Sleeping Angel (Ravenwood Series) (2 page)

‘Do you know why there are so few graves here?’ said April, looking at the open fields on either side of the narrow path. ‘I thought it would be packed.’

‘Well, it
is
packed, actually,’ said Peter. ‘There are something like a hundred and fifty thousand people buried here. If you look, you can see lots of indentations – those are the graves. If you stripped the soil off, you’d see all of the bones and skulls still there.’

April shivered and looked down at her feet – was she walking over some poor soul right now? She should be less easily disturbed; she had been visiting her father’s grave in Highgate Cemetery for months. However, in Highgate April always felt that William Dunne was the only man buried on that high hill.

‘But why don’t they have headstones?’

Peter shrugged. ‘They have been removed.’

‘Removed?’

He nodded. ‘When you’re buried, you’re really only renting the space. When your time runs out, they make way for someone else. It’s a business like any other.’

‘Eww, so they’re all getting buried on top of one another?’

‘An unpleasant thought, I know, but it’s always been that way. Even when we lived in villages, where everyone would be buried in the little churchyard, there eventually wasn’t room for individual plots.’

‘How do you know so much about it?’

‘You get to my age, April, you spend a lot of time at funerals.’

April nodded. She had already been to too many herself. They walked in silence until finally they turned a corner and saw the squat redbrick chapel at the end of the path, surrounded by people dressed in black. April hesitated. She didn’t want to go down there.

‘So, why are you here, Uncle Peter?’ she said, desperate to delay walking into that church, seeing all the accusing stares. ‘I mean, I didn’t know you knew her.’

‘I knew her father actually. They were from around these parts; that’s why she’s being buried out here. Annabel became my go-to woman whenever I was writing anything about history. She knew so much. It’s a sad loss.’

April looked towards the chapel. ‘Yes, it is.’

Peter put his hand on her arm. ‘I imagine this is pretty hard for you. You don’t
have
to go in, you know.’

‘Oh, I do. I mean, I didn’t really see eye to eye with Miss Holden a lot of the time, but she was nice to me. Well, as nice as she could be.’

Peter chuckled. ‘She could be a little abrupt, that’s true. You find that with academics; they’re used to dealing with names and dates and places, things written in books. Living people tend to be more of a challenge for them.’

‘But she tried to help me, that’s the thing. She stuck her neck out when she knew it would get her into trouble. And now ...’ And now April wanted only to turn around and run, get on the train and never look back.

‘Are you worried people are going to stare at you?’ asked Peter gently.

‘No, I’m worried they’re all going to
blame
me.’

Peter put his hand on her arm. ‘Listen, April, as far as I heard, Annabel Holden was murdered by a deranged student who then set fire to himself with a big can of petrol. How could that have anything to do with you?’

April looked away. He was being nice, of course, just trying to make her feel better. But Peter hadn’t been there. He hadn’t seen Benjamin’s face that night, that horrific moment when he had become infected with the Fury virus – the virus in April’s blood.

‘But I was there, Peter ...’

‘But nothing, April. You can’t carry on blaming yourself because some crazy boy chose to literally drag you into his insane little world. It’s a tragedy Annabel was killed and she will be sorely missed by all the people in that church, but really, it’s not your fault. You could no more have changed this than you could change the weather.’

She nodded and walked slowly towards the chapel, taking Peter’s arm. It was kind of him, but Uncle Peter was a newspaper editor, used to dealing with the facts of normal life. How could he understand what had happened in that house, how Mr Sheldon, her headmaster at Ravenwood school, had ordered her death, how she herself had killed Benjamin Osbourne, one of her ‘Sucker’ classmates and most of all, how could he know how Gabriel had almost given up his life – again – to save her.

‘Which ones are her family?’ whispered April as they squeezed into a pew at the back.

‘Front on the right,’ said Peter, patting her hand. ‘You don’t need to worry, I don’t think they have any idea who you are.’

That was hardly any comfort to April.
She
knew who she was – what she had done. Trying to focus on something – anything – else, she looked along the walls of the chapel: names recording notable people of the parish fallen in the 1914–18 War, the “Great War”, “The War To End All Wars”.

That didn’t really pan out too well, did it?
thought April, then felt bad for being so flippant about it. All those people listed up there – there were so
many
of them – had given their lives fighting to protect their country. Terribly sad in itself, worse was the idea that each of them, cut down by bullets or shells or gas, had left so many who loved them behind: mothers, fathers, sisters, sweethearts. What if she died? Would Caro and Fiona and Gabriel come to her funeral? Would “April Dunne” ever be written up on a wall along with a record of her gallantry and sacrifice? How could it – no one knew about her struggle. Did it even matter, anyway, after you were dead?

April forced herself to look down the aisle towards Miss Holden’s coffin. One thing was certain: there had already been too many violent deaths. From Alix Graves, the singer who had died the night April had arrived in Highgate, and Isabelle Davis, that young girl whose body she had almost stumbled over, to her father, his throat torn out, bleeding to death in her arms. And that had only been the beginning. Milo, Layla, Marcus – crazy Marcus who had tried to kill her twice – then Miss Holden.

The service was short and to the point. A couple of readings from a cousin and an aunt, a brief eulogy from the vicar, who told how Annabel Holden had been a selfless person, a teacher, a sister, a friend, someone you could always rely on. April knew that hadn’t always been the case – not for her anyway – but even so, tears began to fill her eyes as the vicar intoned Psalm 23:

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil;

For thou art with me;

thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

And the pallbearers picked up the coffin, solemnly carrying it through the church and out into a waiting hearse. Peter went to speak to one of the mourners, leaving April on her own, slowly following at the back of the line of  people walking towards the grave site.

April was pleased to see Miss Holden was being buried in a quiet corner, although she couldn’t help thinking of what Peter had said about the layers of bodies piled up under the ground. Was Miss Holden about to become just another layer? And all the people now standing around the open hole? Were they too going to become a jumble of ribs and shins and skulls, churned up again and again as the digger came to cut a new grave? Funerals were supposed to give you closure, a ritual to make sense of the senseless, but April just felt cheated. One of the few people who had understood what she was going through and had tried to help her was being lowered into a hole. She was alone.

Oh grow up, April.

She smiled: she could almost hear Miss Holden saying it. Peter was right, Miss Holden had not been terribly hot on social skills, but she had possessed passion and conviction. Annabel Holden had been a Guardian, a member of an ancient sect sworn to fight the vampires. It had been Miss Holden who had explained to April what it meant to be a Fury, how the virus April carried in her body could somehow counteract the vampire’s finely-balanced grip on life. One kiss from April and it was all over. Excellent for a vampire killer, though not exactly what most boys were looking for in a girlfriend.

But Miss Holden would not have let April wallow in self-pity. She would have told her to ‘suck it up’. She didn’t
have
to like it. Who would? Given the choice of being some sort of antidote to a fearsome tribe of mythical beasts or being an ordinary A-level student, most people would avoid the strong-chance-of-being-eaten-alive option. April didn’t even have that choice – she had a job to do – at the very least, find a way to release Gabriel from the living hell of vampirism. And if she could bring down Ravenwood and find out who killed her father that would be a bonus. Either way, she’d spent far too long standing here, it was time to get back to London.

Just as April turned to head back towards the station, a young woman stepped over towards her. Pretty, perhaps late twenties, wearing a black dress, her face was very pale and serious.

‘April Dunne?’ she queried.

‘Yes—’

April felt the sting of the slap before she was even aware the girl had acted. Pain exploded in her cheek and April jerked back, stunned.

‘You arrogant bitch,’ hissed her attacker, ‘How dare you come here?’

April was just beginning to stutter an explanation when a silver-haired old woman wearing a long black coat and fur hat stepped over and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders.

‘Come away, Samantha,’ she said firmly. ‘This isn’t the time.’

‘Isn’t it?’ yelled the girl. ‘She as good as killed Annabel! Has she come to gloat, to see what she has achieved?’ She looked up at the older woman. ‘Don’t you even care?’

‘Of course I care, Sam. Of course I do – we all do. But you know as well as I do that Annabel chose the way she lived her life.
She
chose it, no one else.’

‘But if she hadn’t ...’

‘There are a million ifs, Samantha,’ said the older woman soothingly. ‘And none of them will bring her back. Now, you go back to the car. I’ll be along in little while, okay?’

Samantha glared at April again, then nodded and turned away.

The older woman gave April a thin smile. ‘I can only apologise,’ she said. ‘Feelings always run high on these occasions. Everyone’s looking for someone to blame.’

‘I understand,’ said April, touching her cheek which was beginning to sting. ‘Honestly, it’s not necessary.’

The woman, stylish like a retired actress or even minor royalty, seemed to be examining her. April felt uncomfortable.

‘I should have introduced myself,’ the woman said, putting her hand out. ‘I’m Elizabeth Holden. Annabel’s mother. ’

April’s mouth dropped open. ‘I’m—I’m really sorry ...’ she stuttered as she shook the woman’s hand. ‘I had no idea, I mean ...’

Mrs Holden smiled kindly and touched April’s arm. ‘Let’s walk, shall we?’ she said, indicating the path back towards the chapel. April felt horribly uncomfortable as they slowly returned. Every night since that unreal scene in the Ravenwood headmaster’s office, she had relived the death of this woman’s daughter, had seen Annabel Holden tied to Mr Sheldon’s desk as Benjamin Osbourne, his face a terrible twisted vampire’s death mask, tortured her with a guttering flame. At least April had been spared actually seeing Benjamin cut the teacher’s throat, but her mind had certainly tried to fill in the blanks – that was usually the point April woke up gasping for air, tears running into her ears.

‘You know,’ said the woman when they had walked a fair distance from the grave, ‘when Annabel was your age, she didn’t want anything to do with the vampires either.’

April looked at her sharply.

‘Oh yes, I know all about it,’ said the woman. ‘Why wouldn’t I? Our family have been Guardians for generations. I begged Annabel not to join, but ... well, I know who’s really to blame. Them.’

‘The, um ...’ April was hesitant about saying the word.

‘Yes, April, the vampires. That’s why I asked that no one from Ravenwood attend the funeral. I didn’t want any of them standing there gloating.’

‘So why did I get asked?’

Elizabeth Holden gave a soft laugh. ‘Because I wanted to meet you, of course,’ she said. ‘I wanted to see this famous Fury for myself.’

April’s heart gave a lurch. ‘You know ...?’

‘Of course I know, April. I try to be aware of everything. Most of all I wanted to know why my daughter had been murdered.’

‘Oh God, look I’m so sorry Mrs Holden, but I ...’

‘April, it’s all right. I don’t blame you. What I said to Samantha was true: Annabel was an adult – she was entitled to make her own choices, even if they put her in danger. God knows, I lost my husband to this damn war. I’ve had plenty of time to make my peace with it.’

She turned and gave a sad smile. ‘You, on the other hand, had no choice, rather dragged in kicking and screaming, I imagine.’

‘Yes,’ said April, relieved. ‘Something like that.’

‘I wish I could give you some words of comfort, tell you it’s all going to turn out fine, but I don’t suppose that would sound convincing especially as we’re talking at a funeral.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

Mrs Holden stopped and turned to April. ‘Listen to me April, what I’m going to say is very important. You must fight them.’