Volumes 5 and 6 - Blood Beast/Demon Apocalypse. Darren Shan
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—in here!
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.
→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…?”