Birth of a Killer (11 page)

Larten trotted down the hill. A few more villagers hurried along and passed him on the street. None spared him a glance, even though a stranger would have drawn curious stares on any normal day.

He paused at the door of the church. He could hear angry muttering and weeping from within. He had a bad feeling about this. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t enter.

Larten would have retreated, except a family of four children and their parents pushed up behind him while he was dithering, the father carrying the small
est child and looking wild. “Go on!” the man snapped. “Get the door!”

Larten pulled the door open and stood back as the man and children brushed by. He still might have turned away if the woman hadn’t waved him in. She looked on the verge of tears, and Larten didn’t want to upset her, so he stole in ahead of her and let her close the door behind them.

Larten’s unease increased inside the church. He hadn’t been in one since he’d become Seba’s assistant. Vampires had their own gods, and although Larten didn’t know much about them, he knew that he was finished with the religions of humanity.

But that wasn’t the reason for his discomfort. He could see that these people were distraught. Many were crying. Others were cursing and striding around like caged wolves, snapping at their neighbors or the empty air.

A group of men stood at the center of the church, in front of the altar, huddled close together as if protecting something. A few women and children approached them but were turned back with angry gestures. Larten found himself drawn to the group as if hypnotized. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was as if this church had been lying in wait for him, as if he had business here that couldn’t be avoided.

The men close to the altar stared suspiciously at Larten as he drew near. He could see them silently debating whether to let the stranger step among them or drive him back like the other youths. Larten straightened his shoulders and looked directly at the men, neither slowing nor speeding up. As he came level, a couple shrugged and stepped aside so that he could slip between them.

Larten found a boy beyond the men, his own age or a bit younger. The boy was kneeling in the middle of four bodies–a man, a woman, and two children–that were laid out on the floor, arms crossed neatly over their chests. The boy was rocking backwards and forwards, moaning softly, his hands outstretched and bloodstained. One lay on the forehead of the man. The fingers of the other stroked the cheek of the woman.

The man, woman, and children were dead, and Larten could see that they’d been murdered—their throats had been slashed open. He also saw, by the small amount of blood around their necks and the pale shade of their faces, that their killer had drunk from them. No, even worse than that—they had been
drained
.

Larten was horrified. This looked like the work of a vampire. But Seba had sworn to him that the children of the night did not kill. He’d said that the Generals quickly put an end to any vampire who slaughtered humans without just cause. This could be the work of a mad, rogue vampire… or maybe Larten’s master had lied to him.

The weeping boy was obviously related to the corpses—they shared the same build and facial features. The man and woman were his parents, and the dead boy and girl were his brother and sister. Larten’s heart immediately went out to the orphan. He knew how painful it was to lose those whom you loved.

Larten was nudged aside as a man with long gray hair moved forward for a better look. The man cursed but didn’t step back as others had. He wiped sweat from his cheeks, then cleared his throat.

“My Diana saw something pass our house this morning, just before daybreak.” A silence fell upon the men, and all eyes focused on the newcomer. He looked nervous–he didn’t like the attention–but he went on. “She was out back. A shadow passed in the dark. She said it looked like a man, but at the same time it didn’t. She thought it was a monster. I told her not to be daft—kids are always imagining things in the dark. But when I heard about this…”

The man crossed himself. The boy was staring at the man now, his eyes starting to clear, fury filling the gap that grief left behind.

“Where did this
monster
go?” one of the other men asked.

“Towards Strasling’s,” the man said, and a fearful sigh swept through the crowd.

The boy rose slowly, his gaze still fixed on the gray-haired man, who gulped and said, “Did you see anything, Wester?”

The boy shook his head. “I was sleeping in the shed. Jon had a cold and was snoring like a pig. I went to the shed to escape the noise.”

“We should go to Strasling’s,” a woman cried from behind them. “Take crosses and stakes and…”

She fell silent when others glared at her. Larten was surprised by their reaction. He’d assumed the villagers would be eager for revenge. But as he glanced around, he saw that most were looking at the floor with shame.

“We all know why this happened,” Wester said. He had a soft voice, and there was a trembling edge to it, but he spoke clearly. “My da helped kill one of those beasts last year. We moved to a new home afterwards, in case any of its kin came seeking revenge, but they must have found us anyway. Ma tried to tell him we hadn’t gone far enough, but he wouldn’t…”

Tears welled in the boy’s eyes, and he stalled. People blessed themselves and muttered words of consolation. But nobody slid forward to embrace Wester or pledge their support.

“I’ve got to go to Strasling’s,” Wester said, brushing away tears. “I know if any of you come with me, and we kill this monster, another might come looking for you and your folk, like this one came for my da and us. I won’t ask for help, but I’d appreciate it if anyone offers.”

Wester stood over the bodies of his dead family, head low, awaiting a response. When nobody said a
word, he nodded sadly and picked up a bag lying to the left of his father. “I’d be grateful if you’d bury them, and me too if you find my bones.”

The boy strode through the ranks of men–they parted before him like a flock of sheep breaking ahead of a wolf–and marched up the aisle. He slipped out and closed the door softly behind him.

“We should help!” the woman who’d spoken earlier shouted. “If we don’t, we’re nothing but—”

“We know what we are!” one of the men roared. “You think any of us wants to let a child like that go off by himself? But Jess Flack interfered, and look where it got him. If he’d left the monster alone when it came to his village, he’d be alive now, and his family too.”

“We’ll pray for him,” another man said, moving to the altar. Larten realized this was the priest. “Maybe he’ll find the strength to kill this thing, and that will be the end of it.”

The other men looked dubious but filed back to the pews, joining their wives and children. Soon Larten and the priest were the only two standing. The priest smiled uncertainly at the youthful stranger and waved for him to step down. In response, Larten spat at the priest’s feet. A shocked gasp ran through the church.

“You’re nothing but cowards,” Larten snarled, the words coming from a dark, angry place inside him. “I hope your animals die, your crops fail, and that each one of you rots in the fires of hell.” He felt the same sort of cold fury he’d felt the day he killed Traz.

As the church members gaped at him, Larten considered adding a few curses, then decided against it and hurried down the aisle. Wester Flack had a head start. If he didn’t catch up with the boy quickly, he might lose him—unlike the rest of the people in the church, Larten didn’t know the way to Strasling’s.

A couple of minutes later, Larten drew alongside Wester. The boy frowned warily at the orange-haired stranger.

“I’m Larten Crepsley. I want to help if you’ll have me.”

“Why?” Wester asked. “I don’t know you. What business is this of yours?”

Larten didn’t want to confess to being worried that the murders might be the work of a vampire like his master, so he told Wester the other–equally truthful–reason for his interest.

“You remind me of myself. I once went up against a foul murderer, and nobody helped me. I had to face him all on my own.”

“What happened?” Wester asked.

“I killed him.”

Wester gulped, then said, “This is no ordinary killer. It’s a monster. The beast is stronger and faster than us. I’ll most likely die, and if you come with me, you will too.”

“I’m not afraid of death,” Larten said quietly. “And I’ve no family to worry about, unlike those cowards back in that church.”

“It’s not their fault,” Wester sniffed. “The monsters don’t pass through here often and never kill many when they do. But if you anger them…”

“This isn’t the first time that it’s happened?” Larten asked, and Wester shook his head. Larten licked his lips and tried to make his next question sound natural. “Do you have a name for the monsters?”

“The old wives have lots of names,” Wester snorted. “Most of us just call them bloodsuckers, because they drink the blood of those they kill.” He cocked an eyebrow at Larten. “Still want to come with me?”

“Do you see me backing off?” Larten growled.

Wester sighed. “Forgive me. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m not myself. When I walked in and found them…”

Larten gave the boy’s arm a squeeze, remembering what it had felt like when he lost Vur, trying to
imagine how it must feel to find all your family murdered at the same time, to be the only survivor. His heart went out to Wester, and he swore a silent oath to do all that he could to protect this lonely, brave orphan.

“What’s Strasling’s?” Larten asked.

“A burned-down mansion,” Wester explained. “The man who lived there was evil. He practiced dark magic and killed lots of people. The villagers say the house was struck by lightning and all within died by the hand of God. But I think a group of them torched it and drove back those inside when they tried to get out.”

“Nice place you picked to come and live,” Larten grinned.

Wester managed a weak chuckle. “We didn’t have much choice. After Da helped kill the monster last year, we weren’t welcome in our own village, nor any of the others. I think they only accepted us here because they still feel guilty about what happened in Strasling’s.”

“The monster your father killed,” Larten said carefully. “What was it like?”

“I don’t know. He never told us. But he took this bag when he went after it. I brought it with me from the house.”

Wester opened the leather bag and Larten peered inside. He saw a hammer, a cross, a bottle of clear liquid that he guessed was holy water, some garlic, a small saw, and three wooden stakes.

“The cross and holy water will hurt the monster but not kill it,” Wester said with the air of a person who’d done this a dozen times. “We need to drive a stake through its heart, then cut off its head, scoop out its brains, and fill the skull with garlic. Then bury the body and head separately at the center of a crossroads.”

Larten nodded soberly, staring with fascinated horror at the implements. If he was right and they were on their way to confront a real vampire, the holy artifacts would be of no use, and the saw and garlic were superstitious extras. But a stake through the heart… aye, that would kill even the strongest of the so-called living dead.

“They sleep in the daytime,” Wester concluded. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to kill the beast before it wakes.”

“And if we’re unlucky?” Larten asked.

Wester smiled without humor. “Then it will be a good time to make your peace with God, because you’ll be seeing him soon.”

The walls of the ruined mansion were scorched black from the fire that had destroyed it. There was still a foul smell in the air, although it had been years since the blaze. It felt like a dark, forbidding place, even to a night creature like Larten. It didn’t surprise him that the monster–the vampire?–had picked this spot for its base.

They each took a stake from the bag. Wester kept the hammer. He gave Larten the cross and stuck the holy water in a pocket. He left the saw and the garlic in the bag outside the ruins, telling Larten that they could return for those later if they were successful.

The scared boys slowly picked their way through
the debris, saying nothing, studying each new room or corridor at length before entering. The roof and the upper floors had fallen in, but lots of floorboards and tiles remained in certain sections, casting scores of shadows. There were many places for a sun-fearing killer to hide.

If Larten had been by himself, he would have waited until midday, when the sun was at its strongest, then proceeded at a snail’s pace, making as little noise as possible. But Wester was in a hurry to wreak revenge. He couldn’t bear to stand still—he might go mad if he did.

Larten spotted the opening to the cellar. It had been half-covered by several planks. He considered saying nothing to Wester. It might be for the best if the boy never saw it, if he explored the rest of the ruins and came to the conclusion that the beast wasn’t here. They could go home and that would be the end of it.

But Larten had come to uncover the truth, not engage in an act of deception. He was here to help Wester, not slyly direct him out of danger’s way. The orphan deserved his shot at revenge. So Larten tugged Wester’s sleeve and pointed.