7. Put a lid on that coffin.
"Robin, you make me very curious. There's something very off about you."
"Oh really? Well I'm sorry about that," I mutter. We hit a t-junction and she tells me to pull left.
"What are you going to see Vladdy for? You're not going to hurt him are you?"
"I'm not sure what I'm seeing him for yet. And no, I don't intend to hurt anybody. You know him?" I ask, thinking that maybe this girl can illuminate a few lost places within my head.
"Not very well. We're very distantly related, so I knew him from family junk. But since a long time before he even KOed I've not seen him, until recently. I like to go down to the crypt and gaze at him. He's well fit. Shame about the coma thing. Can't date a guy who's in a coma… or distantly related either, not without being a bit scummy."
"Right… So this Vlad guy is in a coma." Makes sense from what that spooky man said yesterday. "How long has he been under?"
"Close to three years," she says, and then I see her stick-like arm snake out ahead as she points to a doorway a little down the corridor. "Go through that room there." I do as she says and come across two guys playing a thumb-war together by candlelight. I blink, seeing that one of them is the pale long-haired man from yesterday who jump-started this investigation of mine. The other should be dead. He's the spitting image of the weird guy who talked to his wrist, the guy who had a memory blank about everything other than his name. I take a step backwards, forgetting about the girl on my back and loosing grip on her. She slips off and lands with a thump on the floor behind me.
"Robin! You came. How very efficient," says the long-haired man while I make a silent apology to Lucinda and help her up.
"It's the pineapple boy," says the Kurt clone. I turn back to face them, my brows ruffled and my fists clenched. This changes things. Kurt hadn't factored into any of my theories about what went on during that lost year. I figured he was an unrelated event. People don't show up dead, then go missing and show up alive years later. That's too weird. It doesn't fit. I can't even nearly slot it into place. My head is reeling so hard trying to shift everything to fit in this new piece of the puzzle, I don't really hear the next few exchanges.
"Eughh, what are you doing traipsing around with the half-breed?" I don't reply. "Vlad is through there. But you've picked a rather pointless time to come along, Branagh. You always struck me as being a simple boy. Best to come when Ingrid is asleep. But you're here now…" His eyes snap to the shadows.
"Talking with the dinner guests is prohibited," drifts in Ingrid's voice. Everyone seems to tense up, frozen and coiled. My eyes flick across to where the voice came from. She steps into the light, a cocked smile curving against her cheekbone. "Perhaps I should take a souvenir from Vlad as punishment for your disobedience," she says, crossing her arms and coming to a stop in the centre of the room. "A finger perhaps?"
"That will not be necessary, Countess," replies the long-haired man. He says it submissively, but I can see through this meek sheen. I can see the meekness for what it really is; a thin coating over a pool of powerful anger. Ingrid can probably see it too, but to press it would break the sheen and unlock something she probably couldn't hack. Feels like everyone's on eggshells. There's a veneer which is so very close to cracking and everyone in this room is doing all they can to keep it in-tact. I let a hard smile spill onto my lips and step forwards with every intention of smashing the veneer to pieces. Ingrid's eyes snap towards mine and my lungs empty of air. I can't breathe. I drop like a stone to the floor, catching myself on all fours, struggling to tell my lungs to fill. My ears swim with her laughter. It's like I'm underwater. I hear the sounds through half-deaf ears.
"No good, breather. Stay down and keep down."
"He's a breather?!" squeals Lucinda with a voice full of disgust. Ingrid's eyes flash over me to Lucinda. I'm trying so hard to breathe that when my lungs finally respond I take in breath way too harshly and cough on it.
"Half-breed. Where did you crawl from? We haven't seen hide nor hair of you for some time."
"You put me in a suit of armour and I couldn't get out. And euggh, that breather helped me." I feel a foot nudge hard into my side. I look up to Lucinda and read her expression. It looks like she's just swallowed a maggot.
"Oh yes. I remember now. That's a good one. I'll keep it in mind for next time," grins Ingrid. Her dark eyes float from Lucinda, to me, back to Lucinda again. Licking my lips, I get to my feet. I've barely straightened up when I feel my legs give way under me and for the third time this evening I've unwontedly slammed into the floor. Something's going on. I know it's getting on a bit time-wise, and sleep has not been my friend recently, but I'm a fairly rational kind of a guy. Other than loosing a chunk of memory I've never had anything happen to me that I cannot explain logically. Sure, I have an overactive imagination, but I know the difference between reality and fiction. I think I'm starting to loose a grip on myself right now. "I said STAY DOWN, breather!" Ingrid yells at me, so angry that it's almost like her eyes flash red. I glare at her and sit up, pressing a gentle hand to my bruised rib-cage, not gently enough. "Yes, Mirror-Shine, this loser here is a breather. Got a problem with that?" scoffs Ingrid to Lucinda.
"I thought there was something off about him. I should have clocked it. He's warm," she wrinkles her nose up and shakes her head, arms crossing over her chest.
"Funny that you should be so disgusted," Ingrid cocks her head and takes a step towards Lucinda. "Since you're a half-breather yourself. No good as a vampire. No good as dinner. Very good as a plaything."
I roll my eyes and get back to my feet, sticking a pointed finger towards Ingrid and painting a tough look on my face. "Right, that's IT! I've had it with the constant jip about vampires!" I yell. "I haven't dressed as a vampire in years. And so what if I still watch the occasional episode of Buffy?! Maybe, just maybe I watch it because Sarah Michelle Geller is fit-as, yeah?" There's a placid pause before the air ripples with Ingrid's laughter. I clench down on my jaw and pull a face. "What the hell am I even doing here? I'm wasting my time on this?" I say out loud.
"I thought as much, Branagh. You haven't got your memory back. I knew you were bluffing me. The Slayer boy did a better job at overpowering Vlad's little piece of wizardry. But I guess we can expect that. None of the Van Helsings have a head on them, but they've all got more of a head than you."
My skull feels like a balloon, my brow is furrowed and eyes are hard. I sigh and shake my head. "I didn't come here to get insulted by a bunch of reefer-sucking thags," I say, turning my back to them and starting to head off the way I came.
"What did you come here for then, garlic-muncher?" Ingrid yells at me. I pause and look loosely over my shoulder. Time to crack that veneer.
"To dig around, to unearth certain things that should not have been buried." I turn to face forwards. "I want to know what happened with Will Clarke. Where did he disappear to?" the room goes cold. I mean really, really cold. Her eyes flicker into light grey and a wind scatters everything about, swirling at my hair and snuffing the candles into darkness. There's some sound of scuffing shoes, of panic, of retreating footsteps, and then a click of fingers. The candles puff into being all at once, like someone flicked a switch. I rove my eyes around the room. Ingrid's eyes are light. Kurt has vanished. The long-haired guy is making a coded gesture to me that I think might mean I shouldn't have mentioned Will. The veneer is cracked. I smile.
"So spill. Will Clarke was last seen with you. Where was it that he flopped to?" Ingrid's face twitches and she hovers towards me, grabbing my collar and shoving her face up to mine.
"He's dead, Branagh. There's nothing I can do about that. Three years of searching for a spell, a way to bring him back. Three years of failure. Of getting my hopes up only for them to be crushed into dust," she says through clenched teeth, her grip on my collar pushing so strongly on my throat that I can barely breathe. I grab her hand in an attempt to free up my windpipe, but it only makes her push harder. "Face the facts. It's never going to happen. It's time to end the search, put a lid on that coffin." The world swims in front of my eyes as her grips gets tighter and tighter. "But not before I put the lid on your coffin, and every one of those interfering breathers that Vlad was so keen to protect." Her voice seems soft and the room becomes white as my lungs shiver for air. My throat roars under her grip. I swear there's a sparkle of tears in her eyes. But it could be a sparkle of tears in mine. I can't tell what's what anymore. The world is paling out. "He didn't protect Will. But he protected dinner ingredients. Makes me sick!"
"Ingrid, you are killing him. Is this really what you want? I thought you wanted to take the Slayer next and save the Branaghs for last?" I think this comes from the long-haired man. It sounds richly smooth and English. My eyes flicker black and white. She drops me, scatters me on the flagstone floor. I stare up at the ceiling above, taking great gasps in. Talk washes in a haze above me.
"Where's Kurt?"
"It seems that he has done a runner, dear daughter. Can't say I blame him. Every time that boy's name is mentioned Kurt gets on the wrong side of your fangs."
"Aggggh!" screams Ingrid. "The half-breed will have to do in his place!"
There is a yelp that comes from Lucinda, followed by the pattering of feet. I blink and regain my vision, even if it is a little shaky in places.
"I love it when they run!" a snide smile ripples onto Ingrid's lips and she steps over me towards the door I came through earlier.
Through blotchy eyes I see the long-haired guy peer down at me. "Are you dead?"
"Not quite," I croak. He gives me a hand and I shakily climb to my feet, swaying a little.
"Hmmm…. You are looking as pale as I. This isn't good at all. Are you able to take Vladdy to safety?"
"I'm bailing. This is all too weird. I need some serious head-down time. Which way's the exit?" I swallow down on sandpaper, warm hand capping sore windpipe.
"Yes," he coos, looking very regal, "perhaps it is better that you come back at a more convenient time. If not daytime tomorrow, then come early evening. Ingrid plans to be out hunting then. The castle should be relatively psycho-free." I'm too tired. I just want to get home. I shake my head and pace off, retracing my steps up to the party room and out into the cold grey night.
I'll put the next chapter up sometime next week. Please could you review.