Vampire Hollows (12 page)

“Potter,” I said.

“Exactly,” Luke said, “And that was Phillips’ mistake – he underestimated the power of true friendship. Potter and I are like brothers and I know he would never do anything to hurt me.”

To hear Luke boast of his friendship with Potter made my heart ache. How was I ever going to tell him that his best friend had fallen in love with me and I had fallen in love with him?

Chapter Eighteen

We walked in silence. Not because Luke wanted to, but because I had nothing to say. I guess that’s not exactly true; I had lots to say – stuff that I needed to tell Luke, but I just didn’t know how. I didn’t even know where to start. As we walked onwards up the mountain, in my mind I played out the hundreds of ways I could tell him how I felt about Potter and how he felt about me. But the only way was truthfully – Luke deserved that at least. When did I tell him, though? Because once something like that was out, there was no way of taking it back. How much longer did I put it off? I knew in my heart that time was running out.

Throwing Luke a sideways glance, I watched him as he walked silently beside me. His head was down, and he looked deep in thought. He knew that things weren’t quite right between us – they weren’t like they had been before. Would he ever be able to forgive me? But did that matter? What mattered more was if he would be able to forgive his best friend, Potter. He had already lost Murphy, and although he hadn’t spoken about that, I guessed he couldn’t face it. So much had happened while Luke had been locked away in the zoo. I could see the hurt in his eyes every time I looked at him, and I was just going to add to that hurt and deep down, I wondered if I could do it to him.

But to not tell him about Potter and me, however painful it might be, was unfair on him, so forming the words in my head, I gently touched him on the arm and said, “Luke, there is something I need to tell you.”

Raising his head, he looked sideways at me and said, “Oh, okay. What is it?”

Before the words I had planned had reached my lips, Kayla came running up to us and said, “We’re being followed!”

Staring at her, I asked, “Who’s following us?”

“Dunno,” she said, her eyes wide, almost scared looking.

“How can you be so sure?” Luke asked her.

“I can hear them,” she said, tapping her right earlobe with the tip of her finger.

“What’s going on?” Potter asked, coming back to join us.

“Kayla says we’re being followed,” I told him.

Looking at Kayla, then at Luke, Potter said, “C’mon, Luke let’s go back and see if we can’t find them.”

“No!” someone said, and we all turned to see Coanda looking at us.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Potter snapped back at him.

“Listen to me,” Coanda said, coming forward, Isidor just behind him, crossbow raised. “We keep moving forward and we don’t split up. We will be safer together.”

“But if we’re being tracked…” Luke started.

“Then we lose them,” Coanda said firmly.

“How?” Kayla asked.

“We go into the willows,” Coanda said.

“Bad idea,” Isidor said, and Coanda glanced back at him as if unaware that he was there.

“Why?” I asked, reading the concern, no, fear in Isidor’s dark eyes. “What are the willows?”

“Haven’t you asked yourself why these mountains are called the Weeping Peaks?” Isidor replied, his voice now no louder than a whisper.

“For crying out loud -” Potter started.

But this time, Isidor cut over him. “I couldn’t have said it better myself, Potter. If we go amongst the willow trees, you will be crying out loud.”

“Just a load of old hocus-pocus nonsense,” Potter sneered. “You’ve listened to too many bedtime stories, kid.”

Stepping towards Isidor, I said, “Take no notice of him. Tell me what happens amongst the willow trees.”

“Some say they are haunted,” Isidor started. “But not by ghosts.”

“Then by what?” I pushed.

“All that has ever made you sad,” Isidor said, staring into my eyes. “The willows are meant to evoke all those feelings of unhappiness you have ever felt.”

Then coming forward to stand at my elbow, Potter lit a cigarette and said, “See, what did I tell you? Just a bunch of old crap!”

“We should go!” Kayla said, tugging at my sleeve. “Whoever is following us is close.”

Turning and leaving the path, Coanda said over his shoulder, “If it’s just a bunch of hocus-pocus, Potter, then you won’t mind following us into the willows.” Then he was gone, striding forward towards a dark shadow of trees that loomed in the distance.

Pitching out his cigarette, Potter looked at me and said, “Watch your back.” And just like Coanda, he headed for the willows.

Looking back over her shoulder, Kayla said, “Whoever it is, their heartbeat has quickened. They’re running!”

“In which direction?” Luke asked her.

“Ours!” Kayla breathed, setting off towards the trees.

With crossbow still raised, Isidor sniffed the air and said as if to himself, “I can smell them.” Then, he was walking away after his sister, and Luke and I followed.

The trees leaned from the side of the mountain, forming a thick, wooded area that, from a distance, looked like a giant beast with many writhing tentacles. The drooping branches of the thousands of willow trees swung to and fro like leafy curtains. As we approached them, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the crop of weeping willows that surrounded the children’s graveyard on the grounds of Hallowed Manor, and to think of it made my flesh shiver with goose bumps.

Reaching the edge of the woods, I heard something, almost like a whisper on the breeze. At first I thought it was just the wind playing tricks with my hearing, but as I followed the others amongst the willows, I was sure I could hear the sound of weeping. The woods were dark, and very little light from the Light House penetrated through the overhanging branches of the trees. We walked in silence, Coanda always ahead of us, peeling back the branches with his muscular arms. The sound of weeping continued, and as we moved further amongst the willows, the sound of crying grew louder. It sounded like a nation of people crying out as if all were suffering the most terrible nightmare. The weeping was filled with sorrow and anguish; I just wanted to cover my ears with my hands to block it out.

I looked to my left and then quickly to my right only to find that I was on my own.

Where are the others
? I wondered.
How had I been separated from them?

“Potter?” I called out, but it was as if my voice had been drowned out – smothered – by the continual sound of crying.

Then, just ahead amongst the trees, I saw someone. “Hey!” I called after them. “Luke, is that you?”

The figure disappeared amongst the willows and I lost sight of it. Speeding up, I ran amongst the trees in search of the figure. With my heart pounding and the sound of sobbing all around me, I pushed the swinging branches aside like rows and rows of curtains. Then, just ahead of me, I saw the figure again. But this time, it stood motionless with its back to me.

“Hey you!” I yelled, desperate not to be alone in this place.

Hearing me call out, the figure turned and looked straight at me. With my legs almost buckling beneath me, I threw my hands to my face and drew a shallow breath.

Hooking his finger into the shape of a question mark, he beckoned me forward, then turning, he disappeared amongst the willows again.

“Dad!” I called out. “Dad wait for me!”

Chapter Nineteen

My first thought should have been,
“What is my dad doing here? He’s dead, isn’t he?”
but to see him again filled my heart with joy, so much so that I thought it was going to explode.

I raced between the trees to where he had been standing. “Dad!” I called after him. “Don’t go, wait for me!” Reaching the spot where I had last seen him, I clawed back the branches of the tree to find him sitting against the trunk reading a book. Hearing the rustle of the branches, he looked up at me and smiled.

“Dad?” I breathed.

“Hey, Kiera,” he said softly, placing the book open on the grass beside him. I looked down at the cover and could see that he had been reading his favorite book,
Hamlet
by William Shakespeare.

Going to him, I dropped to my knees and threw my arms around his neck. And all at once, the smell of him and the feel of his touch filled me with sadness and longing. All those feelings of loss I had felt since his death washed over me like a tidal wave. The times I had needed him, missed him, wished that he had been there for me, took hold of my heart and it felt like agony.

“Dad,” I began to sob, and my own weeping joined the chorus of unhappiness that haunted this place. The joy I’d felt at seeing him had now vanished. “Dad, I miss you so much,” I told him. Then he was gone, like vapor slipping from between my arms.

“Don’t leave me again!” I cried. “I need you!”

Standing, I spun around on the spot, desperate to find him again. And there he was, sitting against the tree, his favorite book in his hand. Seeing me, he placed the book open on the grass just like he had done before. Again, my heart leaped with joy.

“Dad?” I whispered.

“Hey, Kiera,” he smiled up at me.

Falling to my knees again, I hugged him tight. The smell of
Old Spice
wafted beneath my nose, and my head swam with images of me on his lap as a child. Those feelings of being safe, secure, and loved came flooding back. I tried to hold onto them as tightly as I held him in my arms.

“Dad,” I whispered against his cheek and it felt soft, freshly shaved. “I need your help. I have to make a decision – a choice – and I can’t do it. I don’t want to do it, Dad.”

He remained silent in my arms, but I didn’t want to let go just in case he disappeared again. With my tears dampening his cheek, I said, “Please tell me what to do.”

Silence.

“Tell me how I should choose,” I begged him.

Silence.

“Please tell me I don’t have to make the choice,” I sobbed. “If there is a way, let this decision I have to make pass me by. Take it from me.”

Silence.

“Tell me who this Elias Munn is,” I whispered through my tears. ”At least tell me that.”

Then he was gone again, like smoke lingering around my fingers. But this time, there was something different. Although my dad had gone, this time he had left his book behind. Picking up the copy of
Hamlet
and looking down at the page he had been reading, I noticed a smudge of blood across the page. It was like he had highlighted it for some reason. Wiping away my tears, I looked at the words beneath the crimson smear and it read,
‘One may smile and smile, and be a villain!’
I laid the book back on the grass beneath the willow tree, just in case he came back for it.

Then, from a short distance away, I heard the sound of sobbing, but it wasn’t the deep weeping sound that meandered on the breeze, it was something more. Standing, I pulled back the branches of the tree. There was another figure, this one smaller, slender in the distance and I knew at once who it was. I looked back once more at the book, but it had gone. There wasn’t even a bent blade of grass to show that my dad had ever sat there against the tree.

Wiping the tears from my cheeks with the backs of my hands, I headed through the trees towards Kayla. I didn’t rush; I took my time, not wanting to intrude on her personal grief. Like the woods on the side of the Weeping Peak had brought my personal feelings of grief to the surface, they had also stirred something deep within Kayla.

As I approached her, I could see that she was standing before her own weeping willow, her face in her hands as she wept. Kayla’s shoulders shuddered as she rocked back and forth, the sound of her sobbing blending with those that surrounded us. My first instinct was to go to her, hug her in my arms and to comfort her as much as I now needed to be comforted. But I held back, just on the other side of the branches that draped around her. Unseen by her, I peered through the leaves and watched her.

“I love you,” she whispered, looking up as if talking to someone standing by the trunk of the tree.

Turning my head so I could hear her over the sound of the weeping willows, I wondered who it was from her past that had visited her in these woods. Was it her father, Doctor Hunt? Or perhaps her mother, who had been murdered by Sparky?

“I know what I have to do,” Kayla murmured. “I know the decision that Kiera has to make.”

Hearing Kayla mention my name, I snapped my head front and stared at her through the branches.

“I know that I have to be strong until the end,” she continued as she looked ahead as if someone only she could see were standing before her.

From the snippets of her conversation I could hear over the sound of the continuous sobbing, I guessed it was her father she had found in the woods, just like I had found mine. I imagined that he was telling her that she had to be strong for me – after all, if the legend was to be believed, both Kayla and Isidor had been sent to help me.

Then I heard something, another voice, but it was lost amongst the rustling branches of the willows. Kayla continued to stare ahead at the trunk of the tree, tears spilling down her cheeks as her red hair billowed about her shoulders.

“I love you,” she said again and buried her face in her hands. I couldn’t bear to see her suffering any longer, so pulling back the branches, I revealed myself to her. Snapping her head around, she glanced at me, then, quickly back at the tree. I went towards her, my arms open; and with thoughts of my own father in my head, tears began to roll from the corners of my eyes.

“Kayla, it’s okay,” I whispered as I folded my arms around her. But she never hugged me back, she felt rigid in my arms like a waxwork dummy. Then, looking over her shoulder at the tree, I could see a set of footprints in the grass where someone had been standing. Unlike my father’s ghost, Kayla’s had left a trail of footprints that disappeared back into the woods and out of sight.

“We should go,” she said against my chest, as I continued to stare down at the tracks which had been left behind. Why hadn’t I seen them? Because whoever Kayla had been talking to had been hidden from my view behind the trunk of the tree. She hadn’t been looking at the tree at all – Kayla had been talking to someone who had been hiding behind it.