“What about the rest of the vampaneze?” Alice asked. “Are any of them still in my city?”
Evanna shook her head. “All have fled.”
“Will they return?” Alice asked, and by the glint in her eyes I saw she was half hoping they would, so she could settle a few scores.
“No.” Evanna smiled. “But I think it’s safe to say that you will run into them again.”
“I’d better,” Alice growled, and I knew she was thinking of Morgan James, an officer of hers who’d joined the vampets. They were human allies of the vampaneze, who shaved their heads, daubed blood around their eyes, sported V tattoos above their ears, and dressed in brown uniforms.
“Is the nightmare over then?” Debbie asked, wiping her dark cheeks clean. The teacher had fought like a tigress in the tunnels, but the events of the night had caught up with her and she was shivering helplessly.
“For you — for now,” Evanna answered cryptically.
“What does that mean?” Debbie frowned.
“You and the Chief Inspector can choose to distance yourselves from the War of the Scars,” Evanna said. “You can return to your ordinary lives and pretend this never happened. If you do, the vampaneze won’t come after you again.”
“Of course we’ll return to our lives,” Alice said. “What else can we do? We’re not vampires. We don’t have any further part to play in their war.”
“Perhaps,” Evanna said. “Or perhaps you’ll think differently when you’ve had time to reconsider. You’ll return to the city – you need time to reflect, and you have affairs to put in order – but whether or not you’ll choose to stay…” Evanna’s eyes flicked over Vancha, Harkat and me. “And where do you three wish to go?”
“I’m continuing after that monster, Leonard,” Vancha said immediately.
“You may if you wish,” Evanna shrugged, “but you’ll be wasting your time and energy. Moreover, you will jeopardize your position. Although you are fated to confront him again, it’s not written in stone — by pursuing him now, you might miss the final destined showdown.”
Vancha cursed bitterly, then asked Evanna where she suggested he should go.
“Vampire Mountain,” she said. “Your clan should be told about the Vampaneze Lord. They must not kill him themselves – that rule still applies – but they can scout for him and point you in the right direction.”
Vancha nodded slowly. “I’ll call a temporary end to the fighting and set everyone searching for him. I’ll flit for Vampire Mountain as soon as night falls. Darren – are you and Harkat coming?”
I looked at my fellow Prince, then down at the hard brown earth of the forest floor. “No,” I said softly. “I’ve had all I can take of vampires and vampaneze. I know I’m a Prince and have duties to attend to. But I feel like my head’s about to explode. Mr Crepsley meant more to me than anything else. I need to get away from it all, maybe for a while — maybe for ever.”
“It’s a dangerous time to cut yourself off from those who care for you,” Vancha said quietly.
“I can’t help that,” I sighed.
Vancha was troubled by my choice, but he accepted it. “I don’t approve – a Prince should put the needs of his people before his own – but I understand. I’ll explain it to the others. Nobody will trouble you.” He cocked an eyebrow at Harkat. “I suppose you’ll be going with him?”
Harkat lowered the mask from his mouth (air was poisonous to the grey-skinned Little People) and smiled thinly. “Of course.” Mr Tiny had resurrected Harkat from the dead. Harkat didn’t know who he used to be, but he believed he could find out by sticking with me.
“Where will you go?” Vancha asked. “I can find you using the Stone of Blood, but it’ll be easier if I have a rough idea of where you’re heading.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll just pick a direction and…” I stopped as a picture flashed through my thoughts, of circus vans, snake-boys and hammocks. “The Cirque Du Freak,” I decided. “It’s the nearest place outside Vampire Mountain that I can call home.”
“A good choice,” Evanna said, and by the way her lips lifted at the edges, I realized the witch had known all along that I’d choose to return to the Cirque.
We went our separate ways as the sun was setting, even though we hadn’t slept and were ready to drop with exhaustion. Vancha departed first, on his long trek to Vampire Mountain. He said little when leaving, but hugged me hard and hissed in my ear, “Be brave!”
“You too,” I whispered back.
“We’ll kill Leonard next time,” he vowed.
“Aye,” I grinned weakly.
He turned and ran, hitting flitting speed seconds later, vanishing into the gloom of the dusk.
Debbie and Alice left next, to return to the city. Debbie asked me to stay with her, but I couldn’t, not as things stood. I needed to be by myself for a while. She wept and clutched me close. “Will you come back later?” she asked.
“I’ll try,” I croaked.
“If he doesn’t,” Evanna said, “you can always go looking for him.” She handed a folded-up piece of paper to Alice Burgess. “Hold on to that. Keep it closed. When the two of you decide upon your course, open it.”
The Chief Inspector asked no questions, just tucked the paper away and waited for Debbie to join her. Debbie looked at me pleadingly. She wanted me to go with her – or ask her to come with me – but there was a huge ball of grief sitting cold and hard in my gut. I couldn’t think of anything else right now.
“Take care,” I said, turning aside and breaking eye contact.
“You too,” she croaked, then sobbed loudly and stumbled away. With a quick “Goodbye”, Alice hurried after her, and the two women slipped through the trees, back to the city, supporting one another as they went.
That left just me, Harkat and Evanna.
“Any idea where the Cirque’s playing?” the witch asked. We shook our heads. “Then it’s lucky that I do and am going there,” she smiled. Standing between us, she looped her arms around my left arm and Harkat’s right, and led us through the forest, away from the city and its underground caverns of death, back to where my voyage into the night first started — the Cirque Du Freak.
CHAPTER TWO
ALEXANDER RIBS was sleeping in a large tyre hanging from a tree. He always slept curled up — it kept his body supple and made it easier for him to twist and contort when he was performing. Normally he kept the tyre on a special stand in his caravan, but occasionally he’d drag it outside and sleep in the open. It was a cold night for sleeping outdoors – the middle of a wintry November – but he had a thick, fur-lined body-bag to keep the chill out.
As Alexander snored musically a young boy crept towards him, a cockroach in his right hand, with the intention of dropping it into Alexander’s mouth. Behind him, his older brother and younger sister looked on with impish glee, urging him forward with harsh hand gestures whenever he paused nervously.
As the boy neared the tyre and held up the cockroach, his mother – always alert to mischief – stuck her head out of a nearby tent, ripped her left ear off and threw it at him. It spun through the air like a boomerang and knocked the cockroach from the boy’s pudgy fingers. Yelping, he raced back to his brother and sister, while Alexander