Blood Lust 3: Revelations

By Rhys A. Wilcox

Hell is invading the Earth. To compensate, the Heavens are descending. The End of the World is now if Cameron Mortice and his associates cannot rectify the problems. One team must take a trip direct into the bowels of Hell to restore order there, while a second team stays topside But there is dissension in the ranks and not all the protagonists are quite who they make themselves out to be. Some of them aren't even who they think they are. Old debts, conspiracies and revenge. Armageddon's bad enough without making it personal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 6, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447602279

Book preview

God

Prologue: Previously on Blood Lust

The blood lust is an incurable condition of the vampiric state, especially prevalent in the new born. It is a hunger for blood, human blood; a vampire cannot survive on any other. When the body needs to eat, the mind is taken over by the scent of blood, the sound of a heartbeat and the lack of your own. The sensation is almost maddening and sends the body into an uncontrollable rage that only rests when the beating has stopped and the lust has been sated.

What happened? Gillian demanded.

I got kicked out. I lost everything. Cameron said and hung his head in shame.

She pulled the car to a halt at a red light and turned to look at him. Don’t go home straight away, stay here for a while.

"These things are out there and they will find you, Nutter warned and raised himself out of his seat. Watch your back, Cameron Mortice. I hope we will not have to meet again."

Not even half as much as me, pal, Cameron said and continued drinking. He stopped and looked up. How did you…? but Nutter had gone.

The vampire exploded with the intensity of a supernova. Then there was darkness.

Danny heard a voice. Are you all right? Nutter asked.

I can’t see, he whimpered.

I’m not surprised, you stared directly into the heart of evil.

Is it permanent? he stuttered.

It never has been before, Nutter replied.

What’s cool? Cassandra asked Danny.

She’s fucking glowing, man. All over, like an angel, he replied.

Gillian, at some point this morning, you have been… Nutter searched for the right words.

Killed, Danny continued.

Thank you, Daniel, Nutter acknowledged.

What? she asked incredulously.

You’ve been killed, Gillian, Cassandra affirmed.

Don’t be so bloody ridiculous, Cass. Look at me.

I saw you, she stammered, in all that blood.

If this is some sort of joke, then it’s in bloody poor taste, Gillian shouted.

Cameron put his hand on her shoulder to calm her down.

It’s no joke, Nutter continued. I’m afraid it does seem as if you have been turned.

Cam? Gillian needed more confirmation.

I think you’re dead, sweet-heart, he said.

I mean it, man, Danny said. You’ve got the same glow all around you. I couldn’t see it before because you was standing so close to her. He pointed at Gillian.

I am not a vampire, okay? Cameron shouted with annoyance and embarrassment.

Listen, pal, Danny shouted back. I should fucking know, all right? I am the vampire detector around here.

Cameron turned back to face his friend, his eyes glowed red and a pair of sharp canines had pushed through his gums. "I AM NOT A FUCKING VAMPIRE!"

Zorga returned his glance to Junior. The Count, and others, have expressed their concerns about you having risen so quickly in the ranks. They are concerned that this sudden elevation will cause a breakdown in the lines of discipline within the extremely old and well established hierarchy that has developed over the centuries.

Yes, the Count concurred. Although he may be this personal assistant of yours he does not hold authority over us.

But I do. I do have authority over you lot, Junior told the Count at which he nearly gagged. I answer only to my Lord here and any others will answer to me.

Zorga roared with laughter whilst the Count turned red of face and red of eye.

Let me ask you something, Albert, Zorga said calmly. Do you really think that I have so little control over my affairs to allow someone to attain a level of such power without knowing it?

Zorga moved silently over to the bedside, lifted Gillian’s body and sat behind her, cradling her head in his lap.

You will see, Gillian, he told her recumbent form. You will know what it is like to be a goddess at my side.

He placed the cup to her lips and they instinctively parted to the cold metal. He tipped it slightly so the warm red liquid just touched the top of her bottom lip. She opened her mouth wider so Zorga tipped the goblet more to pour the blood into her mouth. Her whole body started to tingle as more entered her digestive organs. She could feel her fangs growing of their own free will. She screamed as the blood burrowed through her stomach lining and enflamed her organs; it reminded her of what it was like to be alive. Her heart yearned to beat again, to have blood pumping around her body again; she needed to fill her body with that heavenly liquid again.

So Penny is your daughter, Danny blurted.

Yes she is, Nutter replied.

But you kicked her out of the family, Danny continued digging his hole.

Yes I did. It was a very long time ago during a period of very different moral values and disciplinary punishments.

You told me last night you hadn’t seen her for over fifty years, Cameron reminded him.

Yes I did, Nutter admitted. It has probably been even longer than that.

So what about the fifty-odd years? Penny finally asked.

The longer I left you, the harder it was to come back for you, Nutter told her. I got tangled up in a few, very long and arduous crusades that confirmed my beliefs that by sending you away I had acted in your best interests. Eventually I realised that decades had past and it would be impossible for me to correct or resume our relationship again.

Nutter looked at Penny for a reaction of forgiveness and she looked up at him.

You’re a useless bastard, aren’t you, she said and he nodded silently. She slipped her arm under his and leaned against his body. He squeezed her arm with his and they walked on in silence.

"I know now, I truly love you," Cameron whispered into Gillian’s ear.

The redness emptied from her eyes, her canines retreated into the top of her mouth. She inhaled sharply and blinked rapidly as shock and realisation sank in. Then she smiled through the pain.

I knew that you did, she sighed and closed her eyes.

He lowered her body gently to the floor and looked guiltily to his comrades who all stared in abject horror at the stake that protruded from her chest.

Zorga stopped and turned to look at the mortals and undead alike. He then looked down to inspect the gaping hole in his chest.

What happens now? one of the vampires nearest Cameron asked.

Cameron turned to it and raised an eyebrow. Well, you know what happens when Bagpuss goes to sleep.

All his friends go to sleep, Danny answered and Cameron nodded.

I need to know what process you used to bring your girlfriend back from the dead the second time, The Boss told him.

Okay, Cameron replied. Basically I filled her body with lots of blood and attached a new heart. I continuously zapped her with electricity and a defibrillator. Oh, and a few adrenaline shots to the heart. But what brought her back to life? I believed it would happen.

Oh my god. You did all that? Gillian gasped. I feel so violated.

Hi dad, Cameron greeted in cheerful tones. I’ve brought Chinese.

John Mortice slipped out of sight behind the door and fell to a heap on the floor.

Cameron picked up the receiver of the phone in the living room.

Hello? he asked blearily. Who is this?

She hesitated. It’s Anne, John’s sister.

Oh, he said as clarity seeped in. Auntie Anne, it’s me, Cameron. What’s up? Can I help?

It’s your uncle, Jonathon. He hasn’t come home.

Give me your address and we’ll be round in a while, okay?

Who are you? Cameron demanded.

Linda Wollstonecraft, she replied. I’m a friend of Anne and Jonathon’s.

It’s okay, Cameron, Anne shouted to him. I called Linda just after you.

The dark, dry stain became moist and redder before their eyes. It flowed from the alley and began to coalesce into a vaguely human form. A vaguely human form that had no flesh or bones but was, in fact, composed entirely of veins.

Jonathon, is it you? Linda asked the veiny being before them and it nodded a reply.

What happened to you? Linda asked.

It showed them what had happened to it. It ripped off its own head and showered them with the substance of its being.

So someone is going around bumping off a few Satanists, Cameron said. Gruner, Linda said distantly. He’s one of the members. He wants to make the sect more diabolic; sacrificing virgin stoats and stuff.

Shouldn’t that be goats? Cameron asked.

Not for where he’d like them put before sacrificing them, Linda said.

He’s possessed, Jennifer said calmly.

What? Linda asked whilst keeping a cautious eye on the deranged diabolist.

Look at his eyes, Jennifer said. He’s been possessed.

Michael, Linda soothed, this isn’t like you.

Yes it is, he growled through gritted teeth.

No, Michael, Linda said, this isn’t like you at all.

That’s exactly what I thought, he thought. This isn’t the sort of thing that I do.

Yes it is! Gruner demanded. This is the way you always were.

Something cleared in Gruner’s face, a look of bewilderment.

‘You’? Gruner questioned his own voice.

Oops, he replied to himself.

The centre of the morbid circle began to fluoresce and the open wounds of each decapitated body started to drip fresh blood.

Klaatu. Verada. Necktie, Gruner called from the gloom.

The oozing from the severed necks had become a cascade as the flow followed the paths of the lines of the thirteen pointed star then began filling the centre.

The blood became solid, colours of white and blue, and formed the shape of a mid-twenties male wearing jeans and a white tee-shirt.

This is Death, Gruner told him and the two women entrapped in their own protective custody gasped loudly.

Gruner, although still prostrate with eyes closed, continued his incantation. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.

The young man began trembling violently, he opened his mouth and screamed with a voice that was never meant to be heard by mortal ears.

Across the road was the low wall of the cemetery and over it poured the up-until-now RIPed inhabitants. Some of them were so putrid that they really did pour over.

As they all desperately clambered over one another, those experiencing the more advanced stages of decomposition had the unfortunate disability of losing a limb if someone else pulled on them a bit too hard. Appendages and rotten flesh cascaded onto the floor on both sides of the wall. Those that made it over picked up and attached the odd errant limb, regardless if it was actually theirs or even the right type.

Their numbers seemed endless and their smell was overpowering.

The front dozen zombies grabbed Gruner by every inch of flesh that they could lay their hands on and pulled him back into the milling crowds; ragged nails scratched deep into his love handles. They swarmed over him and pulled him to the floor. Teeth split skin, hands plunged into open wounds and tore open his flesh. Blood, fat and organs spilled onto the ground and were ravenously scooped up by those unable to get their feet firmly under the table. Eventually his agonised screams of anguish had either stopped or were gagged.

I’m sorry, Cameron, John said.

I know, Cameron told him.

But your father’s not here right now to take your message, John continued and turned his face to them. He had a wide fixed grin with blood down the side of each cheek; a steady flow of which dripped from each saturated hand.

BECAUSE HE’S BURNING IN HELL! the demon announced.

One

He trudged out of the building and looked around him. The sunlight seared his retinas as if it were the first time he had ever gazed upon its brilliance, although his distinct lack of wonderment indicated that this was not the case.

The building from which he had emerged appeared as though it had been the stage for some sort of conflict that he could not remember being a part of. Tables, computers and scientific equipment had been strewn around the floor. The ceiling and parts of the walls had collapsed.

His immediate area was occupied by similar buildings-warehouses, he supposed - but none of the others were in quite the same state of disrepair.

He dropped himself onto a large lump of masonry and pondered his predicament.

Something was wrong. He could remember things like ‘the sun,’ ‘warehouses’ and ‘predicament’ but for some reason could not remember anything prior to a couple of hours ago.

The first thing he remembered was a desperate need to breathe; he was drowning inside a small metal container. He had managed to burst out and coughed up one lung full after another of the viscose, salty liquid that had threatened to kill him before he even knew he was alive.

Then consciousness started to filter its way into his throbbing brain. He was naked, he was cold, he was alone but he was muttering something to someone.

He searched the warehouse and found some towels with which he dried himself. He then found a metal cabinet in which some loose fitting clothes were stored: khaki combat trousers, a dark brown hooded jumper, black Doctor Marten boots and a green wax raincoat. They fit him as though they were his and it was while he dressed himself that he inspected his body.

His movement had been laborious but he had presumed that it was just a side-affect of something that had happened to him in the tank. Now that he actually looked at himself he could see the problem was more to do with muscular politics than fatigue. His body did not seem to fit. He could not remember ever having a different kind of body but he did know that ‘this’ body was not normal. Muscles were too large for the skin. The skin itself was the wrong colour; he could recall several shades that it could have been other than the jaundice yellow that it was. When he stood, he had to stagger for balance. He realised, again, that this had very little to do with the near death experience but more to do with the fact that he was too tall.

He studied his hands; his fingers did not show a consistency of details from one to the next. His knuckles were out of line and his fingernails were of different styles.

He looked down and saw that his feet suffered from a similar case of misalignment.

It was then that the scars came into focus. Neat stitch lines bordered nearly every bone joint across his body. Had this been the result of a very large industrial accident? Or was his failed memory a result of this? Whatever ‘this’ was.

He placed his foreign hands to his face and could not recognise what they felt. He needed a mirror.

His reflection was as fascinating as it was horrific. He had never seen the man staring back at him before in his life yet his mind’s eye stored no image as to whose face he should see reflected back at him. The same scar tissue that webbed his body was jig-sawed across his face. All of that drew his inspection towards his eyes: large black irises floating on a yellow sea of his eyeballs, across which was set a loose weave of red capillaries. They were framed by dark, heavy bruising around his sockets and the entire picture seemed to sink into his head because his brow overhung them like a geological oddity.

All around his monstrous visage was a coat of thick, black, shiny hair. It started very high up his forehead but did not indicate to have been a victim of recession because of its density. It poured down to the base of his neck.

He must have stared at this face for an hour.

Eventually he resumed his exploration around the warehouse and found a shotgun and ammunition for it. Somehow, he knew how to load it.

He took a closer look at the equipment, his birthing pool and scraps of paper that lay across the floor. A large antenna had collapsed with the ceiling. A mass of electrical circuitry had become uncovered in the destruction. He found surgical equipment.

He had a fleeting memory of someone else’s nightmare.

Then he stepped outside.

And that was where he had come in; or rather, out. He could not think of his name let alone anyone else’s name. He could not remember where he had ever been before but knew that other places existed. He seemed to know lots but nothing, directly, about himself.

He studied the scratched surface of the gun barrel and there was something familiar there. He aimed it at a wall in front of him and pulled the trigger. The recoil hammered into his shoulder and dislodged a thought.

He had been a soldier.

But for whom and against whom? He could not remember ever killing anyone let alone ever being in a fight.

He reloaded and pulled the trigger again. The blast reverberated in his ears.

He had visions of huge, devastating guns but could not recall ever having handled one before now.

He reloaded and fired. The smoke burned his nose and lungs.

Images of enemies paraded across his inner eye but they were no beings he had seen before. They had an unreal quality about them but he knew they were real because each one evoked a surge of anger from the pit of his stomach, which rose to the base of his skull and spread across his eyes.

He had reloaded and fired the gun without realising.

Where were his enemies now? Had he defeated them? Had he won? Had he lost and his present state was testament to that?

He had a feeling of incompletion. Not failure, as such, just the notion that whoever it was that he battled, there was never an end and no victory to be claimed by him.

He scanned the derelict site again and a great despondency overwhelmed him. His back arched into a slouch and his chin dropped onto his chest.

I could’ve been a contender, he muttered.

He clutched at the gun barrel and its heat scorched the palm of his hand but he did not flinch at the pain. His only thought now was of doom and who he was to inflict it on.

Two

A literary camera panned across a town and showed row upon row of old, identical terraced houses. It could be the opening credits for a popular TV soap opera. A few people could be seen standing in the streets, seemingly, minding their own businesses. So very much unlike any TV soap opera.

The camera settled on one particular house that did not stand out from any of the other houses around it. The camera zoomed in through the front door’s frosted glass in a manner that would have made David Fincher say, Ooh, that was clever. It zipped along a stripy hall and into a living room that seemed to have been converted into a small rainforest.

The camera paused and looked around the empty room. It went back down the hallway, out through the front door and turned. The number 66 was pinned to the door.

The camera looked up and down the street and travelled to its right (this was the shortest direction to reach an intersecting road). It came to a street sign; Telephone Road.

If it was possible, the camera appeared to tut to itself.

It elevated back into the air, flew over a row of houses and lowered into the next street. It focussed on one particular house that did not stand out from any of the others around it and zoomed in through the front door’s frosted glass (the camera did note the number 66 on the door). It drifted down the hallway that had been painted in delicate pastels and into a similarly decorated living room. Directly opposite was a door that led into a kitchen. From the sounds and movement coming from there, someone was doing something.

In the living room, four people were sat on the floor around a two-by-four-foot, glass-top coffee table. Two people sat on each long side facing the other two. Facing the camera, with their backs to the kitchen door, were a young male and female. They were both aged somewhere in their twenties; he had short fair hair and looked decidedly ill. His skin was paling to the verge of being translucent, his eyes were half closed and the dark rings around them would make you think his nick-name might have been Petra Panda. The sleeves of his black polo-neck jumper had been ripped off and two huge scars ran the length of the underside of his forearms. There was a hole in the back of his jumper that exposed his shoulder blades and another patchwork of severe scarring.

His name was Cameron Mortice and everything was his fault. He was a vampire who carried an aura around with him that ignited supernatural events. He could not control it and had only just found out about it. He seemed to take some perverse pleasure from playing the victim. Even when it was somebody else having their limbs rent asunder.

The girl, on his left side, was Gillian Kildress, his girlfriend. She was holding his hand in her lap with her right and idly tracing the index finger of her left hand along the scar. She was bigger than him; obviously taller and more muscular. But perhaps she only gave that impression because of the way he was slouched over. She had shiny, shoulder-length, auburn hair and here you could see that the left sleeve of her jumper had also been torn away revealing her bare arm. She had also been a vampire at one stage but had died and then brought back to life. She was not sure how to express the ‘I owe you my life’ debt to someone who had been responsible for killing her twice and reviving her once. ‘I owe you one death,’ perhaps.

She sucked on the inside of her lips in deep thought and concern. She sighed and looked up at the woman who sat opposite her - Anne Godwin.

Anne was probably in her forties, although she prided herself on her youthful appearance. She was Cameron’s auntie and they shared a few of the family genes; most noticeably was their hair colouring. His was a comfortable, ruffled mass whilst hers was a neat, ear-length bob. Her face indicated a weariness to it but her blue eyes showed an eagerness and excitement that she did not want to divulge and which scared her slightly. She had been plunged into these bizarre events when her husband had been killed and the news was uncovered that he was planning on sacrificing her and their two sons to Satan. Needless to say her grieving had been short-lived.

Anne was watching Gillian and, as their eyes made contact, she gave Gillian an encouraging smile. Gillian returned the compliment and turned to see what the young woman on Anne’s left was doing. Jennifer Tinker was small and skinny; she was in her late twenties although the look in her eyes showed an experience and knowledge beyond her waifish, innocent appearance. Her blonde hair would normally drop down to the top of her shoulders but she had it tied up with a scrunchy at the back of her head. She had been a member of a Satanic sect and a potential murder victim of one of her co-members and then a co-saviour of the human race.

She was just staring at Cameron.

Jennifer must have sensed the attention directed at her and flicked a quick glance at Gillian then immediately looked away again as soon as their gazes met.

Gillian squeezed Cameron’s hand but did not avert her metaphorical ‘keep off the grass’ look.

A fourth woman, Linda Wollstonecraft, breezed in from the kitchen slightly out of breath. She was short and of a size that calling her large would have been unkind but you could not call her slim. She may have been buxom in a different century. She had wild, brown, curly hair that cascaded halfway down her back, and her cheeks were permanently flushed as if always having a dirty thought on her mind and embarrassing herself with it. She had, sort of, been in charge when the zombies had attacked. It was an automatic instinct for her considering her past experience in such necromantic matters and her genetic lineage. She was a daughter of the Devil.

Found it, she puffed and noticed the chilly atmosphere.

Have I interrupted something? she asked.

Nothing that didn’t need interrupting, Anne told her.

What did you find? Cameron asked and cut the steely air like a carving knife through a cabbage.

Linda proudly displayed an aerosol of glass cleaner and a yellow cloth.

The good thing about creating a scrying pool, she said as she approached the top end of the table, is that I also get the opportunity to do a bit of housework at the same time. She knelt on the floor at the head of the table next to Gillian and Jennifer.

What is a scrying pool? Anne asked.

What an exceptionally pertinent question, Linda commended. Jennifer?

The best way to describe it is that the table is a computer and Linda is going to dial in to her internet server.

Who is it? Cameron asked. A. O. Hell?

Very clever, Linda said off-handedly. Gillian, mentally, sighed with relief; it seemed that he was returning to his normal irritating self again.

Linda popped the cap off the can and sprayed a light mist from the aerosol that gently settled on the glass surface of the table. She then took the yellow duster and rubbed the cleaner in smooth, broad, anticlockwise strokes.

The four spectators watched as the speckles of liquid smeared over the glass. The smears then coalesced into a swirling eddy of acrid cleansing spray and then the glass of the table seemed to follow the current.

This bit can be a bit painful on the eyes the first time, Linda warned.

Gillian and Anne both looked away immediately. As the matter transference of solid to liquid took place, Cameron became determined to stare at the effect; not so much as to see what would happen next but moreover to show that he could. He realised that tears were rolling down his face and he blinked his eyes to clear the fog. Only Linda and Jennifer watched on as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

I found the secret to be to pretend you are watching the bath water run away, Linda suggested, but from the position of the plug hole.

The whirlpooling mixture of silicone and anti-static spray picked up momentum and Linda removed her rotating hand. The table bowed slightly at the centre of the vortex.

I think you’ll like this bit, Cameron, she told him and so he desperately tried to watch through his weeping eyes.

The bow became a point which began to drill itself into the floor; as the point went further down the hole in the floor widened as did the opening of the table until it reached the very frame.

The air in the room suddenly got sucked into the vortex.

It’s okay, Linda yelled over the rush of wind, it just takes a moment for the pressures to equalise.

At which point it did exactly that and a thick red liquid funnelled its way up through the base of the whirlpool into the circle of the glass table top. With it came an overwhelming smell of uncooked meat.

The four spectators reeled from the olfactory assault.

Sorry, Linda apologised, I should have warned you about that.

It’s blood, Cameron coughed and felt a stabbing pain build up behind his eyes.

What did you expect? Linda asked. A dialling tone?

Anne leaned over to peek under the table; the cone had gone and, by all accounts, the tabletop had returned to its normal thickness. On top, however, the pool of blood undulated as if it had considerable depth.

Linda rubbed her hands together. Who can I get for you? she asked Cameron.

He looked to Gillian for advice.

Does it matter who’s first? she asked him and he shrugged.

Okay, Danny Knight, he told Linda.

Where is he? she asked as she wafted her hand over the pool.

Isn’t that what you’re supposed to be telling us, Cameron scoffed.

Roughly, Linda sighed, whereabouts might I find him. Otherwise it might take a bit too long to search the entire planet.

Sussex, Cameron told her. Then added, Perhaps.

That’s a good enough start, Linda mumbled and dipped her finger into the blood puddle. It rippled more than it should have and its colour changed through purple to blue. It was sky.

Can you give me anything else that could narrow the search? Linda inquired.

He’s probably with Cassandra Twee, Gillian told her.

What an odd name, Linda commented.

Says Belinda Beelzebub, Cameron retorted and received a quick sideways glare from his target.

Glad to have you returning to your old self a bit, she snorted.

The blue changed shade slightly and had become water.

The stabbing pain behind Cameron’s eyes had transformed into a heavy aching thud that had spread around the back of his skull and rested at the top of his neck.

The image had become half blue, half grey; there were buildings now.

The pain stretched through to his gums.

The buildings filled the image and were getting larger.

We’ve got them, Linda announced.

His teeth felt like they were being pushed from the back forwards; it felt like they were going to be forced out of his mouth.

Broken buildings, smoke, rubble and people running amongst the damage.

Cameron jerked slightly as a tooth suddenly gave way; one had given up the struggle and popped through his gum.

Jesus, he blurted and slammed his hand over his mouth to try to stop any more falling out. He jumped to his feet and ran out of the room.

Cam? Gillian called after him.

Let him go, dear, Linda advised. I need you to contact your friends.

I’ll see to him, Jennifer suggested too quickly but Anne was already to her feet.

Thank you, Anne, Linda said and returned her attention to the vision in her coffee table.

What on earth has been going on here? she asked rhetorically. And where exactly is ‘here’?

Her questioning was more than just speaking her thoughts but rather an attempt to distract Gillian’s attention from trying to kill Jennifer with her eyes.

The scene before them now showed even more detail. Something had managed to destroy a large area of this sea-side town. An entire path from the water had been ploughed indiscriminately through the buildings, vehicles and populace alike. People ran to-and-fro, either in blind panic or in a desperate attempt to help those who were still in a condition to receive it. There was a small group of figures standing at the very end of the swathe of destruction.

The image zoomed closer to these people and Gillian felt it necessary to lean forward for an even closer look.

Well, that’s definitely Cassandra, she said and pointed to the figure of a small, but obviously female figure who stood out more than any of the others. She was more obvious not just because of her vertical stature (or lack of) but because of her colouring. She had a similar appearance to how Cyndi Lauper used to look back in her hey-day but if viewed through a pair of 3D specs.

Cassandra was a long-term friend of Gillian’s. She had been there when Cameron had not. Drunken ‘girly’ chats; consoling those exam blues; bars of chocolate and boxes of tissues during Animal Hospital. And of course she had been there whilst battling the vampire army, but then Cameron had been there then as well.

And that must be Danny, she presumed as a tall, dark-haired figure shook hands with a bulky blond man.

Danny was tall, dark and handsome. He was Cassandra’s man and he knew it. Many a female and male had attempted to lure him away from her and, even if she did not have martial art skills to fight them off, he was either devoted enough or too naïve to recognise the come-ons. It had been during the vampire episode when he had inadvertently stared into the heart of an exploding vampire which altered his vision to make it possible for him to recognise the undead from normal humans.

Get ready to talk to him, Linda warned. For some reason there’s quite a bit of interference and I’m not going to be able to hold this connection for very long.

Cameron had shot upstairs and threw himself into the bathroom; he thrust his head over the sink and spat, desperate to clear the debris from his mouth. Nothing but saliva came out. The pain had subsided slightly, the pounding had gone completely and his teeth felt comfortable again. He explored his molars with the tip of his tongue. His salivary glands were working overtime so he kept his head over the sink and spat again.

He traced his tongue along his bottom set of teeth; from back to front then around to the back again.

Spit.

Nothing missing from there but he definitely felt something pop out.

His tongue went to his top back, left tooth and began tracing its way round.

Spit.

‘Pop’ out. It had been the same sort of noise and internal action that happened when a part of his body healed; the same sensation as when a newly formed bone slipped back into its appropriate socket.

His tongue came to the front, left molars.

Spit.

Left canine.

Maybe he had lost a tooth during his fight with Gruner and had not realised; he was taking a while to heal the scars in his arms so maybe the tooth had only just grown back.

Incisors.

Spit.

Right canine.

Shit.

He raised his head swiftly and stared at his mouth in the mirror over the sink. He had curled up the top right corner of his lip to display the newly found dental oddity. The tooth in question was twice as long as it should have been; the tip of his tongue was precariously balanced on the point of the tooth. It looked sharper than it should have been but then that might just have been the affect it gave from being pushed out that far.

He traced the tooth from its base in the gum to the point again. He stared fixedly at the tooth and tried to remember what it was he did that made his fangs appear and shrink in the past. It was like trying to find the muscles to make your ears wiggle; you can’t actually feel them but you know that they are there somewhere.

He tried pushing the tooth back in with his tongue.

A knock on the bathroom made him jump and spin around ready to attack.

Cameron? Anne called from the other side of the door.

Yeah?

Are you okay?

Don’t come in.

I wasn’t going to.

I’m not masturbating.

Anne left a diplomatic moment of silence in during which they both thought, Why did he say that?

Okay, she finally said, are you sure you’re all right?

I’ll be fine.

I’ll go back down then?

Yeah, he said then quickly changed his mind. No, could you wait a second?

He felt the need not to try to keep this to himself. Some issues were snowballing in his paranoia and he needed reassurance from someone.

He turned back to the mirror for a last check of the fang and, in a last ditch attempt of self-reassurance, he looked himself in the eye.

Oh, fuck.

We’ll see you as soon as you can get here, Gillian said into the telephone and then hung up.

The image in the scrying pool was of a middle-aged man with neat silver hair. He was standing next to a small public phone booth in a rain soaked street. As he placed the handset on the receiver the image faded.

Gillian looked at the two demonologists.

That’s the lot, I’m afraid, she told them. It’s a terrible thing to say but I’m glad it wasn’t just us. I think it’ll ease Cameron’s mind a bit too.

Misery loves company, Linda said.

I am worried about him, though, Gillian whispered.

Why? Linda asked.

He doesn’t look well, she said. His skin’s pale and dry. He’s got those horrible dark patches around his eyes. And those huge scars down his forearms don’t look like they’re healing.

They all fell into a contemplative silence.

He is dead, Jennifer suggested.

And he has been through a lot recently, Linda reminded.

Do you know anything about vampires? Gillian asked them.

Only from books, Jennifer said.

I’ve never met one first-hand either, I’m afraid, Linda confessed.

When it first happened, he could just heal himself, she told them. He could fix broken bits; replace missing parts and still look perfectly healthy.

Like when he regrew his arm, Jennifer said.

Exactly. But now it takes him longer to do it and it’s never quite perfect.

Perhaps he’s just tired, Jennifer said.

Perhaps he’s not meant to be, Linda said.

You think he might be dying? Gillian asked and did not fail to notice Jennifer’s eyes widen.

Sometimes nature has a way with catching up with beings such as ourselves, Linda said. I think whatever is to happen to Cameron is to be up to Cameron.

Gillian was obviously dissatisfied with the answer but decided to leave the subject anyway. She looked at Jennifer; there was something about the expression on the woman’s face that made her extremely angry.

Cameron and Anne were sitting on a double bed in one of Linda’s bedrooms.

And normally you can make them come and go as you please? Anne asked.

You’ve seen me over the last couple of days, Cameron told her. I’ve been able to flash the eyes whenever I want. I didn’t ask them to come on this time - I didn’t even feel them come on - and now I don’t seem to be able to turn them off.

Anne stared into his crimson irises. She stretched her head forward to peer really deeply into them.

Cameron rolled his eyes around so she could have a good look and his vision settled on a protruding artery on her neck.

It pulsed and he looked away quickly. He swallowed back the sudden build-up of saliva.

So, apart from these physical changes, you feel fine? she asked.

Mm-hm, yep. Fine and dandy, he replied automatically.

Anne sat back and stared at her nephew. She could not decide who he was more like: his father, John, or mother, Sally.

She could see a lot of John in his mannerisms: stubbornness, arrogance and a mix of self-loathing and self-pity. On the other side there was so much of Sally as well: his willingness to help; his face; his moral strength.

Cameron was trying to look everywhere except at his auntie. He had a very bad feeling about this.

Cameron, Anne said and he managed to look at her, please say if this is none of my business, but what did happen to you and Gillian?

He stared at her for a second.

Do you want the long or short version? he asked.

Short, she requested.

Well, he started, "we became vampires. Gillian turned bad and I had to kill her. I, along with the people I need to help us now, saved the World. I then managed to bring Gillian back to life. I died but continued living. Gillian also died and lived but then died