The Demonata 1-5. Darren Shan
for a few seconds. Then — “Still there.”
“I’ll take you home,” I decide, “then circle back.”
“But you can’t track him like I can,” Bill-E demurs. “You need me.”
“I’ll get by,” I override him. “The way you are now, you’re a liability. It’s only pure luck that he didn’t hear you a few minutes ago. You’re useless like this.”
“Grubbs Grady,” Bill-E giggles hoarsely. “Tells it like it is.”
“Come on,” I mutter, offering him a hand up. “The quicker we go, the sooner I can pick him up again.”
Bill-E hesitates, then grabs my sleeve and staggers to his feet. “Sorry about this,” he mumbles, bent over, hiding his face, ashamed.
“Don’t be stupid,” I smile, wrapping an arm around him. “I couldn’t have tracked him this far without you. Now — let’s go.”
→ Bill-E’s house lies almost straight ahead, but Dervish is blocking the direct route. So we skirt around him and stumble further through the forest, until we find a spot downhill where he hopefully won’t be able to see us.
“Walk or run?” I ask.
Bill-E doesn’t answer immediately — his breath is ragged and he’s trembling. Then he sighs and says, “Walk. More noise… if we run.”
Holding Bill-E tight – I think he’d collapse if I let go – I start ahead, into the moonlit clearing.
Stomach like a coiled spring as we leave the cover of the forest. I face forward, not wanting to trip over anything, but my eyes keep sneaking left, scouring the trees for signs of my uncle.
“Can you see him?” I hiss out of the side of my mouth.
Bill-E only groans in reply and doesn’t look round.
Getting close to the houses on the outskirts of Carcery Vale. Dark back yards. Lights in kitchen and bedroom windows. A woman cycles towards us, parallel to the forest. She waves. I start to wave back. Then she turns right and I realise she was only signalling.
Coming up to the houses. There’s a road behind them, where most of the residents park. We make the road and close in on the Spleen residence. I start to think about what Ma Spleen is going to say, and what will happen when she phones Dervish to complain about the condition he let her grandson walk home in. Perhaps I should take Bill-E directly to a doctor. It’s late but I’m sure–
Bill-E gasps painfully and collapses. He dry retches and paws at the pavement, whining like a wounded animal.
“What’s wrong?” I cry, dropping beside him. I reach to examine his face, but he brushes my hands away and snarls. “Bill-E? What is it? Do you want me to–”
“Grubbs — step away.”
A harsh voice, straight ahead of me. Slowly, trembling, I stand and stare.
Dervish!
→ My uncle’s standing between us and the rear garden gate of Bill-E’s home. No way past. He’s illuminated by moonlight. A long hypodermic syringe in his right hand. Eyes ablaze with anger. “Meera,” he says, gaze flicking to a spot behind me. I glance back. A moment’s pause, then Meera steps out from behind a van. My head spins. I remember an earlier mad thought — “What if they’re both werewolves?”
Dervish starts walking towards me.
“Stop!” I moan, warning him off with my axe.
“Step away, Grubbs,” he says again, not slowing. “You don’t know what’s happening.” Then, to Meera, “Be careful. Block his escape, but don’t get too close.”
“I know what you are,” I sob, tears of fear springing to my eyes. “If you come any closer…”
“Don’t interfere,” Dervish snaps. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t step aside, I’ll–”
He comes within range. I swing at him with my axe. Tears impair my aim — I swing high. Dervish curses and ducks. I take another blind swing. He shimmies closer as I’m swinging, dodges the blade, chops at my axe arm with his free left hand.
My arm goes numb from the elbow down. The axe drops to the ground. I dart after it. Dervish grabs the back of my collar and yanks me aside. I crash into a car. He’s upon me before I have time to recover. Wraps his left arm around my throat. Exerts pressure.
“Dervish!” Meera gasps.
“It’s OK,” he pants. Then, to me, as I struggle for my life, “Easy! We’re on the same side.”
“Let go!” I wheeze. “I know what you are! Let–”
Low growling. Animalistic. Wolfen.
But not from Dervish.
From ahead of us.
Dervish releases me. I stand rooted to the spot. Eyes wide. Staring at the beast as it rises to its feet and snarls. A contorted face. Yellow eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Dark shadows. Open mouth full of bared teeth.
It raises a hand — dark skin, long nails, fingers curled into claws.
And I realise, about a million years late, that a monster has breached the barriers of Carcery Vale tonight — but it’s not Dervish.
The werewolf’s Bill-E Spleen!
FAMILY TIES
→ “Bill-E?” I moan. He glares at me, naked hate filling his abnormal yellow eyes. “Bill-E… it’s me… Grubbs.”
“He doesn’t recognise you,” Dervish says, stepping to the left. Bill-E’s eyes snap to the adult and he crouches defensively. Behind him, Meera takes an automatic step backwards. “No!” Dervish barks. “Don’t move! You’ll attract–”
Too late. Bill-E’s head swivels. He spots Meera. Leaps.
Meera gets out the start of a scream. Then the beast is upon her, hissing as he hauls her to the ground. They land hard, Meera underneath. She tries to throw the animal off. He grabs her hand and bites hard into the flesh. She starts to curse, but is cut short by the creature’s fist — it crushes into the side of her face. Meera chokes, stunned. The beast grabs both sides of her head and smashes her skull down hard on the pavement. The fight goes out of her. Teeth glinting in the moonlight, fastening around Meera’s throat. The monster’s about to rip her head off and all I can do is stand here and gawp like an idiot.
But Dervish isn’t so helpless. He moves as fast as Bill-E, and gets there a split-second before he bites. Grabbing Bill-E’s ear, he tugs hard. The creature’s head jerks clear of Meera’s throat. He whines and lashes out. Dervish ducks the blow. Shoves the animal down hard, head first. Pins it with his right knee, digging it hard into the boy-beast’s back. Brings up his right hand and jabs the tip of the syringe into the side of Bill-E’s neck. Pushes on the plunger. The liquid in the barrel disappears into Bill-E’s veins.
Bill-E stiffens and groans. Dervish whips the syringe out and tosses it aside. Bill-E thrashes wildly. Dervish uses both hands and knees to hold him down.
Mad seconds pass. Bill-E stiffens again. More thrashing. Stiffens for the third time — then collapses, eyes closing, limbs limp.
Dervish lays Bill-E’s head down, then shoots to Meera’s side. “Meera?” he mutters, checking her pulse, putting his ear to her lips, rolling her eyelids up. No response. He straightens her legs and arms, checks on Bill-E, looks around to see if anybody’s noticed the scuffle — but the road is deserted except for us. He turns to face me.
“You bloody fool,” he snarls.
I stare blankly at my uncle, then slide to the ground and give myself over to bewildered tears.
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