KILLERS OF THE DAWN

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 9

KILLERS OF THE DAWN

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 9

Hunt for Darren Shan on the web at

www.darrenshan.com

For:

Bas – my dawn bird

OBE’s

(Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Maiko “minder” Enomoto

&

Megumi “fault-finder” Hashimoto

Gillie Russell & Zoë Clarke – the Sisters Grimm

the Christopher Little Clan – troll-masters

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan

Copyright

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

IT WAS an age of deceit. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else — and with good reason! You never knew when a trusted ally would turn, bare his fangs and rip you to pieces.

The vampires and vampaneze were at war – the War of the Scars – and the result hinged upon finding and killing the Lord of the Vampaneze. If the vampires did that, victory would be theirs. Otherwise, the night would belong to their purple-skinned blood-cousins, who would drive the vampires to extinction.

Three vampires were sent by Mr Desmond Tiny to hunt the Vampaneze Lord — Vancha March, Larten Crepsley and me, Darren Shan. I’m a half-vampire.

Mr Tiny told us that other vampires couldn’t assist us in our hunt, but non-vampires could. Thus, the only one to accompany us was a Little Person called Harkat Mulds, though a witch known as Lady Evanna also travelled with us for a short time during our quest.

After unwittingly letting the Vampaneze Lord slip through our fingers in the first of four predicted encounters, we travelled to the city of Mr Crepsley’s birth. We didn’t expect to find the Lord of the Vampaneze there — we came to track down and stop a gang of vampaneze who were murdering humans.

We attracted two more companions in the city — my ex-girlfriend, Debbie Hemlock, and Steve Leopard. Steve used to be my best friend. He said he’d become a vampaneze-hunter, and swore he’d help us put an end to the killer vampaneze. Mr Crepsley was suspicious of Steve – he believed Steve had evil blood – but I persuaded him to grant my old friend the benefit of the doubt.

Our target was an insane, hook-handed vampaneze. It turned out he was another of my ex-associates — R.V., which originally stood for Reggie Veggie, though he now claimed it was short for Righteous Vampaneze. He was once an eco-warrior, until his hands had been bitten off by the Wolf Man at the Cirque Du Freak. He blamed me for the accident, and had teamed up with the vampaneze in order to exact revenge.

We could have killed R.V., but we knew he was in league with other vampaneze, and we chose instead to trick him into leading us to them. What we didn’t know was that we were actually the flies in the trap, not the spiders. Deep beneath the streets of the city, dozens of vampaneze were waiting for us. Among them stood the Lord of the Vampaneze and his protector, Gannen Harst — Vancha March’s estranged brother.

In an underground cavern, Steve Leopard revealed his true colours. He was a half-vampaneze and had plotted with R.V. and the Vampaneze Lord to lure us to our doom. But Steve underestimated us, and I overcame him and would have killed him — except R.V. captured Debbie and threatened to murder her in retaliation.

While this was happening, my allies pursued the Vampaneze Lord, but the odds were stacked against them and he escaped. The vampaneze could have slaughtered us all, but we would have killed many of them in the process. To avoid the bloodshed, Gannen Harst let us go and gave us a fifteen-minute head start — it would be easier for the vampaneze to kill us in the tunnels.

With me holding Steve Leopard hostage, and Vancha clutching a vampet – a human who’d been trained in the ways of the vampaneze – we retreated, leaving R.V. free to do all the terrible things he wanted to Debbie. Through the tunnels we hurried, exhausted and distraught, knowing the vampaneze would soon swarm after us and cut us down dead if they caught up…

CHAPTER ONE

WE SCURRIED through the tunnels, Mr Crepsley leading the way, Vancha and I in the middle with our prisoners, Harkat bringing up the rear. We said as little as possible, and I cuffed Steve into silence whenever he started to speak — I wasn’t in the mood to listen to his threats or insults.

I didn’t have a watch, but I’d been ticking off the seconds inside my head. About ten minutes or so had passed by my reckoning. We’d moved out of the modern tunnels and were back in the warren of old, damp tunnels. There was still a long way to go — plenty of time for the vampaneze to run us down.

We came to a junction and Mr Crepsley took the left turn. Vancha started to follow him, then stopped. “Larten,” he called him back. When Mr Crepsley returned, Vancha crouched low. He was almost invisible in the darkness of the tunnels. “We have to try and shake them off,” he said. “If we make straight for the surface, they’ll be upon us before we’re halfway there.”

“But we could lose ourselves if we detour,” Mr Crepsley said. “We do not know this area. We might run into a dead end.”

“Aye,” Vancha sighed, “but it’s a chance we’ll have to take. I’ll act as a decoy and go back the way we came. The rest of you try and find an alternative route out. I’ll work my way back to you later, if the luck of the vampires is with me.”

Mr Crepsley thought about that a moment, then nodded quickly. “Luck, Sire,” he said, but Vancha was already gone, disappearing into the gloom in an instant, moving with the almost perfect silence of the vampires.

We rested a moment, then took the right tunnel and pressed on, Harkat now in charge of the vampet Vancha had kidnapped. We moved quickly but carefully, trying not to leave any signs that we’d passed this way. At the end of the tunnel, we branched off, again to the right. As we entered a fresh stretch of tunnel, Steve coughed loudly. Mr Crepsley was on him in a flash. “Do that again and you die!” he snapped, and I sensed the blade of his knife pressing against Steve’s throat.

“It was a real cough — not a signal,” Steve snarled in reply.

“It matters not!” Mr Crepsley hissed. “The next time, I will kill you.”

Steve was silent after that, as was the vampet. We marched steadily upwards, instinctively navigating the tunnels, wading through water and waste. I felt terrible, tired and drawn, but I didn’t slow down. It must be daylight above ground, or very close to it. Our only hope was to get clear of the tunnels before the vampaneze found us — the sunlight should prevent them from pursuing us any further.

A short while later, we heard the vampaneze and vampets. They were coming up the tunnels at great speed, not having to worry about stealth. Mr Crepsley dropped back a bit, to check if they were following us, but they didn’t seem to have found our trail — all of them appeared to have gone after Vancha.

We continued to climb, working our way closer to the surface. Our pursuers kept passing in and out of earshot. By the sounds they made, they’d realized we weren’t following the shortest route back, and had stopped and fanned out in search of us. I guessed that we were at least half an hour from ground level. If they located us any time soon, we were certainly doomed. The tunnels were as tight as they were dark — a lone, well-placed vampet would have no difficulty mowing us down with a rifle or arrow-gun.

We were picking our way over a heap of rubble in a crumbling tunnel when we were eventually spotted. A vampet with a torch entered the tunnel at the far end, picked us out with a strong beam of light, and roared triumphantly. “I’ve found them! They’re here! They—”

He got no further. A figure stepped out of the shadows behind him, grabbed his head and twisted sharply, left then right. The vampet dropped to the ground. His assailant paused just long enough to turn off the torch, then hurried over. I knew without having to see him that it was Vancha.

“Good timing,” Harkat muttered as the scraggly Prince joined us.

“I’ve been shadowing you for a while,” Vancha said. “He’s not the first one I’ve picked off. He just got a bit closer to you than the others.”

“Any idea how far we are from the surface?” I asked.

“No,” Vancha said. “I was ahead of you earlier, but I’ve been bringing up the rear for the last quarter of an hour, covering you and laying a few false trails.”

“What about the vampaneze?” Mr Crepsley said. “Are they close?”

“Aye,” came Vancha’s reply, and then he slipped away again, to provide more cover.

Slightly further ahead, we found ourselves in familiar tunnels. We’d explored a vast slice of the city’s infrastructure when hunting for the vampaneze, and had been in this section three or four times. We were no more than six or seven minutes from safety. Mr Crepsley whistled loudly, signalling to Vancha. The Prince swiftly joined us and we pushed on vigorously, finding a new lease of life.

“There they go!”

The shout came from a tunnel to our left. We didn’t stop to check how many were nearby — putting our heads down, we pushed Steve and the vampet in front and ran.

The vampaneze weren’t long surging after us. Vancha dropped back and kept them at bay with his shurikens — sharp, multi-edged throwing stars which were lethal when thrown by one as experienced as Vancha March. By the hysterical voices, I knew most – if not all – of the vampaneze and vampets had now converged behind us, but the tunnel we were in ran straight ahead, with hardly any side-tunnels opening out of it. Our enemies weren’t able to sneak around and attack us from the sides or in front — they were forced to follow behind.

As we got closer to street level, the tunnels grew brighter, and my half-vampire eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light. I was now able to see the vampaneze and vampets trailing behind — and they were able to see us! The vampaneze, like vampires, had sworn not to use any missile-firing weapons such as guns or bows, but the vampets weren’t limited by that oath. They began firing as soon as they had a clear line of sight, and we had to run doubled-over. If we’d had to cover a long distance in that uncomfortable crouch, they’d have surely picked us off one by one, but within a minute of them opening fire, we arrived at a steel ladder leading up to a manhole.

“Go!” Vancha barked, unleashing a hail of shurikens at the vampets.

Mr Crepsley grabbed me and shoved me up the ladder. I didn’t protest at being first. It made the most sense — if the vampaneze pressed forward, Mr Crepsley was better equipped to fight them off.

At the top of the ladder I braced myself, then heaved against the manhole cover with my shoulders. It flew off, clearing the way up. I hauled myself out and quickly checked my surroundings. I was in the middle of a small street; it was early in the morning and nobody was about. Leaning back over the manhole, I yelled, “It’s clear!”

Seconds later, Steve Leopard crawled out of the manhole, grimacing in the sunlight (almost blinding after being down the tunnels so long). Then Harkat came, followed by the vampet. There was a short delay after that. The tunnel underneath echoed with angry gun retorts. Fearing the worst, I was about to climb back down the ladder to check on Mr Crepsley and Vancha, when the orange-haired vampire burst out of the manhole, gasping wildly. Almost immediately, Vancha shot out after him. The pair must have jumped, one directly after the other.

As soon as Vancha was clear of the manhole, I stumbled across the street, picked up the cover, shuffled back with it and set it in place. Then all four of us gathered around it, Vancha grasping several shurikens, Mr Crepsley his knives, Harkat his axe, and me my sword. We waited ten seconds. Twenty. Half a minute. A minute passed. Mr Crepsley and Vancha were sweating stingingly beneath the wan glare of the morning sun.

Nobody came.

Vancha cocked an eyebrow at Mr Crepsley. “Think they’ve given up?”

“For the moment,” Mr Crepsley nodded, backing off warily, switching his attention to Steve and the vampet, making sure they didn’t make a break for freedom.

“We should get out of … this city,” Harkat said, wiping a layer of dried blood from around his stitched-together grey face. Like Mr Crepsley and Vancha, he was nicked in many places after his battle with the vampaneze, but the cuts weren’t serious. “It would be suicide to remain.”

“Run, rabbits, run,” Steve murmured, and I cuffed him around the ears again, shutting him up.

“I’m not leaving Debbie,” I said. “R.V.’s a crazed killer. I’m not going to abandon her to him.”

“What did you do to that maniac to madden him so much?” Vancha asked, peeking down one of the small holes in the manhole cover, still not entirely convinced that we were in the clear. The purple animal hides he dressed in were hanging from his frame in shreds, and his dyed green hair was flecked with blood.

“Nothing,” I sighed. “There was an accident at the Cirque Du Freak. He–”

“We have no time for recollections,” Mr Crepsley interrupted, tearing off the left sleeve of his red shirt, which had been slashed in as many places as Vancha’s hides. He squinted up at the sun. “In our state, we cannot bear to stay in the sun very long. Whatever our choice, we must choose soon.”

“Darren’s right,” Vancha said. “We can’t leave. Not because of Debbie – much as I like her, I wouldn’t sacrifice myself for her – but the Lord of the Vampaneze. We know he’s down there. We have to go after him.”

“But he’s too well protected,” Harkat protested. “Those tunnels are full of vampaneze … and vampets. We’d perish for certain if we went … down again. I say we flee and come back … later, with help.”

“You’ve forgotten Mr Tiny’s warning,” Vancha said. “We can’t ask other vampires for help. I don’t care how poor the odds are — we must try to breach their defences and kill their Lord.”

“I agree,” Mr Crepsley said. “But now is not the time. We are wounded and exhausted. We should rest and form a plan of action. The question is, where do we retire to — the apartments we have been using, or elsewhere?”

“Elsewhere,” Harkat said instantly. “The vampaneze know where … we’ve been living. If we stay, we’d be crazy to go where … they can attack any time they like.”

“I don’t know,” I muttered. “It was weird, the way they let us leave. I know Gannen said it was to spare the lives of his companions, but if they’d killed us, they were guaranteed victory in the War of the Scars. I think there’s more to it than he was letting on. Having spared us when they had us trapped on their own turf, I doubt they’ll come all the way up here to fight on our territory.”

My companions mused on that in silence.

“I think we should return to our base and try to make sense of this,” I said. “Even if we can’t, we can get some rest and tend to our wounds. Then, come night, we’ll attack.”

“Sounds good to me,” Vancha said.

“As good a plan as any,” Mr Crepsley sighed.

“Harkat?” I asked the Little Person.

His round green eyes were full of doubt, but he grimaced and nodded. “I think we’re fools to stay, but if … we’re going to, I guess at least we have weapons and … provisions there.”

“Besides,” Vancha added grimly, “most of the apartments are empty. It’s quiet.” He ran a menacing finger along the neck of his captured vampet, a shaven-headed man with the dark ‘V’ of the vampets tattooed above either ear. “There are some questions I want answered, but the asking won’t be pleasant. It’ll be for the best if there’s nobody around to hear.”

The vampet sneered at Vancha as though unimpressed, but I could see fear in his blood-rimmed eyes. Vampaneze had the strength to withstand horrible torture, but vampets were human. A vampire could do terrible things to a human.

Mr Crepsley and Vancha wrapped their robes and hides around their heads and shoulders, to protect them from the worst of the sun. Then, pushing Steve and the vampet ahead of us, we climbed to roof level, got our bearings, and wearily headed for base.

CHAPTER TWO

“BASE” WAS the fifth floor of an ancient, largely abandoned block of apartments. It was where Steve had set up camp. We’d moved in when we teamed up with him. We occupied three apartments on the floor. While Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I bundled Steve into the middle apartment, Vancha grabbed the vampet by his ears and hauled him off to the apartment on the right.

“Will he torture him?” I asked Mr Crepsley, pausing at the door.

“Yes,” the vampire answered bluntly.

I didn’t like the thought of that, but the circumstances called for swift, true answers. Vancha was only doing what had to be done. In war there’s sometimes no room for compassion or humanity.

Entering our apartment, I hurried to the fridge. It didn’t work – the apartment had no electricity – but we stored our drinks and food there.

“Anyone hungry or thirsty?” I asked.

“I’ll have a steak – extra bloody – fries and a Coke to go,” Steve quipped. He’d made himself comfortable on the couch, and was smiling around at us as though we were one big happy family.

I ignored him. “Mr Crepsley? Harkat?”

“Water, please,” Mr Crepsley said, shrugging off his tattered red cloak, so he could examine his wounds. “And bandages,” he added.

“Are you hurt?” Harkat asked.

“Not really. But the tunnels we crawled through were unhygienic. We should all clean out our wounds to prevent infection.”

I washed my hands, then threw some food together. I wasn’t hungry but I felt I should eat — my body was working solely on excess adrenaline; it needed feeding. Harkat and Mr Crepsley also tucked into the food and soon we were finishing off the last of the crumbs.

We offered none to Steve.

While we were tending to our wounds, I stared hatefully at Steve, who grinned back mockingly. “How long did it take to set this up?” I asked. “Getting us here, arranging those false papers for me and sending me to school, luring us down the tunnels — how long?”

“Years,” Steve replied proudly. “It wasn’t easy. You don’t know the half of it. That cavern where the trap was set — we built that from scratch, along with the tunnels leading in and out of it. We built other caverns too. There’s one I’m especially proud of. I hope I have the chance to show it to you some time.”

“You went to all this trouble just for us?” Mr Crepsley asked, startled.

“Yes,” Steve replied smugly.

“Why?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to fight us in the old, existing tunnels?”

“Easier,” Steve agreed, “but not as much fun. I’ve developed a love of the dramatic over the years — a bit like Mr Tiny. You should appreciate that, having worked for a circus for so long.”

“What I don’t understand,” Harkat mused, “is what the … Vampaneze Lord was doing there, or why the other vampaneze … aided you in your insane plans.”

“Not as insane as you might think,” Steve retorted. “The Vampaneze Lord knew you’d be coming. Mr Tiny told him all about the hunters who would dog his footsteps. He also said that running away or hiding wasn’t an option — if our Lord didn’t make a stand and face those who hunted him, the War of the Scars would be lost.

“When he learnt of my interest in you – and R.V.’s – he consulted us and together we hatched this plan. Gannen Harst cautioned against it — he’s old school and would have preferred a direct confrontation — but the Vampaneze Lord shares my theatrical tastes.”

“This Lord of yours,” Mr Crepsley said. “What does he look like?”

Steve laughed and shook a finger at the vampire. “Now, now, Larten. You don’t honestly expect me to describe him, do you? He’s been very careful not to show his face, even to most of those who follow him.”

“We could torture it out of you,” I growled.

“I doubt it,” Steve smirked. “I’m half-vampaneze. I can take anything you can dish out. I’d let you kill me before I betrayed the clan.” He shrugged off the heavy jacket he’d been wearing since we met. Strong chemical odours wafted off him.

“He’s not shivering any more,” Harkat said suddenly. Steve had told us he suffered from colds, which was why he had to wear lots of clothes and smear on lotions to protect himself.

“Of course not,” Steve said. “That was all for show.”

“You have the slyness of a demon,” Mr Crepsley grunted. “By claiming to be susceptible to colds, you were able to wear gloves to hide your fingertip scars, and douse yourself in sickly-smelling lotions to mask your vampaneze stench.”

“The smell was the difficult bit,” Steve laughed. “I knew your sensitive noses would sniff my blood out, so I had to distract them.” He pulled a face. “But it hasn’t been easy. My sense of smell is also highly developed, so the fumes have played havoc with my sinuses. The headaches are awful.”

“My heart bleeds for you,” I snarled sarcastically, and Steve laughed with delight. He was having a great time, even though he was our prisoner. His eyes were alight with evil glee.

“You won’t be grinning if R.V. refuses to trade Debbie for you,” I told him.

“True enough,” he admitted. “But I live only to see you and Creepy Crepsley suffer. I could die happy knowing the torment you’ll endure if R.V. carves up your darling teacher girlfriend.”

I shook my head, appalled. “How did you get so twisted?” I asked. “We were friends, almost like brothers. You weren’t evil then. What happened to you?”

Steve’s face darkened. “I was betrayed,” he said quietly.

“That isn’t true,” I replied. “I saved your life. I gave up everything so that you could live. I didn’t want to become a half-vampire. I–”

“Shut it!” Steve snapped. “Torture me if you wish, but don’t insult me with lies. I know you plotted with Creepy Crepsley to spite me. I could have been a vampire, powerful, long-living, majestic. But you left me as a human, to shuffle through a pitifully short life, weak and afraid like everybody else. Well, guess what? I outsmarted you! I tracked down those in the other camp and gained my rightful powers and privileges anyway!”

“For all the good it has done you,” Mr Crepsley snorted.

“What do you mean?” Steve snapped.

“You have wasted your life on hatred and revenge,” Mr Crepsley said. “What good is life if there is no joy or creative purpose? You would have been better off living five years as a human than five hundred as a monster.”

“I’m no monster!” Steve snarled. “I’m…” He stopped and growled something to himself. “Enough of this crap,” he declared aloud. “You’re boring me. If you haven’t anything more intelligent to say, keep your mouths shut.”

“Impudent cur!” Mr Crepsley roared, and swung the back of his hand across Steve’s cheek, drawing blood. Steve sneered at the vampire, wiped the blood off with his fingers, then put them to his lips.

“One night soon, it’ll be your blood I dine on,” he whispered, then lapsed into silence.

Exasperated and weary, Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I also fell silent. We finished cleaning our wounds, then lay back and relaxed. If we’d been alone, we’d have dozed off — but none of us dared shut our eyes with a destructive beast like Steve Leopard in the room.

More than an hour after Vancha had taken his captive vampet aside, he returned. His face was dark and although he’d washed his hands before coming in, he hadn’t been able to remove all the traces of blood. Some of it was his own, from wounds received in the tunnels, but most had come from the vampet.

Vancha found a bottle of warm beer in the out-of-order fridge, yanked the top off and downed it hungrily. He normally never drank anything other than fresh water, milk and blood — but these were hardly normal times.

He wiped around his mouth with the back of a hand when he was done, then stared at the faint red stains on his flesh. “He was a brave man,” Vancha said quietly. “He resisted longer than I thought possible. I had to do bad things to make him talk. I…” He shivered and opened another bottle. There were bitter tears in his eyes as he drank.

“Is he dead?” I asked, my voice trembling.

Vancha sighed and looked away. “We’re at war. We cannot afford to spare our enemies’ lives. Besides, by the time I’d finished, it seemed cruel to let him live. Killing him was a mercy in the end.”

“Praise the gods of the vampires for small mercies,” Steve laughed, then flinched as Vancha spun, drew a shuriken and sent it flying at him. The sharp throwing star buried itself in the material of the couch, less than a centimetre beneath Steve’s right ear.

“I won’t miss with the next,” Vancha swore, and at last the smile slipped from Steve’s face, as he realized how serious the Prince was.

Mr Crepsley got up and laid a calming hand on Vancha’s shoulder, directing him to a chair. “Was the interrogation worthwhile?” he asked. “Had the vampet anything new to reveal?”

Vancha didn’t answer immediately. He was still glaring at Steve. Then the question sunk in and he wiped around his large eyes with the ends of one of his animal hides. “He’d plenty to say,” Vancha grunted, then lapsed into silence and stared down at the bottle of beer in his hands, as though he didn’t know how it got there.

“The vampet!” he said loudly after a minute of quiet, head snapping up, eyes clicking into focus. “Yes. I found out, for starters, why Gannen didn’t kill us, and why the others fought so cagily.” Leaning forward, he lobbed the empty beer bottle at Steve, who swatted it aside, then stared arrogantly back at the Prince. “Only the Vampaneze Lord can kill us,” Vancha said softly.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“He’s bound by Mr Tiny’s rules, the same as us,” Vancha explained. “Just as we can’t call upon others for help in tracking and fighting him, he can’t ask his underlings to kill us. Mr Tiny said he had to kill us himself to ensure victory. He can call upon all the vampaneze he likes to fight us, but if one should strike too deeply and inflict a fatal wound, they’re destined to lose the war.”

That was exciting news and we discussed it eagerly. Until now, we thought we stood no chance against the Vampaneze Lord’s minions — there were simply too many of them for us to cut a path through. But if they weren’t allowed to kill us…

“Let’s not get carried away,” Harkat cautioned. “Even if they can’t kill us, they can … stall and subdue us. If they capture us and give us to … their Lord, it will be a simple matter for him to … drive a stake through our hearts.”

“How come they didn’t kill you?” I asked Harkat. “You’re not one of the three hunters.”

“Maybe they don’t know that,” Harkat said.

Steve muttered something beneath his breath.

“What was that?” Vancha shouted, prodding him sharply with his left foot.

“I said we didn’t know before, but we do now!” Steve jeered. “At least,” he added sulkily, “I know.”

“You did not know who the hunters were?” Mr Crepsley asked.

Steve shook his head. “We knew there were three of you, and Mr Tiny told us that one would be a child, so we had Darren pegged straight off. But when five of you turned up – you three, Harkat and Debbie – we weren’t sure about the others. We guessed the hunters would be vampires, but we didn’t want to take unnecessary chances.”

“Is that why you pretended to be our ally?” I asked. “You wanted to get close to us, to figure out who the hunters were?”

“That was part of it,” Steve nodded, “although mostly I just wanted to toy with you. It was fun, getting so close that I could kill you whenever I wished, delaying the fatal blow until the time was right.”

“He’s a fool,” Vancha snorted. “Anyone who wouldn’t strike his foe dead at the first opportunity is asking for trouble.”

“Steve Leonard is many things,” Mr Crepsley said, “but not foolish.” He rubbed the long scar on the left side of his face, thinking deeply. “You thought this plan through most thoroughly, did you not?” he asked Steve.

“I sure did,” Steve smirked.

“You accounted for every possible twist and turn?”

“As many as I could imagine.”

Mr Crepsley stopped stroking his scar and his eyes narrowed. “Then you must have considered what would happen if we escaped.”

Steve’s smile widened but he said nothing.

“What was the back-up plan?” Mr Crepsley asked, his voice strained.

“‘Back-up plan’?” Steve echoed innocently.

“Do not play games with me!” Mr Crepsley hissed. “You must have discussed alternate plans with R.V. and Gannen Harst. Once you had revealed your location to us, you could not afford to sit back and wait. Time is precious now that we know where your Lord is hiding, and how those with him cannot take our lives.”

Mr Crepsley stopped speaking and snapped to his feet. Vancha was only a second behind him. Their eyes locked and, as one, they exclaimed. “A trap!”

“I knew he came too quietly up the tunnels,” Vancha growled, hurrying to the apartment door, opening it and checking the corridor outside. “Deserted.”

“I will try the window,” Mr Crepsley said, starting towards it.

“No point,” Vancha said. “Vampaneze wouldn’t attack in the open by day.”

“No,” Mr Crepsley agreed, “but vampets would.” He reached the window and drew back the heavy blind which was blocking the harmful rays of the sun. His breath caught in his throat. “Charna’s guts!” he gasped.

Vancha, Harkat and I rushed over to see what had upset him (Vancha grabbed hold of Steve on the way). What we saw caused us all to curse, except Steve, who laughed deliriously.

The street outside was teeming with police cars, army vans, policemen and soldiers. They were lined up in front of the building, and stretched around the sides. Many carried rifles. In the building opposite, we glimpsed figures in the windows, also armed. As we watched, a helicopter buzzed down from overhead and hung in the air a couple of floors above us. There was a soldier in the helicopter with a rifle so big it could have been used to shoot elephants.

But the marksman wasn’t interested in elephants. He was aiming at the same target as those in the building and on the ground — us!

CHAPTER THREE

AS A strong spotlight was trained on the window to dazzle us, we all turned to one side and let the blind fall back into place. Retreating, Vancha cursed at his loudest and vilest, while the rest of us glanced uneasily at one another, waiting for someone to propose a plan.

“How did they sneak up without … us hearing?” Harkat asked.

“We weren’t paying attention to what was happening outside,” I said.

“Even so,” Harkat insisted, “we should have … picked up on the sirens.”

“They didn’t use sirens,” Steve laughed. “They were warned to tread quietly. And, before you waste time checking, they’ve got the rear of the building and roof covered as well as the front.” As we stared at him questioningly, he said, “I wasn’t distracted. I heard them coming.”

Vancha bellowed madly at Steve, then made a dive for him. Mr Crepsley stepped into his path to reason with him, but Vancha shoved him aside without regard and charged towards Steve, murder in his eyes.

A voice from outside, amplified by a megaphone, stopped him.

“You in there!” it bellowed. “Killers!”

Vancha hesitated, fingers balled into fists, then pointed at Steve and snarled, “Later!” Spinning, he hurried to the window and nudged the blind aside a fraction. Light from the sun and spotlight flooded the room.

Letting the blind fall back into place, Vancha roared, “Turn off the light!”

“No chance!” the person with the megaphone laughed in reply.

Vancha stood there a moment, thinking, then nodded at Mr Crepsley and Harkat. “Check the corridors above and below. Find out if they’re inside the building. Don’t clash with them — if that lot outside start firing, they’ll cut us to ribbons.”

Mr Crepsley and Harkat obeyed without question.

“Bring that sorry excuse for a dog over here,” Vancha said to me, and I dragged Steve to the window. Vancha wrapped a hand around Steve’s throat and growled in his ear, “Why are they here?”

“They think you’re the killers,” Steve chuckled. “The ones who killed all those humans.”

“You son of a mongrel!” Vancha snarled.

“Please,” Steve replied smugly. “Let’s not get personal.”

Mr Crepsley and Harkat returned.

“They’re packed tight two floors … above,” Harkat reported.

“The same two floors below,” Mr Crepsley said grimly.

Vancha cursed again, then thought quickly. “We’ll break through the floorboards,” he decided. “The humans will be in the halls. They won’t expect us to go straight down through the apartments.”

“Yes they will,” Steve disagreed. “They’ve been warned to fill every room below, above and adjoining.”

Vancha stared at Steve, looking for the slightest hint of a bluff. When he found none, his features softened and the ghostly traces of defeat welled in his eyes. Then he shook his head and put self-pity behind him.

“We have to talk to them,” he said. “Find out where we stand and maybe buy some time to think this through. Anyone want to volunteer?” When nobody replied, he grunted. “Guess that means I’m the negotiator. Just don’t blame me if it all goes wrong.” Leaving the blind over the window, he smashed a pane of glass, then leant close and shouted at the humans below. “Who’s down there and what the hell do you want?”

There was a pause, then the same voice as before spoke to us via a megaphone. “Who am I talking to?” the person asked. Now that I concentrated on the voice, I realized it was a woman’s.

“None of your business!” Vancha roared.

Another pause. Then, “We know your names. Larten Crepsley, Vancha March, Darren Shan and Harkat Mulds. I just want to know which one of you I’m in contact with.”

Vancha’s jaw dropped.

Steve doubled over with laughter.

“Tell them who you are,” Harkat whispered. “They know too much. Best to act like we’re … co-operating.”

Vancha nodded, then shouted through the covered hole in the window, “Vancha March.”

As he did that, I peeked through a gap at the side of the blind, looking for weak points in the defences below. I didn’t find any, but I did get a fix on the woman who was speaking to us — tall and broad, with short white hair.

“Listen, March,” the woman called as I stepped away from the window. “I’m Chief Inspector Alice Burgess. I’m running this freak show.” An ironic choice of words, though none of us commented on it. “If you want to negotiate a deal, you’ll be negotiating with me. One warning — I’m not here to play games. I’ve more than two hundred men and women out here and inside your building, just dying to put a round of bullets through your black excuse for a heart. At the first sign that you’re messing with us, I’ll give the order and they’ll open fire. Understand?”

Vancha bared his teeth and snarled, “I understand.” Then he repeated it, louder, so she could hear. “I understand!”

“Good,” Chief Inspector Burgess responded. “First of all — are your hostages alive and unharmed?”

“‘Hostages’?” Vancha replied.

“Steve Leonard and Mark Ryter. We know you have them, so don’t act the innocent.”

“Mark Ryter must have been the vampet,” I remarked.

“You’re soooooo observant,” Steve laughed, then pushed Vancha aside and put his face up close to the window. “This is Steve Leonard!” he yelled, mimicking terror. “They haven’t killed me yet, but they killed Mark. They tortured him first. It was horrible. They–”

He stopped, as though we’d cut him off mid-sentence, and stepped back, taking a self-indulgent bow.

“Sons of…” the officer cursed over the megaphone, then collected her wits and addressed us calmly and dryly. “OK — this is how it works. Release your remaining hostage. When he’s safely in our custody, come down after him, one at a time. Any sign of a weapon, or any unexpected moves, and you’re history.”

“Let’s talk about this,” Vancha shouted.

“No talking.” Burgess snapped.

“We’re not going to release him,” Vancha roared. “You don’t know what he is, what he’s done. Let me–”

A rifle fired and a volley of bullets tore up the outside of the building. We fell to the floor, cursing and yelping, although there was no cause for concern — the marksmen were aiming deliberately high.

When the scream of bullets died away, the Chief Inspector addressed us again. “That was a warning — your last. Next time we shoot to kill. No bargaining. No trade-offs. No talking. You’ve terrorized this city for most of a year, but it stops here. You’re through.

“Two minutes,” she said. “Then we come in after you.”

A troubled silence descended.

“That’s that.” Harkat muttered after a handful of slow-ticking seconds. “We’re finished.”

“Maybe,” Vancha sighed. Then his gaze fell on Steve and he grinned. “But we won’t die alone.”

Vancha brought the fingers of his right hand together and held them out straight so they formed a blade of flesh and bone. He raised the hand above his head like a knife and advanced.

Steve closed his eyes and waited for death with a smile on his face.

“Wait,” Mr Crepsley said softly, halting him. “There is a way out.”

Vancha paused. “How?” he asked suspiciously.

“The window,” Mr Crepsley said. “We jump. They will not expect that.”

Vancha considered the plan. “The drop’s no problem,” he mused. “Not for us, anyway. How about you, Harkat?”

“Five storeys?” Harkat smiled. “I could do that … in my sleep.”

“But what do we do once down there?” Vancha asked. “The place is crawling with police and soldiers.”

“We flit,” Mr Crepsley said. “I will carry Darren. You carry Harkat. It will not be easy – they might shoot us before we can work up to flitting speed – but it can be done. With luck.”

“It’s crazy,” Vancha growled, then winked at us. “I like it!” He pointed at Steve. “But we kill him before we leave.”

“One minute!” Alice Burgess shouted through her megaphone.

Steve hadn’t moved. His eyes were still closed. He was still smiling.

I didn’t want Vancha to kill Steve. Although he’d betrayed us, he’d been my friend once, and the thought of him being killed in cold blood disturbed me. Also, there was Debbie to think about — if we killed Steve, R.V. would certainly kill Debbie in retaliation. It was crazy to worry about her, considering the trouble we were in, but I couldn’t help it.

I was about to ask Vancha to spare Steve’s life – although I didn’t think he’d listen to me – when Mr Crepsley beat me to the punch.

“We cannot kill him,” he said, sounding disgusted.

“Come again?” Vancha blinked.

“It is not the end of the world if we are captured,” Mr Crepsley said.

“Thirty seconds!” Burgess screamed tensely.

Mr Crepsley ignored the interruption. “If we are captured and taken alive, there may be chances to escape later. But if we kill Steve Leonard, I do not think they will spare us. These humans are ready to butcher us at the drop of a pin.”

Vancha shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t like it. I’d rather kill him and take our chances.”

“I would too,” Mr Crepsley agreed. “But there is the Vampaneze Lord to consider. We must put the hunt before our personal wishes. Sparing Steve Leonard is–”

“Ten seconds!” Burgess bellowed.

Vancha glowered over Steve a few seconds more, undecided, then cursed, twisted his hand, and whacked him over the back of the head with the flat of his palm. Steve toppled to the floor. I thought Vancha had killed him, but the Prince had only knocked him out.

“That should shut him up for a while,” Vancha grunted, checking his shuriken belts and wrapping his animal hides tight around him. “If we get the chance later, we’ll track him down and finish him off.”

“Time’s up!” Alice Burgess warned us. “Come out immediately or we open fire!”

“Ready?” Vancha asked.

“Ready,” Mr Crepsley said, drawing his knives.

“Ready,” Harkat said, testing the head of his axe with a large, grey finger.

“Ready,” I said, taking out my sword and holding it across my chest.

“Harkat jumps with me,” Vancha said. “Larten and Darren — you come next. Give us a second or two to roll out of your way.”

“Luck, Vancha,” Mr Crepsley said.

“Luck,” Vancha replied, then grinned savagely, slapped Harkat on the back, and leapt through the window, shattering the blind and glass, Harkat not far behind.

Mr Crepsley and I waited the agreed seconds, then jumped through the jagged remains of the window after our friends, and dropped swiftly to the ground like a couple of wingless bats, into the hellish cauldron which awaited us below.

CHAPTER FOUR

AS THE ground rushed up to meet me, I brought my legs together, hunched my upper body, spread my hands and landed in a crouch. My extra-strong bones absorbed the shock without breaking, although the force of the contact sent me rolling forward and I almost impaled myself on my sword (which would have been an embarrassing way to die).

There was a sharp yell of pain to my left, and as I bounced on to my feet I saw Mr Crepsley lying on the ground, nursing his right ankle, unable to stand. Ignoring my injured friend, I brought up my sword defensively and looked for Vancha and Harkat.

Our leap through the window had taken the police and soldiers by surprise. They were falling over one another and getting in each other’s way, making it impossible for anyone to take a clean shot.

Harkat had grabbed a young soldier in the midst of the confusion and was holding him close to his chest, spinning quickly in circles so nobody had time to shoot him in the back. Vancha, meanwhile, had set his sights on the big cheese. As I watched, he charged through several officers and soldiers, leapt over a car, and brought Chief Inspector Alice Burgess crashing to the ground with a perfectly timed tackle.

While all human eyes fixed on Vancha and the Chief Inspector, I hurried to Mr Crepsley’s side and helped him up. His teeth were gritted in pain and I could tell instantly that his ankle wouldn’t support him.

“Is it broken?” I shouted, dragging him behind a car for cover before someone snapped to his senses and took a shot at us.

“I do not think so,” he gasped, “but the pain is intense.” He collapsed behind the car and rubbed the flesh around his ankle, trying to massage out the pain.

Across the way, Vancha was on his feet, Alice Burgess’ throat clutched in one hand, her megaphone in the other. “Hear this!” he roared through the megaphone at the police and soldiers. “If you shoot, your Chief dies!”

Above us, the blades of the helicopter hummed like the wings of a thousand angry bees. Otherwise — total silence.

Burgess broke it. “Forget about me!” she roared. “Take these creeps out now!”

Several marksmen raised their weapons obediently.

Vancha tightened his fingers around the police chief’s throat. Her eyes bulged worryingly. The marksmen hesitated, then lowered their weapons slightly. Vancha loosened his grip, but didn’t let go completely. Holding the white-haired woman in front of him, he shuffled over to where Harkat was standing with his human shield. The two got back to back, then slowly crossed to where Mr Crepsley and I were sheltering. They resembled a large and clumsy crab as they moved, but it worked. Nobody fired.

“How bad is it?” Vancha asked, crouching beside us, dragging Burgess down with him. Harkat did likewise with his soldier.

“Bad,” Mr Crepsley said soberly, locking gazes with Vancha.

“You can’t flit?” Vancha asked softly.

“Not like this.”

They stared at each other silently.

“Then we’ll have to leave you behind,” Vancha said.

“Aye.” Mr Crepsley smiled thinly.

“I’m staying with him,” I said instantly.

“This is no time for false heroics,” Vancha growled. “You’re coming — end of story.”

I shook my head. “The hell with false heroics — I’m being practical. You can’t flit with both me and Harkat on your back. It would take too long to work up the speed. We’d be shot dead before we got to the end of the street.”

Vancha opened his mouth to object, realized my argument was valid, and closed it.

“I’m staying too,” Harkat said.

Vancha groaned. “We don’t have time for this rubbish!”

“It’s not rubbish,” Harkat said calmly. “I travel with Darren. Where he goes, I go. Where he stays, I stay. Besides, you’ll stand a better chance … without me.”

“How do you figure that?” Vancha asked.

Harkat pointed at Alice Burgess, still gasping from the tightness of Vancha’s grip. “Alone, you can carry her and use her as a … shield until you flit.”

Vancha sighed downheartedly. “You’re all too clever for me. I’m not going to sit here and try to talk you round.” He stuck his head up over the bonnet of the car to check on the surrounding troops, squinting hard against the daylight. “Stay back,” he warned, “or these two die!”

“You’ll … never get … away,” Burgess croaked, her pale blue eyes filled with hate, her ghostly white skin flushed a deep, angry red. “The first … clear shot they have … they’ll take you out!”

“Then we’ll have to make sure we don’t give them one,” Vancha laughed, covering her mouth with a hand before she could reply. His smile faded. “I can’t come back for you,” he said to us. “If you stay, you’re on your own.”

“We know,” Mr Crepsley said.

Vancha glanced up at the sun. “You’d better surrender straightaway and pray to the gods that they bundle you into a cell without windows.”

“Aye.” Mr Crepsley’s teeth were chattering, partly from the pain in his ankle, partly from fear of the deadly rays of the sun.

Leaning forward, Vancha whispered so that Burgess and the soldier couldn’t hear. “If I escape, I’ll return for the Vampaneze Lord. I’ll wait in the cavern where we fought last night. I’ll give you until midnight. If you aren’t there by then, I’ll go after him alone.”

Mr Crepsley nodded. “We will do our best to break out. If I cannot walk, Darren and Harkat will escape without me.” He stared searchingly at us. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Harkat said.

I stared back silently a moment longer, then dropped my gaze. “Yes,” I muttered reluctantly.

Vancha grunted, then stuck out his free hand. We all joined a hand to his. “Luck,” he said, and each of us repeated it in turn.

Then, without waiting, Vancha stood and walked away, Burgess held stiffly in front of him. He’d dropped the megaphone on his way over. Now he stopped to pick it up and address the troops again. “I’m making a break for it!” he bellowed pleasantly. “I know it’s your job to stop me, but if you fire, your boss dies too. If you’re wise, you’ll wait for me to make an error. After all,” he chuckled, “you’ve got cars and helicopters. I’m on foot. I’m sure you can keep pace with me until the time’s right to pounce.”

Tossing aside the megaphone, Vancha lifted the Chief Inspector off the ground, held her in front of him like a doll, and ran.

A senior officer darted for the megaphone, snatched it up and issued orders. “Hold your fire!” he shouted. “Don’t break ranks. Wait for him to stumble or drop her. He can’t escape. Train your sights on him, wait for a clean shot, then let him have it in the–”

He stopped abruptly. He’d been watching Vancha race towards a blockade at the end of the street as he was talking, but in the blink of an eye the vampire had disappeared. Vancha had hit flitting speed, and to the humans it seemed as if he’d simply vanished into thin air.

As the police and soldiers crowded forward in disbelief, guns cocked, staring at the ground as though they thought Vancha and their Chief had sunk into it, Mr Crepsley, Harkat and I grinned at each other.

“At least one of us is in the clear,” Mr Crepsley said.

“We would have been too, if you weren’t such a clumsy ox,” I grunted.

Mr Crepsley glanced up at the sun and his smile slipped. “If they leave me in a cell which is open to the sun,” he said quietly, “I will not wait to burn to death. I will escape or die trying.”

I nodded grimly. “We all will.”

Harkat pulled his soldier around so that he was facing us. The young man’s face was green with terror and he was incapable of speech.

“Do we leave him or … try to use him as a bargaining chip?” Harkat asked.

“Leave him,” I said. “They’re less likely to shoot if we give ourselves up freely. If we try bargaining now, after Vancha has escaped with their boss, I think they’ll mow us down.”

“We must leave our weapons too,” Mr Crepsley said, laying his knives aside.

I didn’t want to part with my sword, but common sense prevailed and I left it in a heap with Mr Crepsley’s knives, Harkat’s axe, and the other bits and pieces we’d been carrying. Then we rolled up the arms of our sleeves, raised our hands above our heads, shouted that we were surrendering, and walked out – Mr Crepsley hopping on one leg – to be arrested and imprisoned by the dark-faced, trigger-itchy officers of the law, who handcuffed us, cursed us, bundled us into vans and drove us away — to prison.

CHAPTER FIVE

I WAS in a cell no more than four metres by four, with a ceiling maybe three metres high. There were no windows – apart from a small one set in the door – and no two-way mirrors. There were two surveillance cameras in the corners above the door, a long table with a tape recorder on it, three chairs, me — and three grim-looking police officers.

One of the officers was standing by the door, a rifle cradled tightly across his chest, eyes sharp. He hadn’t told me his name – he hadn’t spoken a word – but I could read it from his badge: William McKay.

The other two weren’t wearing badges, but had told me their names: Con and Ivan. Con was tall, dark-faced and very lean, with a gruff manner and ready sneer. Ivan was older and thinner, with grey hair. He looked tired and spoke softly, as though the questions were exhausting him.

“Is Darren Shan your real name, like we’ve been told?” Ivan enquired for about the twentieth time since I’d been admitted to the holding cell. They’d been asking the same questions over and over, and showed no signs of letting up.

I didn’t answer. So far I hadn’t said anything.

“Or is it Darren Horston – the name you’ve been using recently?” Ivan asked after a few seconds of silence.

No answer.

“How about your travelling companion — Larten Crepsley or Vur Horston?”

I looked down at my hands, which were handcuffed, and said nothing. I examined the chain linking the handcuffs: steel, short, thick. I thought I’d be able to snap it if I had to, but I wasn’t sure.

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