Chapter Twenty-Four

Dante and I make a rather pathetic pair when we traipse back inside my father’s house. I have blood dripping down my neck which leaves a crimson stain on my clothes and a chunk of hair missing, not to mention the vampire sludge covering me from head to toe, while Dante’s nose is bloodied and he has two black eyes forming.

My dad’s car is in the driveway, so I’m not surprised to see him burst into the hallway from the kitchen a moment later, brandishing a piece of paper. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he bellows at me. Dad rarely swears, and it’s shocking to hear him do so now – although I can’t really blame him. “I got the note you left me. ‘Hunting vampires. Be back soon.’ How could you think this was a sufficient explanation?!” He takes a deep breath before continuing his tirade, and pauses suddenly, for the first time noticing the bedraggled condition Dante and I are in. His face visibly pales. “Are you all right?”

“I have dead vampire on me,” I whimper, and before he can reply I drag myself upstairs to have a shower. I lock myself in the bathroom and strip out of my clothes, throwing them straight in the bin to avoid getting the floor dirty. They’re completely ruined. I don’t think there’s any point in putting them in the washing machine – they need to be burned.

The vampires are going to pay for damaging my wardrobe. I’m holding the two remaining ones personally responsible.

I stand in the shower scrubbing my hair and skin for at least half an hour. My skin is bright red from the scalding water and relentless scrubbing, but I feel like I’ll never be clean again. It’s more than just my squeamishness at the disintegrated vampire, it’s the knowledge that Dante and I are responsible for killing a second person. He wasn’t entirely human and he certainly deserved it, but does this really make it any less wrong? My parents raised me well, and the idea that Dante and I are, essentially, killing people, doesn’t sit well with me. Not that I have a choice any more. I have to see this through to the end.

I give myself one last, half-hearted scrub. “Out, damned spot!” I mutter to myself, in the words of Lady Macbeth. Then, sighing, I step from the shower and dress quickly in clean clothes. I brush my hair and wrangle it into a quick plait to keep it out of the way.

I emerge from the bathroom and go downstairs to find my dad and Dante still standing by the front door. Dad stops speaking abruptly when he notices me, but it’s too late. From his body language and the tone of his voice, I’m fairly certain he’s been scolding Dante for dragging me into this – because of course, as far as my father is concerned, I’m still his innocent little girl.

“Dad, leave him alone,” I say, but without any real rancour. I’m simply too tired.

“I will not,” he grumbles, but he doesn’t give Dante any more stick. Instead he says carefully, “How did it go? What happened?”

“We lost,” I say wearily, and trudge into the kitchen. I’m in dire need of a cup of tea. Or possibly some Irish coffee – large quantities of alcohol are certainly sounding like a good idea right now.

“We did not lose,” Dante grumbles obstinately, following me into the room and dropping with a tired sigh into one of the remaining kitchen chairs. My father hasn’t mentioned that two of them are missing yet. Perhaps he hasn’t noticed – he’s not generally the most observant of people.

“Dante, two of them are still out there. It sounds like a failure to me.” I slump into the chair opposite him and drop my head onto the table. “We were rubbish,” I say, my voice muffled.

A warm hand covers mine, offering me comfort. “Only two more to go. We will get them,” says Dante confidently, “and make them pay for what they’ve done.”

I raise my head and give him a weak smile. “Here’s hoping.”

“Wait a minute,” says my dad suddenly, ruining the moment. He’s followed us into the kitchen and is staring at the table in confusion. “I have more than two kitchen chairs, don’t I? What happened to the others?”

I heave a dramatic sigh and drop my head onto the table again. “Oh, Dad, not now.”

A short while later Dante is having a shower of his own, and my dad is covering the cut on my neck with a bandage while scolding me for using his chairs to make stakes. He presses the bandage against my skin and uses tape to keep it in place, being rather more forceful than necessary. I wince but don’t comment – I know he’s angry with me and needs to get it out of his system.

“There.” He sits back and eyes the bandage critically, and then almost seems to deflate before my eyes. “Why do you have to be so troublesome, Aisling? I swear, I’ve got more grey hairs in the last two days than I have in the last two years! Why can’t you be more like your brother?”

“Because I’m not dull like he is,” I say dryly, not at all offended. It’s something that has been repeated to me so often over the years that it long ago lost its effect. Why can’t you be more like your brother and ignore the ghosts? Why can’t you be more like your brother and get a proper job? Why can’t you be more like your brother and settle down, get married? But I don’t resent Eoin for it, or my parents – they can’t help the way they are any more than I can, and I know I wouldn’t be happy leading a normal life. After all, however much Dad and Eoin might wish to deny it, we’re not normal.

“He’s not dull, he’s sensible,” my father corrects. He sighs heavily. “I swear, Aisling, you are far too like your mother for your own good.”

“Mum?” I echo, astonished. “She’s even worse than you are! Nothing I do is good enough for her.”

Dad smiles faintly. “She wasn’t always like that, you know – such a…a ball buster. When we first met, she was very much like you are now – without the necromancer problem, of course. She was reckless and carefree, and I loved that about her. But life, and the responsibilities that go with it, changes people. Things like marriage and children…they make you grow up.” He pauses, a thoughtful expression on his lined face. “Perhaps it’s wrong of me to tell you to be more like your brother. Perhaps you should enjoy your youth for as long as you can.”

I don’t reply; instead I absorb what I’ve just learned. I can’t imagine my staid mother, however much I love her, acting as I do. But Dad’s right: People change. My parents most of all, apparently.

“Now, about the vampires,” my father says, his expression grave. “I still think you’re a bloody eejit for going after them like you did, but I can see you – or Dante, for that matter – are not going to change your mind about this. So I’m offering you my services.”

I blink at him in surprise, certain I’m misunderstanding him. “What?”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he elaborates.

The idea of my father – who is very much the brains rather than the brawn – taking on two evil vampires is preposterous. He might be a necromancer, but he’s even less of a warrior than I am. I shake my head vehemently. “No, Dante and I have the situation completely under control,” I lie. “But thanks for the offer.”

He looks somewhat amused, and I realise he’s guessed I’m fobbing him off, but he doesn’t pursue the point. “Very well. What are you and Dante planning to do to resolve the situation? It doesn’t seem likely the vampires will stay in that hotel now you’ve discovered them, and wherever they go next they’re bound to be more careful. So what are you going to do?”

I open my mouth to reply, realise I have absolutely no idea, and snap my mouth shut again. “I don’t know,” I say finally.

“I thought as much,” he says mildly. “Well, let’s break this down into small chunks. What will Dante and you do tomorrow?”

Somewhat sheepishly, I admit, “Actually, I was thinking of going Christmas shopping. There are only four days left, and I don’t have anyone’s presents yet.” It seems like a trivial matter compared to hunting vampires, but my mum will probably disown me if I don’t at least buy presents for Kate and Lily.

“Oh.” He considers this for a moment. “That’s as good a plan as any, I suppose. So what are you going to get Dante?” he asks with interest.

I give him a startled look. “Do you think I should get him something?” Shit. The thought hasn’t even occur to me until now.

“You have been spending a lot of time together. It would only be polite to get him something.”

I sigh heavily. “Crap.”

“Watch your language,” says my dad severely, as though he didn’t bandy the F-word about earlier.

“Sorry.”

“Oh!” He starts suddenly. “Eoin rang earlier asking for you. I forgot to tell you. He sounded rather frantic – he said something about sensing you were in danger.” He frowns at me. “He wasn’t wrong.”

This induces me to give an enormous groan. A lot of twins seem to have an almost psychic connection and are able to sense when the other is in trouble; Eoin and I are no different, and in fact it’s probably heightened by our necromancer ancestry. I wish I could fob him off, but it’s unfair to worry him unnecessarily. To this end, I reluctantly get up and fetch the cordless phone from the sitting room, and ring my brother.

To my immense relief Rebecca is the one who answers, and she seems thrilled to be hearing from me. “Thank God you’re okay!” she exclaims. “It was the strangest thing. Eoin and I were watching telly when suddenly he put a hand to his neck and said your name. He rang your dad immediately, who said you’d left a note that you’d gone vampire hunting – which, as you can imagine, did not exactly reassure Eoin. What on earth happened?”

“Erm,” I say awkwardly. “Well, Dante and I tried to hunt the vampires down, and one of them sort of bit me.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone.

“Rebecca?” I demand anxiously. “Are you still there?”

“Hang on, I’m just trying to stave off a panic attack,” she replies weakly. “Are you all right? Does…does this mean you’re going to be a v-vampire now?”

This hasn’t even struck me as a possibility until now, and I allow myself a moment of hysteria; then sanity returns and I realise that if I’m going to vamp out, Dante would have mentioned it by now. “No,” I answer in as calm a tone as I can muster. “It’s only a scratch. And I’m fine.” Apart from the fact I was covered in vampire goo earlier, but I’m trying really hard not to think about this. “Where is Eoin now?”

“On the Internet trying to find a flight to Belfast.”

“What?” I shriek, appalled.

“Don’t worry, he’s not succeeding,” Rebecca reassures me, and I can picture her rolling her expressive dark eyes dramatically. “There’s none left this close to Christmas. Do you want to have a word with him?”

“No,” I say emphatically. “Just tell him I’m okay. And stop him from coming here!”

“Will do.” There’s a pause, and then, “Wait a minute. Did you say Dante is with you?”

I wince. I forgot I left this little detail out the last time I phoned home. “Yes. We’re kicking vampire arse” – well, sort of – “together.” I hesitate, remembering my best friend doesn’t know the truth about Dante, and – for some inexplicable and really stupid reason – decide to make a clean breast of it. “Rebecca, if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Eoin or Mum?”

She sighs. “I suppose so. What is it?”

“Dante is a, er, half-vampire.”

There’s another pause, and this one seems positively ominous. “A what?” she asks finally.

“A half-vampire. A dhampir, they’re also called. His mum’s human but his dad was a vampire.” I’m not sure whether to be encouraged by her silence or not, so I say quickly, “He’s not dangerous. Well, maybe a little, but he hasn’t bitten me. It’s actually proving to be an advantage. He’s got the super-strength and so on.” I mull over what I’ve just said, and realise I mean it. So far Dante’s vampire heritage has proven to be a help rather than a hindrance. I’m still not entirely comfortable with the idea, but I’ve mostly got used to it. If he lunges for my throat I’ll change my mind, but until then…well, people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones, and all that.

“Just out of interest,” says Rebecca, her tone deceptively calm, “do you like giving people heart attacks, or is it just an unfortunate side effect of the fact that you’re completely insane?”

“Um. The latter?”

Ignoring this, she seems to be getting quite into her rant, and continues, “Good God, Aisling, I thought the time you went skydiving was nuts, but this really takes the cake! Not only are you hunting vampires, you’re doing so with someone’s who’s half vampire himself! Does this not sound the least bit unusual to you? Why don’t you just throw yourself off a tall building if you’re so bloody keen to kill yourself?!”

I wait in case she has more to say, but she appears to have finished. “Do you feel better now?” I ask unrepentantly.

“Yes,” she says, with another large sigh. “Please tell me you’re being careful. Who’s going to be my head bridesmaid if you die?” The fact that she’s able to make a joke about the situation reassures me, more than anything else, that she’s okay with what I’ve told her. Well…not okay, but at least resigned to the fact I’m going to do what I want and not listen to any advice. Twelve years of friendship has taught her this.

“Of course I’m being careful,” I lie blithely, and then add in a more nervous tone, “So…how are things at home?”

“Well, your mum is still fuming that you’re ignoring her advice – not to mention that you hung up on her – while Robert is trying, in vain I might add, to sooth her; Eoin is still searching for a flight to Belfast so he can drag you home; and my bloody mother is still insisting I have a bloody tea ceremony as part of my bloody wedding. And I realise the last part is in no way relevant to your situation, but it’s a problem nonetheless.”

Alarmed, I sit up straighter in my chair. “I still don’t understand your reluctance about having a tea ceremony. Isn’t it traditional?”

She sighs heavily. “Yes, but not even everyone in China includes it in their wedding these days, let alone in the Western world. I’ve never even been to China, for God’s sake. And I think your mum and mine are going to have a major blow-up at some point, what with your mum wanting Eoin and me to get married in a Catholic church. Which can only happen if I actually convert to Catholicism.”

“That does sound like Mum,” I agree. “But how are things apart from that? With you, I mean?”

“Fine. My life is nothing like as dramatic as yours,” she says dryly. “Look, I have to go, but good luck, okay? Ring me if you need help with anything.”

“I will.” Something occurs to me, and I add, “There’s one more thing. Do you have any idea what to get a half-vampire for Christmas?”

She laughs. “Sorry. You’re on your own with that one.”

This was a relatively pointless chapter, but I felt I should update since it's been so long. (Check me out - two updates in two days! It's a record!)