine replied, narrowing her eyes for a moment as she spotted something outside the window. "Isn't that the bus now?"

Turning, Adam saw that she was right. A rickety old bus was pulling into the stop across the road. Hurrying to the door, Adam rushed out into the rain and hurried over to the bus stop, just in time to see the doors open.

"End of the line," the driver barked.

"I'm waiting for someone," Adam said, stepping on-board and seeing that there were no passengers. "Where is she?" he asked after a moment, unable to accept that the bus was empty.

"End of the line," the driver said again. "Go on, get off!"

"There was a woman," Adam said, turning to him. "She got on maybe somewhere around Voluyak. About my age, blonde with blue eyes. She probably had a suitcase with her, and..." He paused as he realized that he was starting to sound desperate. "You didn't see her?" he asked eventually.

The bus driver shook his head.

Without saying anything, Adam stepped down off the bus and watched as the doors closed. Moments later, there was a grinding sound and the bus eased away and disappeared into the night. Turning and looking back across the square, Adam couldn't quite believe that there was no sign of Lucy. He still half hoped that maybe she'd got off a stop early and persuaded the driver to lie, just so she could jump out of the shadows as a surprise. As the rain continued to pour down, however, Adam realized that she wasn't coming. Not now, and probably not ever. Taking his phone from his pocket, he saw that there were no messages, and when he tried to call Lucy's number, he was sent straight to voice-mail.

Walking slowly back across the square, he eventually reached the cafe and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was Madeleine, sitting in the far corner with her book, and it was immediately clear that she was being very careful not to make eye contact with him.

"Give me a beer," he said to the barman, placing some coins on the bar. Moments later, with a glass of beer in his hand, he wandered over to his table, where he stopped and looked across at Madeleine. Her studious attempt to avoid eye contact was kind of cute, he realized, although it was also fairly annoying. It was pretty clear that she was feeling kind of smug now that he'd been stood up, and Adam didn't know whether to be grateful or pissed off that she was making no effort to celebrate her victory.

For the next few minutes, Adam sat at his table and sipped from his beer. Madeleine's silence was filling the room, but although he felt he'd have to talk to her eventually, right now Adam was determined not to give her the satisfaction. Then again, he realized, he didn't have to talk to her. She was no-one to him, just a stranger he'd met in a late-night cafe, and he figured he could quite easily just get up and walk out the door without ever having to worry about bumping into her again. Still, something made him feel as if he wanted to talk to her a little more. It was as if her mind was reaching across the room and forcing its way into his consciousness, teasing him to pay her some more attention.

"So you're probably pretty pleased with yourself," he called out eventually.

Madeleine looked up from her book.

"You were right all along," he continued.

"I was?"

"She's not here, is she?"

"Maybe she was delayed," Madeleine suggested. "There are lots of reasons why she might have missed the bus. Have you tried calling her?"

"No answer."

"Have you tried -"

"She's not coming," Adam said firmly. "You were right. No-one gets second chances. I guess she doesn't think I've really changed. When it came down to it, she figured I'd do the same thing again."

"But you know you wouldn't," Madeleine said. "Don't you?"

Adam nodded wearily.

"So isn't that what matters?"

"I thought she believed in me," he replied. "I thought she trusted me."

"Maybe she's scared."

"Maybe she just can't take that leap of faith," Adam suggested. "Maybe she can't look past the fact that I..." He paused. "I'll tell you one thing," he continued after a moment. "She loves me. I know that. There's no way you'll ever persuade me that our love isn't strong. It's just, I guess it's not enough to overcome everything else. She probably figured that every time she looked at me, she'd be reminded of what I did."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"Closing in half an hour," the barman said suddenly.

"You want another drink?" Adam called across the room to Madeleine.

She paused, as if she wasn't sure whether to accept his offer. "Another red wine, thanks," she said eventually. "Just a small one."

Hauling himself from his chair, Adam wandered over to the counter and waited while the skeptical-looking barman poured a glass of wine followed by another beer. Once he'd paid, Adam carried the drinks over to Madeleine's table and set them down.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Knock yourself out," she replied with a faint, cautious smile.

"I guess you think I'm a total idiot," Adam said as he sat down. "All that crap about love. I must've sounded like some kind of fucking schoolboy."

"You've changed your mind pretty fast," Madeleine pointed out. "A few minutes ago, you were convinced that love was going to save the day. Now you've gone in the other direction. Are your beliefs always so fragile?"

"I can't deny the evidence before my eyes, can I?"

"But you still don't know why she didn't turn up."

"She saw through me," he said, taking a big gulp from his glass of beer. "She knew I couldn't change. She knew I'd do the same thing again. Love was never going to be enough." He paused. "I guess I'll never know if she was right."

"Whether you've changed?" Madeleine asked. She waited for an answer, but it was clear that Adam was now lost in thought. "Maybe you want to put yourself to the test?" she added eventually.

"How?" Adam asked, turning to her.

"There's a way," she replied, unable to stifle a grin. "If you're brave enough, and stupid enough."

Three

It was quick and easy.

After leading Adam out of the cafe, Madeleine led him on a meandering walk through the late-night streets of Sofia's outskirts. She knew where they were going, but she figured she might as well get to know him a little better first, so she took a route that was far from direct. Constantly teasing him, she was careful to keep him from getting too despondent, and she steered the conversation well away from the subject of Lucy's failure to appear.

Once they reached the cemetery out by the old church, she made her move. It was desperately, pathetically easy. All she had to do was take the teasing up a notch and show a little flesh, and soon Adam was all over her. Having not made love to a human for a couple of years, Madeleine allowed herself to enjoy the experience, at least for a while. Sure, Adam's fumbling moves were kind of deflating, and he was by no means an expert lover, especially from the point of view of a woman who had slept with some of the greatest men of the past few centuries. Still, it was a decent way to pass the time, and she realized eventually that she'd missed the feel of a man pressed against her naked body.

When they were finished, Adam stood back, catching his breath as he cleaned himself up. Madeleine, however, was in no hurry. She remained naked, enjoying the way that Adam kept glancing at her. It had been so long since she'd been admired for her beauty, and she could no longer remember why she'd withdrawn from such encounters in recent years. Human men were always so shallow, so easy to please. They really weren't much of a challenge, but sometimes easy love could be a lot of fun.

"I was right," she said eventually, keeping her eyes fixed on Adam as he stood naked nearby. "You do remind me of him."

"Who?" he asked.

"Never mind," she continued, looking up at the brooding sky. The rain had finally eased, but it was clear that a much bigger storm was on the way, coming from the west. "How do you feel?" she asked eventually, turning back to Adam.

He smiled. "This isn't quite how I expected the evening to go..."

"One must always be open to unexpected developments," Madeleine replied. "A closed mind is a dead mind. But tell me, do you think I was right after all?"

"About what?"

"You haven't changed at all, have you?" She smiled as she waited for a reply. "All it took was for your lucky lady to do a no-show, and an hour later you were doing very naughty things to me. In a cemetery, no less."

"This is different," Adam replied. "Lucy stood me up. It's over with her."

"But how could you sleep with me," Madeleine continued, stepping closer to him and looking down to admire his manhood, "if you love her?"

"Easily," he said, staring into her eyes.

"Come here," she said, leaning toward his neck. "There's one last thing I forgot to do."

"What?" he asked, stepping back.

"It's a surprise," she continued. "Come on, you trust me, don't you?"

"I don't want a love bite," he said. "I'm not into that shit."

"Just hold still," she replied, sniffing his neck for a moment. "You smell good. Do you know that? I swear to God, I can smell your blood from here, even through your skin. It's strong and potent. You're a healthy man, Adam. I can hear your heart-beat."

"Huh," he replied, a little surprised by her sudden intensity.

"My God," she continued, taking a deep breath. "Everyone's blood smells different. Did you know that? Every human has their own particular scent. It takes a fine, trained nose to distinguish between them, of course. One must study and take notice of the world. But you, you have very strong blood. Is there royalty in your family?"

"Royalty?" He laughed nervously. "I don't think so." Feeling his manhood start to stir again, he reached up and placed his hands on Madeleine's full, round breasts.

"You think you can go again?" she whispered, her breath hot on his skin.

"Maybe something a little different this time," he replied, pressing his crotch against her as he reached around and placed his hands on her buttocks. "You want to mix things up a bit? Maybe try something a little dirtier?"

"Maybe," she whispered, opening her mouth as she leaned even closer to his neck. "Tell me something," she continued, with tears in her eyes. "Do you believe that a creature of pure evil can mend its ways? If she, or he, felt compelled to commit acts of unspeakable cruelty, would that compulsion be absolute? Or might the creature, through sheer force of will, be able to fight back and... maybe... do something good once in a while?"

"I believe we all have free will," he replied. "Does that answer your question?"

"I don't know," she said quietly, opening her mouth a little wider, her fangs just a few millimeters from Adam's neck. "I hope so, but I can't be certain. It's so hard to know, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Especially if that creature was drawn to pain and suffering," she continued, with tears in her eyes. "If it was like a drug. If it was the only thing that made her feel alive, and the temptation was too strong for her to resist. Who could blame her for doing bad things?"

"Why are you asking?" he whispered.

She paused, unable to give him an honest answer.

"Madeleine?"

No reply.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, stepping back. "I just have to go, that's all. I shouldn't be out here, not now, not with you." Grabbing her clothes, she began to get dressed.

"Are you sure you don't want to come back to my place?" Adam asked. "I feel like this is kind of an abrupt way to leave things."

"I have to go home," Madeleine muttered, not looking at him. "It'll take a while, so I need to get going. Besides, I have a friend coming to visit soon. I need to get ready to go and meet him."

"Yeah, but -"

"Forget about it," she said, turning to him now that she was fully dressed. "Forget you ever met me. Forget about this whole night. Give your Lucy a call, find out why she didn't come back to you -"

"But -"

"Just do it!" There was a hint of desperation in Madeleine's eyes now, as if she was forcing herself to hold back from something. "If you're smart, you'll wipe every part of this night from your memory. Can you do that? Can you forget it ever happened? Or are you secretly proud of all your mistakes?"

Adam sighed.

"Don't follow me," Madeleine said, pushing past him. "You won't see me again. Just promise you'll call her. Prove to me that people can change." She waited for him to answer. "Do you promise?"

"Sure," he replied, a little disturbed by the sudden change in her character.

Still naked, Adam stood and watched as Madeleine hurried away, and soon she'd disappeared into the darkness. Stunned by the abruptness of her departure, he wasn't quite sure how to interpret her remarks. He was certain that he'd done nothing wrong, but there'd been a kind of skittishness about Madeleine, a kind of restless energy that made him think that she perhaps had some kind of emotional problem. Figuring there was no point going after her, he gathered his clothes and started getting dressed.

"Crazy bitch," he muttered. "Good fuck, but crazy bitch."

Four

Hurrying through the darkness, Madeleine eventually heard a banging sound in the distance. As she got closer to the cafe, which was now shut for the night, she saw a female figure knocking insistently on the door, with a suitcase on the ground nearby.

Above, a window slid open and the barman leaned out.

"We're closed!" he shouted gruffly, before closing the window again.

"I'm just looking for someone!" the girl called up to him, but it was too late.

Stopping dead in her tracks, Madeleine stared at the girl and wondered whether, by some curious design of fate, she might have stumbled upon the one person she hadn't expected to see tonight.

"Fuck!" the girl exclaimed, giving the door of the cafe a frustrated kick. Turning and grabbing her suitcase, she finally noticed Madeleine standing on the other side of the square. "Hey!" she called out. "Do you know, like, a hostel or something nearby? I need a place to stay."

Hesitantly, Madeleine crossed the street and approached the girl. Petite and pretty, with big blue eyes and a bob of short blonde hair, she was quite a sight.

"Lucy?" she asked.

The girl frowned. "How'd you know my name?"

Madeleine couldn't help but smile. "Adam... told me about you."

"You know Adam?" Lucy replied, looking relieved "Where is he? I need to find him!"

"He was here," Madeleine continued. "He was waiting for you until the cafe closed."

"I missed the bus," Lucy explained breathlessly, "and then I got another one, but it dropped me off over by the bridge, so I had to walk the last three miles, and I didn't have a map so I wasn't sure which way to go and I couldn't find a taxi, and my phone battery's dead, so I need to find a place to recharge it, and I've got Adam's address and stuff saved on the phone and... I mean, my fucking luck tonight has been insane. It's hard to believe all the stuff that's gone wrong."

Madeleine stared at her for a moment. "Yeah," she said finally. "It is hard to believe."

"So do you know a hostel or something? Or do you know where Adam lives?" She paused for a moment. "How do you know Adam, anyway?"

"I don't," Madeleine said quickly. "Not really. I just got talking to him tonight. He was very excited to see you, though, and very disappointed when you didn't show up."

"It's okay," Lucy replied. "I'll explain everything when I see him. I just need to find a place to sleep for the night, and a socket so I can charge my phone."

"Of course," Madeleine replied, feeling almost dazed by the coincidence. "Come with me. I know a place."

Leading Lucy away from the cafe, Madeleine couldn't help but glance over her shoulder to make sure that Adam wasn't catching up to them. This sudden encounter with Lucy seemed like an unbelievable coincidence, and Madeleine felt that such coincidences had to happen for a good reason. She didn't believe in God, but she was tempted to wonder whether some kind of external force was guiding events. Then again, she knew that coincidences did happen occasionally, and that such rare occasions should never be wasted.

"Do you think he's changed?" Madeleine asked as they walked along the dark street.

"Who?" Lucy asked. "Adam?"

"I know what happened between you," Madeleine continued. "He explained everything. When you didn't show up, he thought it was because you didn't believe he could change."

"Huh," Lucy replied noncommittally, looking down at the sidewalk.

"So do you think people can change?" Madeleine asked. "I don't just mean Adam. I mean everyone. If someone has a compulsion, something that they struggle to resist, do you think they can ever overcome it for long?"

"Like sleeping with another woman?"

"Like anything." Madeleine paused for a moment. "Imagine if someone has this urge. Something that they feel compelled to do, even if they'd do anything to resist. Almost like an addiction. Maybe they can hold back once or twice, here and there, but in general, can they overcome their need? For example, if they felt an urge to destroy something beautiful. Do you think that kind of person could change?"

"I don't know," Lucy replied. "No. I guess not. I mean, not if they've got an addiction."

"That's what I thought," Madeleine said, leading Lucy down a narrow, dark alley. There were tears in her eyes, but she was determined not to show any emotion. She'd killed so many times in her life, and she didn't see why this stringy little woman should be any different to all the rest.

"So where are we going again?" Lucy asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"I know a place you can stay," Madeleine said, before stopping and turning to her. "But first, you need to know something. Adam was very upset when you didn't show up. Distraught, even. He was convinced that you'd give him a second chance, but by the end of the night he'd come to accept that you didn't believe in him. It was a very sad thing to see, but I think there's still hope for the pair of you. If you truly believe in him -"

"I do," Lucy said eagerly. "Can you just take me to him? Please?"

Madeleine paused for a moment.

"No," she said finally, stepping closer. "But I promise I'll tell him where to find you."

With that, she grabbed Lucy, pulled her closer and bit the side of her neck, sliding her two sharp fangs deep into the girl's flesh.

"I'm sorry," she added, as she pulled her fangs out and looked down into the girl's dying eyes. "Truly, I am. It's just... This is who I am."

The Vampire's Grave part 1

One

They were already running late by the time they reached the guest-house. Bad weather had followed them from the airport, making the roads treacherous as early evening gave way to an unlit night, and they had to rely on an old paper map since the hired jeep lacked any kind of GPS system. Once they were a couple of miles away from Sofia's airport, they felt as if they were out in the middle of nowhere, on dark roads that seemed to have been undisturbed for many years. They saw no other traffic out here, and several times they thought they must be lost until, finally, the guest-house came into view up ahead.

"Are you sure we didn't accidentally travel back in time?" asked Dr. Mike Walton as he parked the jeep and switched off the engine. "I can't shake the feeling that we've left the twenty-first century a long way behind."

"I wouldn't say that to the locals," replied Dr. Amanda Carter, trying and failing to fold the map properly. "They might take offense."

Pushing the door open, Mike stared out at the pouring rain. The front door of the guest-house was only a few meters away, but it was clear that even this short run would be something of an endurance test.

"I'm not really a field guy," Mike said after a moment, turning back to Amanda. "You might have noticed that about me. I tend to like sitting behind a desk, studying things that other people bring to the museum. I don't travel well."

"Which is why I'm extra grateful to you for deigning to come all the way out to Bulgaria with me," Amanda replied with a smile, before pushing her door open and hurrying out into the rain. "I've been out here for a couple of weeks, but I needed someone for the last leg."

Mike sat and watched as Amanda hurried to the front door of the guest-house. The entire building seemed to be shrouded in darkness, and Mike couldn't shake the fear that maybe they'd come all this way only to discover that the place was empty. This far out in the Bulgarian countryside, he felt there was a real danger that they could fall victim to a clan of angry yokels. Although he was in his early thirties, Mike had never left England before, so he had no direct experience with other cultures. Amanda, on the other hand, was a seasoned traveler who'd come out to Bulgaria a couple of weeks in advance, to scout around and do some groundwork ahead of their big project. Mike was trying to hide his inexperience from Amanda, but just getting off the plane at Sofia's main airport had been a pretty big culture shock. Now that they were out here -

Suddenly he noticed a light in the building, and moments later the front door opened. A woman greeted Amanda, who promptly turned and beckoned for Mike to get out of the jeep. Sighing, Mike figured it was now or never, so he grabbed his backpack from the rear seat and finally hurried out, immediately stepping in a thick puddle of mud.

"You'll have to forgive my colleague," Amanda said to the woman. "This is his first time on the road, so to speak."

Once they were inside, and while Amanda was dealing with the process of checking in and paying the bill in advance, Mike removed his shoes and tried to wipe as much mud away as possible. The guest-house itself was an old wooden building, and it seemed kind of shabby. The walls were decorated with ugly paintings that showed ungainly wild animals standing in various unnatural poses, and Mike couldn't help but think that they must be the work of some local amateur. In fact, the whole building had a very provincial feel, coupled with a stale, fusty smell that made Mike think that he and Amanda were probably the first visitors to step across the threshold for a long time.

Walking barefoot through to the little office, Mike found Amanda filling in some forms.

"Sorry," he muttered. "It's very muddy outside."

The woman smiled politely, before turning to Amanda and saying something in Bulgarian. With seemingly effortless ease, Amanda replied, speaking the language fluently. Standing over by the door, Mike couldn't help but feel a little left out as the two women conversed for several minutes, their discussion sounding more and more heated. Eventually, the guest-house owner turned and hurried through to the next room.

"We're not very popular around here," Amanda said, wandering over to an old wooden piano that stood in the corner of the room. Lifting the lid from the keys, she played a brief, simple tune.

"Because of the mud?"

"Because of what we're doing," she said, still playing the tune. "Word travels. It's not like British academics turn up in these parts every day. I guess people are kind of suspicious. They'd prefer it if things up at the castle were left undisturbed. The legend of the Le Compte family is pretty heavily engrained in local folklore. Most of it's garbage, of course, but there's probably a grain of truth in the whole thing. The Le Comptes existed, but it's pretty crazy to think they could have been a bunch of raging vampires."

"I didn't know you played the piano," Mike replied hesitantly.

"I don't," Amanda said, stepping away from the piano, as if she was embarrassed. "We had one when I was younger, that's all. I picked up a few tricks here and there."

"So..." Mike waited for her to continue. "Are we allowed to stay the night, or do we have to sleep in the jeep?"

"Don't worry," Amanda replied. "She'll take our money. I told her we'd be gone in the morning."

"Since when did you speak Bulgarian?"

"I learned a few words over the years. You know how it is."

As the guest-house owner came back through with more forms, she made some barely audible comments to which Amanda gave brief, monosyllabic replies. There was clearly some bad blood, and as Amanda filled in a few boxes and signed the pieces of paper, she seemed slightly tense.

"People are superstitious about the castle," Amanda continued, as she handed the forms to the woman. "They think the Le Compte family should be left well alone. No-one's been up to that castle for years, and there are certain superstitions floating around. They think abandoned castles should be left abandoned, and that if we go poking around up there, we might unleash..." She paused for a moment. "Well, God knows what. I don't think they know, either. It's just lots of vague doom and gloom."

"Maybe they're right," Mike replied uneasily.

"Don't start buying into the bullshit," Amanda said with a smile as she was handed two keys by the woman. "We're in the middle of nowhere in a dark and unforgiving part of the country, and tomorrow morning we're heading up to an abandoned castle that's rumored to have once belonged to a family of vampires. In other words, we've already got enough going on without succumbing to bumps in the night and creepy thoughts." She handed Mike a key. "I can see it in your eyes. You're already starting to let the place get to you. Take my advice." She leaned closer. "Don't."

"I'm fine," Mike said, aware that he didn't sound too convincing. "I mean, sure, the place is kind of spooky -"

"That's exactly what I mean," Amanda continued. "Don't even let those thoughts into your mind. These are primal fears, Mike. The kind of things that have been fucking with human heads since the dawn of time. We're better than that. We're smarter. More educated. But it's like Andrew Marlowe always told me... no matter how much we evolve, we've still got those prehistoric fears buried deep in our minds."

"How is Marlowe, by the way?" Mike asked. "Last I heard, he'd had a total breakdown."

"He's..." Amanda paused. "Not doing too well, to be honest. I went to visit him a few weeks ago, and he's definitely taking a while to get over things. I didn't even tell him about Pettifer's heart attack. Anyway, I doubt the hospital would have let him out to go to the funeral." She paused. "But Marlowe's a good case in point. He's a smart guy, and a rational guy, but once the craziness got into his mind, it spread like rot. Don't be like him, Mike. It's just the two of us out here, and I need you to stay sane. If you go running off into the mountains, screaming about vampires, I might just abandon you. Got it?"

"So what time do we set out in the morning?" Mike asked after a moment, feeling a little intimidated by Amanda's directness. He was feeling very much like the junior partner in this enterprise.

"First thing," she replied, taking a step back. "We should hit the road as soon as it gets light. The Le Compte castle is only a few miles away, but the roads are pretty twisty and I'd rather take things slow. If we're careful and don't end up hurtling down a ravine, we can be there by midday."

"Okay," Mike replied, "and then we come back down here for the night?"

"Nope," Amanda said, smiling as she shook her head. "There's no point. Do you know how many hours we'd waste? I've got come camping supplies in the jeep. We're going to stay up there for a few nights."

"At the castle?"

"You got a problem with that?"

"Of course not," he said, determined not to let his fear show. "Sounds like fun. I've never stayed in an abandoned vampire castle before. I doubt many people have had such a great honor."

"Watch it," Amanda said with a smile as she turned and headed to the door. "Let's not use the 'v' word, okay? We're not out here on some kind of ghost hunt. This is an academic expedition. Now let's find our rooms. We've got an early start."

Once she'd headed upstairs, Mike was left standing in the office. Moments later, the guest-house owner came through, fixing Mike with a suspicious scowl. Rather than trying to explain himself, Mike merely nodded politely before scurrying off to find his room. He'd been regretting his decision to come out to Bulgaria ever since he'd agreed while talking to Amanda a week earlier, but he figured the best thing to do would be to just go along for the ride. After all, as long as the castle was abandoned, there was no reason to get too worked up.

Two

"So that's it, huh?" Mike said, standing by the jeep early the following morning. Staring at the distant mountains, he could just about make out a large, dark structure clinging to the side of the rocks.

"That's it," Amanda replied, with a hint of a smile. "The Le Comptes were a very powerful family around here back in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. They built their new home to impress, and it worked. Stories of their barbarity and cruelty spread throughout the region. Their name might have died out over the years, but back then they were one of the most feared families in all of Europe. The locals were terrified, and you know what? They still are. It's been hundreds of years since the last of the Le Comptes died, but people around here still don't like to hear the name. It's almost as if they expect them to suddenly come back one day. Why do you think that grand old building has been left to rot?"

Turning and looking back at the guest-house, Mike saw that the woman was watching them from the window. She looked scared, as if she feared that some great evil was about to be stirred. Mike smiled at her, and she quickly stepped out of sight.

"Superstition tends to linger," Amanda continued. "It infects the mind of one generation and then it gets passed down to the next. Each person adds their own twist to the story, just to personalize it a little, and over time the tale adapts to fit the paranoia of each particular age. It's classic oral storytelling, except that this time the purpose isn't to entertain. It's all about fear. The stories that scare people around here today are, in most cases, descended from stories that were first told about the Le Comptes hundreds of years ago."

"Who can blame them for being a bit jittery?" Mike asked, finding it hard to take his eyes off the distant, ominous castle, which dominated the landscape like a black smudge on the side of the mountain. Even now, knowing that the place was completely empty, Mike couldn't help but feel that there must be a pair of eyes somewhere in the dark building, watching over the land. In fact, it was impossible to believe that such a huge building could have been left empty for so many years. After a moment, he realized that Amanda was staring at him.

"You're doing it, aren't you?" she said with a half-smile.

"What?"

"Stop it!"

"What?"

"You're letting your imagination run away with you! You're thinking about all the things that could be up there."

"I was just -"

"Get in the jeep," she said, smiling as she interrupted him. "We've got a long drive ahead."

Although the distance to the castle was barely four miles in a straight line, the road that led up the side of the mountain was torturous and twisty, with sheer drops for most of the way and very few barriers. It was clear that no-one had been out this far for many years, and all attempts to maintain the roads had been abandoned. Amanda and Mike took turns at the wheel, and by midday they finally passed into the castle's shadow. Just after 1pm, the jeep came to the end of the road and the final few hundred meters had to be completed along a rocky outcrop that led, eventually, to a small open plain that jutted out in front of the building.

"Home sweet home," Amanda said nervously, tapping the steering wheel. "You ready to go inside, or do you want to wait in the car?"

"I'm ready," Mike said, peering out at the building. Now that he was up close and could see it properly, he felt in awe of such a magnificent construction. Rising hundreds of meters into the air, the Le Compte castle was a grotesque and beautiful Gothic masterpiece, made from what appeared to be some kind of black stone. With gargoyles perched on every available surface, it was clear that the place was designed to instill fear and dread in the hearts of anyone who came near, and Mike couldn't deny that his heart-rate was a little higher than usual as he stared at the large stone steps that led to the main entrance. He knew it was irrational to be affected so strongly by a few architectural flourishes, but all the logic in the world wouldn't be enough to make him feel entirely at ease out here.

"And you're sure this place has been abandoned for centuries?" he asked eventually.

"I'm certain."

"How can you be so sure?" he continued, turning to her. "If it's been abandoned, that means no-one's been here, and if no-one's been here, how does anyone know that it's abandoned?"

"Come on," Amanda said, smiling as she opened the door and stepped out of the jeep. "God, look at the view from up here. You'd think the locals would've taken the place over and turned it into some kind of resort. You know, this is exactly why superstition holds us back as a species. A gorgeous place like this, left to just sit here in isolation. It's a crime against history, Mike. We need to document the entire place." She turned to him. "The crazy thing is, we wouldn't even be here if Marlowe hadn't started looking at those bones. The world wouldn't have heard of the Le Compte family and their abandoned castle, and I'd never have been able to raise the funds for this expedition. This whole building could have gone unexplored for another century. It could have just been left to waste away."

"What a tragedy," Mike replied bitterly, stepping out of the jeep and wandering toward the base of the steps. "So what do we do now?" he asked. "Just walk right in?"

"You got a better plan?" Amanda said, switching her camera on as she walked past him and started making her way up to the main entrance. She seemed so confident and self-assured, as if she enjoyed proving that she wasn't scared.

"What about animals?" Mike asked, hurrying after her. "I mean, just because humans have left this place alone, you can't be sure there aren't other things here. What about bears? What about... mountain lions?"

"I think we'll be okay," Amanda replied with a smile as she stopped by the large wooden door. "If a mountain lion comes for you, Mike, I'll fight it off. Trust me, I'm tougher than I look." Reaching out, she took hold of a large, thick rope and gave it a pull. Sure enough, from deep within the castle, there was the sound of a bell ringing.

"Seriously?" Mike asked. "A bell?"

"I can't believe it still works," Amanda said with a fascinated smile. "I guess that's what you get with good craftsmanship." With that, she pushed the door, and found that it was unlocked. "Help me," she said, and with Mike's assistance she was able to push the door all the way open to reveal the gloomy interior of the building. A large chamber decorated with dusty old paintings, it was like something from a horror movie, but it appeared that the entire place had been abandoned with all its furniture and fittings left intact. Dust floated through the air, picked out by beams of light that shone through the windows.

"It's like stepping back in time," Amanda said, waving dust away from her face as she stepped forward.

"And you don't think -" Mike started to say, before there was a sudden, loud flapping sound nearby. To his horror, he turned and saw several bats flying straight down toward him, and he was barely able to duck in time before the creatures swooped past and headed out the door.

"You've got to be kidding me!" he shouted, as Amanda laughed.

"Your expression!" she said, clearly finding the whole thing to be highly amusing. "God, Mike, you've gone totally pale."

"What are we gonna find next?" he replied. "Christopher fucking Lee walking down the stairs? This place is like some kind of movie set. It's as if someone dressed it up specifically to be a spooky old castle."

"Bats are common in this part of the world," Amanda explained. "A place like this would be a perfect location for a nest. There are bound to be more of them around, but they won't attack. The myth of the angry, blood-sucking bat is just that. A myth."

"I'd rather not get rabies while we're out here," Mike replied ruefully.

"Look at the chandelier," Amanda said, pointing up at a huge, magnificent creation that hung above them. "That's a hell of a lot of gold, and what's the white stuff? Bone?" Grinning, she turned to him. "Do you think these people were that crazy? A chandelier made with real human bones? Can you imagine the kind of people who'd want to have something like this in their home?"

"It's hard to believe no-one came and ransacked the place after the family died off," Mike replied.

"Everyone was too scared," Amanda said, walking over to a large table and running a finger through the dust. "It must be hundreds of years since anyone even dared to come near the castle. The Le Compte's were part of a feudal system, so villagers were forced to come up and deliver tithes and other offerings, but apart from that they kept well clear of the place. The Le Comptes ruled by fear, and all these years later, even though the family has disappeared, the fear remains. They just -"

Turning suddenly, she stared back at the open door.

"What?" Mike asked. He waited for a reply, but Amanda seemed to be almost frozen in place, as if she expected someone to appear. "Amanda?" Mike continued. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she replied, clearly a little shaken. "I just... I guess it was more bats, that's all."

"So how did they die out?" Mike asked, determined not to let her see that he was getting spooked by the place. "If this family was so powerful, how come their castle has been deserted for so long?"

"I guess nothing lasts forever," Amanda replied, with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Even the greatest of families has to fall eventually. The bloodline gets polluted, successive generations make costly mistakes... Whatever happened, it must have been quite sudden. Look at this place. If it wasn't for all the dust, you could be forgiven for thinking that someone still lives here. It's fabulous."

"That's not quite the word I'd use," Mike said as he walked over to the bottom of the large staircase that wound up into the heights of the building. "It's definitely huge, though. Where the hell do we begin? You'd need a full team to catalog this place. Even then, it'd take weeks."

"We'll split up."

"Are you serious?" he replied, turning to her.

"You've got your phone, haven't you?" she said with a smile. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're scared. It's just an old, empty castle. There's no-one here. Just don't go into any areas that are too dark. You never know if there's a loose floor, or a steep drop. You've got your torch with you, right? I mean, the only actual danger is that you might accidentally walk into a door or something."

"Yeah," he said, trying to quickly come up with a reasonable excuse for them to stick together, "but..." He paused for a moment, aware that Amanda could see right through him. "Fine," he said eventually, trying to sound confident. "You know what? Fuck it. We'll split up. You want to meet back here in, say, two hours? If we survive, I mean."

"Sounds like a plan," Amanda replied. "But remember, if you get scared and you want to hold someone's hand -"

"I'll be fine," Mike said quickly, determined to prove her wrong. She was so certain that he'd got all caught up in the superstitious talk about the castle, it was as if she was starting to see him as some kind of amusing distraction. A child, even. "I'll take this direction," he continued, indicating a huge arched doorway that led through to what appeared to be some kind of hall. "I'll meet you right back here in two hours, and then we can work out where to go from there."

"Be careful," Amanda said, turning and making her way up the stairs. "You never know. I might be wrong. The place might be filled with vampires and monsters. If you find any coffins festooned with garlic, you probably shouldn't try to open them. I don't want to find your bloodless corpse when I get back."

Smiling, Mike watched as she headed up to the landing and disappeared into one of the upstairs room. Turning to look over at the archway, he realized he needed to just get on with things and not let his fears take over. His rational mind was fully aware that there was no such thing as vampires, so he simply needed to make sure that it was this part of his mind that took charge right now. He had to focus on the reality: the castle was a huge, empty building that was home to nothing more than a few bats and maybe some other vermin. Taking a deep breath, he made his way through to the next room.

Three

Walking through what appeared to be some kind of great hall, Mike found himself lost in a daze. Everything about this castle seemed larger than life, to the extent that he found it hard to believe that such a place truly existed. He kept expecting the building place to suddenly pop out of existence, leaving him standing on a rocky outcrop. It wasn't just that he found it hard to believe this castle could be tucked away in this corner of Bulgaria; it was that he found it hard to believe that such a building could exist anywhere in the world. It was just too grand, too dark and too melodramatic to comprehend, as if it had emerged fully-formed from some old Gothic fairytale.

This hall, for example, was at least a hundred meters long, and the ceiling was just as high. A long table ran the length of the room, with chairs arranged on either side, and another huge chandelier hung high above, secured to the vaulted roof by a series of thick chains. Arranged around the edge of the room, a set of dark statues watched proceedings. Wandering closer, Mike saw that each of the statues was fashioned in the likeness of a man, and while some of them held swords and other weapons in their hands, others wore robes and seemed to be unarmed. It was hard not to assume that these were members of the Le Compte family, arranged after death so that they could observe the lives of their ancestors.

"Sorry to disturb," Mike muttered as he walked along the row, briefly admiring each statue in turn. Given the nature of the castle, he couldn't help thinking that the statues might suddenly come to life. It was certainly the kind of place where such horrors might seem a little more possible, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop wondering if this castle might exist in some world that was entirely separate from everywhere else. Was it not possible, he thought, that the laws of nature could be a little different in this dark, undisturbed pocket of reality?

"You must have seen some things," he whispered, staring into the face of one of the statues. "If you could talk, huh?"

Feeling overwhelmed by all the opulence, and not really sure where to begin, he made his way through to the next room, which appeared to be some kind of large conservatory. Sofas were arranged around the edges of the room, and there was a piano in the far corner. One of the walls was decorated with a huge metal shield, which showed a range of war scenes. Just as the exterior of the castle was imposing, so too was the interior. It seemed that those who braved the road up to this place were to be given no relief once they made their way through the door. Everything about the castle seemed to have been designed to emphasize the savagery of the Le Compte family.

Hearing a noise high above, Mike looked up and realized that there were footsteps in a room directly over the hall. Reminding himself that it was probably just Amanda, he walked over to the piano and sat down. It was hard to imagine the barbaric Le Comptes gathering for an evening of music, and Mike couldn't help but wonder whether the family was filled with grotesque monsters. He thought of the whole room being filled with revelers, engaging in some kind of Bacchanalian pageant, probably slaughtering peasants in the process. Shuddering at the thought of all the blood that must have been spilled in the castle, he lifted the piano's lid and looked down at the keys, before finally playing a few notes.

As if disturbed by the noise, a solitary bat detached itself from the nearby wall and swooped low across the hall before disappearing into the next room.

For the next few minutes, Mike sat and played a couple of simple songs, just a few compositions that he remembered from his childhood. Eventually, however, he paused as he realized how unlikely it was that the piano could remain in tune after so many years. Playing a few more notes, he was certain that the instrument was in perfect condition, which seemed hard to believe if it had been left alone for so many hundreds of years. Standing up and stepping away from the piano, he couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps Amanda was wrong and that someone, at some point, had spent some time up in this place. After all, a piano couldn't keep itself in tune, and the passing years would have taken a toll on the strings even if no-one had touched the instrument.

"Musical bats," he muttered wryly, forcing himself to stay calm. "It's the only explanation."

Above, more footsteps moved across an upstairs room. Again, Mike told himself that it must just be Amanda. There was simply no way that anyone or anything else could be living in such a desolate place.

Four

The floorboards creaked as Amanda made her way cautiously across the dimly-lit room. She was high up in the castle, in a large stone room that was dominated by a four-poster bed over by the far wall. Far from looking abandoned, the bed seemed to have been used recently, with the sheets pulled aside and no layer of dust to be seen. Making her way slowly across the room, Amanda paused for a moment by the bed and then carefully set the sheets straight until the bed was more or less tidy. Probably best not to let Mike see such a thing, she figured; he'd just get even more paranoid.

Reaching her hand under the bed-sheets, Amanda found that there was no warmth. Clearly no-one had been in the bed recently.

Hearing a noise nearby, she turned and stared into the darkness. Her heart was racing, and for a moment she was convinced that there must be someone lurking in the shadows. She took a step forward, and finally she heard the noise again; this time, however, she realized that there was a mouse scurrying along the floor. Standing completely still, she watched as the mouse made its way to a small hole just below the bed, and moments later the creature disappeared into its own little world. Figuring that the whole castle was probably riddled with mice, rats and other infestations, Amanda took one final look around the bedroom before heading back over to the door.

Glancing up at the top corner of the nearby wall, she spotted a bat roosting in the darkness. She paused for a moment and watched the creature. It seemed to be asleep, or at least it showed no sign of being disturbed by her presence. Almost as if it felt comfortable. Still, it was nothing special; just a dumb creature, eking out an existence by feeding on scraps in someone else's abandoned home.

Once she was out of the room, Amanda found herself in a narrow, tall corridor that ran along the front of the building. Flags hung above, representing various stages of the Le Compte family's past glories. With the whole castle having fallen into a state of disrepair, the flags seemed vaguely pathetic, as if they were placed there by people who were convinced that their glory could never end. Now, in the twenty-first century, the flags seemed old and faded, and the defiance of the Le Compte family simply seemed more futile than ever. Amanda smiled as she thought of the family's great men, and how distraught they would undoubtedly have become if they'd known that their name would eventually fall by the wayside of history.

Stepping over to a nearby window, Amanda looked out at the vast mountains that ran across the horizon. Those mountains had stood, unchanging, for the entire duration of the Le Compte family's history, and they'd outlasted the family's dramas. When the first Le Compte came to this land, the mountains watched over his journey, and they were still watching when the last members of the family began to die off. Amanda couldn't help but wish that there was some way to speak to those mountains, to ask them what they'd seen and to beg them to relate their story. They had undoubtedly seen a huge amount of bloodshed, and heard the screams of many men and women who had been dragged up to the castle. In fact, the calmness of the scene only served to emphasize in Amanda's mind the idea that the whole region had once been in bloody thrall to the Le Compte family and their dark ways.

No wonder, she realized, that the valley seemed so lush and fertile. So much blood must have soaked down from the castle's high vantage point, enriching the soil and nourishing new life.

Sighing, Amanda checked her watch and realized that it'd soon be time to go and find Mike. She's only brought Mike with her because she wanted some company on the trip. She'd had a hard time persuading her colleagues that a journey to Bulgaria would be necessary, but eventually she'd worn them down and made them see that the dark mystery of the Le Comptes was of essential value to her broader work on European folk legends. No-one had wanted to come with her, of course, and there was no way Andrew Marlowe could be signed out of the psychiatric hospital, but Amanda had been determined to have someone with her when she made the journey to the castle. She wanted someone to see her moment of glory, and although Mike was a dull man of limited imagination, he'd be as good a witness as any.

Witnesses, she felt, were important. The castle had stood neglected for so long. Most of the world had no idea of its existence, and the locals were too scared to make anything of the place. Even now, she imagined fearful eyes staring up from the valley, terrified that some supernatural power might be unleashed from these empty, dusty corridors. It was strange to think that the Le Comptes still had so much thrall over the region, despite the fact that they'd to all intents and purposes been gone for centuries. Fear could outlast men, though, and could perhaps even outlast the world itself.

Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that it was definitely time to leave the window. Still, she couldn't tear herself away. Not quite yet. Her eyes were constantly scanning the horizon, looking for any sign of movement.

"Come on," she muttered under her breath. "Where are you? Come back to me."

Five

"Amanda!" Mike called out as he returned to the entrance hall. "You around? It's time to come up with an actual plan!"

Smiling, he turned and looked for some sign of her. Slowly, however, the smile faded from his lips as he realized she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, as he listened to the silence, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was completely alone.

"Amanda!" he shouted again, a little more loudly this time. "Come on, we had an arrangement!"

He waited.

"Amanda!"

No response.

Reaching into his pocket, he grabbed his cellphone and brought up Amanda's number. After a moment, however, he saw that he had no coverage out here in the wilderness.

"Amanda!" he shouted, convinced that she must be able to hear him, even if she was far off in another wing of the house. "Amanda! Come on, we need to talk about what to do next!" He paused for a moment. "A little professionalism wouldn't hurt either," he muttered under his breath.

After a few minutes, realizing that she wasn't coming, he decided to head upstairs to look for her. Making his way up the wide stone staircase, he suddenly felt completely defenseless, as if he'd been deposited in the middle of an alien world. He couldn't help but keep glancing over his shoulder, as if he was worried that there'd be someone or something following him. As hard as he tried, the specter of some kind of presence just wouldn't go away, and he was starting to wonder whether he could truly handle a night in this place.

"Hey!" he shouted when he got to the landing. "Amanda! Come on, where are you?"

Wandering along a corridor that ran across the front of the castle, he stopped for a moment and looked out through a large window. The landscape in this part of Bulgaria was a formidable sight, reinforcing Mike's sense of loneliness and reminding him that he was truly far from home. He'd been relying on Amanda to act as his guide and help him find his way around, but although she'd always seemed so reliable and dependable back home at the museum, out here in Bulgaria she seemed to be losing her way a little. It was as if something about the project was causing her to lose focus, and Mike didn't feel equipped to take charge of their work. He needed to get Amanda back on track, but the first part of that task was to find her, and so far she seemed to have disappeared into the bowels of the castle.

"This isn't funny!" he called out, his voice echoing in the vastness of the building. This was a place where armies would once have marched through high-ceiling corridors, and now Mike was wandering lost and alone.

Wandering into a nearby room, he saw a rumpled bed that looked suspiciously as if it had been used by someone. He made his way over and placed his hand under the sheets, immediately feeling a hint of warmth, as if there had been a body occupying the bed recently. Trying not to panic, he turned and looked across the room, spotting a bat clinging to the far wall. Although he knew that there might be a perfectly rational explanation, Mike could feel the concern starting to build in the pit of his stomach. While he certainly didn't believe in vampires, he figured there was a chance that someone had been making this abandoned castle their home.

Hurrying back to the door and out into the corridor, he realized he had to make a decision. The castle was far too large for him to search every room, and clearly he was at a disadvantage if it turned out that there was someone else hiding in the shadows. Then again, it was still possible that this whole situation was a misunderstanding, and that Amanda had merely become distracted as she explored the place. There was a chance that she'd wandered into a remote part of the building, and that she'd eventually come back, muttering about being a little late, and then laughing at Mike's concern. He was worried, sure, but he figured it was still a little too early to collapse into abject panic.

"Amanda!" he called out, heading back to the stairs and making his way down to the large entrance hallway. After all, this was where they'd arranged to meet, so this was where Amanda would eventually show up. In theory, anyway. There was still no sign of her, but Mike forced himself to stay calm. Checking his watch, he decided to give her one more hour, and then he'd start thinking about the possibility that she was in danger. Hoping to take his mind off his worries, he headed through to one of the nearby rooms and found himself in a long, tall space lined with hundreds of large oil paintings, each of which bore a ledger with the name of a member of the Le Compte family.

"So this is where you've all been hiding, huh?" he muttered as he looked up at a huge painting of someone named Martin Le Compte, identified as having lived in the fifteenth century. The image itself, cracked and peeling a little, was several meters wide and at least five or six meters tall. It was a huge and impressive piece of work, and Martin Le Compte himself was an imposing figure. In the background of the image, soldiers appeared to be dying on a battlefield, and their splashes of blood were the only vibrant color in an otherwise drab and dark palette.

Wandering along the room, admiring each painting in turn, Mike began to realize that Amanda was right when she said the Le Compte family deserved further study. They appeared to have been one of the richest and most feared families in European history, up there with the likes of the House of Medici. It was hard to believe that such a powerful lineage could have been forgotten by scholars, and Mike figured that it was almost as if the Le Comptes had purposefully tried to expunge their name from the history books. Either that, or terrified locals had done the job for them, although it was hard to see why the Le Comptes had died off. The castle showed no sign of disrepair or damage. It was as if, one day, the last of the Le Comptes had simply walked out the door and left the place to rot.

Stopping in front of another painting, Mike stared up at the dark, furrowed brow of a gentleman by the name of Ivan Le Compte. As strange as it seemed, there was something a little familiar about the man's face, although Mike couldn't quite work out where he'd seen him before. Some of the noblest old European families enjoyed a degree of inter-breeding, of course, but this seemed like a much stronger resemblance, almost as if Mike had at some point stared into this very face, or at least into the face of someone who shared the same blood. Then again, he figured, after staring at painting after painting, he was probably just getting used to the facial features of this great family.

"Amanda!" he shouted, turning to look back at the door. "Come and see this!"

No reply.

Sighing, he continued to make his way along the row of paintings, casually glancing at each one. He knew that the next step would be to secure funding for a team of experts to come out to the castle. The place would be taken apart with forensic care and analyzed in excruciating detail, and eventually the Le Compte family would likely become famous around the world. There would be books about them, maybe even films, and they'd become part of wider Bulgarian and maybe even European folklore. Mike felt a little humbled to realize that he was present at the start of this huge process, which would eventually change the way Bulgarian history was regarded. As he pondered these possibilities, he realized it was insane for Amanda to think that there was any point in them staying and doing any work by themselves; now that they'd taken a quick look around, they needed to go and get in touch with their colleagues back in London and arrange for a proper expedition.

Reaching the end of the room, Mike noticed that the final painting was a little different to the others, since it was the first to show the image of a woman. As soon as he looked up at the face, however, he felt his chest tighten, and it took a moment before he was able to fully understand what he was looking at. Checking the name on the plaque at the bottom of the frame, he saw that the image was of a woman named Madeleine Le Compte, but there was something horribly wrong with what he was seeing. He stared up at the face, and slowly a sense of absolute horror and dread began to creep through his entire body. Finally, filled with panic, he turned and ran.

Six

"Amanda!" Mike shouted, coming to a halt in the hallway as he saw Amanda standing over by the door. "What are you doing?"

With her back to him, Amanda was staring out at the mountains. It was almost as if she was looking for someone, waiting for someone to appear from the wilderness. Slowly, she turned and looked at Mike, and there was a curious smile on her lips.

"I was looking for you," he stammered. "I found something. Through in the next room, a painting, you..." He paused as he realized that there was something strange about the way Amanda was watching him, as if she was amused by his words. It was definitely her, but something had changed.

"It's okay," she said softly. "Don't worry."

"You have to see this," he continued. "I know this is going to sound crazy, Amanda, but there's a painting, and it took me a moment to realize what I was looking at, but it's... It's like..." He paused, fearing that the words would sound insane as soon as they left his mouth. "You have to see for yourself," he said eventually. "This painting, this woman, her name's Madeleine Le Compte, but when you see the likeness..."

"I already know the painting well enough," Amanda said, stepping toward him. "I've looked at it a thousand times over the years. I even remember posing for it."

"No," Mike continued, taking a step back, "you don't understand. This is one of the Le Compte family portraits. It's from the sixteenth or seventeenth century, and this Madeleine Le Compte woman looks exactly like you. It's not just a passing resemblance, Amanda. She looks exactly like you, like a spitting image."

"I know," Amanda said, still sounding strangely calm, and with the smile on her lips growing by the second. "The man who painted my portrait was a local artist. My father forced him to come up here and paint both my brother and myself, and then he had the man's throat slit and he used his blood to add some color to the canvas. My father felt that no false pigment would be good enough. Blood has its own unique tone that just can't be copied. Daddy was always so fussy about the little details."

"Amanda, this painting is hundreds of years old -"

"It was a warm summer's day when the painter arrived," Amanda continued, slowly advancing upon Mike as he backed away into the next room. "I had to spend a week posing for him. God, it was boring, but the end result, the painting, was quite fabulous. I almost felt sorry when father handed me the knife and told me what I had to do, but of course, one is always a little hesitant when one kills for the first time."

"Amanda...

"I chose that name when I came to work at the museum," she explained. "Catherine Carter. Amanda. I plucked it out of thin air. I just wanted to be close to the bones when they arrived. I knew my brother would be among them. It was so hard to keep calm when I first saw his remains, but I couldn't let Marlowe or the others know who I really am, could I? I've waited centuries for him to be resurrected. In fact, after a while, I began to regret the little trick I pulled to get Alderman Petrov to bury him in the first place, but that's all by the wayside now. What matters is that my dear brother is on his way home. In fact, he should be here any minute. It's been so long since I saw Edgar. Our reunion is going to be so fabulous."

"Amanda -"

"Call me Madeleine. I've used so many fake names over the years, but at the end of it all, I'm still, always and forever, Madeleine. I'm sorry I lied to you, Mike, but it was all rather necessary. Deception, like cruelty, courses through my veins and makes me who I am." She smiled, with tears in her eyes. "It's been three hundred and fifty years since I last saw my brother, but I haven't changed at all. And he hasn't changed, either."

"I'm getting out of here," Mike stammered, trying to walk around Amanda, "I'm not going to -"

Stepping directly in front of him, Amanda opened her mouth and hissed, exposing two sharp fangs.

"Jesus!" Mike shouted, stepping back.

She smiled. "I feel bad about Marlowe. He was a nice guy. A fool, but still a nice guy. Maybe I should have killed him, instead of allowing him to descend into madness. Then again, I've always enjoyed such cruelty. I've tried to change, Mike. Really, I have. I've dallied with purity and innocence. I've tried to be good and kind, but it just doesn't work. God, the torment has damn near ripped me apart, but eventually I had to accept that I can't change. None of us can. We are who we are, and what we are. Cruelty's just part of my nature. It's who I am. After all, did you ever see a scorpion try to cut off its own tail?"

"What are you?" Mike asked, his heart racing as he tried to work out how to get past her and make it out to the jeep.

"What do you think I am?" she replied, opening her mouth a little and showing her fangs once again. After a moment, she frowned, and then she turned to look back at the door. "He's here," she said eventually, her voice filled with longing and passion. "At least, he's here!"

"Who?" Mike asked.

"He's here!" she shouted, running back to the door and stopping for a moment. "Oh, after all this time, my handsome brother and I are to be reunited!" Putting her hands together under her chin, as if in prayer, she clapped with excitement. "How utterly fabulous!"

"What are you talking about?" Mike asked, moving across the room until he could see through to the hallway, and to the main door that led into the castle from outside. After a moment, he realized there was another figure walking slowly into the castle. "Who's that?" he shouted.

"This is my brother," Madeleine said, grinning from ear to ear, looking as if she was totally mesmerized by the dark silhouette that had stopped in the far doorway. "Edgar is home! After long last, we're reunited! This is going to be so wonderful! So fabulous!" She turned back to look at Mike. "He's risen. Don't you see? He's crawled from his grave! It took him centuries, and it must have been so painful, but our games can begin all over again! The games and the pain and the love and the hatred and the anger. All of it. And now we'll be together forever, and the Le Compte family will rise again!"

The Vampire's Grave part 2

One

"Your new skin," Madeleine said softly, as she ran a sponge over Edgar's bare back in the flickering candlelight, "is just like your old skin. It's amazing how it can grow back like this time and time again, reforming in its old patterns, never losing an inch of its perfection. If anything, you look even better than before. Younger, more radiant." She squeezed the sponge, forcing out some more of the soapy water and the using a hand to spread the foam across her brother's flesh. It was just like the old days, when they'd bathe together, and she felt reassured by the resumption of this ancient tradition. "Our bodies, Edgar, are the most wondrous things. To think, the last time I saw you, you were just a set of bones on a tray in the museum in London. How quickly you've returned to your old form. Just a couple of months. It's a miracle. A miracle from God."

"I had no choice," Edgar said darkly, staring at the candles that flickered by the edge of the bathing pool in one of the smaller rooms of the castle. "I spent an eternity in that grave, thanks to you. My head was removed and placed between my feet. A brick was forced into my mouth. The fools even put herbs and flowers in my coffin, thinking that they would prevent me from returning."

"And they did," Madeleine said, dipping the sponge in the pool for a moment before continuing to wash Edward's lower back. "Didn't they? For a while, at least."

"You went too far," he replied firmly. "The game was just supposed to be a way for us to pass the time, Madeleine. You had me imprisoned in that grave for hundreds of years. Did you never think to dig me up and rescue me? Did you never think that perhaps, just perhaps, you'd overstepped the bounds? I waited for you to come and get me out of there, but you never came."

"I knew someone would dig you up eventually," she said calmly, "and I was right. As soon as I heard that your bones were to be taken to London, I made my way there and ensconced myself at the museum. I created a whole new identity for myself, just so that I could be close to you, so that I could watch your ragged remains as they healed. Do you have any idea how long I spent at that museum, pretending to be some other woman, just so I could be there when you finally arrived? And then I pretended to like that Marlowe fool, just to get closer to his work. I was going to help you, but obviously you took matters into your own hands and burned the museum down instead. I must say, Edgar, I think that was a little over the top." She giggled. "A whole museum. Daddy would have been so proud."

As she ran the sponge over Edgar's skin, Madeleine was momentarily dazzled by the candlelight as it glistened against his wet shoulders. She'd missed these moments. While Edgar was gone, she'd been alone. She'd dallied with humans here and there, but a human mind wasn't enough for her. She needed a vampire; she needed her brother. Now that he was back with her, she was convinced that their pair of them could resume their old life. The castle was still in good condition, so they could use it as a base while they re-established themselves in the region. After three hundred and fifty years, the locals would learn to fear the Le Compte family all over again.

"Just so that you know," Edgar said eventually, "your debt will be repaid. I won't forget what you did to me. When you're least expecting it, I shall take my revenge."

"Oh, I hope so," she replied. "You know how much I enjoy our games."

"You won't enjoy this one."

"Sounds like fun."

"It'll hurt."

She squealed with delight.

"Give me that!" Edgar snapped, grabbing the sponge from her hands. Turning to her, there was real anger in his eyes. "I can bathe myself. I'm not a child. Don't you have other things to be doing?"

"I've missed you," she said hesitantly, shocked at his forcefulness. "Edgar, it's been so long -"

"And whose fault was that?" he shouted. "Three hundred and fifty years, Madeleine! I was down in that grave for three and a half centuries! Do you think I wasn't conscious during that period? Of course I was! Every second of that time, I was trying to force my body to heal! Can you even begin to imagine the agony I endured? Can you conceive of my thoughts when finally, after so long, I realized that my coffin was being dug up? And then, to realize that my body had deteriorated to become little more than a collection of bare bones? The healing process was so desperately slow! I had to wait while I was driven and flown halfway across the world, with a bunch of other, ordinary corpses all around me! And then, laid out on that metal slab in that idiot's laboratory at the museum -"

"It was just a game," Madeleine replied, her voice low and pained. "I didn't mean to -"

"When you came in to look at my bones," Edgar sneered, "I swear to God, I was ready to rise up and slit your throat. I could hear every word you said to that idiotic man. I knew exactly what kind of game you were playing. Do you want to know why I burned that entire museum down? It was because I could no longer contain my anger at you! You filled me with so much rage, I had to find a way to let it out!"

"It was a game," Madeleine said again, trying to sound a little more firm this time. "We always played games, Edgar. That's how we amused ourselves. Perhaps I went a little far on this occasion, but it was still just a game -"

"Games are for children!" he shouted.

"No! No, that's not true! We're different, Edgar. We're not like others. We were just having fun -"

"Three hundred and fifty years!" he screamed. Standing naked, waist-deep in the bathing pool and illuminated only by candlelight, he was a fearsome sight. Slowly, as if he was becoming a little calmer, he began to use the sponge to wash his chest. "Three hundred and fifty years trapped in a pauper's grave," he continued. "Believe me, sister, I had more than enough time to contemplate all manner of things I could do to you. I came up with a thousand ways to gain my revenge. The only difficult part of the endeavor will be in deciding which I shall choose first."

"I look forward to it," Madeleine said with a faint smile.

"Don't," he replied firmly. "You will suffer, and you will regret the day you had me entombed."

"When you've finished washing yourself," she said, "perhaps you can wash me?"

"You disgust me," he sneered.

"I must say," Madeleine replied, watching as Edgar continued to clean himself, "I think you're overreacting just a little. We never set any rules for our games. They were a free-for-all, so I don't see why you're so mad at me. It was all just a way of playing with each other, to pass the time. It's not my fault you weren't able to find a way out of that grave sooner. I mean, how was I to know that idiotic old Alderman Petrov and his bunch of yokels would actually be able to stop you from breaking free? I thought they were just full of bluster."

"Didn't you wonder why, after a few years, I still had not emerged?"

"I thought maybe you were sulking," she said, "or that you were enjoying yourself down there."

"Enjoying myself?" Edgar roared. "You thought that I might be enjoying my captivity?"

"Let's not fight," Madeleine replied. "It's been so long since we were together, let's not spoil things by getting angry at one another. I'm sure we've both made mistakes, but we can get past that, can't we? We can talk about things calmly over dinner, rather than -"

"You make me sick," Edgar said, his voice filed with anger.

"Oh, don't say things like that," Madeleine said, forcing a laugh. "God, I'd forgotten how serious you can be sometimes. It was a game, Edgar. That's all. A game. I understand that you're upset about losing, but -"

"Get out of my sight!" Edgar shouted.

"Come here," Madeleine said, smiling as she waded through the water. "Let me finish cleaning you. It's the least I can do."

"Don't touch me," Edgar replied, baring his fangs. "I want to be alone. I don't want to listen to your lies. The castle is large and empty, Madeleine. There's no reason for us to be in the same room all the time."

"But this is our big, happy reunion!"

"Get out!"

"Let me wash you first," she said, reaching out for the sponge.

"No!" Edgar shouted, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her away.

"What's wrong with you?" Madeleine shouted back at him. "You used to like playing games!"

"Things have changed," he replied.

"No!" she shouted.

"I grew up!" he said firmly. "I spent three hundred and fifty years trapped in a coffin, and I grew up! It seems that you, on the other hand, continued to play your ridiculous games up here on the surface. I used to tolerate you, Madeleine, but at this point in time I feel physically sick every time I look at you! I've changed -"

"No!" she shouted again, rushing forward and grabbing him by the shoulders. "Nothing's changed! We haven't changed! We can't change! We're like this forever, and the game will go on forever! Don't you understand?"

"Leave me alone," Edgar replied, pushing her aside as he made his way to the edge of the pool and began to walk up the steps.

"Not until you talk to me!" Madeleine shouted, hurrying after him.

"I'm warning you," he replied, still walking away. "This isn't the time to push me, Madeleine -"

"Talk to me!" she screamed.

In a flash, Edgar turned and grabbed her, pulling her close and biting down hard on her bare shoulder, using his fangs to rip away a section of flesh. Although she struggled, Madeleine couldn't get free as blood poured from her wound and ran into the bathing pool, and eventually she let out a gasp of pain. Finally, as Edgar released his grip a little, Madeleine was able to pull away and clutch the deep gash that her brother had made.

"You bit me!" she shouted angrily.

"Be grateful that's all I did," Edgar sneered.

"You haven't bitten me since we were children!"

"You're still a child!" he roared. "You still play games! What are you going to do now, Madeleine? Are you going to bite me back? Do you want to fight me, the way we fought when we were younger?"

With tears in her eyes, still clutching her bloodied shoulder, Madeleine stepped back toward the center of the bathing pool.

"Good," Edgar said, seeming a little calmer. "Your blood tastes weak and putrid these days. I want to be alone for a few hours. We'll meet at dinner and discuss our plans. Until then, keep out of my way."

Once Edgar had stormed out of the room, Madeleine was left standing alone and naked in the bathing pool, with blood still pouring from her injured shoulder and tears still rolling down her eyes. She'd been so desperately looking forward to Edgar's return, and it hadn't occurred to her that he might be angry. Well, not this angry. Trembling a little, she took her hand away from her shoulder and saw that the wound was deep and wide. It would take many hours for her flesh to heal, and for the pain to go away. Looking down, she saw that the water around her was running red. Determined to wash away her tears, she slowly lowered herself beneath the surface until she was floating in a cloud of her own blood.

Two

Staring up into the darkness, Mike realized that the two creatures had stopped arguing. For now, at least. Over the past half hour, he'd been able to hear them in a distant part of the castle, shouting and screaming at each other. They seemed to be totally out of control, as if they were wrapped up in their own very private battle, and Mike was tempted to believe that they'd completely forgotten him. Ever since they threw him down into this small, dark stone chamber in the heart of the castle, he'd been terrified that their plan was to just ignore him and let him waste away. From his limited knowledge of medieval torture methods, he was fairly sure that he was in an oubliette, which meant that there was no likelihood of him being retrieved any time soon.

The oubliette was small, barely a couple of meters in diameter, and with a low, arched roof. There was no light at all, so Mike had been forced to feel his way around the walls. It was clear, however, that the only way in or out was via the hatch in the ceiling, which was firmly bolted shut. There was a small amount of straw on the floor, and once or twice Mike had heard a rustling sound that he thought might be coming from a mouse or a rat. The place certainly stank, suggesting that some kind of creature had made its home in the chamber, and eventually, as he listened to the silence and waited for the distant argument to resume, Mike felt a sudden, sharp biting sensation on his leg.

"Fuck!" he shouted, kicking out instinctively. He heard a nearby squeaking sound as something, probably a rat, scurried to safety.

All he could do was wait and hope that Amanda would have pity on him. The transformation from Amanda Carter, diminutive and passionate anthropologist, to someone named Madeleine, had been as shocking as it had been sudden. Mike found it hard to believe that she could have been hiding her true self all this time, but he couldn't deny the evidence that had finally developed right in front of him. The huge painting was clearly an image of Amanda herself, and the plaque clearly identified her as Madeleine Le Compte; quite how she could have lived for more than three hundred years, Mike wasn't sure, but out here in the hinterlands of the Bulgarian wilderness it seemed somehow more possible that such creatures could exist.

Besides, the revelation about Amanda's true identity had at least helped to explain a few anomalies. Mike had always wondered how and why Amanda had suddenly arrived at the museum to join the anthropological department, especially since she'd seemed far more interested in eavesdropping on the work of others. After the fire, Amanda had taken a particular interest in the recovery of the Bulgarian bones, and Mike remembered noticing that she was the only member of the faculty who'd bothered to go and visit Andrew Marlowe at the psychiatric hospital. Then there was Amanda's determination to bring a party out to the Le Compte castle; she'd said that she wanted to uncover the ancestral home of a long-forgotten European dynasty, but now it was clear that she'd actually been keen to return so that she could be reunited with her brother. The whole story was so incredible, Mike found it hard to believe, yet he couldn't come up with an alternative explanation.

Amanda Carter had never existed. She'd always been a mask.

Hearing a noise somewhere above, Mike froze, and he quickly realized that someone was approaching the top of the hatch. Seconds later, there was a grinding sound, followed by a flood of light as the hatch swung open and someone loomed out of the darkness with a flaming torch in their hand.

"Come on," Madeleine said, reaching down toward him. "Time for dinner."

"You have to let me go," Mike stammered. "There's no way you can possibly think -"

"I don't have time to argue," she continued, sounding a little annoyed, "and you don't have a choice in the matter. Either you can come up willingly, or I'll come down there and get you. Trust me, it'll be a lot easier and a lot less painful if you just come up."

Mike stared up at the flaming torch, which was obscuring Madeleine's face.

"What's wrong?" she asked eventually, sounding annoyed. "Why the hell are you still down there?"

"People are going to be looking for me," he continued. "They're going to notice that I've vanished. They knew where I was coming. Do you think you can just keep me here and no-one's going to come looking?"

"Don't worry about that," she replied, moving back from the opening. "I'll deal with it all. For now, get your ass out of that damn hole. When you're told to do something, you need to do it. Understood?"

Hesitantly, Mike reached up and hauled himself up through the hatch, finally rolling across the floor of the room above while Madeleine pushed the door shut again.

"You probably have a lot of questions," Madeleine said after a moment. "The first thing you need to know is that Amanda Carter never existed. Not really. She was just a role I was playing. Do you think I could have infiltrated the museum if I'd turned up and announced that I was Madeleine Le Compte, and that one of the bodies coming from Bulgaria was actually my brother?"

"Madeleine Le Compte," Mike said slowly, "was born more than three hundred years ago."

"I know," she replied. "I don't look it, though. Do I?" She lowered the torch a little, finally allowing Mike to see her face. Although her hair was messier than usual, it was still clearly her. "Come on," she continued. "Pay a girl a compliment. After the day I've had, any kind words would be sorely appreciated."

"What happened to your shoulder?" Mike asked, looking at the scar tissue just to the right side of her neck.

"Just a little playful fighting with my brother."

"That creature is your brother?" Mike continued. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly. I haven't seen him for a while, though. In fact, tonight is gonna be our first family dinner for such a long time. Don't you feel privileged to be invited?"

"This is madness..."

"No," she replied, "it's not madness. It's sanity. The world out there, the world with its museums and cities and busy lives, that's insanity. You've got no idea how much I hated every second of my life in London. When I was pretending to be Amanda Carter, I had to put on a show all the time and pretend that I was comfortable. The truth is, I hate what humans are doing to the modern world. Here at the castle, though, everything makes sense. That's why I'm so happy my brother came back. It was hard living here alone, but now we're together again and we can put the family back on top. The Le Comptes are going to rule again."

"But why did you drag me here with you?" Mike asked. "Just to torture me?"

"I wanted some company," she replied. "Is that so bad? It was lonely here without Edgar, and I didn't know how long it'd take him to make the journey. Of course, now he's back, I don't need you anymore, so..." She paused. "Come on. We need to go to dinner. Edgar's in a funny mood and it's going to take a while to make him calm down. He's got a bee in his bonnet about something, but it'll be fine. It's always fine eventually. People don't change. Even after three hundred years. I know my brother better than he knows himself."

Mike opened his mouth to argue with her, but no words came out. He felt as if he was going to wake up from this nightmare at any moment.

"Come on," Madeleine said, reaching out and taking his hand. "There's no need to be scared. What will be, will be. You're just an observer tonight. All you can do is watch."

Looking down at her body, Mike saw that she was completely naked.

"Naughty boy," she continued, leading him along the corridor, holding the torch out to guide the way. "We do things a little differently in the Le Compte family. You'll see soon enough. There used to be so many people living here, but now it's just the two of us. We try to keep to the old traditions alive as much as possible, but of course there are always a few problems. You know how it is, right? The classic fight between tradition and modernity. Think about what it's like for those of us who live for centuries."

Mike kept quiet. He was waiting for a chance to run. After all, the jeep was still parked outside, and he figured he could maybe get out there, get it started, and drive away without either of these freaks spotting him until it was too late. First, though, he'd need to lull them into a false sense of security and make sure that they believed he was willing to stay. He'd have to gain their trust, and then later, when they were distracted, he could sneak out to the jeep.

"So," he said eventually, trying to sound as casual as possible. "What's for dinner?"

Three

"This place has gone to ruin," Edgar said darkly as he sat at the head of the table. "What have you been doing all these year, Madeleine?"

Sitting at the other end of the table, Madeleine glanced nervously at her brother, while affecting a carefree tone of voice. "Oh, this and that," she said eventually, picking her words carefully. "Three hundred and fifty years is a long time. You can't expect me to have just sat around here, waiting for your return. The world has moved on. History has been in flux. You missed so much, Edgar. The industrial revolution, the great wars, the dawn of the atomic age, the internet... Gothos fell, and Sangreth -"

"So you've been neglecting our home," Edgar said firmly, interrupting her.

"I've been out exploring," she replied, the tension evident in her voice. "I considered coming to dig you up, of course, but I thought you'd consider that to be rather patronizing, as if I didn't believe you could get yourself out of your own grave. I can't tell you how many times I felt certain that you were due to show your face, only to be disappointed. It never occurred to me that those foolish little men would actually be able to keep you in your grave for any substantial period of time. Obviously, it's now clear that you would have liked me to have given you a hand, but at the time, I thought we were still playing the game."

"You took the game too far."

"So you keep saying."

"The state of this castle is a disgrace to our family name," Edgar continued. "On my way here, I didn't encounter a single human who'd even heard of the Le Compte name. It's as if we've been erased from history. We might as well tear the place down."

"We're the last, Edgar. You know that."

"Meanwhile, you were off in London, pretending to be someone else."

"That was for you -"

"Keep lying," Edgar said darkly. "It suits you."

Sighing, Madeline set down her knife and fork. "I don't know what you want me to say, Edgar. I'm sorry. Is that enough? I mis-judged the situation." She paused. "I thought you had a sense of humor," she muttered under her breath.

"Humor?" he asked. "How can there possibly be any humor in such a fate? You left me down there to rot for more than three hundred years. You obviously struck some kind of bargain with the alderman who presided over my execution. Did you truly believe that I'd find the whole experience amusing? Did you think I'd emerge refreshed from such a long rest?"

"I'm sorry," Madeleine said. "That's all I can say. I know you'll forgive me eventually, dear brother. After all, we're the only members of our family left. We shall have to get onto more practical matters at some point. The blood-line must continue, and there are only so many ways such a thing can be achieved when there are just the two of us." She paused for a moment, smiling as she fixed her brother with a determined stare. "We might have to be inventive, my dear. We might have to try something new."

"And what of this weakling?" Edgar asked, glancing over at the far corner, where Mike was chained to the wall. "You brought a pathetic human to our home. You allowed him to see us at our most vulnerable, to hear our arguments, to understand our curse. He can't be allowed to leave."

"I can!" Mike said nervously. "Really, I won't say a thing!"

"Did you bring him here for sport?" Edgar continued, turning back to Madeleine. "As a pet? I can't possibly fathom why you'd waste any time dealing with such a miserable wretch."

"I was lonely," she replied. "You've no idea what a bad time I had in London. It's such a busy city, but there was no-one I could really talk to. I just couldn't face the prospect of coming all the way back to the castle without some company. Granted, it might have been better if I'd found a more impressive specimen, but you know what humans are like. Besides, I had to get things together rather quickly." She paused for a moment. "These are just details, dear brother. We must focus on the bigger picture. You're right when you say I've been acting frivolously, but now's the time to get on with the important things."

"You haven't changed, have you?" Edgar replied with a sneer. "Three hundred and fifty years after I last saw you, you're still an immature child."

"Of course I haven't changed," she said, her hands shaking a little as she sipped from her glass of wine. "No-one ever changes, Edgar. We're born with set souls, and nothing can alter that, not even the passage of time. By our very nature -"

"I've changed," he said firmly.

"Superficially, perhaps, but -"

"I've changed," he said again. "Can't you tell? When you look into my eyes, do you see the same young fool you saw all those years ago? Or do you see someone who is older and wiser."

"But..." She paused, clearly a little disturbed by his glare. She wanted to tell him that she saw no change at all, but she wasn't sure if such a claim would be true. "I was afraid you'd say something like that," she continued eventually. "The absolute worst thing in the world is when someone thinks that he's achieved change, even though such a thing is impossible. You'll see. We can restore the castle to its old glories. We can put things back to how they were and defy the changes that have begun to take place in your absence. Of course, in order to do that, we need heirs. We need children. We have few options, my darling brother, and in the circumstances -"

"Why is this creature staring at me?" Edgar asked, turning to Mike.

"What?" Mike asked, his eyes wide with horror.

"You're staring at me," Edgar continued. "Are you scared of me?"

"No!"

"Why not? Don't you know who I am?"

"I..." Mike paused. "I just want to get out of here," he continued, tugging on the chains that held him in place. "I only came to see the castle, and I swear to God, I won't tell anyone about either of you. I'll just go home and get on with my work, and you'll never hear from me, I promise! Please, just let me go!"

"Be quiet," Edgar said dismissively.

"Look at me!" Mike continued, trying to crawl toward the table before the chain tightened and held him in place. "Do I look like someone who wants to cause trouble? If you let me go, I'll forget that any of this ever happened!"

"Humans haven't changed while I've been away," Edgar said, turning to Madeleine. "They're still, for the most part, a whiny, pathetic species. I fail to understand why they haven't died off and been replaced by a more fitting animal. My journey home was uneventful, but I encountered many humans, and without exception they filled me with disgust."

"You see?" Madeleine replied. "Nothing changes. Humans haven't changed, and we haven't changed, and the world still spins just as it always did. We're still Edgar and Madeleine, only this time we're all alone. Don't you see? We have to go back to the way things used to be. Don't waste time being angry. If I took the game too far, I apologize, and I certainly won't do it again, but the important thing is that the game is still so much fun. I want you to get revenge on me, Edgar, and then I shall do the same to you. We can keep playing forever, in-between certain other duties." She paused, waiting for him to say something. "Oh, Edgar. Tell me you understand. Tell me you're not really mad at me. Aren't you even slightly impressed? I mean, think about it. I managed to trap you underground for three hundred and fifty years. That's quite an achievement, is it not?"

Pushing his plate away, Edgar sat in silence for a moment.

"You're still the same Edgar from all those years ago," Madeleine said softly. "You have the same needs. The same desires. I'm the only person who understands you, and you're the only person who understands me. We belong together. We're still Edgar and Madeleine, we're still..." She paused, as if she was considering the perfect word. "You know what we're like together. You know why people always trembled at the mention of our name. Can you walk away from all of that? Think of the possibilities. Think of the world, waiting to fear us once again. If you reject me, you reject power and strength. You reject love. You reject life itself."

She waited for him to respond.

"Can someone set me free?" Mike whined from the corner.

"What do you propose?" Edgar asked eventually, keeping his gaze fixed on Madeleine.

"We must plan carefully," she replied, with a hint of a smile. "We must focus on rebuilding the Le Compte bloodline. There might be some difficult decisions to be made, but..." Standing up, she walked along the side of the table until she was behind her brother, and finally she placed her hands on his shoulders. "We know each other so well, Edgar. I understand that you're angry with me, but this, too, will fade. I know that deep down, in your heart, you're impressed with what I managed to achieve. Now it's time for us to work together again. We need a family, Edgar. A bigger, stronger family. The Le Compte dynasty must continue, and there's only one way for us to achieve a true and noble bloodline." She leaned closer, until her mouth was close to his ear. "We can't dilute our family. Not yet. We need pure children."

"Madeleine -"

"Don't reject me, Edgar. Not again. Don't you remember how sorry you were the last time? Just because you're tired of one of our games, you don't have to stop playing with me altogether. We're a team. We're all that's left of the Le Compte bloodline, but we're enough. We'll start a whole new dynasty."

"You disgust me," Edgar replied darkly, staring straight ahead.

"I don't think so," Madeleine whispered. "I didn't disgust you all those years ago. I seem to recall that you liked me very much indeed."

"You've had more than three centuries to produce offspring," Edgar said. "In all that time, could you not find one human who was willing to mate with you? Were there not others of our species who could be tracked down and persuaded to offer you their seed?"

"Of course," she replied, "but I don't know what happened, really... None of them tickled my fancy, if you know what I mean. A few of them were amusing, but nothing more. I need a real man. I need a man who smells familiar."

"What about him?" Edgar asked, looking over at Mike.

"Don't make me nauseous," Madeleine said with a sneer.

"I must consider your suggestion," Edgar said after a brief pause. Standing up, he walked over to the door, before turning back to his sister. "I've been away for three centuries, Madeleine, and I've returned to find that the world is very different. You might not believe that people can change, but I see the evidence right in front of me. You have changed -"

"No!" Madeleine called out, as if horrified by the idea.

"You have changed," Edgar said again. "We can't simply go back to our old ways. When I've made a decision, I'll let you know. Until then, I must be alone." He paused for a moment. "This whole place has become a symbol of our family's fall, and of your failure to protect our legacy."

"It's still our home," Madeleine said meekly. "It's where we come when we need to be safe, and together."

"Perhaps," Edgar replied. "Or perhaps even this rocky, dead place has changed over the years. Either way, I must be alone while I make my decision."

Watching as her brother made his way through to another part of the castle, Madeleine seemed stunned by this latest development. With tears in her eyes, she looked down at her trembling hands, and slowly her shock began to twist and grow until it became a kind of simmering anger. With pain in her soul and pure venom in her heart, she realized the only way to overcome such sorrow would be to make someone else feel a greater agony. Slowly, she turned and stared at Mike, who was cowering in the corner.

Four

"No!" Mike screamed as Madeleine dragged him across the stone floor. "I swear to God, I won't tell anyone! Stop! I won't do anything! Just let me go! Please, God, get me out of here!"

"Shut up," Madeleine muttered as they reached the conservatory. "Where the hell is he?" she asked, glancing around the room. She'd spent the past half hour dragging Mike through the castle, but Edgar was nowhere to be found. All she wanted was to find him and make him forgive her, but he seemed to have disappeared completely. She'd expected to find him in one of the castle's deeper rooms, probably sulking and brooding, but instead it was as if he'd left the castle. Still, she was convinced that he wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Despite everything, despite his anger, he was still her brother, and they were still tied together by fate and destiny and love.

"I'll give you anything!" Mike shouted. "There must be something you want! Name it!"

"I want to find my brother," Madeleine said calmly, looking down at him, "so I can kill you while he watches." Out of sheer frustration, she yanked the chain that was tied around Mike's neck, pulling him closer. "Do you happen to know where I might find him?"

"No!" Mike screamed, trying desperately to get free from the chain.

"Edgar was right," Madeleine said quietly, as she impassively watched Mike's continued struggle. "Three hundred years have passed, and humans are still more or less the same. It's a miracle that no other species has come along to take your place as the dominant power. You're just lucky that vampires prefer to stay in the shadows. If we gave a damn about empires, your sorry civilization would have been wiped off the map centuries ago. You're nothing but food to us. Walking, talking, moaning bags of blood and meat."

"Get off me!" Mike yelled, with tears rolling down his cheeks. "For the love of God, just let me go! Why are you doing this? I won't hurt you! Just let me go!"

"I'm doing it to prove a point," Madeleine replied, turning and dragging him back the way they'd come. "My brother seems to be lacking a certain passion these days," she continued, even though Mike was too busy screaming and sobbing to hear her. "He's lost his edge. I'm worried he might become listless and depressed. Hopefully, some fresh blood will be enough to get him all fired up again. Believe me, when he's firing on all cylinders, Edgar's a hell of a sight to behold. I guarantee you've never seen such an impressive sight."

Stopping, she looked down at Mike's struggling form as he tried to rip the chain apart with his bare hands.

"Are you still doing that?" she asked after a moment, with a disinterested tone to her voice. "Can't you just accept your fate? It's not as if your life really means anything, anyway. Your only value is as food, so can't you focus on the fact that you're about to fulfill your true calling?" She paused. "I can't tell you what an honor it's going to be for you to be devoured by us. When Edgar and I fall upon a body and feast, it's such a divine moment. All that blood. All that screaming. I hope you hold on for a while. I'll try not to kill you immediately. You might not have had a very interesting life, but I'll make sure you have a fascinating death."

"If you touch me," Mike said, still trying to get out of the chain, "I'll kill you. I swear to God -"

"Whatever," Madeleine replied, leaning down to him. "Keep struggling, though. All that effort should make your flesh a little more tender when we -"

"Fuck you!" Mike screamed, suddenly looping a section of chain around her neck and pulling tight, trying desperately to cut off her circulation. He was pulling as hard as he could manage, hoping to strangle her, but his sweaty hands were constantly slipping on the metal chain. "You thought you were smart, huh? You thought you could -"

Before he was able to finish the sentence, Madeleine ripped the chain from his hand and let it drop to the floor, before leaning closer and hissing as she bared her fangs.

"No!" he screamed, covering his face with his hands.

Madeleine laughed. "Oh, Mike. You're going to be a pleasure to kill. You're so theatrical and -"

Somewhere deep in the house, there was a loud, ominous groaning sound, like metal straining under some kind of enormous weight.

"What was that?" Madeleine asked, letting go of Mike and standing up. She'd lived in the castle, on and off, for many years, but she'd never heard such a noise, and there was no way she was going to believe that it could be something natural. After a moment, she heard the noise again, except this time it seemed to be coming from a slightly higher part of the castle. Dropping the chain that was wrapped around Mike, she took a step toward the stairs. "Did you hear that?" she asked eventually, turning to look back at her prisoner. "I didn't imagine it, did I? There was a noise. Like a kind of..."

She stood in silence for a moment, listening out for every sound.

Somewhere nearby, there was a brief click.

Silence again.

The floor rumbled.

The wooden buttresses began to split.

A shower of stone-dust fell from high above.

"What's he doing?" Madeleine asked eventually, with fear in her voice.

From far below, there was another groaning sound, and the floor seemed to shudder for a moment. It was as if something was affecting the entire castle, ripping away at its foundations.

Turning, Madeleine saw that Mike was crawling slowly toward the main door. Reaching down, she grabbed the end of the chain and pulled him roughly back toward her.

"Nice try," she said, her voice filled with tension as she heard the noise yet again. Moments later, the floor started to shake, and a deep crack opened in one of the walls. "What the hell is he doing?" Madeleine asked, wandering over to inspect the damage as pieces of rock tumbled down to the floor. "What could he possibly be up to? What kind of crazy idea has he got in his head this time?"

Hearing a sobbing sound nearby, she turned to see that Mike was once again crawling toward the door. Sighing, Madeleine wandered over and grabbed him by the neck, before lifting him up to face her.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked. "It's over. I've decided what's going to happen to you, and there's no room for argument, so just -" Before she could finish, there was a loud rumble from above, and Madeleine looked over at the stairs just in time to see that more rocks were breaking loose from the walls. "I don't like this," she muttered, carrying Mike over to the stairs as the rumbling sound began to spread throughout the entire castle. "He's doing something. I don't know what, but -"

A loud grinding sound filled the air as the entire castle seemed to shake, and the whole structure started tilting to one side. Small pieces of rock fell from the ceiling.

"It's like..." Madeleine started to say, before she suddenly felt a moment of realization wash through her body. "It's like..." She turned to look back at the stairs. "It's not possible. He wouldn't... Not the whole castle. He's not that angry with me. This is our family home. It's all we have left. Why would..." She paused, before turning to stare at Mike. "My brother," she said slowly, "is a madman. A vengeful madman. A brilliant, vengeful -"

"Please just let me go," Mike whimpered.

"It's -" Madeleine said, before the whole building seemed to lurch and shudder.

"Oh God!" Mike shouted.

"I knew he couldn't give up on the game," Madeleine continued. "I knew it! He said he was tired of playing, but don't you see? All that bluster was just part of the game! All the time, he was planning his revenge, but I never thought..." She looked down at the ground. "I never thought he'd go so far. Just as he underestimated me all those years ago, I underestimated him today. Oh, I can't wait until the next time I see him. He's going to be so pleased with himself and I'll have to do something fabulously terrible to him in return! I knew he hadn't changed! He still loves me!"

"Dear God," Mike said, squeezing his eyes tight shut, "get me out of here!"

Ignoring him, Madeleine hurried over to the main door, just as the floor lurched again. The rumbling sound was getting louder and more persistent, and now that she understood what was happening, Madeleine was filled with the understanding that it was far too late for her to do anything to stop her brother's scheme. Staring out at the mountains, she felt another jolt as the castle lurched, and as she turned to look up at the top of the building, she felt the ground begin to give way.

"Clever," she whispered with a smile, putting her hands together under her chin and starting to clap. "Such a fabulously clever boy, my darling brother."

Seconds later, the ground collapsed completely as the entire castle began to fall away from the mountainside. Madeleine felt herself starting to plummet, but she couldn't stop laughing as she realized that Edgar had found a way to punish her for everything she'd done for him. As she fell, surrounded by the rest of the collapsing castle, she realized that her brother had rejoined the game, which meant only one thing: he still cared for her, and everything was back to normal. It'd take her a while to get herself out of the ruins, of course, but she knew that she deserved this. Besides, being buried in the ruins of the castle would give her time to come up with an even greater plan for getting her revenge when she finally found a way out.

With an ear-splitting rumble, the full weight of the castle came crashing down. The heavy iron bolts, having long supported the structure, had been removed one by one, and the entire structure was now coming loose. High above, a massive section of rock began to fall away. Madeleine was powerless to do anything other than watch in awe as the castle continued to fall all around her, slowly at first but finally gathering speed until it began to plummet down the side of the mountain, eventually tipping over and smashing completely. Finally, her body disappeared into the rubble and was quickly covered by a huge mass of rock and stone. Every part of the building was churned and ripped apart, breaking into thousands of pieces. A huge pile of stone and wood crashed to the bottom of the valley, followed moments later by a massive rockfall as one entire side of the mountain gave way and came tumbling down, landing on top of the castle and crushing its remains. A cloud of dust rose slowly into the air, and finally the scene was still.

All that was left, in the end, was a pile of rubble where one side of the mountain had collapsed on top of the castle. There was no more movement, no sign of life. A few rocks were still slipping down, but otherwise the scene was completely still. If any life persisted, it was buried deep under an enormous pile of rubble. The castle, and all its occupants, were beneath thousands of tonnes of mountain debris.

Nearby, standing on the edge of a rocky outcrop, Edgar Le Compte stared down at the wrecked, buried castle. After a moment, he turned and began to walk away, leaving his sister to begin the long task of crawling out from her latest grave.

Epilogue

"Tell me the truth," Caroline said, her eyes filled with tears. "Is she ever going to be okay again?"

"It's far too early to make a call," Dr. Webber said gravely. "Mrs. Wilson, you have to understand that we still don't know exactly what happened to Eva. The nature of her injuries, the manner in which she disappeared and was found... There are so many variables. I'm not comfortable making too many forward-looking statements right now. I know it's hard, but we just need to wait and see."

"Can I see her?" Caroline asked. "I want to see her."

"You can see her," Dr. Webber continued, "but first, I need to -"

"Let me see her first," Caroline said, standing up and walking over to the door. "She's my daughter. She needs me."

"I understand that," Dr. Webber replied, remaining seated, "but first there's something I have to tell you."

Stopping at the door, Caroline turned back to look at him.

"Eva's undergone an immense level of physical and psychological trauma," Dr. Webber continued. "We can't even begin to estimate -"

"You've already said this!" Caroline hissed, starting to lose her patience. "I want to see my daughter!"

"People in Eva's condition don't always wake up," the doctor explained. "I know that's not what you want to hear right now -"

"You're saying she's dead?"

"Not at all. I'm simply saying that we need to be realistic in terms of what we can expect from her. In terms of her waking up, there's no way to accurately predict when there might be a breakthrough. It could be in a week, or a month, or a year, or ten years, or..." He paused for a moment. "It could be never."

"Or it could be today," Caroline firmly, fighting back her tears. "She might wake up as soon as I walk into that room and talk to her. She might hear my voice and come back to me."

"Anything's possible," Dr. Webber said diplomatically, although the look in his eyes betrayed a lack of hope.

"I want to see her," Caroline said again. "Now!"

"I'll take you to her," Dr. Webber said, getting to his feet and heading over to the door. The pair of them walked in silence along the hospital corridor and into the ward. After checking a few details on a clipboard, the doctor gestured for Caroline to follow him to the far end, and finally he stopped.

"You don't know my daughter," Caroline said, still on the edge of crying. "She's strong. She's stronger than anyone else you've ever had in here. She's been through so much since the death of her father, and she's always been able to hold up just fine. She's going to surprise you."

"I hope so," Dr. Webber said with a sigh, sliding the door open. "Spend as much time as you need with her. Talk to her. Read to her. Whatever you think might help. There's always a chance."

Without saying anything, Caroline turned and headed into the room. She immediately stopped when she saw her daughter resting on a large white bed, with all sorts of tubes and wires connecting her body to a series of machines. The whole room was humming thanks to various computers that were lined up on a nearby table, displaying various readouts.

Walking over to the bed, Caroline stared at Eva's face, which was still just about visible from beneath all the equipment. She looked so peaceful, it was hard to believe that she'd been through such a traumatic incident. Sure, there were a few cuts and bruises here and there, but for the most part she seemed to be absolutely fine. She just wouldn't wake up. It had been twenty-four hours since she'd been found out in the forest, and she'd shown no sign of responding to any kind of stimulus.

"Honey," Caroline said, taking a seat next to the bed and reaching out to run her fingers against the side of Eva's face. "It's going to be -" She paused, before looking down at her knees as she began to sob uncontrollably. She'd warned herself to be prepared for this. She'd reminded herself over and over again that Eva was going to look bad, but it was still horrific to actually see her in such a terrible state. "Oh God," Caroline sobbed, shaking uncontrollably.

Several minutes passed before she was able to pull herself together. Reminding herself that she needed to stay strong for Eva's sake, Caroline reached past the tubes and wires and pushed the hair from across Eva's forehead. It wasn't much, just a small gesture, but it felt important to Caroline. Her daughter had been missing for almost two weeks, and all she cared about right now was being with Eva and finding some way to bring her back from whatever darkness had tried to claim her.

"I don't know if you can hear me," she said slowly, her voice faltering as she tried to fight back more tears, "but I'm here, darling, and I'm not going anywhere. I promise, I won't leave your side until you're better. One day soon, we're going to walk out of this place hand in hand, and we're going to go home and..." She took a deep breath, trying to make sure she held herself together. "I swear to God, you're going to be okay. You're a fighter, Eva. You're tough, like me, and like your father. You're going to get through this, and you're going to show all those stuffy doctors that Eva Wilson's make of strong stuff."

Glancing over at the door, she saw that Dr. Webber was talking to a nurse out in the corridor.

"They don't think you're going to make it," Caroline continued, turning back to Eva. "I can see it in their eyes." She squeezed her daughter's hand. "We're going to show them. Right? We're going to make them regret the day they doubted you." Smiling through the tears, she stared at Eva's pale, almost white face, and she couldn't help but notice that there skin around her eyes was a little red and sore. Whatever had happened to Eva during those two missing weeks, it had clearly taken a terrible physical toll.

"God," Caroline said with a sigh, looking down at the floor for a moment. She felt utterly wiped out, as if all her energy had been drained away.

"Momma?" said a familiar voice suddenly.

Looking at Eva, Caroline saw that her eyes were still closed but she was certain she'd just heard her daughter's voice.

"Eva?" she said, tapping the girl's arm. "Eva, did you say something?"

"Don't call the doctor," Eva whispered, keeping her eyes closed. "I don't want him to come in here. If you call him, I'll pretend to be dead again."

"It's okay, honey," Caroline said, her heart racing. "Are you okay? Eva, sweetheart, I was so worried about you!"

"I'm fine," Eva said quietly. "It's just that... They wouldn't understand. I'd rather be like this than have to talk to them. I've been listening to them, and I don't like it. They'd just get it all wrong."

"I promise," Caroline continued, "I won't let them do anything to you. Do you hear me? I won't -"

"Come closer," Eva whispered.

Caroline stared at her for a moment. "Sweetheart, why don't you try opening your eyes?"

"I will in a minute," she replied. "Just come closer first. Please, Momma."

Smiling through her tears of relief, Caroline leaned toward her daughter, although the tubes and wires got in the way.

"Closer," Eva whispered.

"I'm not sure I can get much closer," Caroline said, trying to force her way past all the obstructions while still being careful not to pull anything loose. "It might be a while before I can give you a proper hug," she continued. "You'll just have to be patient, Eva, but don't forget for a second that I love you very, very much."

"Closer," Eva hissed.

Finally, Caroline managed to get close enough to plant a delicate kiss on her daughter's forehead. It wasn't much, but it filled her with joy.

"Open your eyes, sweetheart," she said. "Come on, Eva. It's okay. I just want to see your pretty little eyes."

There was a pause.

"Eva, can you hear me?"

"I don't know if you'll like it," Eva said calmly. "My eyes have gone funny."

"Sweetheart, it's okay," Caroline said, stroking the side of her daughter's face. "I love you. There's nothing wrong with you. Just open your eyes and let me see that beautiful smile."

Eva tilted her face toward her mother, and slowly she opened her eyes to reveal two oily black voids.

Caroline froze, stunned by such a horrific sight. Leaning a little closer, she saw that Eva's eyes were still in their sockets, but both eyeballs had become entirely black. Although she wanted to say something, to tell Eva that everything was going to be okay, she was filled with a growing sense of panic.

"Momma?" Eva said, sounding scared. "I knew you wouldn't like it."

"No, sweetheart, I..." Caroline paused. "Can you see me?"

Eva nodded.

"I'm going to get Dr. Webber," Caroline continued. "I think he needs to see this."

"Okay, Momma," Eva replied, "but first, there's something else I want to show you." Slowly, she bared her teeth to reveal two sharp fangs, and after a moment she began to hiss.

"Eva..." Caroline started to say.

It was too late. Before Caroline could move away, Eva reached out and grabbed her, pulling her closer and finally sinking her fangs deep into her mother's neck. Although Caroline struggled and tried to get free, her daughter seemed to be imbued with some new level of strength. Finally, unable to bear the intense pain in her neck any longer, Caroline let out an agonized scream.

Also by Amy Cross

THE BODY AT AUERCLIFF

“We'll bury her so deep, even her ghost will have a mouth full of dirt!”

When Rebecca Wallace arrives at Auercliff to check on her aged aunt, she's in for a shock. Her aunt's mind is crumbling, and the old woman refuses to let Rebecca stay overnight. And just as she thinks she's starting to understand the truth, Rebecca makes a horrifying discovery in one of the house's many spare rooms.

A dead body. A woman. Old and rotten. And her aunt insists she has no idea where it came from.

The truth lies buried in the past. For generations, the occupants of Auercliff have been tormented by the repercussions of a horrific secret. And somehow everything seems to be centered upon the mausoleum in the house's ground, where every member of the family is entombed once they die.

Whose body was left to rot in one of the house's rooms? Why have successive generations of the family been plagued by a persistent scratching sound? And what really happened to Rebecca many years ago, when she found herself locked inside the Auercliff mausoleum?

The Body at Auercliff is a horror story about a family and a house, and about the refusal of the past to stay buried.

Also by Amy Cross

LAST WRONG TURN

If you're out late at night and you see her face, it's already too late.

Lost on a rural English road, Penny and her husband are involved in a sudden, violent car crash. Waking up tied to a metal table in a remote farmhouse, Penny quickly discovers that she's the latest victim of a strange, deadly family. But Penny is different to all the family's other victims, because she just happens to be eight-and-a-half months pregnant...

Fighting not only for her own life, but also for the life of her unborn child, Penny desperately tries to escape. When she comes face to face with the mysterious Enda, however, she quickly learns that getting away from the farmhouse might not be enough. Soon, Penny finds herself locked in a desperate struggle to keep her baby from becoming not just a victim of the farm, but one of its new occupants.

Last Wrong Turn is the story of a woman who desperately tries to save her child from a horrific fate. Contains adult language and scenes of violence.

Also by Amy Cross

PERFECT LITTLE MONSTERS

AND OTHER STORIES

A husband waits until his wife and children are in bed, before inviting a dangerous man into their home...

A girl keeps hold of her mother's necklace, as bloodied hands try to tear it from her grasp...

A gun jams, even as its intended victim begs the universe to let her die...

Perfect Little Monsters and Other Stories is a collection of short stories by Amy Cross. Some of the stories take place in seemingly ordinary towns, whose inhabitants soon discover something truly shocking lurking beneath the veneer of peace and calm. Others show glimpses of vast, barbaric worlds where deadly forces gather to toy with humanity. All the stories in this collection peel back the face of a nightmare, revealing the horror that awaits. And in every one of the stories, some kind of monster lurks...

Perfect Little Monsters and Other Stories contains the new stories Perfect Little Monsters, I Hate You, Meat, Fifty Fifty and Stay Up Late, as well as a revised version of the previously-released story The Scream. This book contains scenes of violence, as well as strong language.

Also by Amy Cross

ANNIE'S ROOM

1945 and 2015. Seventy years apart, two girls named Annie move into the same room of the same remote house. Their stories are very different, but tragedy is about to bring them crashing together.

Annie Riley has just broken both her legs. Unable to leave bed, she's holed up in her new room and completely reliant upon her family for company. She's also the first to notice a series of strange noises in the house, but her parents and brother think she's just letting her imagination run overtime. And then, one night, dark forces start to make their presence more keenly felt, leading to a horrific discovery...

Seventy years ago, Annie Garrett lived in the same house with her parents. This Annie, however, was very different. Bitter and vindictive and hopelessly devoted to her father, she developed a passionate hatred for her mother. History records that Annie eventually disappeared while her parents were executed for her murder, but what really happened to Annie Garrett, and is her ghost still haunting the house to this day?

Annie's Room is the story of two girls whose lives just happened to be thrown together by an unlikely set of circumstances, and of a potent evil that blossomed in one soul and then threatened to consume another.

OTHER BOOKS

BY AMY CROSS INCLUDE

Horror

The Body at Auercliff

Last Wrong Turn

A House in London

Annie's Room

The Farm

Eli's Town

American Coven

The Printer From Hell

At the Edge of the Forest

The Ghost of Shapley Hall

The Death of Addie Gray

Table 9: A Ghost Story

The Blood House

The Priest Hole (Nykolas Freeman book 1)

Battlefield (Nykolas Freeman book 2)

Asylum

Meds (Asylum 2)

The Border

The Devil's Hand

The Cabin

After the Cabin

The Lighthouse

3AM

Tenderling

The Girl Clay

The Prison

The Night Girl

Devil's Briar

Ward Z

The Devil's Photographer

Perfect Little Monsters and Other Stories

Fantasy / Horror

Dark Season series 1, 2 & 3

The Girl With Crooked Fangs (Vampire Country book 1)

Ascension (Demon's Grail book 1)

Evolution (Demon's Grail book 2)

The 13th Demon (Demon's Grail book 3)

Grave Girl

Graver Girl (Grave Girl 2)

Ghosts

The Library

Thriller

The Girl Who Never Came Back

Other People's Bodies

Dystopia / Science Fiction

The Island (The Island book 1)
Persona (The Island book 2)