“Sorry,” said Marie. “I forgot you just had one.”
Jamie looked confused for a moment, then laughed. “You heard me talking to Valentin.”
“I wasn’t listening,” she said, quickly. “Not on purpose. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
“It’s OK, Mum,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want something else?” she asked, eagerly. “I’ve got some biscuits.”
“I’m fine, Mum, honestly. I can’t stay long.”
Her face fell. “Are you going on a mission?” she asked.
Yet again, Jamie fought back the urge to laugh. It was ludicrous to hear his mother talking about missions, although no more ludicrous than the fact that she was now a vampire, the result of Alexandru Rusmanov’s last attempt to hurt the Carpenter family, or the fact that she had fought against Valeri’s army during the attack on the Loop, committing acts of violence that were so out of keeping with her gentle nature.
“I am,” he replied. “I can’t tell you what it is, though.”
“Is it dangerous?” she asked, nervously, holding a packet of Rich Tea biscuits in her hand.
“They all are, Mum,” he replied. “Forget the biscuits. Come and sit down.”
She nodded, replaced the packet on the table that had once stood in their kitchen, and sat down next to him on the sofa.
“Are you OK?” he asked. “Have you got everything you need?”
She nodded.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ll come down and see you tomorrow, OK? I promise.”
“You said that two days ago,” she replied. “And the day before that too.”
Jamie felt heat rise in his cheeks. But this was not the anger that had filled him as he talked to Frankenstein; this was the dull bloom of shame. He had promised his mum he would come and see her two days ago, and the day before that, and a great many days before that as well. Somehow it always slipped his mind; things happened, and he forgot. She never complained, or made him feel bad about it; she had never even mentioned it, until now.
“I know,” he said, softly. “And I’m sorry. It just… gets a bit crazy up there sometimes.”
There was a long moment of silence. The expression on his mother’s face made Jamie want to cry; it was so full of unconditional love.
No matter how often I let her down, he thought. She always forgives me. I don’t deserve her.
“Do you ever get scared?” asked Marie, her tone gentle. “It’s OK if you don’t want to tell me.”
The question cut right through him. He considered lying to his mother, but quickly decided against it; he had promised himself that he wouldn’t, regardless of what it might mean he had to tell her.
“Sometimes,” he said. “Not usually. But right now…”
Marie frowned. “I heard you and Valentin talking about some new vampires. Are they worse than the usual ones?”
“I haven’t seen them in the flesh,” replied Jamie. “But yes, it sounds like they’re pretty bad.”
“Do you have to go?” she asked.
Jamie nodded.
“Can’t somebody else deal with them? Why does it always have to be you?”
“It’s not just me, Mum. Everybody is going out.”
“It really must be serious,” said Marie. “Promise me you’ll be extra careful?”
Jamie smiled. “Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll come down tomorrow so you can see I’m OK. I promise.”
She smiled at him, and he suddenly felt as though his heart might break. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, love,” she said. “I’m not trying to make your life harder, I’m honestly not. It would just be nice to see you now and again. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry, Mum,” he repeated. “I really am. I’ll come down tomorrow.”
“OK,” she said, squeezing his hand briefly. “I’m sure you will.”
He felt a lump rise in his throat and got to his feet. She floated up with him and he hugged his mother again; she gave him a tight squeeze, then floated off across the cell and began to make tea for herself. Jamie watched her for a moment, his heart aching, then walked away down the corridor.
Marie Carpenter listened as her son’s footsteps echoed away.
When he reached the airlock, she let out the breath she had been holding, a tremulous expulsion of air that was close to a sob. It hurt her to know that Jamie was in danger every day, but what hurt her even more was that she saw him so rarely; she had thought that the only upside to the terrible series of events that had befallen their family would be that she got to spend time with her son, the way they had before Julian had died, leaving her a widow and Jamie a fatherless teenage boy. But he was always busy, and he never came to see her when he said he would, and she tried so hard not to show him how much it hurt her, to not be a burden, or give him anything else to worry about when all he should be concentrating on was keeping himself safe. Sometimes she got so angry with herself; she tried to focus on the fact that he had bigger concerns than coming to see his mum, tried to just be proud of him and support him, but she couldn’t help it.
She missed her son.
“Am I interrupting?”
Marie spun round and saw a tall, strikingly handsome man standing casually on the other side of the ultraviolet barrier. He was dressed in a beautiful dark blue suit and his skin was incredibly pale, almost translucent; it seemed to shimmer beneath the fluorescent lights.
“Of course not, Valentin,” she said, with a wide smile. “It’s lovely to see you, as always.”
The ancient vampire smiled back at her, then slid through the UV barrier as though it was the easiest thing in the world. Marie had tried to do it herself, after the first time Valentin had come to see her, and burned her arm an agonising black. She was quicker now, however, gaining speed and strength with the assistance of her new friend, and she thought the day that she could step safely out of her cell might not be too far away. He appeared at her side, and his proximity made her feel like it always did; as though someone had turned her internal thermostat up by a couple of degrees without warning her.
“Did I hear you mention tea?” he asked, his smile dizzying.
“You did,” she managed. “Go and sit down.”
He stayed where he was for a long moment, then floated gracefully across the cell and settled on to the sofa.
“How was Jamie?” he asked.
Marie smiled at the mention of her son’s name, and started to talk as she set about making the tea.
11
TIME TO GO HOME
EIGHT YEARS EARLIER
Johnny Supernova closed the door of his flat behind Albert Harker, then slid the chain into place and turned the deadlock.
He had been in the company of madness before, of all kinds. He had once helped talk a pop star down from the roof of her house in St John’s Wood when she was threatening to jump with her two-year-old niece in her arms, had been one of the first into the bathroom of a party in Camden in which a teenage boy had carved most of the skin from his arms with a razor blade, babbling about the spiders that were crawling beneath his skin. He had seen paranoia fuelled by drugs and fame, violence and horror and abuse of all kinds, sadism,