Vampire Mountain. Darren Shan

one. Some of us learned to walk on two legs and became vampires — the others remained wolves.”

      “Is that true?” I asked.

      Mr Crepsley shrugged. “Where legends are concerned, who knows?” He crouched in front of Streak and studied him silently. Streak sat up straight and ruffled his head to make his ears and mane erect. “A fine specimen,” Mr Crepsley said, stroking the wolf’s long snout. “A born leader.”

      “I call him Streak, because he’s got a streak of black hair on his belly,” I said.

      “Wolves have no need of names,” the vampire informed me. “They are not dogs.”

      “Don’t be a spoilsport,” Gavner said, stepping up beside his friend. “Let him give them names if he wants. It can’t do any harm.”

      “I suppose not,” Mr Crepsley agreed. He held out a hand to the she-wolves and they stepped forward to lick his palm, including the shy one. “I always had a way with wolves,” he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice.

      “How come they’re so friendly?” I asked. “I thought wolves shied away from people.”

      “From humans,” Mr Crepsley said. “Vampires are different. Our scent is similar to their own. They recognize us as kindred spirits. Not all wolves are amiable – these must have had dealings with our kind before – but none would ever attack a vampire, not unless they were starving.”

      “Did you see any more of them?” Gavner asked. I shook my head. “Then they’re probably journeying towards Vampire Mountain to join up with other packs.”

      “Why would they be going to Vampire Mountain?” I asked.

      “Wolves come whenever there’s a Council,” he explained. “They know from experience that there will be plenty of scraps for them to feed on. The guardians of Vampire Mountain spend years stocking up for Councils. There’s always food left over, which they dump outside for the creatures of the wild to dispose of.”

      “It’s a long way to go for a few scraps,” I commented.

      “They go for more than food,” Mr Crepsley said. “They gather for company, to salute old friends, find new mates and share memories.”

      “Wolves can communicate?” I asked.

      “They are able to transmit simple thoughts to one another. They do not actually talk – wolves have no words – but can share pictures and pass on maps of where they have been, letting others know where hunting is plentiful or scarce.”

      “Talking of which, we’d better make ourselves scarce,” Gavner said. “The sun’s sinking and it’s time we got a move on. You chose a long, roundabout route to come by, Larten, and if we don’t pick up the pace, we’ll arrive late for Council.”

      “There are other paths?” I asked.

      “Of course,” he said. “There are dozens of ways. That’s why – except for the remains of the dead one – we haven’t run into other vampires — each comes by a different route.”

      We rolled up our blankets and departed, Mr Crepsley and Gavner keeping a close eye on the trail, scouring it for signs of whoever had killed the vampire in the cave. The wolves followed us through the trees and ran beside us for a couple of hours, keeping clear of the Little People, before vanishing ahead of us into the night.

      “Where are they going?” I asked.

      “To hunt,” Mr Crepsley replied.

      “Will they come back?”

      “It would not surprise me,” he said, and, come dawn, as we were making camp, the four wolves re-appeared like ghosts out of the snow and made their beds beside and on top of us. For the second day running, I slept soundly, disturbed only by the cold nose of the cub when he snuck in under the blanket during the middle of the day to cuddle up beside me.