The Vampyre (44 page)

The claw seized her around her throat. Rebecca screamed, but the cry was muffled by a second hand, holding her mouth and stifling her. Dust choked her eyes; it smelled of living death. Rebecca blinked. She looked up at the centuries-old thing that was Haidée. Two red eyes burning; open, toothless mouth; shrivelled insect-head. Rebecca struggled. The creature seemed so frail, but its strength was implacable. Rebecca felt its grip round her throat start to strangle her. She choked. She saw the creature raise its other hand. Its claws were long like scimitars. The thing stroked a single finger down her throat. Rebecca felt a welling of blood from the wound. Then she struggled to turn her head away. The thing was lowering its lips; the stench of its breath was terrible. Rebecca felt the claw touch her neck again. She waited. The lips, she knew, were just above the wound. She shut her eyes. She hoped that death, when it came, would be quick.

Then she heard the rattle of the creature's breath. She tensed - and nothing happened. She opened her eyes. The creature had lifted its lips from her neck. It was staring at her with its burning eyes. It was shaking. ‘Do it,' Rebecca heard Lord Byron say.

The thing still stared at her. Rebecca peered beyond its head. Lord Byron was standing beside the tomb. Slowly, the creature looked at him.

‘Do it,' he said again.

The creature made no answer.

Lord Byron stretched out to touch its hairless skull. ‘Haidée,' he whispered, ‘there is no other way. Please.' He kissed her. ‘
Please
.'

Still, the creature was silent. Rebecca saw Lord Byron study her. ‘She knows the secret,' he said. ‘I have told her everything.' He waited. ‘Haidée, we agreed. She knows the secret. You cannot let her go.'

The creature shook. Its thin, skinless shoulders moved up and down. Lord Byron stretched out to comfort it, but he was brushed away. The creature stared into Rebecca's eyes again. Its own face was twisted, as though with tears, but its burning eyes were as dry as before. Slowly, it opened its mouth - then shook its head. Rebecca felt the grip lift from around her throat.

The creature tried to rise. It staggered. Lord Byron captured it in his arms. He held it, kissing it, rocking it. Disbelievingly, Rebecca rose to her feet.

Lord Byron stared at her. His face was icy with pain and despair. ‘Go,' he whispered.

Rebecca couldn't move.

‘Go!'

She held her hands over her ears, the cry was so terrible. She ran from the crypt. On the stairway, she paused, to look back down. Lord Byron was bent over his charge, as a parent holds his child. Rebecca stood, frozen - then she turned, and ran, and left the crypt behind.

At the top of the stairs was a passageway. She followed it. At the far end, she reached a door; she turned the handle, and opened it, and gasped with delight when she saw the street beyond. It was dusk. The sunset was streaking the muggy London sky, and she stared at the colours with wonderment and joy. For a minute she paused, listening to the distant city roar, the sounds she had never thought to hear again - the sounds of life. Then she turned, and began to hurry down the street. She glanced round once. The front of Lord Byron's house was still dark. The doors were all shut. No one seemed to be following her.

Had she paused, though, and hidden to make absolutely sure, she would have seen a figure slip out from the dark. She would have seen him tracing the way she had just gone. She would have smelled, perhaps, a distinctive tang. But she didn't pause, and so she didn't see her follower. He passed, as she did, and left the street behind. The faint smell of acid in the air was soon dispersed.