Her Vampyrrhic Heart (19 page)

‘I just want people I care about to be safe.' Tom's eyes strayed to the fireplace. Maybe he could fix a steel grate across the chimney flue. Make the thing vampire proof.

Meanwhile, Owen shivered.

Tom glanced at him. ‘Feeling cold?'

‘It's just a draught. June must have opened the back door.'

Tom slammed the mug down on the coffee table, splashing its contents. He hurtled across the room in the direction of the kitchen.

‘June!' he shouted. ‘June, where are you?'

T
he door yawned open. Tom froze there in the middle of the kitchen. Outside, the forest lay smothered in darkness.

‘June!'

Tom ran through the doorway into the back yard. He almost collided with the figure before he saw it. A face turned towards him, revealing a pair of blue eyes that were bright as electric sparks. When she exhaled a huge billow of white vapour poured from her mouth and went ghosting across the yard towards the trees … it was as if that ancient forest could steal the air from her lungs.

‘June? What did you see?'

A note of astonishment filled her voice. ‘I didn't see anything, but I heard him. He called my name.'

‘Who did?'

‘My father.'

‘June, you've never talked to your father, so how can you know his voice?'

She seemed dazed. ‘I did hear him, Tom. He was out here, calling my name.'

Tom glanced round the yard. He couldn't see anyone. However, the line of trees started just thirty paces or so away. That forbidding mass of timber could have contained an army and he wouldn't even know it was there.

June hissed, ‘Listen.'

Tom heard a faint breeze whisper through the branches. Nothing else.

‘Listen, Tom. Can you hear him? He's calling my name.' She began to move away from the house. ‘Wait here, I'll go and find him.'

He grabbed her wrist. ‘Are you crazy? They might be trying to lure you out there.'

‘Tom, let me find him.'

The light falling through the kitchen door revealed her expression of rapture. She had a sharp intake of breath; the expression of joy intensified. Perhaps she heard her father again … or, rather, she thought she heard him, because Tom heard nothing but the breeze. The breeze blew harder. Its sheer coldness cut through his clothes, driving a chill into his skin.

‘Come on, June. It's not safe out here.'

She allowed herself to be guided back to the cottage. Once inside, Tom closed and bolted the door.

Owen appeared. ‘You made a right crapping mess, spilling the coffee like that. But then it's your house, Tommo.' He used the nickname jokingly. ‘I got the worst up with tissues.' He held up a soggy, brown pulp. ‘Have you got a cloth? I'll mop up the rest.' Suddenly, he noticed June's expression. ‘What happened to her?'

‘He called my name.'

Tom took one of June's hands and rubbed hard, trying to shake her out of the trance. ‘Owen, there's some brandy in the booze cupboard. Will you pour a glass?'

‘Are you sure she's alright?' Owen eyed her doubtfully. ‘She looks like she's seen something …' he grimaced. ‘Something bad.'

‘Brandy, Owen.'

‘Sure.' Owen collected a glass and went to the cupboard.

Guiding her into the living room, Tom stood her in front of the fire. Heat and light washed over her. Abruptly, she came out of the trance with a gasp.

‘Tom?'

‘You said you heard someone call your name?'

She frowned. ‘Was that real? I thought I'd dropped asleep.'

‘You don't remember going outside?'

‘No.' She flinched back, suddenly scared. ‘I went outside?'

‘Someone, or something, called you.'

‘Tom, we've got to be careful. Take the keys out of the doors.' Her anxiety increased. ‘We've got to keep watch on one another.' She clutched his hands. ‘I'm sure they got inside my head. They made me go out there.'

‘I didn't put any water in the brandy. Uh … sorry.' Owen paused in the doorway. He'd seen June holding Tom's hands. ‘Here you go.' He put the glass down on the coffee table.

Damn it
, Tom thought,
he'll be convinced I'm desperately in love with her.

June released Tom's hands. ‘Thank you, Owen.'

‘No problem, cheers. I'll get the chicken out of the oven. It looks cooked to me. Any beer, Tom?'

‘You're sixteen, Owen.'

‘Any beer,
please,
Tom?'

‘Try the other fridge in the pantry. But just one bottle, OK?'

‘Absolutely, my dear brother, absolutely.' He gave a gentlemanly bow. ‘Dinner is served.' With that, he bowed again and vanished back into the kitchen.

June laughed. The laughter was longer and louder than what might be considered normal in the circumstances. Tom, however, suspected that she was just so relieved to be back inside the house where it was safe … relatively safe, that is. One hint that she was still shaken by what happened was the way she picked up the glass and downed the brandy in one gulp.

‘I don't know if this will keep out visitors.' He picked up long pieces of firewood that he'd sawn from hefty branches and jammed them upright in the hearth, so that they partly blocked the throat of the chimney. Flames immediately began to lick the bark. ‘Hardly monster proof, but worth a try.'

June gazed at the window. ‘You don't hear it, do you?'

He shook his head.

‘My father's still calling my name … but I don't think I'm hearing with my ears. Somehow he's got inside my head.'

‘Don't worry, I'll stay close to you tonight.'

‘I still want to try and communicate if he comes to the house.' Her voice became determined. ‘I can try speaking to him from a bedroom window.'

Owen boomed from the kitchen, ‘Hey, love birds. Time to eat the meat.'

Tom shook his head. ‘After you, June.'

Before joining them in the kitchen, Tom cast a wistful glance in the direction of the window. The silhouettes of trees towered over the house – massive giants that seemed to be creeping closer.

Softly, he asked himself the question that had been haunting him ever since June had claimed she could hear her father calling to her. ‘Nicola? Why aren't you calling my name? Have you forgotten me?'

He listened hard. All he could hear was the crackle of burning wood in the hearth. Why was his bride silent? Had she left him for ever?

‘Nicola,' he murmured so the others wouldn't hear, ‘please come back.'

K
it Bolter saw the woman standing in the back yard. Light fell from the bedroom window, shining on her face. In fact, the skin that reflected the light seemed to glow brighter than the light itself. Her blond hair shone, too, as if each strand had its own internal illumination. Kit was amazed by her choice of clothes.
She's wearing a cotton dress. At
night! In winter!
Kit stared in astonishment at the floaty, yellow dress that seemed no more substantial than a spider's web.

‘Mother, there's someone in the yard.'

The reply his mother gave could have meant anything. A slurring sound came from the direction of her bedroom. He checked the time. Ten past nine. Damn it, her drinking had got heavier. She wanted Dad back. Dad had yelled he'd NEVER EVER come back. So a sad story, endlessly repeated the world over, of someone wanting the person they can't have and being destroyed by longing.

Kit turned his attention to the woman in the yard. Slim, pretty. Long blond hair in a Rapunzel plait. He couldn't see the colour of her eyes, even though she stared this way.

Forget her. Must be a lunatic, or a drug addict, he told himself. For some reason he found himself recalling the raging argument with Owen Westonby. What's more, he realized that their friendship had started to rot the moment that Owen had met Eden Taylor. A pretty face had sent his old friend nuts. Suddenly, Kit went a little bit nuts, too.

No, he went a lot nuts. Because he felt intense anger at the woman down in the yard. Yes, she seemed pretty. Sexy, too, in that floaty, cotton dress, with the blond plait hanging down over her full breasts. Maybe she'd be smooching round Jez before long?

Kit ran downstairs, wrenched open the door, and went out into the yard.

‘Hey you!' he yelled in fury. ‘This is private property! Whoever you are! Clear off! Get away from here!' He picked up a stone and whipped his arm back like he was intending to throw a rock at an animal. ‘Hey, did you hear what I said?'

She said nothing. The yellow dress rippled in the cold breeze.

Why am I doing this? This isn't like me. I never threaten anyone. I hate bullies. I hate violence.
But the rage and sense of rejection by his friend made his emotions erupt. He wanted to dump that anger on the stranger.

‘I said GO!'

She didn't speak; her face was hidden by shadow.

‘GO!'

He lunged forward. She moved faster. Before he could even yell out she'd thrown him clean across the yard. As he lay there, she sped towards him, fast as a cat.

With a cry he scrambled away on all fours. She grabbed his foot. He felt a spike of pain in his ankle. She dragged him … she actually dragged him across the yard. Dragged him as easily as if he weighed nothing at all.

‘Leggo!'

The woman's body quivered. Anger? Excitement? He couldn't tell. All he could be sure of was that she hauled his body across the dirt. He grabbed the washing line post. When she pulled him by the foot his shoulder almost popped its joint. He squealed with pain.

Then he was free. His foot had slipped out of the shoe and she'd lost her grip.

Blindly, half out of his mind with shock, he ran. She followed with that catlike speed.
Whoosh!
Across the yard.

Kit flung himself through the doorway of the old barn. Inside, a mass of old farm equipment formed potentially lethal obstacles. A rusty plough, heaps of tyres – while shovels, pitchforks, chains, you name it, hung from roof beams like instruments of torture in a dungeon.

The stranger raced after him. She said nothing. Her feet were a light pitter-patter on the floor. CRUNCH! He ricocheted off the steel bars of a cage. Long ago, when this was a working farm, bulls were transported in the contraption. Fingers swiped at the back of his neck. He felt nails rip his skin.

He ran through the passageway formed by the bull cage. Who was this woman? Why was she trying to kill him? From Kit being the aggressor to becoming the prey had taken all of twenty seconds. He'd tried to intimidate the woman, now she terrified him. Scared and running, Kit flung himself out of the other end of the bull cage.

Stopping dead, he slammed the gate shut, crashed the bolt across. That done, he doubled back as the woman ran through the cage, not realizing the far end had been locked.

Kit shut the gate at the other end and punched the bolt across.

‘Ha!' he yelled in triumph. ‘I've got you. You're mine!'

‘
I
've got you. You're mine!
' Kit's triumphant shout rang from the walls. He'd imprisoned the stranger in the old cage that had once been used to trap and transport bulls. Now all this equipment was junk, of course. The barn itself had holes in the roof; the entire place smelt of rot. But the bull cage had worked perfectly. Built from steel bars, and measuring ten feet in length, it had an opening at each end that could be sealed shut with strong gates, designed to thwart even the angriest of beasts.

And he, Kit Bolter, had done just that. The darkness meant he could barely see the woman in the cage.
Hell, I can hear her, though
, he thought with amazement. A huge clanging hurt his ears as she threw herself at the gates that sealed her prison shut.

‘Stop that,' he demanded. ‘I've caught you. You have to do what I say.'

Years ago, Kit decided that madness ran in the Bolter family. Yet he thought it was the violent, drug-dealing uncles and cousins who were the crazy ones. Now he asked himself if he'd inherited the Bolter streak of lunacy, too.

A brittle clicking reached his ears in the darkness.
That sounds like TEETH! She's BITING the bars!

He shouted, ‘You were trespassing! I have every right to restrain you.'
Restrain? Dear God, I've made her my prisoner. I could go to jail for this.

He suspected today's traumatic events had triggered his downright strange behaviour. Jez had suffered that terrible accident. Kit had been shocked to see Jez in hospital with his arm broken and face busted up. After that, the bitter argument with Owen. No wonder he was emotionally hacked up, because usually Kit could be considered an icon of sensitivity.

But this woman fascinated Kit. Her strength. Her fearlessness. Heck, her sheer strangeness. All that spoke to him in some way. What was more, from the sound of things, she was actually GNAWING at the steel bars. Now this he had to see. He clambered over a pile of plastic crates so he could reach the light switch.
CLICK!
Out of six light bulbs strung on a wire only one bulb worked. Even so, that was enough to illuminate this bizarre scene.

Here he was, Kit Bolter, with a strange woman as his prisoner. Warily, he approached the cage, his heart thumping hard. He couldn't tell if he was incredibly excited or absolutely terrified.

‘Hello?' He stepped closer. ‘Are you OK?'

The stranger had her back to him. She wore her blond hair in a long, thick plait, which whipped from side to side as she attacked the steelwork with her teeth.

‘You're going to hurt yourself doing that.' Resting his hands on the bars, he leaned forward in order to see her better.
Bare feet
?
She's got bare feet. No shoes!
‘Hey, what's wrong with you?' he slapped the bars. ‘It's freezing. What happened to your shoes? Hey!' This refusal even to glance in his direction annoyed him. ‘Hey, listen to me.' He thumped the steelwork again.