# Lord of the Shadows

Darren Shan

The eleventh part of the Saga of Darren Shan – one boy’s terrifying journey from human to half-vampire to Vampire Prince.Darren's going home. Back to where everything started. The town's changed a lot in the years that he's been away – but then, so has Darren.Plagued by nightmares of what the future seems to hold, Darren feels uneasy revisiting the place where he was re-born as a child of the night, as though the universe (as though destiny) is plotting to throw something very nasty at him on the streets of his old home.It is.

## LORD OF THE SHADOWS

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 11


### LORD OF THE SHADOWS

THE SAGA OF DARREN SHAN

BOOK 11


Lord it up with Darren Shan in

the shadows of the web at

www.darrenshan.com.

For:

Bas – my globetrotting gal

OBE’s

(Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Maiko “Greenfingers” Enomoto

Megumi “The Voice” Hashimoto

“Queen” Tomoko Taguchi

“Eagle-eyed” Tomoko Aoki

Yamada “Papa” san

And everybody else on the Japanese Shan team who worked

so hard to make June 2003 such a special time for me

Editing Crew:

Gillie “The Don” and Zoë “The Mom”

Guiding Lights:

The Christopher Little Posse

## 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

Chapter Twenty-Two

Other Books in the Series The Saga of Darren Shan

Copyright

About the Publisher


### PROLOGUE

IN THE distance a wave of blood was building. Red, towering, topped with spitting heads of fire. On a vast plain, a mass of vampires waited. All three thousand or so faced the onrushing wave. At the rear, separated from the crowd, I stood alone. I was trying to push forward – I wanted to be with the rest of the clan when the wave hit – but an invisible force held me back.

As I struggled, roaring silently – my voice didn’t work here – the wave swept ever nearer. The vampires pulled closer together, terrified but proud, facing their deaths with dignity. Some were pointing spears or swords at the wave, as though they could fight it back.

Closer now, almost upon them, half a kilometre high, stretching in an unbroken line across the horizon. A wave of crackling flames and boiling blood. The moon disappeared behind the crimson curtain and a blood-red darkness descended.

The foremost vampires were eaten by the wave. They screamed in agony as they were crushed, drowned or burnt to death, their bodies tossed about like pieces of cork within the heart of the scarlet wave. I reached out to them – my people! – and prayed to the gods of the vampires to free me, so that I could die with my blood brothers and sisters. But still I couldn’t break through the invisible boundary.

More vampires vanished beneath the breaking surf of fire and blood, lost to the wave of merciless red. A thousand lives extinguished … fifteen hundred warriors eliminated … two thousand souls sent soaring to Paradise … twenty-five hundred death howls … three thousand corpses, bobbing and burning in the flames.

And then only I was left. My voice returned, and with a desolate cry I collapsed to my knees and glared hatefully up at the crest of the wave as it teetered overhead. I saw faces within the walls of flaming blood — my friends and allies. The wave was taunting me with them.

Then I saw something hovering in the air above the wave, a creature of myth but oh so real. A dragon. Long, glittering, scaled, terrifyingly beautiful. And on its back — a person. A figure of pulsating darkness. It was almost as though his body had been created from shadows.

The shadow man laughed when he saw me, and his laugh was a ghostly cackle, evil and mocking. At his command, the dragon swooped lower, so that it was only a few metres above me. From here I could see its rider’s features. His face was a mass of dancing patches of darkness, but when I squinted I recognized him — Steve Leopard.

“All must fall to the Lord of the Shadows,” Steve said softly, and pointed behind me. “This is my world now.”

Turning around, I saw a vast area of wasteland dotted with corpses. Over the dead bodies crawled giant toads, hissing black panthers, grotesque human mutants, and more nightmarish creatures and shapes. Cities burnt in the far distance, and great mushroom clouds of smoke and flames filled the air overhead.

I faced Steve again and roared a challenge at him. “Face me on the ground, you monster! Fight me now!”

Steve only laughed, then waved an arm at the wave of fire. There was a moment of hushed calm. Then the wave crashed to earth around me and I was swept away, face burning, lungs filling with blood, surrounded by the bodies of the dead. But what terrified me most before I was swallowed by eternal blackness was that I’d snatched one final glimpse of the Lord of the Shadows before I died. And this time it wasn’t Steve’s face I saw — it was mine.


### CHAPTER ONE

MY EYES snapped open. I wanted to scream, but there was a hand over my mouth, rough and powerful. Fear gripped me. I lashed out at my attacker. Then my senses returned and I realized it was just Harkat, muffling my screams so that I didn’t disturb any of the sleepers in the neighbouring caravans and tents.

I relaxed and tapped Harkat’s hand to show that I was OK. He released me and stepped back, his large green eyes alive with concern. He handed me a mug of water. I drank deeply from it, then wiped a shaking hand across my lips and smiled weakly. “Did I wake you?”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Harkat said. The grey-skinned Little Person didn’t need much sleep and often went two or three nights without dozing. He took the mug from me and set it down. “It was a bad one this … time. You started screaming five or six … minutes ago, and only stopped now. The same nightmare?”

“Isn’t it always?” I muttered. “The wasteworld, the wave of fire, the dragon, the … Steve,” I finished quietly. I’d been haunted by the nightmare for almost two years, screaming myself awake at least a couple of times a week. In all those months I hadn’t told Harkat about the Lord of the Shadows and that wretched face I always saw at the end of the nightmare. As far as he knew, Steve was the only monster in my dreams — I didn’t dare tell him that I was as scared of myself as I was of Steve Leopard.

I swung my legs out of my hammock and sat up. I could tell by the darkness that it was only three or four in the morning, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep any more. The nightmare always left me shaken and wide awake.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I found myself studying Harkat out of the corner of my eye. Although he wasn’t the source of my nightmares, I could trace their origins back to him. The Little Person had been built from the remains of a corpse. For most of his new life he hadn’t known who he was. Two years ago, Mr Tiny – a man of immense power, with the ability to travel through time – transported us to a barren wasteworld and sent us off on a quest to discover Harkat’s previous identity. We fought a variety of wild creatures and twisted monstrosities before finally fishing Harkat’s original body out of the Lake of Souls, a holding place for damned spirits.

Harkat used to be a vampire called Kurda Smahlt. He’d betrayed the vampire clan in a bid to prevent war with our blood cousins, the purple-skinned vampaneze. To make up for his sins, he’d agreed to become Harkat Mulds and travel back into the past to be my guardian.

I’m Darren Shan, a Vampire Prince. I’m also one of the hunters of the Lord of the Vampaneze — a.k.a. Steve Leopard. Steve was destined to lead the vampaneze to victory over the vampires. If he won, he’d wipe us out entirely. But a few of us – the hunters – had the ability to stop him before he came fully into his powers. If we found and killed him before he matured, the war would be ours. By helping me as Harkat, Kurda hoped to help the clan and prevent their destined destruction at the hands of the vampaneze. In that way he could put right some of the wrongs he’d committed.

Having learnt the truth about Harkat, we returned to our own world — rather, our own time. Because what we worked out later was that the wasteworld wasn’t an alternative universe or Earth in the past, as we’d first thought — it was Earth in the future. Mr Tiny had given us a glimpse of what was to come if the Lord of the Shadows came to power.

Harkat thought the ruined world would only come to pass if the vampaneze won the War of the Scars. But I knew about a prediction which I hadn’t shared with anybody else. When the hunt for Steve was finally concluded, there would be one of two possible futures. In one, Steve became the Lord of the Shadows and destroyed the world. In the other future, the Lord of the Shadows was me.

That’s why I woke in a cold sweat, to the sound of my own screams, so often. It wasn’t just fear of the future, but fear of myself. Would I somehow play a part in creating the barren, twisted world I’d seen in the future? Was I damned to become a monster like Steve, and wreck all that I held dear? It seemed impossible, but the uncertainties gnawed away at me all the same, prompted by the ever-repeating nightmares.

I spent the time before dawn chatting with Harkat, small talk, nothing serious. He’d suffered terrible nightmares before finding out the truth about himself, so he knew exactly what I was going through. He knew what to say to calm me down.

When the sun rose and the Cirque camp started to come to life around us, we made an early start on our day’s chores. We’d been with the Cirque Du Freak since returning from our gruelling quest in the wasteworld. We knew nothing about what was happening in the War of the Scars. Harkat wanted to return to Vampire Mountain, or at least make contact with the clan — now that he knew he had once been a vampire, he was more concerned than ever for them. But I held off. I didn’t feel the time was right. I had a hunch that we were meant to remain with the Cirque, and that destiny would decide our course as and when it saw fit. Harkat strongly disagreed with me – we’d had some very heated arguments about it – but he reluctantly followed my lead — though I’d sensed recently that his patience was coming to an end.

We performed a variety of jobs around the camp, helping out wherever we were needed — moving equipment, mending costumes, feeding the Wolf Man. We were handymen. Mr Tall – the owner of the Cirque Du Freak – had offered to find more responsible, permanent positions for us, but we didn’t know when we’d have to leave. It was easier to stick to simple tasks and not get too involved in the long-term running of the show. That way we wouldn’t be missed too much when the time came to part company with the freakish folk.

We’d been performing on the outskirts of a large city, in an old, run-down factory. Sometimes we played in a big top which we transported around with us, but Mr Tall always liked to take advantage of local venues whenever possible. This was our fourth and final show in the factory. We’d be moving on in the morning, to pastures new. None of us knew where we’d be going yet — Mr Tall made those decisions and usually didn’t tell us until we’d broken camp and were already on the move.

We put on a typically tight, exciting show that night, built around some of the longest-serving performers — Gertha Teeth, Rhamus Twobellies, Alexander Ribs, Truska the bearded lady, Hans Hands, Evra and Shancus Von. Usually the Vons rounded off the show, treating audiences to one final scare when their snakes slid from the shadows overhead. But Mr Tall had been experimenting with different line-ups recently.

On stage, Jekkus Flang was juggling knives. Jekkus was one of the Cirque helpers, like Harkat and me, but tonight he’d been billed as a star attraction and was entertaining the crowd with a display of knife tricks. Jekkus was a good juggler, but his act was pretty dull compared to the others. After a few minutes, a man in the front row stood up as Jekkus balanced a long knife on the tip of his nose.

“This is rubbish!” the man shouted, climbing on to the stage. “This is meant to be a place of magic and wonder — not juggling tricks! I could see stuff like this at any circus.”

Jekkus took the knife from his nose and snarled at the intruder. “Get off the stage, or I’ll cut you up into tiny pieces!”

“You don’t worry me,” the man snorted, taking a couple of large paces over to Jekkus, so they were eyeball to eyeball. “You’re wasting our time and money. I want a refund.”

“Insolent scum!” Jekkus roared, then lashed out with his knife and cut off the man’s left arm just below the elbow! The man screamed and grabbed for the falling limb. As he was reaching for his lost forearm, Jekkus struck again and cut off the man’s other arm in the same place!

People in the audience erupted with panic and surged to their feet. The man with the jagged stumps beneath his elbows tottered towards the edge of the stage, desperately waving his half-arms around, face white with apparent shock. But then he stopped — and laughed.

The people in the front rows heard the laughter and stared up at the stage suspiciously. The man laughed again. This time his laughter carried further, and people all around relaxed and faced the stage. As they watched, tiny hands grew out of the stumps of the man’s arms. The hands continued to grow, followed by wrists and forearms. A minute later, the man’s arms had returned to their natural length. He flexed his fingers, grinned, and took a bow.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Mr Tall boomed, appearing suddenly on stage. “Put your hands together for the fabulous, the amazing, the incredible Cormac Limbs!”

Everybody realized they’d been the victims of a practical joke — the man who’d stepped out of the audience was a performer. They clapped and cheered as Cormac sliced off his fingers one by one, each of which grew back quickly. He could cut off any part of his body — though he’d never tried chopping off his head! Then the show finished for real and the crowd poured out, babbling with excitement, wildly discussing the mystical mysteries of the sensational Cirque Du Freak.

Inside, Harkat and I helped with the tidying up. Everyone involved was vastly experienced, and we could normally clear everything away within half an hour, sometimes less. Mr Tall stood in the shadows while we worked. That was odd – he normally retired to his van after a show – but we took little notice of it. You grew used to oddness when you worked with the Cirque Du Freak!

As I was stacking several chairs away, to be removed to a truck by other hands, Mr Tall stepped forward. “A moment, please, Darren,” he said, removing the tall red hat he wore whenever he went on stage. He took a map out of the hat – the map was much larger than the hat, but I didn’t question how he’d fitted it inside – and unrolled it. He held one end of the map in his large left hand and nodded for me to take the other end.

“This is where we are now,” Mr Tall said, pointing to a spot on the map. I studied it curiously, wondering why he was showing me. “And this is where we will be going next,” he said, pointing to a town a hundred and sixty kilometres away.

I looked at the name of the town. My breath caught in my throat. For a moment I felt dizzy and a cloud seemed to pass in front of my eyes. Then my expression cleared. “I see,” I said softly.

“You don’t have to come with us,” Mr Tall said. “You can take a different route and meet up with us later, if you wish.”

I started to think about it, then made a snap gut decision instead. “That’s OK,” I said. “I’ll come. I want to. It … it’ll be interesting.”

“Very well,” Mr Tall said briskly, taking back the map and rolling it up again. “We depart in the morning.”

With that, Mr Tall slipped away. I felt he didn’t approve of my decision, but I couldn’t say why, and I didn’t devote much thought to it. Instead, I stood by the stacked-up chairs, lost in the past, thinking about all the people I’d known as a child, especially my parents and younger sister.

Harkat limped over eventually and waved a grey hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my daze. “What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing my disquiet.

“Nothing,” I said, with a confused shrug. “At least, I don’t think so. It might even be a good thing. I…” Sighing, I stared at the ten little scars on my fingertips and muttered without looking up, “I’m going home.”


### CHAPTER TWO

ALEXANDER RIBS stood, rapped his ribcage with a spoon and opened his mouth. A loud musical note sprang out and all conversation ceased. Facing the boy at the head of the table, Alexander sang, “He’s green, he’s lean, snot he’s never seen, his name is Shancus — happy birthday!”

Everybody cheered. Thirty performers and helpers from the Cirque Du Freak were seated around a huge oval table, celebrating Shancus Von’s eighth birthday. It was a chilly April day, and most people were wrapped up warmly. The table was overflowing with cakes, sweets and drinks, and we were digging in happily.

When Alexander Ribs sat down, Truska – a woman who could grow her beard at will – stood and sung another birthday greeting. “The only things he fears is his mother’s flying ears, his name is Shancus — happy birthday!”

Merla snapped one of her ears off when she heard that and flicked it at her son. He ducked and it flew high over his head, then circled back to Merla, who caught and reattached it to the side of her head. Everyone laughed.

Since Shancus had been named in my honour, I guessed I’d better chip in with a verse of my own. Thinking quickly, I stood, cleared my throat, and chanted, “He’s scaly and he’s great, today he has turned eight, his name is Shancus — happy birthday!”

“Thanks, godfather,” Shancus smirked. I wasn’t really his godfather, but he liked to pretend I was — especially when it was his birthday and he was looking for a cool present!

A few others took turns singing birthday greetings to the snake-boy, then Evra stood and wrapped up the song with, “Despite the pranks you pull, your mum and I love you, pesky Shancus — happy birthday!”

There was lots of applause, then the women at the table shuffled over to hug and kiss Shancus. He pulled a mortified expression, but I could see he was delighted by the attention. His younger brother, Urcha, was jealous and sat a little way back from the table, sulking. Their sister, Lilia, was rooting through the piles of presents Shancus had received, seeing if there was anything of interest to a five-year-old girl.

Evra went to try and cheer up Urcha. Unlike Shancus and Lilia, the middle Von child was an ordinary human and he felt he was the odd one out. Evra and Merla had a tough time making him feel special. I saw Evra slip a small present to Urcha, and heard him whisper, “Don’t tell the others!” Urcha looked much happier after that. He joined Shancus at the table and tucked into a pile of small cakes.

I made my way over to where Evra was beaming at his family. “Eight years,” I remarked, clapping Evra on his left shoulder (some of his scales had been sliced away from his right shoulder a long time ago, and he didn’t like people touching him there). “I bet it feels like eight weeks.”

“You don’t know how right you are,” Evra smiled. “Time flies when you have kids. You’ll find out yourself one–” He stopped and grimaced. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. As a half-vampire, I was sterile. I could never have children. It was one of the drawbacks to being part of the clan.

“When are you going to show the snake to Shancus?” Evra asked.

“Later,” I grinned. “I gave him a book earlier. He thinks that’s his real present — he looked disgusted! I’ll let him enjoy the rest of the party, then hit him with the snake when he thinks the fun is over.”

Shancus already owned a snake, but I’d bought a new one for him, larger and more colourful. Evra helped me choose it. His old snake would be passed on to Urcha, so both boys would have cause to celebrate tonight.

Merla called Evra back to the party — Lilia had got stuck in wrapping paper and needed to be rescued. I watched my friends for a minute or two, then turned my back on the festivities and walked away. I wandered through the maze of vans and tents of the Cirque Du Freak, coming to a halt near the Wolf Man’s cage. The savage man-beast was snoring. I took a small jar of pickled onions out of my pocket and ate one, smiling sadly as I remembered where my taste for pickled onions had come from.

That memory led to others, and I found myself looking back over the years, recalling major events, remarkable triumphs, and sickening losses. The night of my blooding, when Mr Crepsley pumped his vampiric blood into me. Slowly coming to terms with my appetite and powers. Sam Grest — the original pickled onion connoisseur. My first girlfriend, Debbie Hemlock. Learning about the vampaneze. The trek to Vampire Mountain. My Trials, where I’d had to prove myself worthy of being a child of the night. Failing and running away. The revelation that a Vampire General – Kurda Smahlt – was a traitor, in league with the vampaneze. Exposing Kurda. Becoming a Prince.

The Wolf Man stirred and I walked on, not wanting to wake him. My mind continued to turn over old memories. Kurda telling us why he’d betrayed the clan — the Lord of the Vampaneze had arisen and stood poised to lead his people into war against the vampires. The early years of the War of the Scars, when I’d lived in Vampire Mountain. Leaving the safety of the fortress to hunt for the Vampaneze Lord, accompanied by Mr Crepsley and Harkat. Meeting Vancha March, the third hunter — only he, Mr Crepsley or I could kill the Vampaneze Lord. Travelling with a witch called Evanna. Clashing with the Lord of the Vampaneze, unaware of his identity until afterwards, when he’d escaped with his protector, Gannen Harst.

I wanted to stop there – the next set of memories was the most painful – but my thoughts raced on. Returning to the city of Mr Crepsley’s youth. Running into Debbie again — an adult now, a teacher. Other faces from the past — R.V. and Steve Leopard. The former used to be an eco-warrior, a man who blamed me for the loss of his hands. He’d become a vampaneze and was part of a plot to lure my allies and me underground, where the Lord of the Vampaneze could kill us.

Steve was part of that plot too, though at first I thought he was on our side. Steve was my best friend when we were kids. We went to the Cirque Du Freak together. He recognized Mr Crepsley and asked to be his assistant. Mr Crepsley refused — he said Steve had evil blood. Later, Steve was bitten by Mr Crepsley’s poisonous tarantula. Only Mr Crepsley could cure him. I became a half-vampire to save Steve’s life, but Steve didn’t see it that way. He thought I’d betrayed him and taken his place among the vampires. He became hell-bent on revenge.

Underground in Mr Crepsley’s city. Facing the vampaneze in a chamber Steve had named the Cavern of Retribution. Me, Mr Crepsley, Vancha, Harkat, Debbie and a police officer called Alice Burgess. A huge fight. Mr Crepsley faced the man we thought was the Lord of the Vampaneze. He killed him. But then Steve killed Mr Crepsley by knocking him into a pit of stakes. A gut-churning blow, made all the worse when Steve revealed the shocking truth — he was the real Lord of the Vampaneze!

I reached the last of the tents and stopped, gazing around, half-dazed. We’d set up camp in an abandoned football stadium. It used to be the home ground of the local football team, but they’d moved to a new, purpose-built stadium some years ago. The old stadium was due to be demolished – apartment blocks were to be built over the ruins – but not for several months yet. It was an eerie feeling, staring around at thousands of empty seats in the ghost stadium.

Ghosts … That put me in mind of my next, bizarre quest with Harkat, in what we now knew was a shade of the future. Once again I began to wonder if that ruined future world was unavoidable. Could I prevent it by killing Steve, or was it destined to come no matter who won the War of the Scars?

Before I got too worked up about it, someone stepped up beside me and said, “Is the party over?”

I looked around and saw the scarred, stitched-together, grey-skinned face of Harkat Mulds. “No,” I smiled. “It’s winding down, but it hasn’t finished yet.”

“Good. I was afraid I’d miss it.” Harkat had been out on the streets most of the day, handing out fliers for the Cirque Du Freak — that was one of his regular jobs every time we arrived at a new venue. He stared at me with his round, green, lidless eyes. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“Strange. Worried. Unsure of myself.”

“Have you been out there yet?” Harkat waved a hand at the town beyond the walls of the stadium. I shook my head. “Are you going to go, or do you plan … to hide here until we leave?”

“I’ll go,” I said. “But it’s hard. So many years. So many memories.” This was the real reason I was so fixed on the past. After all these years of travel, I’d returned home to the town where I was born and had lived all my human life.

“What if my family’s still here?” I asked Harkat.

“Your parents?” he replied.

“And Annie, my sister. They think I’m dead. What if they see me?”

“Would they recognize you?” Harkat asked. “It’s been a long time. People change.”

“Humans do,” I snorted. “But I’ve only aged four or five years.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing to … see them again,” Harkat said. “Imagine their joy if they learnt that … you were still alive.”

“No,” I said forcefully. “I’ve been thinking about that ever since Mr Tall told me we were coming here. I want to track them down. It would be wonderful for me — but terrible for them. They buried me. They’ve done their grieving and have hopefully moved on with their lives. It wouldn’t be fair to bring back all those old pains and torments.”

“I’m not sure I agree with that,” Harkat said, “but it’s … your decision. So stay here with the Cirque. Lay low. Hide.”

“I can’t,” I sighed. “This is my home town. I’ve got an itch to walk the streets again, see how much has changed, look for old faces that I used to know. I want to find out what happened to my friends. The wise thing would be to keep my head down — but when did I ever do the wise thing?”

“And maybe trouble would find you … even if you did,” Harkat said.

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

Harkat glanced around uneasily. “I have a strange feeling about … this place,” he croaked.

“What sort of a feeling?” I asked.

“It’s hard to explain. Just a feeling that this is … a dangerous place, but also the place where … we’re meant to be. Something’s going to happen here. Don’t you sense it?”

“No — but my thoughts are all over the place right now.”

“We’ve often discussed your decision to … stay with the Cirque,” Harkat reminded me, making little of the many arguments we’d had about whether or not I should leave and seek out the Vampire Generals. He believed I was hiding from my duty, that we should seek out the vampires and resume the hunt for the Vampaneze Lord.

“You’re not starting that again, are you?” I groaned.

“No,” he said. “The opposite. I now think you were right. If we hadn’t stuck with the Cirque … we wouldn’t be here now. And, as I said, I think we’re … meant to be here.”

I studied Harkat silently. “What do you think will happen?” I asked quietly.

“The feeling isn’t that specific,” Harkat said.

“But if you had to guess?” I pressed.

Harkat shrugged awkwardly. “I think we might run into … Steve Leonard, or find a clue which … points towards him.”

My insides tightened at the thought of facing Steve again. I hated him for what he’d done to us, especially killing Mr Crepsley. But just before he died, Mr Crepsley warned me not to devote my life to hatred. He said it would twist me like Steve. So although I hungered for the chance to get even, I worried about it too. I didn’t know how I’d react when I saw him again, whether I’d be able to control my emotions or give in to blind, hateful rage.

“You’re frightened,” Harkat noted.

“Yes. But not of Steve. I’m frightened of what I might do.”

“Don’t worry,” Harkat smiled. “You’ll be OK.”

“What if…” I hesitated, afraid I’d jinx myself. But that was silly, so I came out with it. “What if Steve tries to use my family against me? What if he threatens my parents or Annie?”

Harkat nodded slowly. “I thought of that already. It’s the sort of sick stunt I can … imagine him pulling.”

“What will I do if he does?” I asked. “He already sucked Debbie into his insane plot to destroy me — not to mention R.V. What if–”

“Easy,” Harkat soothed me. “The first thing is to find out if … they still live here. If they do, we can arrange protection … for them. We’ll establish a watch around their house … and guard them.”

“The two of us can’t protect them by ourselves,” I grunted.

“But we’re not by ourselves,” Harkat said. “We have many friends in … the Cirque. They’ll help.”

“You think it’s fair to involve them?” I asked.

“They may already be involved,” Harkat said. “Their destinies are tied to ours, I think. That may be another reason why you felt … you had to stay here.” Then he smiled. “Come on — I want to get to the party before … Rhamus scoffs all the cakes!”

Laughing, I put my fears behind me for a while and walked back through the campsite with Harkat. But if I’d known just how closely the destinies of my freakish friends were connected with mine, and the anguish I was steering them towards, I’d have about-faced and immediately fled to the other end of the world.


### CHAPTER THREE

I DIDN’T go exploring that day. I stayed at the Cirque Du Freak and celebrated Shancus’s birthday. He loved his new snake, and I thought Urcha was going to float away with joy when he found out Shancus’s old snake was to be his. The party went on longer than expected. The table was loaded up with more cakes and buns, and not even the ever-hungry Rhamus Twobellies could finish them off! Afterwards we prepared for that night’s show, which went ahead smoothly. I spent most of the show in the wings, studying faces in the audience, looking for old neighbours and friends. But I didn’t see anybody I recognized.

The next morning, while most of the Cirque folk were sleeping, I slipped out. Although it was a bright day, I wore a light anorak over my clothes, so I could pull the hood up and mask my face if I had to.

I walked rapidly, thrilled to be back. The streets had changed a lot – new shops and offices, many redecorated or redesigned buildings – but the names were the same. I ran into memories on every block. The shop where I bought my football boots. Mum’s favourite clothes boutique. The cinema where we’d taken Annie to her first film. The newsagent where I shopped for comics.

I wandered through a vast complex which used to be my favourite computer arcade. It was under new ownership and had grown beyond recognition. I tried out some of the games, and smiled as I remembered how excited I’d get when I’d come here on a Saturday and blast away a few hours on the latest shoot-’em-up.

Moving away from the central shopping area, I visited my favourite parks. One was now a housing estate but the other was unchanged. I saw a groundsman tending to a bed of flowers — old William Morris, my friend Alan’s grandfather. William was the first person from the past I’d seen. He hadn’t known me very well, so I was able to walk right past him and study him up-close without fear of being spotted.

I wanted to stop and chat with Alan’s grandfather, and ask for news about Alan. I was going to tell him that I was one of Alan’s friends, that I’d lost touch with him. But then I remembered that Alan was now an adult, not a teenager like me. So I walked on, silent, unobserved.

I was anxious to check out my old house. But I didn’t feel ready — I trembled with nerves every time I thought about it. So I wandered through the centre of town, past banks, shops, restaurants. I caught glimpses of half-remembered faces – clerks and waiters, a few customers – but nobody I’d known personally.

I had a bite to eat in a café. The food wasn’t especially good, but it had been Dad’s favourite place — he often brought me here for a snack while Mum and Annie were doing damage in the shops. It was nice to sit in the familiar surroundings and order a chicken and bacon sandwich, like in the old days.

After lunch, I strolled past my original school — a really eerie feeling! A new wing had been added, and there were iron railings around the perimeter, but apart from that it looked just the way I remembered. Lunch break was ending. I watched from underneath the shadows of a tree while the students filed back into class. I saw some teachers too. Most were new, but two caught my attention. One was Mrs McDaid. She’d taught languages, mostly to older students. I’d had her for half a term when my regular teacher was on a leave of absence.

I’d been much closer to the other teacher — Mr Dalton! I’d had him for English and history. He’d been my favourite teacher. He was chatting with some of his students as he entered class after lunch, and by their smiles I saw he was still as popular as ever.

It would have been great to catch up with Mr Dalton. I was seriously thinking about waiting for school to finish, then going to see him. He’d know what had happened to my parents and Annie. I needn’t tell him I was a vampire — I could say I had an anti-ageing disease, which kept me looking young. Explaining away my “death” would be tricky, but I could cook up some suitable story.

One thing held me back. A few years ago, in Mr Crepsley’s home city, I’d been branded a killer by the police, and my name and photo had been flashed all over the TV and newspapers. What if Mr Dalton had heard about that? If he knew I was alive, and thought I was a murderer, he might alert the authorities. Safer not to take the risk. So I turned my back on the school and slowly walked away.

It was only then that it struck me that Mr Dalton wouldn’t be the only one who might have picked up on the “Darren Shan — serial killer!” hysteria. What if my parents had heard about it! Mr Crepsley’s city was in a different part of the world, and I wasn’t sure how much news travelled between the two countries. But it was a possibility.

I had to sit down on a street bench while I considered that horrific potential. I could only begin to imagine how shocking it would have been if, years after they’d buried me, Mum and Dad had spotted me on the news, under a caption branding me a killer. How had I never thought about it before?

This could be a real problem. As I’d told Harkat, I didn’t intend going to see my family — too painful for everyone. But if they already knew I was alive, and were living with the misbelief that I was a killer, I’d have to set the record straight. But what if they didn’t know?

I had to do some research. I’d passed a brand new, ultramodern library earlier that morning. Hurrying back to it, I asked a librarian for assistance. I said I was doing a school project and had to pick some local story from the last three years to write about. I asked to examine all the issues of the main local paper, as well as the national paper which my mum and dad used to read. I figured, if word of my exploits in Mr Crepsley’s city had spread this far, there’d be a mention of me in one of those two papers.

The librarian was happy to help. She showed me where the microfiche were stored, and how to use them. Once I’d got the knack of getting them up on screen and scanning from one page to the next, she left me to my own devices.

I started with the earliest editions of the national paper, from a few months before I ran into trouble with the law. I was looking for any mention of Mr Crepsley’s city and the killers plaguing it. I made quick time, glancing only at the international sections. I found a couple of references to the murders — and they were both mocking! Apparently journalists here were amused by the vampire rumours which had swept the city, and the story was treated as light entertainment. There was a short piece in one issue, relaying the news that the police had caught four suspects, and then carelessly let all four escape. No names, and no mention of the people Steve had killed when he broke out.

I was relieved but angered at the same time. I knew the pain the vampaneze had brought to that city, the lives they’d destroyed. It wasn’t right that such a grim story should be turned into the stuff of funny urban legends, simply because it happened in a city far away from where these people lived. They wouldn’t have found it so amusing if the vampaneze had struck here!

I made a quick check on issues from the next few months, but the paper had dropped the story after news of the escape. I turned to the local paper. This was slower going. The main news was at the front, but local interest stories were scattered throughout. I had to check most of the pages of each edition before I could move on to the next.

Although I tried not to dwell on articles unrelated to me, I couldn’t stop myself from skimming the opening paragraphs of the more interesting stories. It wasn’t long before I was catching up with all the news — elections, scandals, heroes, villains; policemen who’d been highly commended, criminals who’d given the town a bad name; a big bank raid; coming third in a national tidy towns competition.

I saw photographs and read clips about several of my school friends, but one in particular stood out — Tom Jones! Tommy was one of my best friends, along with Steve and Alan Morris. We were two of the best footballers in our class. I was the goal-scorer, leading the line up front, while Tommy was the goal-stopper, pulling off spectacular saves. I’d often dreamt of going on to be a professional footballer. Tommy had taken that dream all the way and become a goalkeeper.

There were dozens of photos and stories about him. Tom Jones (he’d shortened the “Tommy”) was one of the best keepers in the country. Lots of articles poked fun at his name – there was also a famous singer called Tom Jones – but nobody had anything bad to say about Tommy himself. After working his way up through the amateur ranks, he’d signed for a local team, made a name for himself, then played abroad for five years. Now he was back home, part of the best team in the country. In the most recent editions, I read how local football fans were buzzing with excitement at the prospect of this year’s cup semi-final — it was being held in our town, and Tommy’s team was in it. Of course, they’d have been a lot happier if their own team had qualified, but this was the next best thing.

Reading about Tommy brought a smile to my face — it was great to see one of my friends doing so well. The other good news was that there was no mention of me. Since this was quite a small town, I was sure word would have spread if anyone had heard about me in connection with the killings. I was in the clear.

But there was no mention of my family in the papers either. I couldn’t find the name “Shan” anywhere. There was only one thing for it — I’d have to dig around for information in person by going back to the house where I used to live.


### CHAPTER FOUR

THE HOUSE took my breath away. It hadn’t changed. Same colour door, same style curtains, same small garden out the back. As I stood gazing at it, gripping the top of the fence, I almost expected a younger version of myself to come bounding out the back door, clutching a pile of comics, on his way over to Steve’s.

“May I help you?” someone asked behind me.

My head snapped round and my eyes cleared. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there, but by my white knuckles, I guessed it had been a few minutes at least. An elderly woman was standing close by, studying me suspiciously. Rubbing my hands together, I smiled warmly. “Just looking,” I said.

“At what, precisely?” she challenged me, and I realized how I must appear to her — a rough-faced teenager, gazing intently into a deserted back yard, checking out the house. She thought I was a burglar casing the joint!

“My name’s Derek Shan,” I said, borrowing an uncle’s first name. “My cousins lived here. In fact, they still might. I’m not sure. I’m in town to see some friends, and I thought I’d pop over and find out if my relatives were here or not.”

“You’re related to Annie?” the woman asked, and I shivered at the mention of the name.

“Yes,” I said, fighting hard to keep my voice steady. “And Dermot and Angela.” My parents. “Do they still live here?”

“Dermot and Angela moved away three or four years ago,” the woman said. She stepped up beside me, at ease now, and squinted at the house. “They should have left sooner. That was never a happy house, not since their boy died.” The woman looked sideways at me. “You know about that?”

“I remember my dad saying something,” I muttered, ears turning red.

“I wasn’t living here then,” the woman said. “But I’ve heard all about it. He fell out of a window. The family stayed on, but it was a miserable place after that. I don’t know why they stuck around so long. You can’t enjoy yourself in a house of bitter memories.”

“But they did stay,” I said, “until three or four years ago? And then moved on?”

“Yes. Dermot had a mild heart attack. He had to retire early.”

“Heart attack!” I gasped. “Is he OK?”

“Yes.” The woman smiled at me. “I said it was mild, didn’t I? But they decided to move when he retired. Left for the coast. Angela often said she’d like to live by the sea.”

“What about Annie?” I asked. “Did she go with them?”

“No. Annie stayed. She still lives here — her and her boy.”

“Boy?” I blinked.

“Her son.” The woman frowned. “Are you sure you’re a relative? You don’t seem to know much about your own family.”

“I’ve lived abroad most of my life,” I said truthfully.

“Oh.” The woman lowered her voice. “Actually, I suppose it’s not the sort of thing you talk about in front of children. What age are you, Derek?”

“Sixteen,” I lied.

“Then I guess you’re old enough. My name’s Bridget, by the way.”

“Hello, Bridget.” I forced a smile, silently willing her to get on with the story.

“The boy’s a nice enough child, but he’s not really a Shan.”

“What do you mean?” I frowned.

“He was born out of wedlock. Annie never married. I’m not even sure anyone except her knows who the father is. Angela claimed they knew, but she never told us his name.”

“I guess lots of women choose not to marry these days,” I sniffed, not liking the way Bridget was talking about Annie.

“True,” Bridget nodded. “Nothing wrong with wanting the child but not the husband. But Annie was on the young side. She was just sweet sixteen when the baby was born.”

Bridget was glowing, the way gossips do when they’re telling a juicy story. I wanted to snap at her, but it was better to hold my tongue.

“Dermot and Angela helped rear the baby,” Bridget continued. “He was a blessing in some ways. He became a replacement for their lost son. He brought some joy back into the house.”

“And now Annie looks after him by herself?” I asked.

“Yes. Angela came back a lot during the first year, for weekends and holidays. But now the boy’s more independent, Annie can cope by herself. They get along as well as most, I guess.” Bridget glanced at the house and sniffed. “But they could do with giving that old wreck a slap of paint.”

“I think the house looks fine,” I said stiffly.

“What do sixteen-year-old boys know about houses?” Bridget laughed. Then she bid me good day and went about her business. I was going to call her back, to ask when Annie would be home. But then I decided not to. Just as easy – and more exciting – to wait out here and watch for her.

There was a small tree on the other side of the road. I stood by it, hood up over my head, checking my watch every few minutes as though I was waiting to meet somebody. The street was quiet and not many people passed.

The day darkened and dusk set upon the town. There was a bite in the air but it didn’t trouble me — half-vampires don’t feel the cold as much as humans. I thought about what Bridget had said while I was waiting. Annie, a mother! Hard to believe. She’d been a kid herself the last time I saw her. From what Bridget said, Annie’s life hadn’t been the easiest. Being a mother at sixteen must have been rough. But it sounded like she had things under control now.

A light went on in the kitchen. A woman’s silhouette passed from one side to the other. Then the back door opened and my sister stepped out. There was no mistaking her. Taller, with long brown hair, much plumper than she’d been as a girl. But the same face. The same sparkling eyes, and lips which were ready to turn up into a warm-hearted smile at a moment’s notice.

I stared at Annie as though in a trance. I wasn’t able to tear my eyes away. I was trembling, and my legs felt like they were about to give way, but I couldn’t turn my gaze aside.

Annie walked to a small washing line in the back yard, from which a boy’s clothes were hanging. She blew into her hands to warm them, then reached up and took the clothes down, one garment at a time, folding each over the crook of her left arm.

I stepped forward and opened my mouth to call her name, all thoughts of not announcing myself forgotten. This was Annie — my sister! I had to talk to her, hold her again, laugh and cry with her, catch up on the past, ask about Mum and Dad.

But my vocal chords wouldn’t work. I was choked up with emotion. All I managed was a thin croak. Closing my mouth, I walked across the road, slowing as I came to the fence. Annie had gathered all the clothes from the line and was returning to the kitchen. I gulped deeply and licked my lips. Blinked several times in quick succession to clear my head. Opened my mouth again—

—and stopped when a boy inside the house shouted, “Mum! I’m home!”

“About time!” Annie yelled in reply, and I could hear the love in her voice. “I thought I told you to bring in the clothes.”

“Sorry. Wait a sec…” I saw the boy’s shadow as he entered the kitchen and hurried over to the back door. Then he emerged, a chubby boy, fair-haired, very pleasant looking.

“Do you want me to take some of those?” the boy said.

“My hero,” Annie laughed, handing half of the load over to the boy. He went in ahead of her. She turned to shut the door and caught a glimpse of me. She paused. It was quite dark. The light was behind her. She couldn’t see me very well. But if I stood there long enough … if I called out to her…

I didn’t.

Instead I coughed, pulled my hood tight around my face, spun and walked away. I heard the door close behind me, and it was like the sound of a sharp blade slicing me adrift from the past.

Annie had her own life. A son. A home. Probably a job. Maybe a boyfriend or somebody special. It wouldn’t be fair if I popped up, opening old wounds, making her part of my dark, twisted world. She enjoyed peace and a normal life — much better than what I had to offer.

So I left her behind and slunk away quickly, through the streets of my old town, back to my real home — the Cirque Du Freak. And I sobbed my heart out every painful, lonely step of the way.


### CHAPTER FIVE

I COULDN’T bear to talk to anybody that night. I sat by myself in a seat high up in the football stadium while the show was in progress, thinking about Annie and her child, Mum and Dad, all that I’d lost and missed out on. For the first time in years I felt angry with Mr Crepsley for blooding me. I found myself wondering what life would be like if he’d left me alone, wishing I could go back and change the past.

But there was no point tormenting myself. The past was a closed book. I could do nothing to alter it, and wasn’t even sure I would if I could — if I hadn’t been blooded, I wouldn’t have been able to tip the vampires off about Kurda Smahlt, and the entire clan might have fallen.

If I’d returned home ten or twelve years earlier, my feelings of loss and anger might have been stronger. But I was an adult now, in all but looks. A Vampire Prince. I’d learnt to deal with heartache. That wasn’t an easy night. Tears flowed freely. But by the time I drifted off to sleep a few hours before dawn, I’d resigned myself to the situation, and knew there would be no fresh tears in the morning.

I was stiff with the cold when I awoke, but worked it off by jogging down the tiers of the stadium to where the Cirque was camped. As I was making for the tent I shared with Harkat, I spotted Mr Tall. He was standing by an open fire, roasting sausages on a spit. He beckoned me over and threw a handful of sausages to me, then speared a fresh batch and stuck them over the flames.

“Thanks,” I said, eagerly munching the piping-hot sausages.

“I knew you would be hungry,” he replied. He looked at me steadily. “You have been to see your sister.”

“Yes.” It didn’t surprise me that he knew. Mr Tall was an insightful old owl.

“Did she see you?” Mr Tall asked.

“She saw me briefly, but I left before she got a good look.”

“You behaved correctly.” He turned the sausages over and spoke softly. “You are about to ask me if I will help protect your sister. You fear for her safety.”

“Harkat thinks something’s going to happen,” I said. “He’s not sure what, but if Steve Leopard’s part of it, he might use Annie to hurt me.”

“He won’t,” Mr Tall said. I was surprised by his directness — normally he was very cagey when it came to revealing anything about the future. “As long as you stay out of her life, your sister will be under no direct threat.”

“What about indirect threat?” I asked warily.

Mr Tall chuckled. “We are all under indirect threat, one way or another. Harkat is correct — this is a time and place of destiny. I can say no more about it, except leave your sister alone. She is safe that way.”

“OK,” I sighed. I wasn’t happy about leaving Annie to fend for herself, but I trusted Hibernius Tall.

“You should sleep some more now,” Mr Tall said. “You are tired.”

That sounded like a good plan. I scoffed another sausage, turned to leave, then stopped. “Hibernius,” I said without facing him, “I know you can’t tell me what’s going to happen, but before we came here, you said I didn’t have to come. It would have been better if I’d stayed away, wouldn’t it?”

There was a long silence. I didn’t think he was going to respond. But then, softly, he said, “Yes.”

“What if I left now?”

“It is too late,” Mr Tall said. “Your decision to return set a train of events in motion. That train cannot be derailed. If you left now, it would only serve the purpose of the forces you oppose.”

“But what if–” I said, turning to push the issue. But Mr Tall had disappeared, leaving only the flickering flames and a stick speared with sausages lying on the grass next to the fire.

That evening, after I’d rested and enjoyed a filling meal, I told Harkat about my trip home. I also told him about my short conversation with Mr Tall and how he’d urged me not to get involved with Annie.

“Then you were right,” Harkat grunted. “I thought you should involve yourself with … your family again, but it seems I was wrong.”

We were feeding scraps of meat to the Wolf Man, part of our daily chores. We stood at a safe distance from his cage, all too aware of the power of his fearsome jaws.

“What about your nephew?” Harkat asked. “Any family resemblance?”

I paused, a large sliver of meat in my right hand. “It’s strange, but I didn’t think of him as that until now. I just thought of him as Annie’s son. I forgot that also makes him my nephew.” I grinned crookedly. “I’m an uncle!”

“Congratulations,” Harkat deadpanned. “Did he look like you?”

“Not really,” I said. I thought of the fair-haired, chubby boy’s smile, and how he’d helped Annie bring in the washing. “A nice kid, from what I saw. Handsome, of course, like all the Shans.”

“Of course!” Harkat snorted.

I was sorry I hadn’t taken more notice of Annie’s boy. I didn’t even know his name. I thought about going back to ask about him – I could hang about and collar Bridget the gossip again – but dismissed the idea immediately. That was precisely the kind of stunt which could backfire and bring me to Annie’s notice. Best to forget about him.

As we were finishing off, I saw a young boy watching us from behind a nearby van. He was studying us quietly, taking care not to attract attention. In the normal run of things, I’d have ignored him — children often came nosing around the Cirque site. But my thoughts were on my nephew and I found myself more interested in the boy than I’d otherwise have been.

“Hello!” I shouted, waving at him. The boy’s head instantly vanished behind the van. I would have left it, but moments later the boy stepped out and walked towards us. He looked nervous – understandable, since we were in the presence of the snarling Wolf Man – but he was fighting hard not to show it.

The boy stopped a few metres away and nodded curtly. “Hello,” he mumbled. He was scrawny. He had dark blond hair and bright blue eyes. I put his age at somewhere in the region of ten or eleven, maybe a little bit older than Annie’s kid, though there couldn’t have been much of an age difference. For all I knew they might even be going to school together!

The boy said nothing after greeting us. I was thinking about my nephew and comparing this boy to him, so I said nothing either. Harkat finally broke the silence. “Hi,” he said, lowering the mask he wore to filter out air, which was poisonous to him. “I’m Harkat.”

“Darius,” the boy said, nodding at Harkat, not offering to shake hands.

“And I’m Darren,” I smiled.

“You two are with the freak show,” Darius said. “I saw you yesterday.”

“You’ve been here before?” Harkat asked.

“A couple of times. I’ve never seen a freak show before. I tried buying a ticket but nobody will sell me one. I asked the tall guy – he’s the owner, isn’t he? – but he said it wasn’t suitable for children.”