Paul, not the brightest boy in the room, turns around to look. Freddie hits him over the head with a sizeable vase of marigolds.

  ‘Well done!’ I say, jumping over to check on the soaked and flower-bedecked nobleman. ‘Who needs silver when you’ve got decorative flowers?’

  ‘Eh?’ Freddie is confused for a moment, then the penny drops. ‘I see what you mean … do you think maybe he’s not …?’

  We run into the entrance hall. A door on the other side suddenly bursts open in a shower of splinters and a fractured bolt. Beyond it there seems to be nothing but darkness. Then, slowly, a figure appears. It is hunched and naked, its skin covered in blisters and warts and stained dark by earth. Great patches of hair are missing from its head, leaving those few that have continued to grow to hang long, dangling past its cruel, misshapen face. It looks at us and howls, revealing a mouth of irregular teeth.

  ‘What in God’s name is it?’ shouts Freddie.

  ‘Ah,’ says a woman’s voice from the stairs. She is beautiful, a little older than me, perhaps, but I will think myself lucky to age with such grace. Her long red hair shines in the candlelight and as her stare falls on me I realise that I cannot move. Oh no … Grost warned me of this … the mesmerism of a vampire … ‘I am Lady Durward,’ she announces, stepping fully into the room, ‘I see you’ve met my husband.’ She gestures towards the creature in the other doorway. ‘Hagen,’ she continues, ‘come and greet our guests.’

  Fifty-One

  Kronos

  ALWAYS THE BATTLE awaits. Always one more creature to put to the sword, or the stake, or the flame. Always there is one more fight to win.

  It has been so long this way that I am not sure I would want it any other.

  This is who I am: a man who kills vampires. It is the very essence of me. And I am proud.

  Grost and I watch Carla and Gluckhaven walk to the front door of Durward Hall. They stand there for some time, Carla ringing the bell, Freddie twitching nervously. He is a good man, this Freddie Gluckhaven, but he is not a warrior. Not yet.

  Finally the door opens and I catch my first glimpse of Paul Durward. I am disappointed: he is not the strong and noble-looking man I might have hoped for. He does not look like his father’s son. I remember Hagen on the field of battle – he was a man who becomes an extension of his worst tendencies. He was a man who killed. His muscles all pulled in that direction, and directed his sword to his every nuanced command. He was a physical man.

  This man is not physical. This is a body whose only purpose is to convey the soul inside it from one whimsy to another. His hair is light blond, curly like a girl’s. His skin is soft and pale, like spilled milk.

  ‘He is not our man,’ I tell Grost.

  ‘Who is to say what changes come over him when he is transformed?’ Grost replies.

  ‘No. He is nothing – trust me.’

  Grost shrugs. ‘If you say so. But that means we’re hunting for someone else in the house. A servant, perhaps?’

  ‘Perhaps. Let’s find out.’

  Gluckhaven and Carla finally step inside and Grost and I run across the lawns to the side of the house. A sizeable growth of ivy clings to the wall: it has been allowed to grow too thick, threatening to consume half the house. It will make the climb easy.

  ‘Ah,’ says Grost. ‘Ivy, friend to vampire hunters, burglars and illicit lovers.’

  ‘Just climb,’ I tell him.

  The house is ostentatious and built in the European style. Each window has its own balcony, which makes things much easier for us. This is just as well: Grost is a good man but physical exercise is not his strength. He is out of breath by the time we climb over the balustrade and down onto one of the first-floor balconies.

  ‘We can use the stairs to leave, yes?’ he asks.

  ‘Enter with stealth, leave with confidence,’ I assure him. ‘Or not at all.’

  ‘Yes, he replies. ‘Thank you for reminding me of that possibility.’

  He has brought his beloved crossbow and he holds it in front of him now as I force open the window. The crossbow is perfect for Grost: the only thing you really need in order to kill someone with it is a good eye. Thanks to his spectacles, Grost has this. He can take a difficult shot and make it count. Of course, it’s no use at all in close combat. But then, if Grost ends up in that position he’s already dead.

  The room we enter is dark and I motion for Grost to stay absolutely still while our eyes get used to the dim light from the open window. I listen, aware of the sound of breathing. Typical – a house this size shared by three people and we break into an occupied room. We have seen Paul Durward downstairs so it cannot be him. I think it unlikely that Sara would be lying up here in the dark, either. So it is the mother, the woman who ‘suffers from grief’. I cannot afford to let her sound the alarm so I send Grost to one side of the bed with his tinderbox while I take the other. On a count of three, he strikes a light while my hand clamps down on the mouth of the person in the bed.

  It is not Lady Durward.

  The man is old, though who knows if it is his natural age? He is badly wounded. Blood trickles from a cut on his forehead, another in his throat. His eyes open and meet mine but he is not afraid. I am not the worst thing that could happen to him: he has already endured that.

  He is naked and, as Grost lifts the light, I can see that his entire body is covered in cuts and bruises. Occasional sparkles reveal themselves to be the jewelled heads of hatpins, inserted through his flesh at random.

  ‘Dear God,’ says Grost. ‘What’s happened to this man?’

  ‘He has been tortured,’ I reply. ‘Slowly and heartlessly.’

  The man tries to speak. I am sure that he is not our enemy.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asks. ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘Who?’ asks Grost. ‘Sara Durward?’

  The man looks confused, then slowly shakes his head. ‘No, Lady Durward, not Sara … where is she?’

  ‘We do not know,’ I tell him. ‘We have only just arrived. Is she in trouble?’

  He actually laughs at that, though the panic in his eyes robs all the humour from the sound. ‘Nobody could harm Lady Durward,’ he says. ‘She’s the one who did this to me … nobody knows how …’ He begins to cough and I consider placing the pillow over his face. I sympathise with his pain but I do not want to draw attention to our presence. As he coughs, one of the wounds in his side, just below the ribs, begins to bleed and I take the light from Grost to investigate. The blood is thin and the sheet below him is already soaked with it. The man has not long to live, I’m sure.

  Finally he gets the coughing under control.

  ‘Tell Nell,’ he says. ‘Tell Nell I died better than this.’

  Then he is silent. Grost shakes his head. ‘Nell?’

  ‘A wife?’ I shrug. ‘A lover? It doesn’t matter. He is just another victim whom we need to avenge.’

  Grost lights the candles by the bedside and we explore the room. A small door leads off it into a dressing room.

  ‘So Lady Durward is not what she appears,’ says Grost.

  ‘Most definitely not.’ I draw his attention to the wig stand on the dressing table. Over it is draped what appears to be a human face, aged and wrinkled.

  Grost picks it up and a cloud of perfumed wig powder is released from beneath it. It doesn’t quite mask the smell of decay.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ he says, flinging it to the table where it slaps against the varnished wood. ‘It’s real. Not a mask – it’s an actual human face.’

  ‘What better disguise?’ I ask him as I walk towards the door that leads onto the corridor.

  ‘What better, indeed?’ says a female voice. Lady Durward erupts from the shadows of the dressing room, pushing me back towards the window. If I could have doubted her vampiric heritage earlier she would have assured me now: her strength is far greater than a man’s.

  I curse myself for my ineptitude as I hit the window and feel it give way behind me.

  I am surrounded by the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood, spinning blades of it catching the moon light and sparkling as I fall back against the balustrade, my balance tipping me over and into the open air.

  The ivy! I think. Friend to vampire hunters, burglars and illicit lovers. My hands snatch for it and I manage to grab hold of a branch before following the remains of the window onto the driveway below.

  ‘Grost!’ I shout as I hear him cry out above me. If my stupidity has killed him I swear there will not be enough vampire blood in the world to wash the memory of it clean.

  I’m hanging backwards by only one hand, and I’m damned if I’m dropping my sword in order to get a better grip. I put the blade between my teeth and throw myself forward so that I can grab the ivy with both hands. More secure now, I start to climb back up, moving as quickly as I can and hoping that Grost has managed to stay alive in the meantime.

  I needn’t have worried.

  ‘Want a hand?’ he asks, reaching down over the balustrade.

  ‘Don’t tell me you managed to kill her?’ I ask, frankly shocked.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ Grost replies. ‘She threw me through a vanity mirror and then strolled off. I have a feeling I have been underestimated.’

  ‘As usual.’ I take his hand and climb back inside the dressing room.

  From downstairs, there is the sound of splintering wood before an inhuman roar echoes up towards us.

  ‘I rather think Carla and Freddie may need our help,’ says Grost.

  We run from the room and onto the landing. The sounds from below grow louder: a woman screams – not Carla, I realise, she is not the sort to scream easily – and a man shouts before there is the sound of more wood splitting.

  ‘Quickly, Kronos!’ Grost shouts, running for the stairs.

  As if I need the encouragement.

  Arriving at the stairway, we can see down into the entrance hall and our players are revealed.

  Gluckhaven is in the entrance hall, Carla at his side. In his hands he is holding a tall wrought-iron candelabrum. He is using this to keep back the creature that is pursuing them. At first glance I could mistake it for an animal: it’s hunched over as if it’s ready to run on all fours, its skin is dark and covered in blisters. Then I shout and it looks up towards me. I recognise its face. Hagen Durward, once death and the plague has had its way with him.

  ‘It’s her husband,’ I tell Grost. ‘She has brought him back to life.’

  ‘Reanimation?’ Grost says. ‘Which is why she was so hungry for the life force of others – she was channelling it into him!’

  ‘Looks good on it, too,’ I remark.

  The woman in question is walking a few steps behind what is left of her husband, offering him gentle words of encouragement: soft, adoring noises. She sounds as though she’s talking to a dog.

  ‘Father?’ Sara Durward is huddled in a corner, her hands pressed against her mouth, clearly terrified. Her brother just stands and stares at the creature that sired him.

  When it hears her voice, the creature turns its head towards her and makes a gurgling noise.

  ‘Hagen,’ says Lady Durward, ‘do concentrate, my love. You can play with the children later.’

  But Hagen is not to be dissuaded. He lopes towards the girl, stretching himself upwards and extending his arms, whether to embrace or attack her it is impossible to tell.

  ‘No!’ Paul Durward shouts, finding courage at last. He jumps on his father’s back and tries to wrestle him to the ground. He doesn’t even begin to provide a contest. Hagen flings him back so that he slides across the floor tiles and hits the wall.

  He buys me a little time, though, and that is appreciated.

  Grost often tells me off for making dramatic entrances. He says that I like showing off too much. I would argue that swinging from the chandelier is quicker than taking the stairs. It also gives me enough momentum to kick Hagen halfway across the entrance hall, though my thigh muscles will not thank me later for doing so.

  He is quick to get to his feet and he charges back towards me. Gluckhaven catches him first, stabbing him with the tip of the candelabrum and opening a wound in the creature’s side.

  ‘Leave him to me!’ I insist. ‘Look to the wife!’

  He turns to do so but Lady Durward has already began to use her magic.

  ‘Don’t look into her eyes!’ I hear Grost shout.

  I cannot concern myself with both of them for now. Let them fight the woman – Hagen is mine.

  Despite the glutinous jelly leaking from his side, he seems unaffected by Gluckhaven’s attack. He wipes at the oozing purple gloop with one of his pink-raw hands and holds it to his nose. Reanimation is clearly not a perfect science. I can see little of Hagen Durward in this animal. But then, as he gives another doglike roar and runs towards me I realise that maybe this was always the essence of the man: a creature that kills.

  I swipe at him with the sword but he moves faster than I could have foreseen, leaping over the arc of the blade and bearing down on me. I step to one side but he still catches me with one hand, tearing a hole in my shirt – and in my shoulder – as he sails past. I try not to let it affect my aim as I bring the sword back and down, meaning to take off one of his legs when he hits the ground. We‘ll see how nimble he is after that!

  But again Hagen is too quick for me, bouncing off the floor like a swimmer kicking off against a rock to give himself extra speed. The sword’s blade connects with the floor and a ringing sound echoes around the hall. Hagen turns and steps in close. The smell of his breath is insufferable, burning my eyes. His hands move swiftly and he tears his nails across my chest, opening another wound that immediately begins to soak my shirt further with blood.

  I lift a leg to kick him away and thus allow me room to use the sword but he pushes forward and we both fall to the floor, him on top. Like a dog Hagen goes for the neck, meaning to tear out my throat. He gives a sudden howl and rolls off me. It takes me a second to realise why. It would seem that Grost’s foul garlic mixture works after all. I flip myself towards him, swinging the sword down on his back. There’s not enough strength in the blow to do more than wound but the silver burns him and I’m relieved to hear him scream.

  Hagen runs forward, moving on all fours and charging towards the wall. I get to my feet, meaning to follow, but he jumps at the wall, bounces off it and sails over my head, getting in a solid blow to my cheek as he passes.

  My eyes are full of blood and I’m forced to wipe them with my shirtsleeve while swinging the sword in front of me, hoping to keep Hagen at bay while I’m disadvantaged. I do more than defend myself – I actually get in a lucky blow, the sword cutting deep into the muscle of his right bicep. He screams again and backs away, holding his arm protectively before him.

  I charge, not wanting to lose the advantage and he moves to run past me. But I get in another thrust, the silver blade hissing as it pierces his thigh.

  Now! I have him!

  ‘Hagen!’ Lady Durward leaps on me and I watch as the creature limps through a shattered door on the opposite side of the hall.

  Honestly, I trust the others to deal with one small detail …

  Her arms reach around my neck and she brings her face close to mine, sucking in deeply. The effect is instant: a wave of tiredness engulfs me as she begins to drain the life from me.

  I flip forward so that she rolls over my head and onto the ground, breaking the contact long enough for me to raise the sword in front of my face and point the mirror at her eyes.

  She sighs, caught in her own gaze. I lift the sword and she gets to her feet. I turn in a circle and she follows, her stare never leaving the mirror. We are like dancers at a stately ball. I see the others are all under her spell – Grost, Gluckhaven and Carla – all staring into space as if they are daydreaming.

  They are not cut out for this sort of work.

  ‘You are a beautiful woman,’ I say to Lady Durward, ‘but your heart is cold. And you killed a very good friend of mine. A man who deserved better. I will send you to him so he can tell you himself how he feels about it.’

  I pull the sword back and for a fraction of a second her eyes refocus, the spell of her own gaze broken. Then I swing the blade round and take her head from her body. That striking face turns slack and empty as the head spins away from me to land on the flagstones and roll into a corner. My friends, as one, have control of their minds returned to them. They all awake as if from a deep sleep.

  The body crumples as the muscles in the legs lose strength and the whole carcass topples to the floor.

  I look to see where the head has fallen. It stares lifelessly at the startled faces of Lady Durward’s children.

  To my surprise, Sara smiles slowly. ‘Good,’ she says, taking her brother’s hand. ‘Now do the same to that bastard of a father.’

  Treat your children badly, I think, and sooner or later they will grow strong enough to make you regret it.

  ‘I plan on doing just that,’ I promise her.

  ‘Sorry,’ says Grost, ‘she was just too fast.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, my friend,’ I say, patting him on the shoulder. ‘All three of you are safe, and that’s good enough for now.’

  We move towards the open door, the darkness of a flight of steps beyond it. I hold my sword cautiously out in front of me.

  ‘The cellars,’ I say. ‘It’s down there. Bleeding and frightened, hiding in the dark.’

  ‘Come on,’ says Gluckhaven. ‘Let’s get after it while it’s weak.’

  I put a restraining hand on his arm. ‘Weakness is relative, I will go alone. Leave me to do what I am good at, while you keep my friends safe up here.’ I give him a sly smile. ‘Or deal with it after it’s killed me and comes back up. It all depends on how lucky I am!’

  ‘Luck will have nothing to do with it,’ says Grost. ‘Go and kill that abomination.’

  I nod, take a candle and step through the door, down into the darkness.

  The cellars stink of death and I am aware that, more than ever, this is a nest that I am descending into. Hagen Durward does not remember his humanity.