Sleeping Angel (Ravenwood Series) (23 page)

‘You told me about how your paper is looking into the school, but you never said how David Harper was involved?’

‘Only very slightly,’ shrugged Peter. ‘Like a lot of career politicians, David Harper started out in local politics and he was on the planning committee which allowed Agropharm to build their testing lab in Baston Water; you probably heard about that?’

She had heard the name. There had been some hoo-hah about the lab a few years before, something to do with vivisection and animal rights. April remembered that a load of rabbits had been released which then destroyed like a billion pounds worth of carrots on local farms, somewhat undermining the Animal Libbers’ message.

‘Anyway, there are some people who think that Baston Water was David Harper’s big break. Because he scratched Agropharm’s back, they scratched his, or at least the investors behind the company did – and that’s why he’s been so successful in landing contracts from the government, getting a factory built in his constituency, that sort of thing. And now he’s being tipped for a Cabinet seat as Minister of Education, which means he’ll be in a perfect position to help out with whatever Ravenwood requires.’ Peter raised his eyebrows meaningfully. ‘That’s the theory, anyway. As I say, no hard evidence of any corruption.’

‘Maybe I could help,’ said April. ‘What sort of evidence would you need?’

Peter laughed. ‘Hey, this interview is supposed to be about you. No, if there’s anything to find, you rest assured we’ll dig it out. I have some of the best investigative reporters in the country on my pay-roll – let them earn their money.’

April could hear the bell ringing inside school, calling for registration. Peter reached over and opened the door for her.

‘Seriously, April,’ he said. ‘Don’t get involved. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of these people.’

It’s a bit late for that,
thought April.

Ravenwood had never been a very welcoming place. The building itself was creepy: dark corridors, creaking floorboards, high echoing ceilings. Despite a few modern additions like the refectory and the library, it had always reminded April of the orphanage in
Oliver Twist
. On top of that, she had started at the school as the weird new girl and that outsider status had been compounded by the fact that, in her first week, she had found herself mixed up in a murder. So it was all the more unsettling to walk into school today and find herself suddenly the toast of Ravenwood. Yes, people were looking at her – the sly glances, the whispers to their friends were still there. But today was different. Today, they were looking at her in awe, as if she were a visiting celebrity.

‘Hi, April,’ said one girl as she passed, ‘how’s it going?’

‘Hey, love the shoes,’ said another. Where before they had dropped their eyes when April looked up, now they met her gaze, smiled, sometimes even waved. Suddenly, April Dunne was cool.

‘Hey, don’t knock it,’ advised Caro at lunchtime as they sat down at their table in the refectory, ‘It’s what all teenagers dream about, isn’t it? We’re all desperate to be accepted. Or that’s what they say in all those American teen dramas.’

But Caro clearly didn’t feel any desire to fit in. Her hair had been sleek and shiny for Ling’s party, but now it was back to Standard Jackson: a streak of blue running down one side matching her glittery nail polish.

‘I’m only cool because they all think I
killed
someone.’

‘Not just “killed”,’ said Caro, framing the words with imaginary quotation marks. ‘They think you mutilated Calvin. I read all about it in the papers yesterday.
Everyone
did.’

April winced. She had seen the reports, of course. That was before Grampa Thomas had torn them into pieces and burnt them in the fireplace.

‘Do you remember when the police came to school to question me over Isabel Davies’s murder? Everyone treated me like I was some kind of pariah.  Now everyone wants to be friends with a killer.’

Caro shook her head and jabbed a straw into her smoothie carton. ‘Just shows how quickly things have changed, doesn’t it? Those Yank college shows are right about one thing: everybody wants to fit in, so they go with the current consensus. If everybody is wearing black trainers, no one’s going to wear white ones, are they? So now it’s cool to go over to the dark side; everyone wants to be one of Dr Death’s chosen few.’

‘Suddenly it’s okay to be a murderer?’

‘No, but it’s cool. The millions of kids who bought Alix Graves’s records didn’t necessarily want to get into hardcore drugs or occult-based orgies, but they still thought he was cool for doing it – same thing.’

April gave a twisted smile. ‘I’m a doomed rock star?’

‘Duh!’ said Caro, ‘No, they heard you kicked Calvin’s butt at the party and now they think you finished him off. Nerds and Suckers alike.’

‘So why aren’t you cool? You kicked his mate in the nuts.’

‘Yeah, but no one hung him up on a gate on Sky News, did they? I saw Chessy earlier and you could tell she thought that was a particularly nice touch.’

April turned towards her. ‘Hang on, even the
Suckers
think I killed him?’

Caro shrugged. ‘Ling and Chessy were full of it, like you’d passed an initiation or something.’

April was dumbfounded. She put down her spoon. ‘Why would they think ...?’

‘Come on A, it’s only logical.’ Caro ticked off the names on her fingers. ‘Isabelle, Marcus, Miss Holden, Benjamin – you’ve been there when they all shuffled off this mortal coil. Now
we
know you didn’t do it, but for everyone else? No smoke without fire.’

April put her head in her hands, and Caro touched her on the arm. ‘Hey, sweetie, it’s okay. Look at it this way – the more the Suckers believe you’re one of them, the more they’re going to open up to you and let you into their little club.’

April looked up. ‘Listen, we’re beyond that now.
Way
beyond it. You said it yourself:
we
know I didn’t kill Calvin.’

‘So?’

‘So
we
know he was killed by a vampire. Which means someone in their little club tore his throat out and dumped him on my doorstep, right?’

‘I guess.’

‘So someone in that group knows it wasn’t me. They must be laughing at Sky News, Caro, seeing they are the real killers. Besides, we don’t have time to mess about trying to infiltrate the Suckers; things are starting to move. Can’t you feel it? I think that’s why Gabriel’s having all these nightmares: he can feel something coming.’

‘What’s coming?’ said Caro.

‘The darkness, the war? I don’t know. But I
do
know the time for looking for clues is over. We have to start getting answers.’  She stood up. ‘And I think I know who to ask.’

For once, April had a plan. Not a particularly good one, but a plan all the same. She was going to save Gabriel. Yes, she needed to find the King Vampire; yes, she needed to somehow avenge her father. All that went without saying. But the only thing she really, truly cared about right now was saving the man who made her heart do cartwheels every time he walked into the room.

April strode purposefully up Swain’s Lane and cut across the park, glancing briefly at the pathway where Marcus had sunk his claws into her. For a long while, it had unnerved her walking this way, but not now. April hadn’t been exaggerating when she had told Caro she could feel the darkness coming; it was almost as if she could smell it in the air, like you sometimes inexplicably know that summer has turned to autumn. And to her surprise, April felt stronger. For so long, she had been living with fear and uncertainty, but now it all seemed to have boiled down to one simple choice: either give in or fight. And there was no way she was going to let the vampires win. Smiling to herself, April pulled out her mobile and began to tap out a message to Gabriel.

Don’t know where you are, but I’m thinking of you right now. Please come back to me soon, we can face this together. Love you. Loads xx A

She had no idea if it would have any effect, but it couldn’t do any harm, could it? She was sure of one thing – Gabriel was hurting right now. Maybe the dreams he was having
were
memories – it didn’t matter to April. She knew deep in her heart the
real
him. Yes, he’d lied to her, let her down, and now he was running away from something April would gladly have faced with him, but her feelings hadn’t changed for him, not one bit. She was going to help him, even if it brought risks.
Risks like this
, she thought, taking a deep breath.

She pressed the intercom and waited. Nothing. She stepped up to the iron gates and peered through. The lights were on in the house, so she pressed the button again.

‘What the hell is it?’ came a fuzzy male voice at last.

‘It’s April Dunne. I’ve come to see Davina, is she in?’

‘Davina! It’s for—’ she heard the man shout, then the sound cut off.

Maybe I could have chosen a better time,
thought April as the gate buzzed open and she picked her way along the rain-sodden gravel driveway.
I could have chosen some better shoes, too,
she thought as she jumped another puddle.

Davina was waiting for her at the front door, a grim look on her face. Even from the outside, April could hear the sounds of a heated argument coming from within.

‘Sorry, mum and dad are having a bit of a domestic,’ she said. ‘Let’s sneak up the stairs to my room.’

But even before April could step inside, Nicholas Osbourne appeared behind Davina.

‘Ah, April,’ he said, ‘
do
come in and join the fun. We’re having a little family discussion – perhaps you can give us some perspective.’ April noticed that he had trouble pronouncing the word “perspective” and that he was holding a tumbler of some golden liquid.

‘April doesn’t want to get involved with your argument, Dad,’ said Davina. ‘Leave her alone.’

‘Leave her alone? I wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Nicholas Osbourne, taking April’s arm and pulling her through to the living room. ‘What kind of host would I be if I
didn’t
involve her? It would be the height of rudeness.’

The house was a mess. Not just your ordinary lived-in family messiness, but the sort of disarray that suggested it hadn’t been cleaned or tidied in weeks. There were papers and food wrappers strewn on the floor, plates and cups left on side tables, their contents congealed or, in a few cases, growing mould. April could see a coffee mug lying on the cream carpet – no one had bothered to clean up the dark stain. Worse than that, there were signs of a more recent disturbance. A dining chair was up-ended, the curtain torn – and most obviously, the mantelpiece had been forcefully swept clear, broken pieces of a clock and glass from a photo-frame lying in the hearth as evidence.

‘So, April,’ said Mr Osbourne, ‘What do you think of our humble abode?’

‘It’s very ... nice.’

‘It’s a hell-hole,’ replied the man, ‘Come on, don’t be shy, you can say it. My beloved wife is attempting to run it into the ground – a little interior design project of hers.’

‘Nick, please,’ appealed Davina’s mother. ‘She’s nothing to do with this.’ Barbara Osbourne had been sitting so quietly in an armchair, April hadn’t even noticed her. Her usually immaculate up-do was slightly off-centre and she had clearly been crying. She, too, was nursing a large drink.

‘April? Nothing to do with this? Oh, I wouldn’t say that,’ said Mr Osbourne. ‘After all, Davina’s nice little friend almost bled to death on our lawn, or have you forgotten about that?’ Nicholas turned towards April. ‘You’ll have to excuse my wife. She likes to push violent episodes like that under the carpet.’

‘Dad, don’t!’ said Davina.

‘April doesn’t mind, do you, April?’ he continued with a nasty look, ‘After all, April was there when Benjamin died. Almost family, aren’t you? United in death, just like the rest of us.’

Davina glared at him, but didn’t speak.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr Osbourne,’ muttered April.

‘Are you? Well you’ll be the first. Nobody else seems to be in the slightest bit bothered about his passing.’

‘Nick!’ snapped Barbara.

‘What? You don’t agree?’ shouted her husband, slopping his drink as he turned towards her. ‘How many people came to his funeral? What was it, four? All those friends of his – they all seemed to melt away, didn’t they? Now why is that, do you think?’

April felt trapped. She couldn’t walk out without appearing rude and yet she felt horribly awkward standing there, obliged to watch this man’s terrible grief unfolding. Little wonder the Osbournes had let their once-pristine house degenerate like this. April knew only too well from her own experience that in the stark face of a violent family death, trivial things like spilt coffee seemed unimportant.

‘We adopted them, did you know that?’ slurred Nicholas, waving his glass at a painting on the wall near the stairs. April hadn’t noticed it before, an oil portrait of Davina and Benjamin, presumably painted quite recently.