Read Online The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Jinks
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upstairs now, and send him a message?’
‘At two o’clock in the morning?’ Horace’s tone was contemptuous. ‘He’ll be fast asleep, if he
is
our man.’
‘It’s still worth trying,’ Sanford interposed. And everyone agreed.
So Horace went upstairs with Dave, to make contact with the mysterious Fangseeker. And the rest of us settled down in front of the television – because there wasn’t much else we could do. Sanford suggested that we watch
30 Days of Night
, so that we could ‘gain a bit of insight’ into the mind of our adversary. But there are some things it’s better not to know. By the end of that movie, we were more depressed than ever.
I can’t tell you how sick I am of bloodsucking monsters with long yellow fingernails and no moral imagination.
‘If
that’s
what the killer’s mind is like, then we’re in trouble,’ I said. And we all glanced fearfully towards the basement door. Outside it, somewhere not too far away, a ruthless murderer was lying in bed, either plotting his next act of butchery or dreaming about the last one, while we sat cowering in our underground hole as helpless as a litter of newborn guinea pigs.
Can you blame me for inventing Zadia Bloodstone? At least she is in control of her life – unlike most vampires of my acquaintance.
6
There’s a scene in
The Redemptionist
(Book One of the Blood-stone Chronicles) where Zadia is asleep in her ancient stone sarcophagus. The carved lid is fitted snugly in its proper place, because she’s so strong that she never has any trouble moving it. She lies like a corpse as two blood-soaked Mafia hit men lift the lid, grunting and straining under its immense weight.
Then the largest hit man leans towards her. He’s holding a sharpened stake in one hand, and a wooden mallet in the other. But the blood on his shirt is still fresh; a drop of it falls onto her lush, ruby-red lips.
Suddenly her almond-shaped eyes snap open – even though it’s still only half-past three in the afternoon.
I’m not proud of this scene, which is complete and utter hogwash. There isn’t a vampire on earth who could be roused at 3.30 PM , no matter what the circumstances. You could be dropped into the middle of a Viking massacre, and you’d still be as lively as an effigy on a tomb. Why? Because from dawn till dusk, whatever the time of year, a vampire is clinically dead.
If you examine me during the day, you’ll see no movement whatsoever: no heartbeat, no brain activity – nothing. I look like an extremely fresh corpse. As for what I feel like … well, it’s exactly like being anaesthetised. Exactly. You black out, and next thing youknow, you’re awake again. You don’t dream. You don’t hear things. You’re not subconsciously aware of time passing. You disappear, and then you come back.
What’s more, when you
do
come back, you feel just as tired as you did before you left.
So that’s what happened to us all, the day after Casimir was killed. I lay down in my isolation tank, and the others zipped themselves up in their sleeping-bags, and we lost consciousness until sunset. Then, just before six o’clock, we opened our eyes again. At which point we found out what had been going on during our absence.
Happily, my mother was still alive. In fact she had nothing whatsoever to report. The only person who’d come anywhere near our house was the postman, and he hadn’t even slowed down. ‘It was pretty boring,’ said Mum, who likes to keep busy. (She’s had a very active retirement so far, what with her volunteer hospital work, and her bridge club, and her pottery classes.) ‘I ended up watching a lot of soaps.’
Father Ramon, however, had been fully occupied all day. To begin with, he had gone to Casimir’s apartment, only to find that the police were there – having been notified of the broken lock by a nosy neighbour. While the priest had explained that he was ‘worried about his friend’, two uniformed officers had inspected
‘At two o’clock in the morning?’ Horace’s tone was contemptuous. ‘He’ll be fast asleep, if he
is
our man.’
‘It’s still worth trying,’ Sanford interposed. And everyone agreed.
So Horace went upstairs with Dave, to make contact with the mysterious Fangseeker. And the rest of us settled down in front of the television – because there wasn’t much else we could do. Sanford suggested that we watch
30 Days of Night
, so that we could ‘gain a bit of insight’ into the mind of our adversary. But there are some things it’s better not to know. By the end of that movie, we were more depressed than ever.
I can’t tell you how sick I am of bloodsucking monsters with long yellow fingernails and no moral imagination.
‘If
that’s
what the killer’s mind is like, then we’re in trouble,’ I said. And we all glanced fearfully towards the basement door. Outside it, somewhere not too far away, a ruthless murderer was lying in bed, either plotting his next act of butchery or dreaming about the last one, while we sat cowering in our underground hole as helpless as a litter of newborn guinea pigs.
Can you blame me for inventing Zadia Bloodstone? At least she is in control of her life – unlike most vampires of my acquaintance.
6
There’s a scene in
The Redemptionist
(Book One of the Blood-stone Chronicles) where Zadia is asleep in her ancient stone sarcophagus. The carved lid is fitted snugly in its proper place, because she’s so strong that she never has any trouble moving it. She lies like a corpse as two blood-soaked Mafia hit men lift the lid, grunting and straining under its immense weight.
Then the largest hit man leans towards her. He’s holding a sharpened stake in one hand, and a wooden mallet in the other. But the blood on his shirt is still fresh; a drop of it falls onto her lush, ruby-red lips.
Suddenly her almond-shaped eyes snap open – even though it’s still only half-past three in the afternoon.
I’m not proud of this scene, which is complete and utter hogwash. There isn’t a vampire on earth who could be roused at 3.30 PM , no matter what the circumstances. You could be dropped into the middle of a Viking massacre, and you’d still be as lively as an effigy on a tomb. Why? Because from dawn till dusk, whatever the time of year, a vampire is clinically dead.
If you examine me during the day, you’ll see no movement whatsoever: no heartbeat, no brain activity – nothing. I look like an extremely fresh corpse. As for what I feel like … well, it’s exactly like being anaesthetised. Exactly. You black out, and next thing youknow, you’re awake again. You don’t dream. You don’t hear things. You’re not subconsciously aware of time passing. You disappear, and then you come back.
What’s more, when you
do
come back, you feel just as tired as you did before you left.
So that’s what happened to us all, the day after Casimir was killed. I lay down in my isolation tank, and the others zipped themselves up in their sleeping-bags, and we lost consciousness until sunset. Then, just before six o’clock, we opened our eyes again. At which point we found out what had been going on during our absence.
Happily, my mother was still alive. In fact she had nothing whatsoever to report. The only person who’d come anywhere near our house was the postman, and he hadn’t even slowed down. ‘It was pretty boring,’ said Mum, who likes to keep busy. (She’s had a very active retirement so far, what with her volunteer hospital work, and her bridge club, and her pottery classes.) ‘I ended up watching a lot of soaps.’
Father Ramon, however, had been fully occupied all day. To begin with, he had gone to Casimir’s apartment, only to find that the police were there – having been notified of the broken lock by a nosy neighbour. While the priest had explained that he was ‘worried about his friend’, two uniformed officers had inspected
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