Reality Bites (7 page)

‘And where?’ he asked.

‘Well sir, it seems he used the Athame to, er – cut his way through the bars of the window instead.’

‘WHAT?’  The captain grabbed the other by the collar.  ‘Did you know he could do that?’

‘Technically, yes sir.  But – how did
he
know?’

The captain let the other go and rubbed a weary claw over his eyes. ‘You couldn’t have just given him an
ordinary
knife?  He was supposed to die anyway.’

‘Sorry sir.’

‘Ah well, he has outmanoeuvred us, it takes a seasoned fighter to know when to retreat. We underestimated him; that’s all.’

‘Perhaps we should have just killed him sir.’

‘And how would we have explained
that
to our lord?  Our orders …’

‘How are we going to explain
this
to our lord?’

~ Chapter Eleven ~

‘W
e’re not in Scotland at all, are we?’ said Stiles as the howling drew nearer. ‘Where the hell are we, really?’

‘Um, perhaps now’s not the time.’  She was rummaging for weapons in her backpack.

‘I just want a straight answer – you’re not going to
use
that?’

She had brought out a fairly large axe in three pieces, which she screwed together.

‘No,
you
are.’  She threw it to him.  ‘I’m using this one.’  And she drew out an even bigger axe, making Stiles wonder if her backpack was some kind of portable TARDIS.  He made a mental note to ask her later (one of many such notes – soon there would not be any room left in his head for worrying).  Right now, however, the animal rights question was uppermost in his mind.  ‘They’re just animals,’ he said.  ‘Just doing what they do – I can’t kill them.’

‘Well you can’t outrun them.  Look I know it’s rough, but look at where you are.’ There were four slavering wolves emerging from the trees.  ‘It’s them or us.’

He could see her point.  ‘I see your point,’ he said. ‘But I still don’t think I can do it.’

‘You have to.’

‘No, I mean I don’t think I can
do
it.  I don’t know how to use one of these things.’

‘Like this.’ She swung the axe at the nearest wolf and neatly (apart from all the blood) sliced its head off. ‘See?’

The remaining three wolves all leaped as one at her throat.  Somehow, this galvanised Stiles into action.  He took an inept swing at the furry ball of menace, managing to cut off the tip of a tail. The wolf howled and turned on him. ‘Oh hell!’  The other two followed suit. 

Kitty whacked heads and two more fell dead.  Stiles got the third in the chest.  He was shaking – sure he was going to be sick, but Kitty was perfectly calm. 

‘Stupid animals,’ she said.  ‘They’ll never learn the art of “divide and conquer”.’  She patted Stiles on the arm.  ‘Well done,’ she said, as he vomited on her boots.

It was around two in the afternoon, and they were still a mile or so from the Inn, according to Kitty, when it suddenly started to go dark.

‘Storm coming?’ said Stiles.

‘Hmm,’ said Kitty, doubtfully.  ‘It doesn’t feel like a storm.’

‘But it’s only two O’ clock.  It doesn’t go dark at two, even in Scotland –
if
that’s where we are.’

‘Shhh – listen.’

‘What?’

‘We’re being ambushed.’

The vampires came at them suddenly from three directions.  It was already too dark to count them. They had arrived in complete silence – Stiles had not heard a thing; he wondered how Kitty had.  She was definitely an unusual girl; to witness, the first thing she did was push Stiles to the ground. ‘Stay down,’ she hissed, ‘I’ll deal with this. 

There then began an eerie and silent battle. Stiles stayed down watching in wonder.  The way she moved!  She was little more than a blur, and her eyesight must be incredible.  “Kitty” was right – she had the night vision of a cat. 

She abruptly tossed him a stake.  ‘On your six,’ she called (who talks like that?) 

He stabbed wildly in the dark, how had she known?  He couldn’t see a thing.  He closed his eyes – he was not sure that he could not see better that way, and he suddenly choked on a cloud of ash that exploded around him.  Then he was being helped up and thumped on the back.

‘You all right?  I think that’s all of them. Let’s get out of here.’

Stiles wiped his streaming eyes.  ‘Okay, that’s it,’ he said.  ‘I have to know, who
are
you?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’

‘What?  What do you mean?’

‘Well, they sure are determined to get you.  You have to wonder why.’

‘I told you; I don’t know.  I can’t think of anything.’

‘All I know is – it’s weird.  Vampires, from what I understand, are not the most co-operative of species – more backstabbing than the House of Commons.  And yet look at this lot, all working together just to kill one man – you.  There must be some compelling reason.’

‘Maybe they don’t like my politics.’

‘This isn’t funny, you know.’

‘I know, believe me, I know.’

They had reached the inn before Stiles realised that she had quite adroitly avoided his questioning again.  Perhaps he was losing his touch; she was a real tough nut to crack. It only made him more curious about her.  Who she was, was more of a burning question to his mind than why a bunch of vampires –
vampires
for God’s sake – wanted to kill him.

He was mentally listing what he already knew about her.  She had lied about her name for some reason that he could not fathom.  She had apparently been watching him for some weeks, incognito, before he had met her, so she was secretive, why?  Was she afraid he would have heard of her?  This was unlikely in the extreme.  He had never heard of any woman who was extremely fast and extremely strong, like superhero strong and fast.  She had claimed to be a vampire slayer, but had slipped up here and admitted that she herself had not believed in vampires until recently.  Put it all together and you had – what? Absolutely no progress whatsoever; she was a conundrum, one that he intended to crack.  It was probably a severe character flaw he realised; he just could not stop thinking like a copper.

He got another clue (there I go again) when they walked into the Inn. “The Stunted Goat” the Landlord appeared nervous of her and yet strangely pleased to have her under his roof.  In any case, it was apparent that he recognised her and Stiles intercepted a warning look that she gave him that plainly meant ‘keep your mouth shut’.  A few other people looked up from their drinks and stared at her silently as she passed, but since they were all of them men, perhaps there was nothing to infer from this, and yet it did seem as if they too knew her, or knew of her.  This was no help either he decided.

The Stunted Goat was a smoky den type of place, very ye olde.  Very, very, actually, it even had straw on the floor and a fireplace so large that a child of at least ten could have stood up in it easily, if they did not mind being incinerated.  For some reason, you got the impression that the blazing fire was a permanent feature, like the patrons, (or were they inmates?)  It seemed that they had been there from time immemorial and were fossilised in their seats.

The landlord barely raised an eyebrow when she asked for a single room.  But Stiles was distinctly uncomfortable about it. He opened his mouth to object, but with that curious instinct that she seemed to possess she dug him in the ribs to silence him before he even uttered a word; she had not even looked at him.  She pulled him aside.

‘Rooms cost money,’ she hissed.  ‘Besides, I don’t think I should leave you alone, especially at night.’

Stiles shrugged.  ‘Okay.’

She handed him the key.  ‘You go upstairs,’ she said.  ‘I have something to take care of, I won’t be long.’ 

He left feeling puzzled.  More mystery, what was she up to now?

The mystery was cleared up pretty quickly when she reappeared in the room five minutes after him and rather sheepishly handed him a grubby packet of cigars.  ‘I got these for you,’ she said, almost shyly.  ‘They um didn’t have cigarettes and anyway cigars are more … more
you
, I think.’  Stiles was touched and surprised.  ‘You didn’t have to.’  Was all he could say; it sounded wrong – ungrateful.

‘Oh, I think I did, because of – you know. And you said … well anyway …’ She looked around.  ‘Nice room.’

It was, in fact, surprisingly un-awful, not at all what the downstairs led you to expect.  Of course, it might be riddled with damp by daylight, but by candle and firelight, it looked cosy, with heavy velvet curtains framing a leaded diamond pattern window, and a large easy chair by the fire and a four poster bed with damask curtains.  It was embarrassingly like the honeymoon suite in a country retreat.

Stiles settled in the chair and lit a cigar from a handy candle.  ‘Ah.’  He sighed.  He ran an impressive line in smoke rings, and she watched for a while, fascinated.

‘You take the bed,’ he said, chivalrously.  ‘I’ll be fine right here.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she retorted.  ‘There’s plenty of room for both of us, we’ll need a proper night’s sleep, if we can get it.  I think I can trust you.’

Stiles looked acutely self-conscious.  ‘I don’t think it’s a question of trust,’ he said.  ‘I mean, from what I’ve seen, one wrong move and you’d break me in half.  Not that I would.  It’s just, well – it wouldn’t seem right. I don’t think I …’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, again.  ‘We’ll be fully dressed. Would you be this prissy about us sharing the same pile of straw?’

‘No, but …’

‘Then it’s settled.  If it makes you feel any better, I’ll put a bolster down the middle of the bed – okay.’

Stiles gave in. ‘Okay’

She lay down on the top of the covers with her head propped up in her hand. ‘Mmm. I love the smell of cigars – it’s a proper smell for a man. You smell of cigars all the time, you know.  Cigars and old leather, better than poncey after-shave or that lieutenant of yours, Finchley?  He smelled of soap – not that men shouldn’t wash, but
soap
, I mean it’s not very manly is it?’ she gave him a look that made his knees tremble. But he was also alert. She was trying to distract him.

Like a shark in the water, Stiles sensed a weakness here.  She was babbling nervously, and why was she nervous?  Stiles guessed that it was because she was now trapped with him, with no distractions, no way to avoid his questions.  Time to move in for the kill, but first to put her off guard, approach her from an unexpected angle.

‘So,’ he began, ‘what did you mean downstairs, about not leaving me alone?  What I’m getting at is I thought that vampires couldn’t get in a place unless they’re invited.  Or is that just folklore?’

‘No, it’s true enough,’ she answered readily enough, ‘but, this is a public building, in fact more than that, it’s an Inn, a place where they actively encourage visitors so it’s a sort of permanent open invitation to all comers, vampires can come in here just fine.’

‘Damn!’ he thought. She fielded that one nicely. He had been hoping that she would have been forced to admit that she had made a mistake, which would put her off balance.  She was damn good at this; he had to admit that maybe he had met his match.  Perhaps he should stop thinking of her as a suspect and more as just a person. The trouble was she was acting so damn suspiciously.

She was smiling at him.  ‘I can’t tell you any more than I have already,’ she said. ‘Let’s just get that out of the way right now, shall we?  I’m sorry; I really am. I like you, I think you’re a good man and you deserve better than all this.  I will tell you this: I intend to help you if I can.  I’m going to find out what’s going on and stop it.’

‘Who sent you?’ he demanded.

‘I don’t know – exactly, just some men who asked for my help, and that’s the truth.’

‘And why you?’

She shook her head. ‘Sorry.’

‘Do you think that
they
know what’s going on?’

She shrugged.

‘Oh, come on – you’ve got to give me something.’

‘I’ve told you everything I can.’

‘Except who you really are.  Why did you lie about your name?’

She was silent.

‘Okay, forget it.’  He realised he had pushed too hard.  For the first time, he realised that there was no earthly reason why she should trust him, any more than he should trust her. Less, in fact; trust had to be earned, and he had been acting like a right suspicious git ever since he had met her. Pushing and probing and questioning, it was no wonder she did not want to talk to him.  She must have some strong reason for wanting to preserve her incognito and it really was not any of his business, she had not done anything wrong, quite the contrary, in fact.  He wondered if there was a self-help group he could join. “Suspicious Bastards Anonymous”.

‘I mean it, forget it,’ he reiterated. ‘It really doesn’t matter, maybe you’ll tell me when you’re ready – or not,’ he added hastily. ‘It’s fine; you’ve saved my life three times now. That should be enough for anybody.’

She managed a smile.

‘And you got me cigars, what more does a man need?’

This time the smile was wider.

‘So,’ he said, heartily.  ‘Are we going down to eat? Man doesn’t live by cigars alone you know, I’m starving.’

‘Mmm, I asked Charlie to bring us something up, is that okay?’

‘That’s fine, um – what exactly?’

‘Oh, I don’t know.  Shepherd’s pie probably.  It’s always Shepherd’s pie in places like this; I think it’s a rule or something. Or pasties.’

‘Or those huge chips like doorstops with the skin still on them,’ agreed Stiles, laughing.

‘Yeah.’  She smiled at him. ‘You know …’ she began and was interrupted by a loud shriek.  With instincts natural to them both, they ran for the door without hesitation. Naturally Kitty won; she opened the door to be greeted by a wall of flames.  Hurriedly she slammed the door.

‘Oh hell!’  They were trapped.

~ Chapter Twelve ~

D
enny’s first problem was what to do with the Athame. It fell straight through the pocket of his jeans spilling loose change on the floor, some of it severed in half. It sliced through his belt, and he was unwilling to carry it between his teeth, since he still needed his tongue for the time being.  But he did not want to leave it behind; it would be too useful. There must be something he could sheath it with, but it seemed that it could cut through anything.  He settled for carrying it, which was awkward, but Denny was nothing if not dogged.