Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (29 page)

"We haven't got time," said Séan. "We need to stop her now." He gave a deep sigh. "It's worse than I thought. She's left the island because you invited her into that hotel room."

"What about if we go to the church in Kinbrace?" asked Mark. "The minister there can bless some water."

Séan shook his head. "I told you before," he said, "that doesn't work. How could it? They're pagan creatures. Vampires date back thousands of years. Christianity didn't arrive until about fifteen hundred years ago at the very earliest. That stuff is the worst kind of fairy story."

"Is there anything that we can use that you've not left in your van?" asked Mark.

Séan reached into his trouser pocket. "Fresh garlic," he said, with a sigh. He handed a couple of bulbs to Mark and to Buffy.

Mark inspected it. The bulbs were sealed in packets and were moist and tough like an onion, nothing like the papery skin he was used to. He broke off a couple of cloves and put the rest of the bulb in his pocket.

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Buffy.

"I'm tired," said Séan. "Just need a rest."

"She didn't get you, did she?" asked Buffy.

"No, that fight just took it out of me," said Séan. "I should get back to my van." He gave a deep sigh. "She did take a battering."

"She's killed William Sellar," said Mark.

Séan closed his eyes. "That explains why I couldn't get hold of him," he said. "I fear for our blacksmith friend."

Mark slumped back in the driver's seat, the tiredness gnawing away at him. They'd stayed up all night and the adrenaline spike was waning. They were trapped - this road was deserted. He checked his mobile phone - no reception.

The only options he could see for help were the devil worshippers and William Sellar's house. Neither appealed.

"Any idea where the nearest farm is?" asked Mark, looking at Séan through the rearview. "I should be able to get a jerry can."

"Alan!"

Mark spun round - Buffy was gone. "Where is he?" he shouted.

Séan pointed out of the car. "Vampire," he said, then fell asleep.

Mark got out and raced round. A bright, red dog the size of a man lay on top of Buffy.

Mark blinked.

The dog slowly turned into the Lost Boy who had played the fiddle, the reverse of the process that he'd seen in Lady Ruthven. His talons sliced across Buffy's face, sending rivulets of blood trickling down. The fiddler licked at the blood.

Mark spotted the machete on the back seat next to Séan. He grabbed it, swinging it at the fiddler, catching his left arm at the wrist, cutting most of the way through and leaving the hand dangling. The fiddler screamed out and turned towards Mark. Mark took another swing, taking the hand clean off. The fiddler hissed at him, tucked the wounded arm into his body, before walking towards Mark, the talons on his right hand fully extended.

Mark reached into his pocket for the garlic. He crushed the clove in his hand and rubbed it on the fiddler's face.

The vampire lashed out, trying to scratch Mark. He was turning back into a dog, but things were going wrong with the process, the head and a leg staying human. Eventually, the transformation was complete, his front left paw a stump. The dog growled at Mark and ran back in the direction of the village.

Mark took a deep breath. He checked the big cut across Buffy's face. It was deep - Mark was no expert but it looked like Buffy would need plastic surgery. He helped him stand and got in the back seat, buckling him in.

Séan's eyes were open again and blinking. "What happened?" he asked.

"We got attacked by one of them," said Mark. He hurried back to the other side of the car, jumping in and locking the doors before turning to face Séan. "Will Buffy be okay?"

Séan looked at Buffy's face. "It doesn't look pretty," he said, "but he'll live."

"He's not been turned?" asked Mark.

"Takes a lot to turn someone," said Séan.

"What's up with you?" asked Mark. "You keep flaking out. If that's going to keep happening, I need a crossbow."

"Just need to get to my van," said Séan.

"There's no diesel," said Mark.

"Right," said Séan. "No diesel."
 

"I'll go and see if I can get a jerry can from the devil worshippers," said Mark.

Séan nodded as he stared at Mark. "We've got to get back to the village and finish this."

The closest thing that Mark had to a jerry can was a five litre bottle of windscreen-washer fluid. He tipped it out in a circle around the car, hoping it would act as a deterrent.

As he walked down the lane towards the camp, he rehearsed various ways to persuade them to part with a drop of diesel, just enough to get back to Séan's van. That was assuming they had any.

He jolted, remembering the first visit to the camp had been with Adam. He'd barely had time to acknowledge he'd been killed. Harris, too. It escalated so quickly.

Séan had injured Ruthven, but not mortally. They had to do something more. He'd run out of ideas hours ago - this was Séan's gig.

He worried that he'd return to a car full of vampires. Buffy had already been cut by one of them and he'd not seen the whole fight between Séan and Ruthven, so he didn't know if she'd managed to convert him or infect him or whatever it was. The way Séan had been acting, it was like something out of
Dracula
, like Mina Harker on her way to the dark side.

He stood outside the main gate and sucked in a deep breath, psyching himself up.
Here goes
. He knocked on the gate.

ZZ Top slid the doors open. He immediately recognised Mark and shook his head. "You come to recant your sins or something?" he asked.

Mark held his bottle up. "I need some diesel," he said. "I can pay."

ZZ Top shook his head. Another couple of cohorts appeared through the door alongside him. "What makes you think we've got any?" he asked.

Mark closed his eyes. "I just need some diesel," he said, his voice low and intent.

"Going to cost you more than money," said ZZ Top.

They stepped forward.

Mark held out his hand. "Please, guys," he said. "I'm having a dreadful day and we just need to get back to the village."

"We don't like people spying on us," said ZZ Top, still approaching.

"We're not spying on you, James."

Mark turned to look behind him. Séan had followed him.

"Well, look who the cat dragged in," said ZZ Top. "Not seen you in a long time, buddy."

"Likewise," said Séan, drawing level with Mark. "We just want some diesel and then we'll get out of here."

ZZ Top tugged on his beard. "You don't look so good," he said.

"We're hunting vampires," said Séan.

ZZ Top went white. "You're not joking, are you?" he asked, his voice deepening an octave.

"No, we're not," said Séan. "Ruthven."

ZZ Top spat on the ground. "She's taken a couple of us over the years," he said. "Let me know if you need any help."

"Best if you don't get involved," said Séan. "Don't want you to draw too much attention to yourselves again."

ZZ Top nodded. "I'll be back soon," he said. He gestured to his colleagues to follow and they went through the gate.

Séan collapsed against Mark, who struggled to hold him up - he weighed a ton. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"You'd have been dog food if I hadn't come over," said Séan.

"Who are those guys?" asked Mark.

"Lycanthropes," said Séan, now standing on his own.

"What?"

"Werewolves," said Séan.

"Werewolves," said Mark. "Seriously?"

"You've seen vampires, Mark," said Séan. "Don't you believe me by now?"

"I suppose," said Mark.

Séan clapped his hand against his forehead. "Of course," he said. He looked at Mark, eyes burning. "I blacked out a bit there. Did James say she'd taken some of his people?"

Mark nodded. "Two at least," he said.

Séan rubbed his hands together. "That explains two of the students," he said. "We couldn't figure out where she'd got them from."

"So, what are you saying?" asked Mark.

"I suspect that our good Lady Ruthven has developed this ability to turn into a dog by converting a couple of werewolves," said Séan.

"Wait, what?" asked Mark.

Séan grimaced. "I don't have the strength for this," he said. "It would appear that Lady Ruthven suffers from both vampirism and lycanthropy."

"Wouldn't they cancel out?" asked Mark.

"Why would they?" asked Séan. "It seems that Ruthven and her students have the powers of both." He swore then looked up at Mark. "That explains how Lady Ruthven has been getting off the island, too. She disguised herself as a dog. These guys have to wait for a full moon, she doesn't seem to. That's why John didn't know. He was only looking out for the students, not for dogs."

Mark thought back to his first meeting with John. The dog lying on the floor had been Ruthven. The chases were all her. He tried to piece it together - something jutted out. "So why all this rigmarole about trapping me," he said, "if she could just get off the island."

"Her coffin," said Séan. "She can't get it across the water."

"Really?" asked Mark.

"Really," said Séan. "It's heavy and, besides, there's a huge element of trust involved. We made a mistake, sorry,
my order
made a mistake - it was easy to move the coffin off the island. You just had to wait till the tide is low and carry it."

"We're too late, then," said Mark. "The tide will have been rising since midsummer."

Séan smiled, his mouth a snarl. "Don't worry," he said. "Being carried across water is not going to be a pleasant experience for her."

"So, how has she been walking across water, then?" asked Mark.

"With great difficulty," said Séan, "and at great risk. It will have been taxing her. It's a great physical exertion but it has clearly paid off."

Just then, ZZ Top appeared at the gate again, holding two jerry cans. "Here you go," he said. "And thanks for keeping us out of this."

"What do you mean?" asked Séan.

"William Sellar's body is crucified on his gates," said ZZ Top. "It would be us next."

Standing on the high street opposite the hotel, eyes darting around and heart racing, Mark was getting twitchy and his nerves felt like steel wire in his veins. He stood guard with the crossbow while Séan got his provisions from the van.

Mark glanced around the street - it was quiet, but then he'd never seen more than three people at any one time. He figured John Rennie's death might have something to do with it. There was no sign that the police had been made aware of the earlier skirmish.
 

He peered at his car - Buffy wasn't looking so good. He was locked inside, a field dressing to his face and doped up with painkillers, courtesy of Séan. Mark knew they had to get him to hospital in Inverness.

Séan jumped down from the van looking refreshed.

"Have you been sleeping in there?" asked Mark, hoping that humour might make him less edgy.

"You could say that," said Séan. He tucked something into the gilet he wore. "I'll take that," he said, grabbing the crossbow and handing Mark another machete from his collection. "You're pretty decent with one of these."

"Thanks," said Mark. "What's the plan, then?"

"Wait here," said Séan.

Mark watched him walk down the street. He unsheathed the machete and waited, sensing people watching, hidden behind curtains in the silent village. He felt the buildings closing in on him. Eventually, Séan jogged up the pavement, a deep scowl etched on his face.

"Where did you go?" asked Mark.

"The blacksmith has been slain," said Séan. "His remains are lying on his forge."

"Ruthven," said Mark.

Séan nodded.

"What are we going to do?" asked Mark.

"Let's get her coffin," said Séan. "She needs it."

"You think it'll still be there?" asked Mark.

"Maybe not," said Séan, as he set off across the street. "I'm banking on it."

"Is Buffy going to be okay?" asked Mark.

"I hope so" said Séan. "Come on."

Mark's heart was thudding as they entered the hotel. Bodies were strewn around the reception area, a pool of blood slowly coagulating. He couldn't see any sign of vampires.

He followed Séan up the stairs, taking them two at a time as they headed for Mark's room. The door was locked. Séan drew his crossbow and loaded a bolt. "Ready?" he asked.

"No," said Mark, unsheathing the machete, "but let's do it anyway."

Mark dodged splinters as Séan kicked the door open with one of his steel-toe boots. He followed Séan inside.

The curtains in the room were drawn - Mark flicked the light on. The bed was tipped back against the wall, the floor filled with coffins.

"It's like something out of
Trainspotting
," said Mark.

"There are so many of them," said Séan, eyes darting around the room. "So many coffins, so many vampires." He started turning round in circles, muttering.

"Séan!" called Mark, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking.

"What?" asked Séan, eyes struggling to focus.

"What on earth are you doing?" asked Mark.

"He's counting the coffins."

Mark turned back towards the door. Lady Ruthven stood in the doorway, looking pale and drawn. Mark had to check twice - her scars from earlier appeared healed. "You shouldn't have gone to my home," she said. "I didn't let you in."

"We don't need to be invited," said Mark.

Ruthven flexed her talons, six-inch long blades. "Don't you?" she asked.

Mark drew the machete back, ready to strike.

Séan fired a bolt into her chest. She pulled it out and threw it back at him. "This might be good for eating olives," she said, "but it's nothing to me."

She leapt forward, knocking Séan over. Mark tried to swing at Ruthven but hesitated, fearing he'd slice Séan.
 

Mark froze in fear as Ruthven caught Séan by the throat. Blood splashed down from his wound, forming a thick, red puddle on the floor. He slumped to his knees, clutching at his neck, and collapsing into a heap.