The Vampire and the Scorpion (Blood and Venom Saga #1)

16. Sixteen

Sixteen

I awoke Saturday evening, dread looming over me. The squeaking of hinges as Madigan rummaged through his cupboards for his clothes seemed to mock me, as the idea of getting up and dressed just made me want to hide deeper beneath the folds of my bedding. I pulled the covers up over my head, curling into the foetal position.

“Miss Monroe? Are you alright in there?” Madigan said through the curtain.

“I’m fine. I’ll get up in a sec,” I called back to him.

“I’m going out. Did you wish to accompany me?” He sounded uncertain, like he knew something was wrong.

“No, I’ll go on my own. I need to... I need to try...” Spitting out the last words proved impossible.

“I understand. I will see you later. And good luck.”

I hid beneath the covers until Madigan had gone, then finally emerged from my cocoon, sitting upright and running my fingers through my dishevelled hair.

I will get out of bed, but I’m not getting dressed, I bargained with myself.

I will get dressed, but I’m not going out...

Following this step-by-step process, I got myself out of the caravan and into town to find my target. I identified a few potentials: a huddled figure sat on a bench; a young woman waiting for a bus; a drunkard in a kebab shop. But each time I considered approaching them, a jolt of panic consumed me. My heart raced, vomit rising in my throat and a cold, clammy sweat soaked through my clothes. I halted, paralysed, before turning on my heel and hurrying away, putting as much distance between myself and the lost target as possible.

Sunday was no better, and I returned to the showmen’s yard at a snail’s pace, empty-handed. Madigan was sitting at the table, playing solitaire with a battered looking deck of cards. Had he been waiting up for me?

“How did it go?” he asked, but I didn’t respond, instead just kicking off my trainers before drawing the curtain around my bed.

When I woke up on the Monday night, I immediately felt a churning in my stomach. The deadline was terrifyingly close.

Three nights left...

The temptation to hide beneath the covers was ever enticing, but I sat up, closed my eyes and focused on breathing, mentally bracing myself, coming to terms with what needed to be done. Perhaps Austin had been filled with the same steely determination. Like Austin, I’d have to break the rules if I was to succeed. Unlike Austin, I wouldn’t get caught.

Monday night is a theatre society night. I’ll go to the social and find someone to harvest from. And if I fail tonight, I have a second shot on Wednesday...

No need to disguise myself, I dressed in my usual clobber, and even applied some smoky eye makeup before heading to the university. The session was just ending by the time I arrived.

Everyone was standing in a circle, taking it in turns to perform some improv, too preoccupied to notice me slink through the double doors into the hall. That is, until Hayley halted mid-monologue, looked around dramatically, and spotted me.

“Ava?” Her eyes widened, mouth hanging open.

All heads whipped around. Most expressions mirrored Hayley’s.

“Ava!”

Hayley marched towards me, pushing through the circle. I couldn’t tell if she was going to hug me or slap me, but was relieved when she wrapped her arms around my body, pinning my arms to my side, and squeezed, enveloping me with the smell of cigarettes. Instead of the usual cravings it triggered, I was somewhat repulsed. I suppose Ivan’s habit for puffing smoke into my face had one benefit.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I couldn’t see Hayley’s face, but her voice wavered, like she was holding back tears.

The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by people. Jo. Matt. Chloe. Even Greg. Everyone seemed happy to see me, even the members I barely knew.

“I thought you’d been kidnapped. We all did.” There was no mistaking the tremor in Hayley’s voice now, and her face, buried in my neck, was wet.

It took everything I had not to cry, too, but I forced a smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry. I was burgled and it kind of shook me up, so I stayed with my mum for a bit.”

Hayley released me, looking at me through narrowed, slightly reddened eyes. “Really?” Her voice wasn’t shaking now. On the contrary, the single word was firm, forceful, sceptical. But before I could try to convince her of the lie, Jo cut in.

“We need to tell the police you’re alright.” She hugged me. Not as tightly as Hayley, but the embrace was welcome. Damn, I’ve missed these girls...

“It’s alright,” I said, thinking fast. “I’ve been to the station. They know I’m ok. In fact”—I was suddenly hit with inspiration—“they said they’d remove the missing posters, but if we see any they’ve missed, we should take them down, too.”

“Really?” Hayley said again, her perfectly threaded eyebrows drawn together.

“Yes, really.”

Her lips pressed together into a thin line. She was not buying this at all. I wondered if I should try to signal to her again that something was wrong, like when I’d used the phrase ‘ staying with my parents’ in my message to Charlie. Then she’d go to the police and...

No. I couldn’t drag her into this mess. What if Ivan found out? My guts writhed at the thought of what he’d do to her. Besides, I had faith in Madigan’s plan to escape. But first, I needed to harvest from someone. Anyone. Even if it was one of my friends.

“Seriously Hay,” I gave her hand a squeeze. “I’ll explain everything when it’s just the two of us, alright?”

She grazed her lower lip with her teeth, but she finally let out a sigh. “Fine.”

“Come on,” Greg said, addressing the entire group. “We can reunite during the social. We’ll lose our tables if we’re late.”

While the others disappeared backstage to get changed, Greg pulled me to one side.

“I’m glad you’re ok,” he said stiffly, not quite meeting my eye. “I thought... perhaps... your disappearance was my fault. I should have let you stay at my place.”

“Forget it,” I said. “I’m sure you can make it up to me.”

And I know the perfect way to do it, too, involving a needle and tourniquet...

“You could pick next week’s drama games?”

“Actually, I think I need a break from the society.”

“You... you what?” Greg’s mouth fell open. “You can’t leave! Who’ll make the costumes, and run the social media, and send the emails?”

“I’m sure the rest of the committee is more than capable. I’m not really leaving . Just taking a break. Until the end of the month. Then we’ll be even, alright?”

“I guess,” he said with a sigh.

I smiled at him one last time before heading backstage, leaving Greg the last person in the hall. Alone.

“You getting changed?” Hayley asked me, admiring her reflection in a mirror, having already changed into a little, red dress.

“You could say so.” I pulled off my trainers, now permanently stained brown, and dumped them into a cupboard before retrieving my beloved Doc Martens. Reunited at last.

We ended up in the Black Dragon; I was oblivious to how Chloe had been bullied into abandoning her beloved Club Clique, but suppressed a giggle imagining the tantrum she’d have had. Instead of the bass that throbbed throughout a nightclub, the riff of a guitar greeted me as we stepped inside. The pub wasn’t especially busy. A group of people covered in tattoos and leather took a couple of tables. Another was taken by two couples, the ladies dressed in polka dot dresses, and the gents in tight waistcoats. I pushed an intrusive thought of another waistcoat-clad gentleman aside and distracted myself, admiring the vinyls hung on display against wallpaper decorated with pin-up girls.

The theatre society filled the rest of the pub, taking the remaining tables. I sat beside Jo and across from Hayley, intending to move between tables under the pretence of socialising, but in reality, to gauge who was drunk.

Hayley got out her tarot cards, doing quick readings for anyone who asked. “Come on, Ava. Your turn!”

Desperate for just a few minutes of normality with my friends, I shuffled the deck and returned it. I still had the entire night ahead of me to pick a target.

“This represents the past,” she said, drawing the first card and flipping it over. The upside down image of a hooded skeleton on a horse stared at me.

“Death?” I cocked an eyebrow at her. “Gee, great.”

Hayley rolled her eyes and continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Death means change. But it’s upside down, so you’ve been resisting change and holding onto the past. Next is the present.” She flipped the next card. “The Hermit. This represents soul-searching and self-reflection. And finally”—she flipped the third card—“the future. The three of swords reversed. I’d be concerned if it were upright.”

“Why is that?” I looked at the upside down picture; a heart pierced by three swords.

“The three of swords means heartbreak or betrayal. But as it is reversed, it symbolises forgiveness and moving on.”

“Well, isn’t that convenient.” I glanced at Greg’s table.

Jo laughed. “Hate to say it, but I told you so!” She nudged me, a cheeky smile on her face.

“Cringe.” I wrinkled my nose. “Well, I guess I’d better get started.” I picked up my drink, letting another member of the society take my seat for their own tarot reading. “Though I have one question for you, Hay.”

She stopped shuffling the deck to look at me.

“How do you know an upside down card is for me, rather than yourself?”

She opened her mouth to answer, then closed it, frowning, as though the answer had abandoned her.

“Ignore me,” I said, shrugging. “I’m being facetious.”

“No change there,” Hayley said smirking, and Jo broke out into giggles.

“Rude!” I said, pretending to be offended, “If you’re going to take that tone with me, I’m leaving!”

“Don’t be too long,” Hayley said, as she resumed shuffling her cards and fixed me with a hard stare. “Jo and I have missed you.” She was being serious now.

I blew a kiss, winking, before sliding a chair from another table to join Greg’s. I was somewhat disappointed that he was sober. Would it be petty to harvest from him? Probably. But it would have felt just. However, Chloe, still disgruntled about being at the Black Dragon, had been necking shots since her arrival.

“I just can’t stand the music,” she said, slurring her words. “It’s just middle-aged, angry men screaming.”

She didn’t bother to keep her voice down, even as a fresher was selecting songs on the jukebox. A fat, bearded man at the bar shot her a furious look.

“I know you don’t like it, but we have to go to different places to suit everyone’s preferences. Otherwise, people will stop coming,” Greg said in an irritable voice I’d grown familiar with.

Had he overridden her? Impressed as I was that he’d grown a backbone, I kept my expression neutral.

“This place is tragic.” Chloe’s voice grew louder and higher, her London accent becoming more pronounced. “Everyone here is a fat, old, ugly biker.” The bearded guy at the bar drained his pint before cracking his thick, tattooed knuckles. “We should leave soon.”

“No! Not until we have had our songs!” the fresher shouted from the jukebox. “We always end up at a club or sports bar. The one time we go somewhere good you want to cut it short!”

“Imma yeet myself outta here if you’re staying all night.” Chloe shakily got to her feet. “Greg, walk me home.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, unable to hide his impatience.

“It’s dangerous to walk home alone at night! You want to see me on a missing person poster? No offence, Ava.”

I saw my opportunity and snatched it.

“I’ll walk you home,” I said. “I pass your house on the way back to mine.”

Greg looked at me, his eyes wide with surprise. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all.”

Chloe eyed me suspiciously.

“We can grab a drink for the walk back,” I said, sweetening the deal. “The offie down the road does canned cocktails.”

“Thanks Ava,” Chloe said. “I am glad someone cares about me. Y’know, I’ve really missed you. Let’s get a selfie!”

She raised her phone, and before I could protest, she’d snapped the picture. Even while inebriated, she still looked pretty without a filter. I looked the same in every photo: gormless. My insides felt as though they’d been replaced by eels as I recalled her boasts of several thousand followers on Instagram. But then, the eels were replaced by molten lead. If my harvest attempt went south, like it did at the cathedral, I’d just provided evidence of the last person with her.

Another reason not to fuck it up...

I guided her out of the pub, letting her lean on me as she tottered on her ridiculously high heels. We picked up cocktails from the off licence and strolled back to her house, only stopping to discard the cans once empty.

“So, what happened to you, anyway?” she asked, almost collapsing through the door. “I meant what I said earlier. I really missed you.”

“Thanks,” I said, my chest tightening.

I’d forgotten Chloe was an affectionate drunk, and for all her flaws, she wasn’t as bad as I’d remembered. Compared to the likes of Ivan and his minions, she was positively angelic.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get you into bed.” I knew my way around their house from when Greg and I had been dating. I helped remove her shoes and climb the grey, carpeted stairs to her room. Though as drab as the rest of the house, Chloe had brightened her room with pink, flowery furnishings and a Hello Kitty glitter lamp. The only thing she couldn’t glam up was the scent of mould that emanated throughout the entire house. I undressed her down to her underwear and tucked her into bed.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked. “Water? A sick bucket?”

“Water, please,” she said, wriggling down beneath the covers and closing her eyes. It only took a few minutes to fetch a glass of water, but by the time I’d returned, she was fast asleep, mouth wide open and snoring loudly.

I unzipped my bag...

I poked my head into Madigan’s caravan, half-expecting him to be out, but he was sitting with his long legs crossed on the table, reading an old, faded copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles. He peered over the top when he heard the door open.

“Yes?” he asked, his brows furrowed.

“I did it,” I said, though the words were barely audible as they got caught in my throat. Saying it out loud made it real .

“What?” He closed the book without marking the page and set it down, slowly getting to his feet.

“I did it!” I hadn’t put the vial in the bag, but had kept it clutched in my sweaty palm, concealed in the pocket of my hoodie, almost afraid to let it go. As I raised the vial, the dark liquid appeared almost black in the dim light.

“Miss Monroe... I... I’m astounded!” He took the vial, examining it between his long, gloved fingers. “I had tried to encourage you as best as I could—but despite my efforts I—I didn’t really think—and only in two weeks...” He was babbling, running his fingers through his dark hair, pacing as much as the cramped space allowed, but then seized my shoulders, grinning broadly in a way I’d not seen before.

“We must show this to Ivan immediately.” He pressed the vial into my hand. “I don’t know if he’s here right now. Wait by the campfire, and I’ll see if he’s home.”

He strode to the caravan door, but then stopped in his tracks, gripping the handle.

“I’m... I’m proud of you, Miss Monroe.”

He turned his head to hide his flushed complexion as he left. I realised from my aching cheeks that I, too, was beaming, and only partly due to my success.

I did as instructed and headed to the campfire. The shifters were already there, and soon we were all chattering in excitement, unable to keep my news a secret.

“I didn’t think you’d do it.” Marcus looked at me with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“You owe me ten quid,” Billy said to him with a snigger, hand outstretched.

Marcus rummaged in his pocket for his wallet and begrudgingly handed the cash to his master.

“I am very impressed,” Trevor said, nodding, arms folded, smiling pleasantly.

“You owe me twenty quid.“ Billy held out his hand for the money, but Trevor swatted it aside.

“You can fuck off, soft lad.”

“You guys were betting on me?” I asked.

“I was betting on you,” Billy said. “These two were betting against you. Just a reminder of who your real friends are.” He threw a strapping arm around my shoulder and squeezed me into the side of his body.

“So, celebration drinks are on you, then?” I nudged him in the ribs.

“Afraid not, Blondie.” He lowered his voice to mutter into my ear, “This money is going to a very special, wee lady.”

But the banter died as the skeletal form of Dominic hurried towards us, announcing that Ivan was on his way. Sure enough, Ivan’s colossal frame soon came into view, followed by Madigan, whose smile had vanished, and the rest of Ivan’s minions, except for Randall, who was noticeably absent.

“You have something for me?” Ivan asked.

His expression was hard to read; his lips were tight like he had been sucking on a lemon and eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. I held out the vial to him, which he took from me and examined between his thick fingers. He popped the cap off the vial and tipped a couple of drops onto his tongue and smacked his lips together, like someone tasting wine.

“Well, it is freshly harvested,” he said, rubbing his square chin in thought. “It contains so much alcohol, I wonder if you harvested off someone who died from alcohol poisoning.”

My stomach dropped. “I thought we could harvest from drunk people!”

“We can,” Madigan cut in, his voice steady, but his fists were clenched and eyes cold.

“Yes, you can.” Ivan leant down, his face inches from mine, so close that I could smell his sour breath. “But it tastes disgusting. So, tell me, from whom did you harvest this?”

His eyes bored into mine, seeking a giveaway sign of misconduct. I swallowed hard, a trickle of cold sweat running down the nape of my neck. He knew something was wrong. His nostrils flared, reminding me he could smell my stress.

“I didn’t catch their name.” I forced the words out, my throat suddenly restricting.

“It could be her own blood,” Dominic suggested, and Ivan’s eyes lit up, his lips curled into a menacing smile.

“That’s true. I’ll have to test it.” He grabbed my arm with one hand and wrenched me upward until my toes barely scraped the floor.

“What are you doing?” I couldn’t keep the panic from my voice, and before anyone could answer, he brought a silver blade up to my neck. “Stop!”

I thought he was about to slit my throat, but the blade bit down just above my collarbone. Ivan yanked me up higher, so that I was hanging in the air, my arm feeling like it would pop out of its socket. His hot, wet tongue lapped up the blood now flowing from the cut, making my skin crawl. Again, he smacked his lips, tasting my blood, savouring its flavour.

He dropped me, and I nearly lost my footing. Billy, who was closest, caught me before I could fall. I watched for Ivan’s reaction. His eyes narrowed, surveying me, then licked his lips.

“With all due respect, Master Ivan, if she has presented a fresh harvest and it is not her own blood, we have no further reason to suspect her,” Madigan said, his hands still balled into fists.

Ivan gave him a hard stare before turning his gaze back to me. He was looking for an explanation for my success. I said a silent prayer that he would believe my harvest had been authentic.

“Dominic,” he said, his voice, though calm, was a deep rumble. His right-hand man stood to attention. “If you’d been tailing her, you could have confirmed if this had been a truly successful harvest.”

“Master, I... You didn’t ask me...”

“I shouldn’t have to. You will be punished for this, I assure you.” He then turned his attention back to me, leaning in close. “You’re safe for now,” he murmured so only I would hear. “But when you slip up—and you will—I’ll know about it. Until then”—he drew a breath through his teeth, as though pained —“I officially welcome you into the coven. I shall speak with your master about your conversion.” He turned abruptly and marched toward his camper. “Dominic, with me. Now. We need to talk.”

Dominic scrambled after his master, eyes wide with fear. I let out a held breath, clutching at my chest as my heart tried to escape its cage.