Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (26 page)

"She told me that her father was never called Lord Ruthven," said Mark.

"She lied," said Séan. "He was reasonably famous in his day."

"What happened to them?" asked Mark.

"Her family were converted by an Irish vampire," said Séan.

"Was he a babanshee?" asked Mark.

Séan nodded. "He was," he said. "He fled in the Irish Famine of the 1740s. That's not the Potato Famine, but then you're a professional historian, so I assume you already know that. This particular creature was later killed, hence the knowledge we have accrued regarding how to kill them. He had pillaged the local populace by the time of his death. He drank their blood but didn't succeed in enslaving many."

"I thought they just needed to be bitten to be enslaved?" asked Mark.

"No," snapped Séan. "I've told you - they have talons, not sharp teeth."

"So, how do people become vampires?" asked Buffy.

"They need to contract the disease," said Séan. "In olden days it was difficult, but nowadays all it requires is a partial blood transfusion." He sighed. "As far as we can tell, the only people he converted were the Ruthven family plus around a dozen locals he was using as henchmen. He was planning to milk the land dry, drinking the blood of the crofters while establishing himself as the lord of the land. Fortunately, he was killed along with the henchmen."

"What happened to the Ruthven family?" asked Mark.

"Her father ran away," said Séan. "Her mother and sister were staked in 1822 by the founder of my order. Lord Ruthven himself was later killed by a greater vampire from Eastern Europe."

"There are more?" asked Mark.

Séan nodded. "And ones with teeth," he said. "You don't need to concern yourself with that just now, unless you've invited a boatload of Romanians over?"

Mark shook his head. "If you've got this plan to trap her, why wasn't it done like that before?"

"There was a view in the government at the time," said Séan, "about leaving some vampires in place, in case we needed them."

"What would you
need
a vampire for?" asked Mark.

"It might not seem so from the safety of your big modern city," said Séan, "but it's still a wild world out there."

"So, she could be running wild across the Highlands," said Mark, "maybe heading to a port or something?"

"She can't cross water," said Séan. "Like I said earlier, she is territorial. She'll want to build a power base in the Highlands. Besides, there are certain agencies that she'll have to keep her activities hidden from. Running might only serve to alert them."

"Tell me about her," said Mark.

Séan read from the book. "She has married six times over the hundred-and-ninety years she's been on that island," he said. "She converted each of them to vampirism."

Mark swallowed hard. "There are only three that I know of," he said.

"That's right," said Séan. "Three fled the island. They were killed by my order, but the other three remain trapped with her. That's another reason that we know so much about them. There are three women vampires. She pretends they are her daughters."

"I've seen them in the hotel bar," said Mark. "Six of them. John's students."

Séan smiled, then slowly shook his head. "Always one with a good line like that," he said. "Yes, they can get off the island, but John and a few others were keeping them under a close watch."
 

"Who else is in this order of yours?" asked Mark.

"William Sellar," said Séan. "The village blacksmith. They would help when the children split up."

Mark was stunned - they were both vampire slayers.

Séan ran his finger down the page. "As for Lady Ruthven," he said, "she only leaves the island every midsummer when the water in the loch is at its lowest and the land bridge forms. She has to return to her coffin, though. It's the source of her strength. It stops her from dying."

"That doesn't make any sense," said Mark.

"Does it have to?" asked Séan. "Does anything?" He sighed. "The vampires need to be encased in wood to regenerate themselves."

"What is vampirism then?" asked Mark.

"It's a blood disease," said Séan. "Not dissimilar to HIV or certain blood cancers. Sufferers need to regenerate themselves, hidden from the world. They don't move their coffins unless there is a concrete invite. She received one in the 1920s but we put her back before too much damage was done."

"What's to stop her from killing everyone at the ceilidh?" asked Mark.

"My order," said Séan. "They are escorted over. John and the blacksmith should have been there."

Mark tried to remember seeing the blacksmith. "They weren't," he said.

"It's worse than I feared," said Séan.

"I think she's been controlling the wind," said Mark.

Séan nodded. "Yes," he said. "That would be right. They can suck all of the air pressure out of an area, almost creating a vacuum. A strong gust of wind would likely follow."

"How?" asked Mark.

Séan shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "There are very few creatures around to perform tests on."

"How does this invitation thing work?" asked Mark. "It seems a bit supernatural, like not letting the devil in your house or something."

"You never tire of asking questions, do you?" asked Séan, with a deep sigh. "They're vulnerable creatures. The coffin thing - they need to get close to the earth to regenerate and, of course, they need blood. Vampire blood is poisonous to them, but good, clean human or animal blood is life-giving. If you offer them the security of your house, then they'll take it, knowing that you trust them."

"I still don't get why she didn't just kill me," said Mark.

"She'd probably have that planned eventually," said Buffy. "If you're lucky, you'd be enslaved. For now, you're useful to her."

"How do you know all of this stuff?" asked Mark.

Séan shared a look with Buffy, then sighed again. "There's a long line of protectors," he said, "going back a hundred and ninety years. I'm the latest protector of the Highlands."

Mark took a deep breath and tried to take it all in. He was over a hundred and fifty miles from home and desperate. He now knew what he'd got himself into, but he had no idea how to get out of it.
 

Séan glared at Buffy. "Your friend has unleashed a monster," he said. "He's lucky I haven't killed him, but the laws are different these days." He turned to Mark. "We've got to trap her in her castle. Take Alan with you."

"What about you?" asked Mark.

"I need to get some supplies," said Séan.

"What sort of thing?" asked Buffy.

Séan gave a slight laugh. "Hopefully you'll never have to see," he said.

"If we're going up against a vampire," said Buffy, "I want whatever tools you've got."

"Just get up there and make sure she hasn't escaped," said Séan. "I'll meet you at the castle."

They got to Brora just after two, reaching the town as the sun began rising. They'd driven in silence, each lost in their own dark thoughts.

"Never been here before," said Mark.

"Used to get brought here all the time when I was wee," said Buffy.

"Do you think he's on the level?" asked Mark. All he had to back up Séan's story was Séan himself. He had no reason to believe him. The story fit the evidence, but he'd seen that happen before.

Buffy stared out of the window, watching the town roll by under the sodium glare - the white street lights of Edinburgh hadn't made it this far north. "He's a freaky guy," he said, "that's for certain, but I do believe him, yes."

"How long have you known him?" asked Mark.

"A few years now," said Buffy. "I used to get my comics from the shop I eventually bought. I'd pop in and see what Séan had. One day his comic was sitting on the counter, and I started getting into his books, got chatting to him. He used to recommend some freaky stuff."

"Can we trust him?" asked Mark.

"You don't think that she's evil?" asked Buffy.

"I've no idea," said Mark.

"Look, all the evidence points to this being the truth," said Buffy. "I'd stop worrying about whether it's the truth and start worrying about how we're going to stop this monster you've unleashed."

"I've really made a mess," said Mark.

"That's putting it mildly," said Buffy.

Mark looked over. "You're supposed to be on my side."

Buffy laughed. "Well, stop doing stupid things then," he said. "I told you to keep away from her when we met up at the weekend. I could see that twinkle in your eyes."

"What twinkle?" asked Mark.

Buffy shook his head. "Don't pretend for one minute that you don't know what I'm talking about," he said. "If you'd just have listened, then you might not have got us into this."

Mark spotted an all-night garage on the way out of town and remembered the faulty fuel gauge. "I'd better fill up," he said. "We're heading out into the wilderness after all."

"You're avoiding the conversation, aren't you?" asked Buffy.

"No," said Mark.

Mark couldn't get out of the car quickly enough. As he waited for lad in the hut to wake up and switch the pump on, he drifted off into a reverie. The tank clicked shut, snapping Mark back to reality. He checked his phone - they were still over thirty-five miles from Ruthven village and the last few were single-track lanes.

As he closed the diesel cap, he thought about the disaster he'd created. His only consolation was the alcohol had killed the brain cells charged with remembering what he'd got up to with Ruthven.

He was lucky to be alive.

He was lucky to be
free
.

Inside the hut, the only food he could find was a pipe of Pringles, a litre of full-fat milk and a samosa. As he waited for the rural telephony system to process his debit card, he hoped Buffy wouldn't want to share. Then again, he'd wolfed down a pork pie as they'd left Inverness without offering any to Mark.

He leaned against the car and looked north towards the
aurora borealis
dancing across the sky, slowly chewing on the samosa, washing it down with milk. He still couldn't believe what he'd got himself into, but at least he was trying to get out of it.

Mark felt Buffy nudge his arm. He blinked his eyes. The dream disappeared, a flame-haired monster trying to kill him. He looked outside - it was still twilight. They were parked just along the lane from Ruthven castle.

As he surfaced from the dreamworld into reality, a cold sweat crept over him - he'd been an idiot, thinking with what was between his legs instead of what was on his shoulders.

Why had she chosen him?

There were countless other men it could have been - Adam had been single and eager to get stuck into anything in a skirt or tight jeans. Mark was married - happily or otherwise.

Buffy nudged him again.

"What is it?" asked Mark, irritated.

"For one thing," said Buffy, "you've been snoring for the last hour."

"I'm
really
tired," said Mark. "I've driven all the way here from Edinburgh."

"Yeah," said Buffy, "and then you've sat in a car with me, watching absolutely nothing happen for three hours."

"It can't have been that long," said Mark.

"It has," said Buffy. "And I'm starving."

All they'd eaten - since the last petrol station Pringle - was a three-pack of out-of-date Mars bars that Mark found in the glove box. Mark wasn't surprised they were at each other's throats - their blood sugar levels had collapsed.

"I can't believe what you've done," said Buffy.

Part of the reason that Mark had fallen asleep in the first place was to avoid more recrimination from Buffy. "Look, I don't know if I did anything," he said.

"You've let her off the island," said Buffy. "Do you know what could happen?"

Mark shrugged. "We'll see," he said, turning away.

Ruthven castle loomed over them in the early morning gloaming, not that it had been dark since they left Inverness. Mark's eyes scanned the front of the building, searching for lights - the place was quiet and still, not a sign of anything living - or undead.

Buffy sat forward. "There's Séan," he said.

Mark spotted a large black van approaching
.
The headlights went out and it trundled to a halt. Séan got out and started jogging over. He was wearing combat garb - bulky blue trousers with a million pockets and a dark green gilet, a length of coiled rope hanging down. He clambered in the back, Mark and Buffy twisted round in their seats, watching.

"What's with the
A-Team
truck?" asked Buffy.

Séan smiled. "The tricks of my trade."

"You're just like Buffy the Vampire Slayer, then?" asked Mark.

Séan nodded. "You could say that," he said.

"You're welcome to the nickname," said Buffy.

"It suits you," said Séan.

Buffy gave a bemused sigh. "What's in there?" he asked.

"Just some weaponry," said Séan. "Crossbows, knives, that sort of thing."

"
'That sort of thing'
," said Buffy. "What about guns?"

"They don't really work," said Séan, looking out of the window. "The bullet has to embed itself in the vampire's heart."

"Come on, man," said Buffy, "what else have you got?"

"I hope never to use most of it," said Séan. "I don't want to even speak of some of the things I have in there, lest someone hear about it."

"Fine," said Mark. "So what's the plan?"

Séan looked at both of them for a few seconds. "How long have you two been here?"

"Three hours," said Buffy.

Séan checked his watch. "Right, good," he said. "Has anyone come or gone?"

"It's been completely dead," said Buffy.

"We haven't even seen the dogs," said Mark.

"The dogs?" asked Séan.

"Yeah," said Mark, "a dog has been haunting me. It's chased me twice. I think there are a few of them. Is it Ruthven?"

"Hmm," said Séan, before he lost himself in thought - Mark struggled to work out what he was thinking. "No. It can't be
her
. Shape-shifting is rumoured, at best."

"It's huge," said Mark. "There are a few of them. They killed John Rennie."