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Blood Beast
Darren Shan


The master of horror returns with another spine-tingling adventure in the fifth title of the Demonata….Grubbs Grady has so far escaped the family curse, but when he begins to experience alarming symptoms at the onset of the full moon, he is scared that the jaws of fate are opening and about to swallow him whole.He has cheated death, defeated demons, moved on with his life. But Grubbs is torn between the world of magic and his wolfen genes. Can he fight the beast inside or will he fall victim to his tainted blood?
























Confront the enemy within at

www.darrenshan.com (http://www.darrenshan.com)




Copyright (#uf84a204b-8fd3-5fad-958e-4eec81550fe9)


First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books 2007

HarperCollins Children’s Books

A division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)

THE DEMONATA BOOK 5: BLOOD BEAST. Copyright © Darren Shan 2007.

Darren Shan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of the work.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780007231409

Ebook edition © FEBRUARY 2011 ISBN: 9780007435418

Version: 2018-08-14




Dedication


For:

Mary Barry (my gruesome Granny), who overcame a

much fiercer beast than any Grubbs Grady ever faced!

Glad to still have you with us, old 'un!!!

OBEs (Order of the Bloody Entrails) to:

Catherine “the cut-throat” Holmes

Katie McGowan — there's a new killer kid

on the block!

Mage superior:

Stella “the gouger” Paskins

Magical support:

Christopher Little's circular crew




Contents


Cover (#ua91ede51-d59c-5e10-8d3a-3e8766f9dd85)

Title Page (#ua9eb4085-3f18-5f4d-aa24-f8e19be097e0)

Copyright (#u0cbdaa03-57ed-57e6-b02b-ca931522cf25)

Dedication (#u5f2a920f-d23d-50c1-a30d-97148c9081e2)

Part One: Loch (#u27e2c762-c955-5782-9785-c3460f1f5f00)

Damn the Sandman (#u8fad8c84-4187-516a-b7de-a0fc266ae270)

Misery (#uc03c382b-c6b4-53c2-9c93-8601818c8dfd)

Nightmares (#u335bcf6e-92c6-5673-8e0e-e73be543d6c3)

Preparations (#uba41edc3-2f81-5e7e-b2d1-c65c47c1ad66)

Party Animal (#u9f7eb5c6-06a8-52c8-ba04-3425149b0c31)

Treasure Hunt (#u5b389556-9843-5423-a742-a1d26f2b1603)

Hard Work (#litres_trial_promo)

The Cave (#litres_trial_promo)

Part Two: Juni (#litres_trial_promo)

The Promise (#litres_trial_promo)

Coming Clean (#litres_trial_promo)

Misery Mark II (#litres_trial_promo)

Home Visit (#litres_trial_promo)

A Familiar Face (#litres_trial_promo)

A Secret Shared (#litres_trial_promo)

Shake Dog Shake (#litres_trial_promo)

Savage (#litres_trial_promo)

Fly Me to the Moon (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)

Other Books by Darren Shan (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)



PART ONE




DAMN THE SANDMAN


→ My hands are red with blood. I’m running through a forest. Naked, but I don’t care. I’m an animal, not a human. Animals don’t need clothes.

Blood on my tongue too. Must have fed recently. Can’t remember if it was a wild creature or a person. Not bothered much either way. Still hungry — that’s all that matters. Need to find something new to chew. And soon.

I leap a fallen log. As I land, my bare feet hit twigs. They snap and I sink into a pool of mud. I collapse, howling. The twigs bite into me. I catch a glimpse of fiery red eyes peering up out of the mud. They aren’t twigs — they’re teeth! I lash out with my feet, screaming wordlessly…

… and mud and bits of bark fly everywhere. I stare at the mess suspiciously, my heart rate returning to normal. I was wrong. I haven’t fallen victim to a monstrous baby with mouths in the palms of its hands and balls of fire where its eyes should be. It’s just a muddy hole, covered with the remains of branches and leaves.

Scowling, I rise and wipe my feet clean on clumps of nearby grass. As I’m using my nails to pick off some splinters, a voice calls, “Grubbs…”

The name doesn’t register immediately. Then I remember — that’s my name. Or it used to be, once upon a time. I glance up warily, sniffing the air, but all I can smell is blood.

“Grubitsch…” the voice murmurs and I growl angrily. I hate my real name. Grubbs isn’t great, but it’s better than Grubitsch. Nobody ever called me that except Mum and my sister Gret.

“You can’t find me,” the voice teases.

I roar into the darkness of the forest, then lurch at the bushes where I think the voice is coming from. I tear through them but there’s nothing on the other side.

“Wrong,” the voice laughs, coming from a spot behind me.

I whirl and squint, but I can’t see anyone.

“Over here,” the voice whispers. This time it’s coming from my right.

Still squinting, I edge closer, towards the source of the voice. This feels wrong, like it’s a trap. But I can’t back away from it. I’m drawn on by curiosity, but also something else. It’s a girl’s voice and I think I know whose it is.

Movement to my left, just as I’m about to round a tree. Eight long, pale arms wave in the light of the moon. Dozens of tiny snakes hiss and slither. I cry out with fear and slam into the tree, shielding my eyes from the horror. Seconds pass but nothing attacks. Lowering my arms, I realise the arms were just branches of a couple of neighbouring trees. The snakes were vines, blowing in the wind.

I feel sick but I force a weak chuckle, then slide around the tree in search of the person who called to me.

I’m at the edge of a pond. I frown at it. I know this forest and there should be no pond here. But there it lies regardless, the full moon reflected in its still surface. I’m thirsty. The blood has dried on my tongue, leaving a nasty copper-like taste. I crouch to drink from the pond, going down on all fours and lowering my head to the water like a wolf.

I see my face in the mirror-like water before I drink. Blood everywhere, caked into my flesh and hair. My eyes widen and fill with fear. Not because of the blood, but because I can see the shadow of somebody behind me.

I start to turn, but it’s too late. The girl pushes my head down hard and I go under. Water fills my mouth and I gag. I try to fight but the girl is strong. She holds me down and my lungs fill. The coppery taste is still there and I realise, as I blink with horrified fascination, that the pond is actually a pool of blood.

As my body goes limp, the girl pulls me up by my hair and laughs shrilly as I draw a hasty, terrified breath. “You always were a useless coward, Grubitsch,” she sneers.

“Gret?” I moan, staring up at the mocking smile of my sister. “I thought you were dead.”

“No,” she croaks, eyes narrowing and snout lengthening. “You are.”

I weep as her face transforms into that of a mutant wolf. I want to run or hit her, but I can only sit and stare. Then, as the transformation ends, she opens her mouth wide and howls. Her head shoots forward. Her fangs fasten around my throat. She bites.



→ I wake choking. I want to scream but in my imagination Gret’s teeth are locked around my throat. I lash out at my dead sister, still half in the dream world. When my arm fails to connect, I rub at my eyes and my bedroom swims back into sight around me.

Groaning softly, I sit up and dangle my legs over the edge of the bed. Covering my face with my hands, I recall the worst parts of the dream, then shiver and get up to go to the toilet. No point trying to sleep again tonight. I know from past experience that the nightmares will be even worse if I do.

I pause in the doorway of the bathroom, suddenly certain that demons are lurking in the shadows. If I turn on the light, they’ll attack. I know it’s ridiculous, a ripple from the nightmare, but despite that my finger trembles in the air by the switch, refusing to press.

“The hell with it,” I finally sigh, stepping forward. Letting my fear have its way on this night, as on so many others, I go about my business in the dark.




MISERY


→ “Of course I have nightmares — who doesn’t?”

“Every night?”

“No.”

“Most nights?”

A pause. “No.”

“But a lot?”

I shrug and look away. I’m in Mr Mauch’s office. Misery Mauch — the school counsellor. He holds court a few times a week. Chats with students who are struggling with homework, peer pressure, pushy parents. Normal kids with normal problems.

And then there’s me.

Misery loves sitting down for a warts’n’all session with me.

Why wouldn’t he? Everyone here knows the Grubbs Grady story — parents and sister slaughtered in front of him… long months locked up in a nuthouse (“incarcerated in a facility for the temporarily disturbed,” Misery puts it)… came to Carcery Vale to live in a spooky old house with his uncle Dervish… that uncle lost his marbles soon after… Grubbs played nurse for a year until he recovered… went to a movie set with Dervish and his friend Bill-E Spleen months later… witnessed the tragic deaths of hundreds of people when a disastrous fire burnt the set to the ground.

With a history like that, I’m a dinosaur-sized bone for every psychiatric dog within a hundred kilometre radius!

“Would you like to tell me about your dreams, Grubitsch?” Misery asks.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I feel like laughing but don’t. Misery’s harmless. It can’t be much fun, trekking around his small cache of schools, dealing with the same boring teenage problems day after day, year after year. If I was in his shoes, I’d be itching to get my hands on a juicily messed-up student like me too. “Grubitsch?” Misery prods after a few seconds of silence.

“Hmm?”

“Telling me about your dreams might help. A problem shared is a problem halved.”

I almost respond with, “What’s a cliché shared?” but again I hold my tongue. I’d ruin Misery’s day if I cut him down like that. Might reduce him to tears.

“They’re not much of a problem, sir,” I say instead, trying to wind the session down. I’m missing physics and I quite like that subject.

“Please, Grubitsch, call me William.”

“Sorry, sir — I mean, William.”

Misery smiles big, as if he’s made a breakthrough. “The nightmares must be a problem if they’re not going away,” he presses gently. “If you told me, perhaps we could find a way to stop them.”

“I don’t think so,” I respond, a bit sharper than I meant. He’s talking about stuff which is way over his head. I don’t mind a school counsellor showing interest in me but I dislike the way he’s acting like a second-rate mind-sleuth, clumsily trying to draw out my secrets.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Grubitsch,” Misery says quickly, realising he’s overstepped the mark.

“To be honest, sir,” I say stiffly, “I don’t think you’re qualified to discuss matters like this.”

“No, no, of course not,” Misery agrees, his features sorrowing up. “I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not. I apologise if I gave that impression. I only thought, if you were in the mood to talk, it might help. It might be a beginning. Of course it’s not my… I’m under no illusion… as you say, I’m not qualified to…” He mutters to a halt.

“Don’t have a breakdown,” I laugh, feeling guilty. “It’s no biggie. I just don’t want to talk about my dreams to anyone. Not right now.”

Misery gulps, nods briskly, then says I can go. Tells me he’ll be back next week but won’t ask to see me. He’ll give me some breathing space. Maybe in a month or two he’ll call me in again, to “shoot the breeze”.

I hesitate at the door, not wanting to leave him on such a down note — his head’s bowed over his notes and he looks like he’s fighting back sniffles.

“Mr Mau – William.” He looks up curiously. “Next time, if you want, you can call me Grubbs.”

“Grubbs?” he repeats uncertainly.

“It’s what my friends call me.”

“Oh,” he says and his face lights up like he’s won the jackpot.

I slip out, masking a smile. School counsellors — child’s play!



→ Lunch. Loch wants to know what I was talking with Misery about.

“The size of your brain,” I tell him. “We wondered how small it was.”

“Don’t worry about the size of my brain,” Loch snorts. “My brain’s fine. A lot healthier than your pea of a think-tank.”

“How big is a brain?” Charlie asks. Everyone stares at him. “I mean, does it fill the whole of the head?” He starts poking his skull, searching for soft spots.

“In your case, I doubt it,” Loch says. “You’ve probably got enough empty space in there to hold a football.”

Laughter all round. Even Charlie laughs. He’s used to being the butt of our jokes. He doesn’t mind. They’re always light-hearted. Everyone likes Charlie Rall. He’s too nice to get vicious on.

Six of us, sheltering from rain in a doorway overlooking the football quad. The usual pack of barbarians are kicking the life out of a tired old ball – and each other – on the quad, oblivious to the rain.

My group — me, Loch, Charlie, Frank, Leon and Mary. Loch and I stand a head or more above any of the others. We’re the biggest pair of lunks in our school, which is what drew us to each other in the first place. Loch’s a wrestler. He wanted me to be his partner, so he became my friend. I held out for a long time – real wrestling’s nothing like the stuff on TV, very calculated and unspectacular – but he eventually persuaded me to give it a go. I’m not much good, and don’t get a real kick out of it, but to keep Loch happy I travel to a few meets every month and get down’n’sweaty on the mats.

“I think Misery’s sexy in an older-man kind of way,” Mary says to a chorus of astonished jeers and catcalls.

“You’ve got the hots for Mauch?” Leon gasps, faking a heart attack.

“No,” Mary says coolly. “I just think he’s sexy. I bet women are all over him outside school hours.”

The laughter dies away and the five testosterone-tastic guys in the group look at each other uncertainly. It’s not something we’d admit to, but girls our age know a hell of a lot more about the adult world than we do. Adults operate differently. It’s easy to tell the winners and losers in school, the cools and geeks. But the world beyond is puzzlesome. Professional sporstmen are obviously cool, as are actors, pop stars, etc. But what about normal guys? What makes an ordinary man attractive to a woman? I don’t know. But if Misery Mauch has it, we could all be in trouble later on. By their frowns, I know the others are thinking exactly the same.

While we’re trying to come to terms with a world where Misery Mauch is a sex god, Reni and Shannon stroll up, arms linked, laughing at some private joke.

“I was just telling the boys,” Mary says, “how sexy Mr Mauch is.”

“William?” Reni says, nodding thoughtfully. “He’s a dish.”

“William?” Loch barks at his sister.

“That’s what he told me to call him.”

“I didn’t know you’d been going for counselling,” Loch growls.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Reni says sultrily, then raises an eyebrow at Shannon. “William Mauch — dullor dishy?”

“Deep-pan dishy,” Shannon says seriously — then laughs. “I’m sorry! Your faces!”

“Swine,” Leon snarls as the other girls squeal along with Shannon. “That wasn’t funny.”

“It was hilarious,” Reni counters, crying with laughter. “You lot are so easy to wind up. Imagine Misery Mauch as eye-candy!” She laughs even harder.

“Here,” I say, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to Reni.

Reni smiles sweetly and dabs at her cheeks with the hankie. Four sets of lips immediately purse — wolf whistles galore.

“Grubbs and Reni sitting in a tree…” sings Frank.

“Get stuffed,” I grunt and coolly retrieve my handkerchief from Reni — cuemore whistles.



→ Lunch flies by as it usually does. So much to talk about — friends, teachers, homework, TV, movies, computer games, music, wrestling, the size of brains. Robbie McCarthy joins us midway through. He’s not a regular member of the gang but he’s been cuddling up to Mary recently so he’s had to spend time with the rest of us.

I joke around with Reni a lot. The handkerchief was especially for her. One of Dervish’s. I use tissues, like everybody else who isn’t living in the Middle Ages. I’ve been carrying it around for a week, waiting for a chance to present it to her. Corny, and done as a joke — but half serious too. A chance to share a smile and a sweet look.

Reni knows I fancy her. And I think she’s hot for the Grubbster. But I’ve not had much experience in things like this. There’s every chance I’ve read the signals wrong. I won’t know for sure until I find the guts to put an arm around her and try for a kiss, but I think the odds are in my favour.

Loch’s cool with it. I’ve seen how he is with other guys who put the moves on Reni — he puffs himself out to look even bigger than he already is and growls like a bear, scaring them away. If Reni was keen on any of them, she’d tell him to back off. But most of the time she lets him play the protective big brother and even encourages it.

It’s important to have Loch’s approval. He’s my best friend. You don’t try to date your best friend’s sister without his permission. It just isn’t done.



→ Towards the end of lunch, a small, chubby boy with a lazy left eye shuffles over and I feel a stab of guilt, much stronger than the pang I felt in Misery Mauch’s office.

“Hi Grubbs,” Bill-E says, smiling hopefully.

“Hi,” I grunt.

“Hey, Bill-E! How’s my man?” Loch exclaims and sticks his hand out. Bill-E extends his own hand automatically, but Loch whips his away, puts his thumb on his nose, sticks his tongue out and wiggles his fingers. “Sucker!”

Bill-E flushes but manages a sick grin and lowers his hand sheepishly.

“Very mature,” Reni says drily, rolling her eyes at her brother.

“The shrimp doesn’t mind, do you, Spleen?” Loch chortles, grabbing Bill-E’s head in a wrestling lock.

“No,” Bill-E says, voice muffled. Loch releases Bill-E and ruffles his hair. Bill-E’s still smiling but the smile’s very strained and his face is fire engine red. “How you doing, Grubbs?”

“Not bad. You?”

“OK.”

We smile awkwardly at each other. The rest of the group stare at us for a second. Then normal conversation resumes, only we’re cut out of it.

“Doing anything this weekend?” Bill-E asks.

“Not a lot. Maybe practising some wrestling moves with Loch.”

“Oh. I was thinking of coming over to watch some movies… if that’s OK…”

“Hell, you don’t have to ask.” I laugh uneasily. “You can drop in any time you want. It’s your house as much as mine.”

“Coolio!” Bill-E’s smile resumes its normal shape. “You want to watch a movie with me?”

“Maybe. But I might have to go over to Loch’s and practise. You know.”

“Yeah,” Bill-E says quietly. “I know.”

The bell rings and everyone files back to class. Hundreds of kids groaning, shouting, laughing. Bill-E heads off in his own direction. He doesn’t say goodbye. I watch him walk alone and lonely in the crowd and I feel twisted and vile, like something a maggot would crawl out of its way to avoid.

Bill-E Spleen was my best friend before Loch Gossel hit the scene. When I moved here after my parents’ death and my spell in the nuthouse, he made me feel like I wasn’t all by myself in the world. He helped me establish a life again. Settled me in at school, kept me company during lunch when everybody else was wary of me. Fought by my side on the Slawter film set — and it wasn’t fire we had to contend with. Tried to help when my nightmares kicked back in hard not long afterwards, even though his own mind was in turmoil.

How do I repay him? By abandoning him for the friendship of Loch, Reni and our little group. Cutting him loose. Being a Judas.

It’s wrong but it’s the way things go. When an old friend doesn’t fit in with your new pals, you cut him loose. It’s the law of school. I’ve dumped other friends in the past, and several have done it to me. The difference here is that Bill-E’s my half-brother. Even though he doesn’t know it.



→ Chemistry. I usually find it interesting but this afternoon I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about Bill-E. I didn’t mean to give him the big brush-off. When I first met Loch, I had time for Bill-E. I’d only see Loch occasionally after school. I still hung out with Bill-E a lot.

That gradually changed. Loch began inviting me round to his house and coming over to mine. Through Loch I became friends with Frank Martin, Charlie Rall and Leon Penn. And through them I got to know Shannon Campbell and Mary Hayes — and, of course, Reni.

Reni makes me forget about Bill-E for a few minutes. Daydreaming about her shoulder-length auburn hair, long eyelashes, light brown eyes, her curves… She’s not perfect by any means – big and sturdy like her brother, with a ski-slope of a nose – but everybody thinks she’s one of the hottest girls in our school.

I shake my head to stop thinking about Reni and my thoughts drift back to Bill-E. All those new friends made demands. It was exciting to be accepted by them, included in their conversation, treated as an equal. It had been a long time since I was part of a crowd. I hadn’t realised how much that mattered to me or how much I’d missed it.

I wanted Bill-E to hang out with us but he just didn’t fit in. I’m not sure why. He’s younger than most of us – he started school a year early – but Leon isn’t a lot older than him. He’s small, but Frank’s no giant either. He uses corny words like “Coolio!” but Robbie’s favourite exclamation is the seriously uncool “Radical!” He has a lazy left eye, but Charlie has buck teeth, Shannon has an ugly facial mole, I’m built like the Hulk… We’re all a bit odd, one way or another.

Bill-E is clever, funny, a much better talker than me. But he never found a niche at school. I didn’t realise it when I first started. Bill-E seemed like the most normal kid around. I knew he didn’t have a lot of friends but I was certain he fit in more than I did.

After a while I began to notice things. Like how Bill-E never went to anybody’s house after school. How people made jokes about him and aped him when he said things like “Coolio!” How he was bullied by boys like Loch Gossel.

I’m not blind to how Loch treats Bill-E. He teases him all the time, like with the fake hand-shake and head-lock today. It’s different to the way he treats Charlie. Nastier. He embarrasses Bill-E in front of others, makes him feel small and unwanted.

I often thought of challenging Loch and the others who pick on Bill-E. If any of them hurt him, I’d have definitely taken them on. But teasing is harder to deal with. You can’t punch a guy for being sarcastic to somebody… can you?

I’d have worsened the situation if I’d interfered, made Bill-E look like a weakling who couldn’t stand up for himself. Besides, it wasn’t so bad. His life wasn’t a walking misery. And he always had me to cheer him up.

Class ends. English next. I walk to it by myself, quiet, thoughtful.

I feel ashamed. I should go up to Bill-E this afternoon. Invite him back to my place. Free up the weekend to be with him. Watch movies, eat popcorn, go searching for Lord Sheftree’s buried treasure. Like we used to.

But I won’t. Instead I’ll just suffer the guilt, wait for it to pass, then let things go on as they have been. Lousy, yeah, but that’s the way it is. Misery Mauch wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain, but I’m sure anyone else in the school – or any school in the world – would.




NIGHTMARES


→ “Of course I have nightmares — who doesn’t?”

I brushed Misery off with that line, but it followed me home from school like a stray dog. I live a couple of miles outside Carcery Vale, in a massive old house three floors high, filled with antiques and mystical knickknacks. It was once the property of a tyrant called Lord Sheftree, a charming chap who enjoyed chopping up babies into little pieces and feeding them to his pet piranha. But these days it belongs to my uncle, Dervish Grady — as rich as Lord Sheftree, much more powerful, but without any of the nasty habits.

Dervish is munching a sandwich in the kitchen when I get home. “Good day at school?” he asks, handing me half of the sandwich.

“So-so,” I reply, taking a bite. Chicken and bacon. Yum!

Dervish looks much the same as when I first met him. Thin, tall, bald on top, grey around the sides. A tight grey beard which he shaved off a year or so ago but has grown back. Piercing blue eyes. Dressed all in denim. The only real difference is his expression. His face is more lined than it used to be, and he has the look of a man still recovering from a haunting. Which he is.

“Bill-E said he might come over this weekend,” I tell him.

Dervish nods and goes on munching. He knows things aren’t the same between Bill-E and me but he’s never said anything. I guess he doesn’t think there’s any point — nothing he says could fix the situation. It’s best for adults to keep out of things like this. It’s widely accepted that we can’t solve their problems, so I’ll never understand why so many of them think they can solve ours.

I tell Dervish about my session with Misery. He’s only mildly interested. “Mauch is a nice guy,” he says, “but not much up top. If he gets too inquisitive, let me know and I’ll have a word.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell when I can’t handle the likes of Misery Mauch myself,” I snort.

“Oh Grubbs, you’re so manly!” Dervish gushes, fluttering his eyelids.

“Get stuffed!” I grunt.

We laugh and finish our sandwich.



→ Of course I have nightmares — who doesn’t?”

I can’t get the damn line out of my head! All the way through homework, while watching TV, then listening to CDs and flicking through a wrestling magazine of Loch’s.

Everyone has nightmares, sure, but I doubt if many have nightmares like mine. Delirious dreams of demons, wholesale slaughter, a universe of webs and comet-sized monsters. All based on first-hand experience.

I get to bed about 11:30, fairly normal for me, but sleep doesn’t come easily. And when it does…

I’m in my bedroom at home — my first home. Blood seeps from the eyes of the football players in the posters on my walls, but that doesn’t bother me. Gret walks in. She’s been split in two down the back. Guts trail behind her. A demon with a dog’s body but a crocodile’s head is chewing on the entrails.

“Dad wants you,” Gret says.

“Am I in trouble?” I ask.

“Not as much as me,” she sighs.

Down the corridor to Mum and Dad’s room. I’ve walked this a thousand times in my nightmares, always feeling the heat and fear. A few tears trickle down my cheeks as my hand rests on the doorknob, the way they always do. I know what I’m going to find inside — my parents, dead, and a wickedly smug Lord Loss. I don’t want to open the door, but of course I do, and everything happens the way it did that night when my world first collapsed.

The scene shifts and I’m in the insane asylum. Arms bound, howling at the walls, seeing imaginary demons everywhere I look. Then one of the walls fades. It turns into a barrier of webs. Dervish picks his way through them. “I know demons are real,” he says. “I can help you.”

“Help me escape?” I sob.

“No.” He holds up a mirror and I see that I’ve turned into a werewolf. “Help you die,” he snarls and swings at my neck with an axe.

I kick the covers off and roll out of bed. I hit the floor hard and scramble a few metres across it, fleeing my axe-wielding uncle. Then my vision clears and I realise I’m awake. Groaning, I push myself to my feet and check my bedside clock. Nearly one in the morning. Looks like I won’t be getting any decent sleep tonight either.

My T-shirt and boxers are soaked through with sweat. I change, pop to the bathroom, splash cold water over my face, then go on a wander of the mansion. I often stroll when I can’t sleep, exploring the warren of corridors and rooms, safe here, knowing no harm can befall me. This house is protected by powerful spells.

Creeping through the old restored part of the mansion, feet cold from the stone floors, too lazy to go back and get my slippers. I find myself in the newer section, an eyesore which was tacked on to the original shell when it was uninhabitable. Dervish keeps talking about demolishing the extension but he hasn’t got round to it yet.

I return to the ornate, overblown majesty of the older building and wind up in the hall of portraits, as I usually do on sleepless nights like this. Dozens of paintings and photographs, all of dead family members. Many are of young people, cut down long before their natural time — like my sister, Gret.

I study Gret’s photo for ages, a lump in my throat, wishing for the millionth time that I could tell her how sorry I am that I wasn’t there for her in her hour of need — her hour of lycanthropy.

It’s the family curse. Lots of us turn into werewolves. It’s been in the bloodline for more generations than anyone can remember. It strikes in adolescence. Loads of us hit twelve, thirteen… maybe even seventeen or eighteen… and change. Our bodies alter. We lose our minds. Become savage beasts who live to kill.

We’re not werewolves like in the movies, who change when the moon is round then resume our normal forms. When the change hits, it’s forever. The victim has a few months before the final fall, when he or she goes a bit nutso each full moon. But then the night of total change sweeps in and there’s no way back after that. Except one. The way of Lord Loss and demons.



→ Dervish’s study. Playing chess against myself on the computer. The study’s an enormous room, even by the mansion’s grand standards. Unlike the other rooms in the old quarters it’s carpeted, the walls covered with leather panels. There are two huge desks, several bookcases, a PC, laptop, typewriter. Swords, axes and other weapons hang from the walls. Dervish removed them when he was prone to sleep-walking and attacking me in his sleep, but he’s safe as a baby now so the weapons are back. But he never replaced the five chess boards he once kept here, which is why I’m playing on the computer.

Gret was infected with the family curse. In an attempt to save her, Mum and Dad locked horns with a demon master called Lord Loss. Yeah, this isn’t just a world of werewolves — demons also prowl the shadowy corridors of the night. The Demonata, to give them their full title.

Lord Loss is a horrible creature with lumpy, pale red flesh and a snake-filled hole where his heart should be. He’s always bleeding from thousands of small cuts and cracks in his skin, and floats around instead of walking. He thrives on pain. Haunts sad, tortured humans, feeding on their misery. Nothing appeals to him more than a person in severe agony — except maybe a cracking game of chess.

My hand moves slowly on the mouse, directing black and white pieces on the screen. A powerful family magician discovered Lord Loss’s passion for chess many decades ago. He established a contest wherein two relatives of an affected child could challenge the demon master to a chess match. If Lord Loss was defeated, he’d restore the child’s natural form and lift the curse forever. But if he won…

My parents lost. Under Lord Loss’s rules, both were killed, along with Gret. I would have died too, but I was able to call upon hidden magical powers and escape.

Months later, under Dervish’s care, I learnt the truth about what happened, and that Bill-E was my secret half-brother. I also found out that Bill-E had fallen prey to the lycanthropic curse.

Dervish and I faced Lord Loss. It was the bravest, most terrifying thing I’ve ever done or hope to do. I managed to out-fox Lord Loss and turn his love of misery against him. He didn’t take it lightly. Swore revenge on all three of us.

He almost exacted that revenge months later on the set of a movie called Slawter. A horror maestro was making a film about demons. Dervish, Bill-E and I were lured into a trap. Lord Loss set an army of demons loose on the cast and crew. Hundreds of people died horribly, but we managed to escape.

Bill-E was badly shaken by his run-in with demons. With Dervish’s help he recovered and is back to his old self, pretty much. But there’s a nervousness in his look these days — he’s always watching the shadows for flickers of demons.

And me? Apart from the nightmares and sleepless nights, have I got over it? Am I living the good life, getting on with things, making my way in the world? Well, yes, I’m trying. But there are a couple of flies in the ointment of my life, threatening to mess everything up.

First, it’ll be a few more years before I know for sure whether or not I carry the lycanthropic gene. There’s a strong possibility I could turn into a werewolf.

If I do start to turn, I’m damned. Lord Loss won’t intervene. He hates us with an inhuman passion. Nothing in either universe would tempt him to offer me the chance of salvation. Dervish hasn’t said as much but we both know the score — if I fall under the spell of the moon and my body changes, an axe to the neck will be the only cure.

As for the second fly… Well, in a way that’s even worse than the first.

Back in my bathroom, I splash more water over my face. Letting myself drip-dry, I study the water flowing down the drain. It spirals out of the sink in an anti-clockwise direction, under the control of gravity. I focus and stare hard at the water. An inner force grows at my prompting. The stream of water splutters, then starts to spiral downwards smoothly again — but in a clockwise direction.

I watch for a few seconds, then shake my head and break the spell. The flow of water returns to normal. I head back to bed, dejected and scared, to spend the rest of the night awake and miserable beneath the covers.

Magicians are rare. Only one or two are born every century, humans with the magical potential of demons, who can change the world with the flick of a wrist.

There are others called mages. They can perform magic when there’s demonic energy in the air, but under everyday conditions they can only manage minor spells. Most mages are part of a group known as the Disciples — they fight demons and try to stop them crossing to our world.

As far as anyone knows, I’m neither a magician nor a mage. I have more magical ability than most people, and tapped into it when I faced Lord Loss and his familiars. But I’m not a true part of the world of magic.

That suits me fine. I don’t want to become a demon-battling Disciple. I want to lead an ordinary life. The thought of brushing shoulders with Lord Loss or his kind again terrifies me. And as somebody who isn’t naturally magical, there’s no reason why I should get involved in any more demonic battles. I can sit on the sidelines with the rest of humanity, ignorant of the wars being fought between the forces of good and evil, free of the curse of magic and the responsibilities it brings.

At least that’s what Dervish believes. That’s how I’d like it to be.

But something changed in Slawter. I discovered a power within myself, and although I masked it from Dervish, it hasn’t gone away. The magic is working its way out, keen to break free. It allows me to reverse the flow of water, lift great weights, move objects without touching them. I’ve awoken several times to find myself levitating above my bed.

I’ve fought the magic with desperate determination. And for the most part I’ve been successful. I hope that by focusing and fighting it every step of the way, I can work it out of my system and return to normal.

I’d like to talk with Dervish about it and seek his advice. But I’m afraid. Magic is his life. He’s a Disciple first and foremost, dedicated to the task of keeping the world safe from demons. Dervish loves me, but I have no doubt that if he knew about my power he’d press me into learning more spells. He’d say the world needed me. He’d nag, lecture and plead. I’d resist, but my uncle can be extremely persuasive when he puts his mind to it. I’m certain he’d nudge me back into the world of magic… back into the world of demons.

So here I am. I want to be an average teenager whose only worries are puberty, acne, scoring with girls, impressing my friends and getting through school in one piece. But I’m forced to spend the better part of every day brooding about turning into a werewolf or becoming a whizz-kid wizard who has to fight evil, heartless demons.

“Of course I have nightmares…”




PREPARATIONS


→ Dervish has to go away for a couple of days. “Meera’s heading off for pastures distant, might not be back this way for several months, wants to say goodbye in style.”

“‘In style’?” I smirk. Meera Flame is one of Dervish’s closest friends. Definitely his sexiest. She’s hotter than a hot dog that’s been cooked extra HOT! “Are you and Meera finally going to get it on?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dervish snorts. “We’re just friends. You know that.”

“That’s what you always tell me…” I tease.

“Well,” Dervish huffs, “it’s true. I’ve never made a pass at her and I don’t intend to start now.”

“Why not?” I ask, genuinely interested.

Dervish pulls a saintly expression. “Grubbs,” he says softly. “Remember when I told you that your dad was Bill-E’s dad too?”

“Yes…” Warily.

“What I didn’t tell you was that your mother… well, the woman you thought of as your mum only met your dad after you were born. Meera…” He stops.

I gawp at him, head pounding, limbs trembling. My world starts to explode.

Then I catch his grin.

“You son of a jackal!” I roar, swatting him around his balding head. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Oh, it so was,” he laughs, wiping away tears.

Most of the time I get a kick out of Dervish’s warped sense of humour. But there are other times when it really gets up my nose.

“Keep it up,” I growl. “Maybe I’ll tell Misery Mauch about you. I doubt if he’d see the funny side of a sick joke like that. Wouldn’t surprise me if he took me out of your custody and put me some place where the people are halfway normal.”

“If only,” Dervish sighs, then squints at me. “I don’t want to lay it on heavy, but I’ve something to say and I want you to pay attention.”

“What now?” I ask with a sulky sneer. “Ma and Pa Spleen are my grandparents? Misery Mauch is your long-lost brother?”

“This house has been wrecked once already,” Dervish says. “I don’t want it destroyed again. Keep your freakish little friends under as much control as you can. A certain amount of wear-and-tear is unavoidable, I accept that, but they’ll only run wild if you let them. Lay down the law and they won’t cause too much damage. And for heaven’s sake, don’t let any of them into my study. Remember that it’s guarded by spells, so if anyone wanders in there uninvited…”

“What are you babbling about?” I snap. I hate when he starts on a spiel without making it clear what the subject is.

Dervish frowns. “A bit slow today, aren’t you?”

“What?” I roar impatiently.

“I’m going away.” He raps my head with his knuckles. “You’ll have the house to yourself.” He raps it again. “It’s the weekend.”

He goes to rap my head a third time. I catch his hand in mid-air, my face lighting up with a smile as I finally get it. At the exact same moment we exclaim, me excitedly, Dervish sarcastically —

“Paaarteeeeeee!”



→ Strip poker,” Frank says earnestly. “It’s a must.”

“Hey!” Loch barks. “My sister will be there.”

“So we’ll wait till she sneaks off with Grubbs, then… ba-bumba!”

Everybody laughs, even Loch.

“Have you told the girls yet?” Charlie asks.

“No. I wanted to discuss it with you lot first, get some ideas, like how many people to invite, should I have a theme, if–”

“Theme?” Loch snorts. “This isn’t a fancy dress party, fool!”

“I wouldn’t invite too many,” Leon says, a worried look on his face. “I made that mistake once. Had just about the whole school back to my place while my parents were away skiing. I did what I could to clean up the next day but it was impossible.”

“Yeah,” Frank nods. “This is your first party. You don’t want to blow it by taking on more than you can handle.”

“Especially since there’s so much opportunity for the future,” Loch agrees. “That mansion could be highly valuable over the next few years. Loads of rooms – loads of bedrooms – and an uncle who knows the score… It’s a goldmine. But we’ve got to tread carefully. If we trash the house now, Dervish might never leave you alone again.”

The discussion continues. Everyone – Loch, Frank, Charlie, Leon and Robbie – chips in with their own ideas. Music, food, drink, the guest list… each is debated at great length. But the guest list is the one we keep coming back to, the topic that creates the most divisions.

“Two girls to each guy,” Frank insists. “If not three.”

“Nah,” Robbie grunts. “Equal numbers or else they’ll gang up on us.”

“What do you care?” Leon challenges him. “You only have eyes for Mary.”

Robbie winks. “A lot can happen at a party.”

Out of the blue, Charlie shouts, “Jelly beans. You’ve got to have jelly beans. Plates of them everywhere.”

“You’re a bloody jelly bean!” Loch roars as we fall apart in tears of laughter.

“What are you hyenas splitting your sides about now?” Reni asks, appearing on the scene without warning, Shannon by her side.

“We’re–” Charlie starts.

Loch elbows him and nods sharply at me — my party, my news.

“Dervish is away this weekend,” I tell Reni, wishing my heart wouldn’t throb so loudly — I’m sure she can hear it. “I’m having a party.”

“Great,” Reni smiles. “I hope we’re invited?”

“Of course,” I say miles too quickly. Then, aiming for cool, “But don’t tell anyone. I want to keep it exclusive — just a select handful of my more discerning acquaintances.”

“Nice,” Reni says and strides away, sharing a giggle with Shannon.

“‘More discerning acquaintances’,” Leon mimics as the others poke me in the ribs and make cat-calls. “You’re full of it sometimes, Grady.”



→ Word spreads quickly about the party. I’ve never been so popular, surrounded at the start and end of classes, pumped for details, besieged with requests for an invite. I think the location of the party is as much a draw as anything else. Everyone in the Vale knows about the spooky old mansion where I live but most have never been inside.

At lunch I’m faced with a steady stream of party-hungry teens, all in search of a golden ticket. I feel like a king, hearing petitions, flanked by my royal advisors (Loch and co). I play it icy at Loch’s advice, saying numbers are limited, I can only invite a select few. I don’t say an absolute no to anyone and promise to take all requests into consideration.

So I’m a poser. So sue me.



→ Just before the bell rings for class, my last petitioner approaches. Bill-E. He’s smiling awkwardly, even more so than usual. “Hi Grubbs.”

“Hi.”

“How’s tricks, Spleenio?” Loch says, putting out his hand. I groan as Bill-E falls for the trick again, makes to shake and is humiliated when Loch whips his hand away. “Sucker!”

I don’t wait for Bill-E or Loch to say anything else. “Have you heard about the party?” I ask quickly.

“Yeah,” Bill-E says. “I know I was supposed to come over this weekend, but–”

“You’re not going to back out, are you?” I cut him short. “C’mon, Bill-E, this is my first party. I need you there for moral support.”

A rosy glow of happiness spreads outwards from the centre of the chubby boy’s cheeks. “You want me to come?” he asks quietly, half-suspecting a cruel joke.

“Of course,” I say firmly. “In fact, if you don’t, the party’s off.”

“Now hold on a minute…” Loch begins, startled.

“I mean it,” I silence him, eyes on Bill-E, trying to put right at least some of the wrong things between us.

“Well… I mean… I guess… OK,” Bill-E grins. “Sure. Why not?”

“Great.” I raise a warning finger. “But don’t tell Ma and Pa Spleen it’s a party or they’ll never let you come.”

“No sheet, Sherlock!” Bill-E laughs and heads off, much happier than I’ve seen him in a long while.



→ Dervish is getting ready to leave. In his leathers, pulling the straps out of his helmet. His motorcycle’s outside the front door, primed to go. “Is the party tonight or tomorrow?” he asks.

“Tomorrow. Too awkward for people to come tonight. Plus it gives me time to go shopping in the Vale in the morning.”

“You know I’ll be back early Sunday afternoon,” he reminds me.

“I know.”

“If I walk in and find pools of puke and mountains of rubbish…”

“You won’t,” I assure him. “There aren’t many coming, and a few are sleeping over to help clean up in the morning. The only thing is, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do all the laundry before you return.”

“That’s fine,” Dervish says, then raises an eyebrow. “Those staying over are all boys, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“They’d better be. Because if I find out otherwise…”

“You won’t.”

“Good.”

The pair of massive front doors are already open. Dervish walks out, breathing in fresh spring air. “It’s supposed to be cold over the weekend,” he says. “Don’t leave the windows open or the house will be freezing.”

“I have everything in hand,” I tell him.

“I doubt it.” He climbs on to his bike.

“Say hi to Meera from me.”

“Sure.”

“Give her a kiss from me too.”

“Funny guy.” Then without a goodbye he’s off, tearing down the driveway, already approaching the speed limit — and he’s only warming up. If everyone drove like my maniac of an uncle, the roads would be awash with blood.



→ This isn’t the first time Dervish has left me alone in the house, but it’s the first time he’s left me in total control. Before, the understanding was always that I was simply holding the fort. No parties. This time he’s as good as said the house is mine for the next forty-odd hours, to do with as I wish.

It feels strange. I find myself thinking of everything that could go wrong — broken windows, smashed vases, someone stumbling into Dervish’s study and turning into a frog. I half wish I could cancel. I’ve been to a couple of wild parties with Loch over the last few months and never worried about what we were doing, the mess we were making, what would happen to the kids who lived there when their parents returned. Now the shoe’s on my foot, I realise what a risky undertaking it is. Maybe I should pull a sickie and call the whole thing off.

The phone rings. Loch. It’s as if he’s sensed my wavering mood and is intervening to sway me back into party mode. “Has Dervish gone?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Good. I didn’t want to discuss it at school – too many ears – but what about booze? Yay or nay?”

“That might be a bit much,” I mutter. “Things will probably be wild enough if everyone’s sober.”

“Yeah, it’ll be wilder if everyone’s drunk,” Loch laughs, “but a lot more fun! I was thinking about all those bottles of wine in the cellar…”

“No way,” I snap. “Most are expensive. Very expensive. Nobody goes near the wine. That’s a golden rule. If anyone breaks it, I’ll kick you all out.”

“Spoilsport,” Loch grumbles. “Well, what about beer? I could ask one of my older cousins to get us a crate or two.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You’re not wimping out, are you?” he asks suspiciously.

“Well…” I start.

“Good,” Loch says quickly. “Let’s forget about the booze then. If anybody brings some, great. If not, we’ll just muddle by sober. Fair enough?”

“Yeah,” I say unhappily. “I guess.”

“Great. See you in the morning. Oh, and I’ll be bringing Reni, to help carry the bags. Is that OK?”

“Sure,” I say, spirits lifting, instantly forgetting about my reservations. “That’ll be… fine. Yeah. Whatever.”

A short laugh, then Loch hangs up, leaving me to get on with the planning of the party.



→ Loch, Reni and I make three runs to the village. Frank and Leon join us on the last run, when we realise we need more hands. It’s brilliant spending so much time with Reni, walking beside her in and out of Carcery Vale, discussing the party, bands, politics… whatever she feels like talking about.

Loch offers to chip in with some money for the drinks and food, but I tell him it’s OK. Dervish is rich – there’s a family fortune knocking about which will one day be mine and Bill-E’s – and he never begrudges me anything. He left a wad of cash for me in his study and told me to make good use of it.

Reni does a lot of the organising. I spent a couple of hours last night drawing up a list of everything we might need and was more than a little pleased with myself. She took one look at the list this morning, laughed and tore it up. “Is Jesus coming?” she asked.

“Uh… no,” I replied, astonished.

“Then forget about the loaves and fishes miracle. What you had on that list wouldn’t have got us through to nine o’clock. Now, fetch me a fresh pad and pen — this needs a woman’s considered touch.”

Much as I hate to admit it, she was right. Carrying the supplies back from Carcery Vale, it feels like we’ve bought far too much — we could feed the starving millions with this lot. But by the time we’ve divided it out into plates and bowls, and distributed them around the three main party rooms – two big living rooms and the kitchen – there doesn’t look to be a whole load.

“Maybe we need to make another run,” Frank muses, opening a bag of crisps.

“Maybe you need to stop snacking before anyone arrives,” Reni retorts, grabbing the bag from him. “No,” she says, casting a professional eye around. “This will do. Any more would be a waste.” She checks her watch. “I’m going home to get ready. And you boys…” She wrinkles her nose and pulls a face. “Ever heard of showers?”

She leaves. I look around at Loch, Frank and Leon. They stare back. Then we all raise an arm and sniff.




PARTY ANIMAL


→ The party’s not set to start until seven, but the first guests begin arriving soon after six. I’m nervous and twitchy, worrying about where their coats should go, if there’s enough food and drink, if anyone’s smuggled in anything they shouldn’t have. But as more arrive and the laughter and buzz of voices increase, I begin to relax as I realise people are having fun.

Not everyone who comes was on the invitation list, but there’s nothing I can do about that. If I turned them away, I’d sour the atmosphere. A few blow-ins have to expected at any party.

Loch and Frank help (Leon can’t make it until nine), opening the front doors and greeting newcomers while I’m showing others around the mansion. It’s cool to be a guide to so many fascinated guests. I love leading them through the corridors, pointing out weapons on the walls, explaining the house’s bloody history, showing them the hall of portraits and the faces of the dead.

“How come there are so many young people?” Mary asks, studying the paintings and photos.

“We’re an adventuresome lot,” I lie. “We don’t sit around quietly, waiting to grow old. We embrace life and danger, and as a result a lot of us die young.”

“They leave good looking corpses though,” Reni says and giggles sweetly when I blush.



→ Bill-E arrives at a quarter to eight. I’m coming down the stairs when he enters, admitted by Loch.

“Hey, Bill-E, great to see you, glad you could come,” Loch enthuses, offering his hand, which Bill-E predictably – and, I must admit, amusingly – tries to shake. “Sucker!”

But even Loch’s teasing can’t spoil the mood. Bill-E breezes past him, feathers only mildly ruffled, and makes for the nearest pile of food. Ten minutes of solid munching later, he’s by my side, marching after me as I lead the latest group on a tour. By midway he’s taken over — he knows much more about the house and its legends than I do and is better at telling the stories. I don’t mind. It’s nice to see him come out of his shell. I wish he was like this all the time.



→ As the night lengthens I start to feel strange. Nauseous, dizzy, the rooms and people around me appearing oddly out of focus. My breath is heavy in my ears and my stomach and chest ache if I move quickly. It’s not alcohol – nobody brought booze – but maybe somebody spiked the soft drinks with a spoon of nasty powder or a pill.

“Are you OK?” Reni asks, spotting me staggering towards the kitchen.

“A bit… weird…” I gasp, having to sit on the floor a couple of metres shy of the kitchen door.

Reni squats beside me. “You don’t look good,” she says and feels my forehead. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?” I shake my head. “Drugs?” Her voice is hard.

“Not… that I know… about,” I wheeze. “I was going… to the kitchen… to check. Think somebody… might have spiked… the drinks.”

“They’d better bloody not,” Reni growls, surging to her feet. “I’ll have them arrested if they have! You wait here.” She storms off to investigate. Five or ten minutes later – hard to keep track of time, my head’s throbbing so much – she returns, calmer. “Everyone else is fine. I don’t think the drinks have been tampered with.”

“Maybe I’m just sick,” I mutter.

“That’s what it looks like,” she says, then grabs my arms and hauls me to my feet. “Let’s get you outside. Fresh air will do you a world of good.”

She steers me through the kitchen and out the back door, then props me against the wall and stands watch beside me as I take deep breaths and try to focus. After a few minutes my head clears a little and my stomach settles.

“Better?” Reni asks, tilting my chin up, examining my eyes.

“Good as new,” I smile.

Reni leans towards me, a serious look in her eyes. I tense. Will this be our first kiss? I hope I don’t mess up. How do they do it in the movies — tongue or just lips? But at the last moment her expression crinkles and she kisses me quickly on the nose instead of the mouth.

“Come on, Romeo,” she laughs, taking my hands. “It’s too cold out here for monkey business.”

“What about inside?” I murmur, smiling at myself for getting the line out without stammering.

“Maybe later,” Reni grins and heads back in. I follow in high spirits, feeling much better than I did a few minutes ago. It’s only when we reach the kitchen door that I stop and feel a stab of real panic.

The light’s been switched off inside the kitchen. I can see the reflection of the sky in the dark glass of the door. Letting go of Reni’s hand, turning slowly, I look up at the cloudless heavens and fix my sight on the moon — which is round and fat, dangerously near to full.



→ Locked inside Dervish’s study. Breath coming quickly, raggedly. Trembling wildly. Remembering the night Bill-E changed, the beast he became. Dervish had to cage him up to protect people from him. He would have killed otherwise.

Am I turning into a werewolf?

I don’t know. The sickness and dizziness are still there, but they might be more a product of fear than anything else. Maybe it’s just worry that’s turned me white as a ghost and left me ready to throw up, shaking like a human maraca.

I focus on my hands, willing them steady. After a while they obey me. Then I force myself to breathe normally, evenly. When I feel like I’m in control, I study my reflection in a small hand mirror, looking for telltale signs around the eyes and lips — that’s where the marks show first.

Nothing. The same lines and creases. Eyes a bit wilder than normal – which is understandable – but mine. Not clouded over or animalistic.

I wish Dervish was here. I consider calling his mobile. He isn’t that far away. The speed he drives, he could be here in a couple of hours. I dig my phone out of my pocket, scroll down to his number, start to bring my thumb down over the dial button… then stop.

“I’m not turning,” I grunt, angry at myself for being so scared. “It’s after ten.” I check my watch. “Hell, nearly eleven. The moon’s at the height of its powers. If I was going to change, it would have happened by now.”

But maybe it’s the start, a voice within me whispers, a voice I last heard in Slawter many months earlier — the voice of magic. Nobody changes overnight. It’s a gradual process, spread out over a few months. This could be the beginning of the end.

“Maybe,” I agree, refusing to panic. “But I’m not going to turn savage tonight. Nobody has anything to fear from me. So there’s no point dragging Dervish back.”

But if it’s the change… If your time as a human is limited…

“All the more reason to party hard while I can,” I laugh viciously, then make myself go downstairs, smile and act like everybody else — normal.



→ Midnight comes and goes. So do most of the guests, walking or cycling home, a few collected by their parents. By half past, only those who are sleeping over remain — Loch, Frank, Leon, Charlie, Robbie, Bill-E, Reni, Mary and a few others who’ve begged a bed for the night. (OK, I lied to Dervish about only boys staying, but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him, right?)

“Do you want me to show you where you’ll be sleeping?” I ask, eager to wind the party down, still feeling sick.

“The hell with sleep,” Frank laughs. “Time for spin-the-bottle!”

While there are good-natured groans, nobody objects, so five minutes later we’re all in the largest of the party rooms, sitting in a nervous circle around an empty bottle. Lots of giggles, nervous looks, licking of lips. I do a quick head count — nine boys, four girls.

“How are we going to work this?” I ask Frank.

“We each take a turn spinning,” he says, rubbing his hands together eagerly. “When it points to a member of the opposite sex — hoobah!”

“But there’s more of us than them,” I object.

“So?” he frowns.

“Well… I mean… at least two of them are going to have to kiss more than one guy.” Worried about Reni kissing anyone other than me.

Frank laughs. “That’s how it works, moron. We all get plenty of action.”

“Only simple kisses,” Mary interjects. “No groping or tongues, not unless both want to. Clear?”

“Of course, of course!” Frank says quickly, leering.

“We mean it,” Reni says. “If one of you breaks the rules, that’s it, end of game, you all miss out.”

“OK,” Frank sighs, rolling his eyes. “We get the message. Now, who first?”

“It’s Grubbs’s party,” Loch says.

“That’s OK,” I cough, getting cold feet. “I think Bill-E should have first shot.”

“I second the motion,” Bill-E laughs, more at ease than I’ve seen him in a long time. He grabs the bottle and spins it madly. It turns… turns… turns… like it’s never going to stop. But finally it does — and it’s pointing at Reni.

Bill-E grins. “Sorry, amigo, but the bottle decides.”

I feel my temper rise as Bill-E and Reni meet in the middle of the circle to a series of whistles and crude remarks. The bile that’s been threatening to bubble over all night forces its way up my throat. But then Reni pecks him on the lips and they both sit down. I relax, swallow the vomit and grin greenly.

The game continues. Great laughs when one of the boys spins and it ends up pointing to another boy. Lewd giggles when that happens to the girls. Most of the kisses are like the first, quick pecks. But a few are stronger, where the pair are attracted to each other — Robbie and Mary, Leon and Nina Duffy.

I get to kiss Mary twice, Nina three times (“This is getting serious,” she says jokingly), before Reni finally spins and the bottle ends up pointing at me.

“Whoo-hoo!” Frank chortles.

“Touchdown!” Charlie cries.

“Easy, tiger,” Loch grunts, smiling tightly.

Reni and I stand and walk towards each other. Reni nudges the bottle out of the way with her left foot. We smile shakily. Then kiss.

Her lips are drier than I thought they’d be, but nice. My hands slide around her back and I lock my fingers together, careful not to hug too hard in case I crack her ribs. The kiss continues. Her lips move and mine follow — this is easier than I imagined. I don’t know why I was so nervous before. I could get used to this very quickly!

Lots of cheers and whistles. I drown them out, eyes closed, feeling so happy I could burst. A warm fire grows within me, burning away the feeling of sickness, spreading rapidly through my body, squeezing out of my pores like steam. I lose myself in the hot, hypnotic kiss, unaware of anything else.

Then gasps of amazement wreck the moment.

“What the–?”

“How the hell–?”

“Oh my god!”

My right eye opens an angry fraction — what’s everybody getting so worked up about? Then I spot it. The bottle, spinning again, but not on the ground — about a metre above the floor, suspended in mid-air, floating upwards as it spins.

The bottle rises smoothly. Everyone (with a single exception) is on their feet, backing away, alarmed. Reni realises something’s wrong. She breaks off the kiss, takes a step back, sees the bottle. Her expression freezes.

Bill-E’s the only one not moving. He’s staring at the bottle intently. I think for a second that he’s controlling it, using one of Dervish’s spells. I huff myself up to roar at him. But then I catch the alarm in his eyes and realise he’s trying to stop it. I’m the one making it rise.

The bottle reaches a point about half a metre above my head, then levels out. It’s spinning faster than ever, making a small whirring sound.

“What’s happening?” Robbie shouts. “Grubbs, are you doing this?”

I don’t answer. My gaze is on the bottle. Although it’s spinning too quickly for the eye to follow, I find that I can slow the action down. The world seems to go into slow-motion around me. People’s mouths move infinitely slowly. Words reach me as though dragged through a pipe from a long way away.

“Grrruuuubbbssssss! Whaaaaattttt’sss… goooiiiinnngggg oooonnnn?”

The bottle explodes and the world speeds up again. Shards of glass shoot at me, Reni, everybody in the room, at our faces and eyes. Instinctively I bark a word of magic. I don’t know what the word is or where it comes from. But it freezes the shards in place. They hang in mid-air, dozens of tiny pieces of glass, pointing at us like a flight of mini arrows.

“No way!” somebody shouts, more excited than afraid. My friends start lowering the hands which they’d instinctively raised to protect themselves.

Bill-E stares at the bits of glass — then at me. His eyebrows are furrowed. He knows this is magic but he can’t understand how I’m doing it. He saw me do more than this in Slawter, but that enclosed area was crackling with magical energy. Many of us could perform amazing feats there. In the real, normal world, he thought – like Dervish – that I had all the magical ability of a duck.

“Grubbs,” Reni says uncertainly, touching my right elbow. “Are you OK?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you know what’s happening?” Scared, looking for reassurance, gazing at the shard nearest her face, worried it might shoot forward again.

“Yes,” I smile. Without knowing how I’m doing any of this, I wave a hand at the glass and several pieces turn into flower petals, which drop slowly, beautifully to the floor. I wave my other hand and more shards turns into butterflies. They flap away, zoning in on the light overhead. One last wave and the rest of the glass is transformed, a mixture of butterflies and flowers.

I grab one of the falling petals and present it to Reni. “For you, my lady.”

Then everybody’s cheering, clapping my back, grabbing for petals and butterflies, demanding to know how the trick was performed.

Only Bill-E knows there was no trick. Only he realises this was real magic. And only he can possibly understand and share in my sense of bewilderment and gut-stabbing fear.



→ Later. Everyone but Bill-E and me has gone to bed. I’m at the door of my room, still holding a petal. Bill-E’s facing me, eyes steady and serious. “How’d you do it?”

“Dervish has been teaching me.”

Bill-E shakes his head. “Bull. Dervish told me you don’t want to learn magic. He’s cool with that. But even if he was teaching you, that’s way beyond anything I’ve ever seen him do. Apart from in Slawter.” He looks around nervously. “Are demons breaking through? Did you tap into their power?”

“No. We’re safe here. Demons can’t cross in Carcery Vale.”

“Then how did you do it?” he presses. “Where did the magic come from?”

I shake my head miserably. “Forget about it. This doesn’t concern you.”

“I might be able to help if I–”

“I told you it’s none of your business!” Bill-E looks hurt and I feel sorry immediately. “It’s no big deal,” I lie. “This has been building up for a long time. I haven’t spoken with Dervish about it, but after tonight I guess I’ll have to.”

“This isn’t the first time it happened?” Bill-E asks.

“There have been signs but nothing this obvious.”

“Do you think…” He can hardly bring himself to say it. “Do you think you might be a magician?”

“No. Dervish would know if I was. But maybe I’ve got more potential than we thought. I might be a latent mage. If so, Dervish will know what to do.”

Bill-E nods, starts to leave, looks back. “You won’t be able to turn away from it any more,” he says softly. “Magic, I mean. You’ll have to learn now, so you can control it. If you hadn’t been able to stop that glass tonight… if you hadn’t turned it into butterflies and flowers…”

“I know,” I sigh.

“You’ll really tell Dervish? You won’t try to keep it a secret?”

“I’ll tell him. I’m not a fool. I know what magic can do if it isn’t properly channelled. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Bill-E smiles, says goodnight and leaves.

I slip into my bedroom, lie on top of the covers fully clothed and stare at the ceiling, listening to my heart pound and my blood swoosh through my body, trying to make sense of whatever the hell is happening inside me.



→ Later. Slowly coming awake. Sluggishly realising I must have fallen asleep on top of the bed. Then I click to the fact I’m not on the bed any more. I’m standing by the round stained-glass window in my bedroom, listening to howls outside. No, not outside — inhere!

My head whips round in panic. Fully awake now. I can’t see anything in the room but I can hear the howls of a werewolf! Where is it? It must be close. It’s so loud. Where…?

With a jolt, I realise he’s in the glass in front of me. At least, his reflection is.

My face is darker than earlier. A wicked glint to my eyes. Lips pulled back over my teeth. Raising a hand, I see that my fingers are curling inwards, claw-like. I start to howl again, stepping into the coloured rays of the moon.

I stop. Focusing on my reflection, I feel the same warmth that I felt when I was kissing Reni, just before the bottle started to rise. I study my face, the sharp lines, the wild eyes. Directing the warmth towards it, I wish the mask away, wanting my normal face back, telling this vision of a man-wolf to go.

And it does. Even though it shouldn’t, my skin resumes its ordinary shape and colour. My lips droop back down over my teeth. My fingers unclench. The howl dies in my throat and becomes a dry cough.

Moments later I’m me again, standing by the window, bathed by the tinted light of a moon which for some reason is no longer affecting me. The warmth is still there. I hold on to it like a security blanket, take it to bed with me and sustain it, keeping it alive through the rest of the long, weary night, too terrified to close my eyes, afraid of what I might turn into if I drop my guard and give myself over to unprotected sleep.




TREASURE HUNT


→ I sneak a few hours of shut-eye post-dawn, when the sun’s chased the moon off and I’m safe. But it’s an uneasy sleep, filled with nightmares of werewolves and a body in revolt. I imagine myself doing awful things, causing chaos. Only it’s not entirely me. It’s a beast with my shape and form, but with a twisted face, fangs instead of teeth, claws instead of nails, blood-soaked hair.

Grubbs Grady — monster extraordinaire.



→ When I stumble down the stairs a little after noon, most of the cleaning has been taken care of. Loch tells me Reni had them all up at ten and working like demons. (His choice of phrase is unfortunate.) She had to leave at eleven but left him in charge to make sure nobody slacked off.

“That was some trick you pulled,” Leon says, sweeping up petals from the living room floor. “I’d love to know how you did it.”

“It was magic,” Charlie says, shooing a butterfly out through an open window.

“A magic trick,” Leon corrects him.

“No, real magic,” Charlie insists. “It was, wasn’t it, Grubbs? I’ve seen the books lying around, about wizards, witches and wotnots. It was real magic, right?”

“No.” I force a thin smile. “Just a trick. There’s no such thing as real magic.”

“But the books–” Charlie exclaims.

“–are just books,” I finish tiredly, then go see what state the kitchen’s in.

As I’m leaving, I hear Leon mutter, “Magic! You’re a real ass sometimes.”

“I don’t care what he says,” Charlie sulks. “I know what I saw. It was real magic. I’d bet a million jelly beans on it.”



→ When everything’s as clean as we can get it, my friends say goodbye and make their way home to recover before school on Monday. Bill-E and Loch stay on — they’ve arranged to spend the day here. Bill-E waits till Loch’s in the toilet, then asks how I’m feeling.

“Fine,” I lie as my brain throbs with a splitting headache and my stomach gives a sickly rumble.

“I heard howling last night,” Bill-E says. “After we’d gone to bed. It woke me. A few others too. There was some talk of it this morning but not much — most people were still trying to figure out how you pulled off the trick with the bottle.”

I grunt, saying nothing.

“Grubbs,” Bill-E says hesitantly, “I know we’ve never discussed the family curse. You filled me in on the basics in Slawter, but you’ve never offered more information and I haven’t pushed.”

For a long time Bill-E thought Dervish was the one who’d almost changed into a werewolf. I finally told him the truth in Slawter, neglecting only the part about Dervish being his uncle, not his father. I’ve never told Bill-E that we share the same dad. I want to, but he feels a special bond with Dervish, believing him to be his real father. I’ve never had the heart to shatter his illusion.

“Well,” Bill-E continues after an uncomfortable pause, “I know I almost turned into a werewolf and that you and Dervish saved me. You faced Lord Loss and won back my humanity. But is the cure definitely permanent?”

“Yes.”

“I’m safe? For certain?”

“One hundred per cent,” I smile.

“What about…?” He hesitates again. “Your magic… the howling… Are you safe too?”

I don’t answer for a second. Then, quietly, I lie. “Yes.”

“I won’t have to lock you up in the cage in the secret cellar?”

“No,” I laugh edgily. I hate that cellar. I’ve only been there once since we defeated Lord Loss, when Dervish’s nightmares were threatening to destroy his sanity. “I’m fine. That wasn’t me howling. Probably just a big dog that got loose. Now stop worrying — you’re getting on my nerves.”

Loch returns, wiping his hands dry on his trousers, and the questions stop, though I sense Bill-E doesn’t fully believe me. He knows something’s wrong, that I’m not coming clean. But he doesn’t suspect the worst or anything near it. He trusts me. Thinks of me as his closest friend. Doesn’t believe I’d lie point-blank to him about something this serious.

How little he knows.




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