The Buccaneer Chronicles:

Vampire Mutations

First Edition

by Karen Dunn

artwork by Andy Simpkins

http://www.StaggeringStories.net/

This is the sixth story of The Buccaneer Chronicles first series. Other eBooks in this series, and more besides, are available free from the Staggering Stories website.

This eBook is copyright 2010 to Karen Dunn & Andy Simpkins and is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 licence (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/).

"Understand we'll go hand in hand. But we'll walk alone in fear."

"Do you believe in destiny? That time rewards us for our acts?"

Taking the Ship into E-Space so that both she and the crew can rest, relax and have a picnic, Lord Macfadyan discovers a planet with just one village sitting around a large tower. There he discovers he's not the first Time Lord to have visited this planet. And he isn't impressed. Whoever came before didn't finish the job. Still, what can you expect from inexperienced youngsters?

An old enemy is again on the move. Is Lord Macfadyan's faith before his mind? Facing up to things, he finds that his mind, or rather, his conscience, isn't all it's cracked up to be....

Chapter One - The Nightmare

Nights are the most difficult.

I lay there for hours at a time on the most comfortable bed I have ever known, my head sinking into the feather-soft pillow, completely unable to sleep.

My body is usually exhausted from the rigors of the day but my mind has started playing tricks on me it hasn't tried since I was a kid - shadows move and I swear to God there is someone whispering just far enough away for me not to be able to hear them properly.

I asked Mac about it once but he just said the Ship was working through a few problems and I should ignore it.

When I asked him what problems they were he told me my mind couldn't possibly handle the knowledge and if I was scared of the dark I should try sleeping with the light on.

He then flicked through the pages of the book he was reading with an air that told me I was dismissed.

I like to think I'm a big enough man to take the odd insult but there are times with Mac when I consider decking him just to make myself feel good.

Getting thrown off the Ship would do me no good, though, and there is no way I'm sleeping with the light on like a frightened tot so I've fallen back on that reliable stopgap - patrolling.

I know it sounds ridiculous, patrolling on a ship where the closest thing there is to an enemy is probably skulking somewhere in the bowels of the craft fighting a never-ending battle against insanity, but it makes me feel useful.

I allow my gaze to travel along the walls and floors and across the ceiling of the ship, taking in the almost gothic feel of the décor. My pistol is in its holster inside my jacket as usual but as I stand here, alone among architecture that reminds me, in a sideways kind of way, of the interior of Notre Dame cathedral, I feel almost blasphemous. I would never consider walking into a church with a gun and, although I know this is a ship, dancing through deep space at the whim of its eccentric commander, I have the same sick feeling in my stomach.

Despite my misgivings, I have to admit to myself yet again that this place amazes me.

The vaulted corridors go on and on forever but, despite its inexorable resemblance to a medieval church, this is the last place you could ever hope to find an alter.

Colonnades loom above me adorned with busts that range from the pleasantly flowery to the most evil-looking ghouls, their blank eyes staring down at me as if daring me to make a false move.

There are roundels set into the walls, their outlines flush to the surface, their presence given away by a gentle glow, which speaks of circuitry hidden behind them, incongruous against the ancient surroundings.

I ponder briefly that my parents would love it here. Historians and archaeologists both, I was dragged round more than my fair share of imposing cathedrals and crumbling ruins as a child. Even now I don't see the attraction.

Lost in a memory in which my exasperated father was trying to impress upon me the importance of a recently discovered tomb in the bowels of some nameless church, I jumped as a wordless shout erupted from behind a closed door.

Looking up I realised I was outside Blanche's room and the shout had been the all too familiar angry cry which spoke of trouble.

Drawing my pistol cautiously from its holster, I peeked round the door to see the girl curled up in the middle of her bed, dead to the world. The blanket was gripped tightly beneath her chin and a frown played across her forehead.

She gave an agitated mumble in her sleep and the frown deepened as she rolled over and kicked the constricting blanket to the floor.

Crossing the room, I retrieved the blanket and draped it over her sleeping form as she muttered her disapproval at some unseen foe.

Resisting the urge to stroke her hair as she slept, I realised I had come to look on Blanche as a younger sister. I've never had a little sister but I know that if I had I would look out for her to the bitter end and never ever let her anywhere near Mac.

Leaving her to sleep, I returned to the door as she continued her mumbled dream battle. I froze with my hand on the door handle waiting for her to settle, loath to disturb an already disturbed sleep. If she woke now and saw me standing here, gazing at her, the next month of my life would be a hell of peeping Tom jokes.

For a moment it seemed that whatever had invaded her dreams had decided not to bother her further and she fell quiet, though the frown never left her brow.

I allowed an unconsciously held breath to hiss through my teeth and silently pulled the door closed, leaving her to her sleep.

I hadn't even taken three steps down the corridor when a heart-wrenching scream had me racing back to the room.

The girl was sitting bolt upright in bed, her eyes screwed tightly shut, tears streaming down her cheeks as she wailed the most pitiful of cries into the night.

I shouted her name as I crossed the room and seized her by the shoulders, shaking her sharply.

The cry stopped as abruptly as it had started and she blinked at me in confusion before dissolving into tears and flinging her arms round my shoulders.

She didn't say anything, just held onto me like a lifeline as wracking sobs shook her body.

I allowed myself to stroke her hair and make soothing noises until she calmed, a long, shuddering breath signalling the end of her tears.

She pushed herself away from me, dragging a sleeve wetly beneath her nose and blinking

away the remnants of tears from red eyes,

"Sorry."

I awkwardly offered her my handkerchief,

"Nightmare?"

She nodded and snuffled her nose into the handkerchief before tucking it into the sleeve of her nightshirt, "Don't know what it was about. Just that I was very scared."

She shivered even though the ship's temperature is perfectly balanced, and pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, "Do you ever get that?"

I shrugged and sat on the edge of the bed, "I don't think I dream. If I do I don't remember them."

"You're lucky. Hello Cre'at."

I turned and saw Cre'at hovering next to the door, a metal tray attached to one of his stunted metal arms bearing a steaming mug of something or other.

It still unnerves me slightly to think that a floating metal head with a ham fixation is more intelligent than Blanche and I put together.

I nodded as it drifted across the room towards us, "What's that, buddy?"

Cre'at came to a halt next to Blanche, bobbing gently as he extended the tray with a barely discernible purr of gears,

* I have brought hot chocolate. *

"So I see. Why?"

It was like talking to a defective Speak and Spell machine, * Hot chocolate is good for relaxing humans when they are unable to sleep. *

Blanche reached out and took the offered mug, inhaling deeply of the aroma before taking a sip. When the tension in her shoulders lessened visibly I gave Cre'at the thumbs up, "You're a godsend"

* The probability of an omnipotent, all-seeing being existing is questionable and the chances of such a mythical being instructing me to bring hot chocolate to Blanche is even less likely. *

That was another thing I found hard to deal with. The Head took everything at face value. If you told it to go take a running jump it probably would - if it had any legs. Rather than explain the meaning of 'godsend' I scowled at it, "You forgot the marshmallows."

* I apologise. I will fetch them. *

"Don't worry about it."

Cre'at bobbed silently for a second or two, taking in Blanche's obvious enjoyment of the chocolate and the yawm which escaped her as the lack of a true night's sleep caught up with her.

I took the cup from her and returned it to the tray, ushering Cre'at out of the room and bidding Blanche goodnight. I would speak to her tomorrow about the nightmare.

As I closed the door Cre'at buzzed past me with an almost smug expression on his expressionless face, * Hot chocolate returns humans to the land of nod. *

"The land of nod?!"

* I am attempting to blend in more. *

"I see."

I watched him poodle off down the corridor to who knows where and resumed my patrol. An hour later, klaxons blaring around me, I was desperately trying to find my way to the control room.

The words on the page blurred and Eleanor blinked back tears of fatigue before snapping the book shut with a sigh. Reading the same paragraph over and over was no fun at the best of times. With the hunger raging through her veins it was intolerable. She would get no more work done this evening.

She pushed the book across the heavy oak table away from her, flinching when it brushed against a rack of test tubes, making them tinkle like wind chimes while the liquid inside sloshed gently against the glass, glistening in the light of the table lamp.

With a tired groan she kneaded her dark eyes with the heels of her hands before pushing a flop of unruly black hair away from her forehead. It had been a while since she had felt this exhausted and the washed-out feeling unnerved her.

Pushing herself away from the table and its clutter of books and equipment she allowed her gaze to roam the room.

There was very little light in the room - glancing at her watch she realised she had worked all day again - and the table light made the low beams in the ceiling cast long shadows onto the panelled walls.

The chill in the air told her the log fire in the grate behind her was flickering feebly as it ate through the last of the wood. Turning away from the table she reached for the poker and jabbed viciously at the fire, cursing the dying flames before giving it up as a bad job and crossing the room to the window to pull aside the heavy velvet drapes.

The sun had gone down hours ago and the lane outside was black as pitch though she could make out the inviting glimmer of the lights of the town in the distance.

The hunger tugged at her stomach in an angry roll and she gave into it without a fight.

She left the study and took a black cloak from the coat-stand in the hall, pulling it over her knee-length red dress and fastening the silver clip at her throat.

She didn't bother to lock the front door as she stepped out onto the path. No one ever passed this way so late and even if they did, her reputation and that of her friends would ensure her possessions remained untouched.

Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she made her way up the lane towards the town, pulling the cloak tightly around her in defiance of the cold.

The night was almost perfectly dark. Clouds thick with threatened snow hung heavy in the sky, obscuring the moon.

Eleanor's breath fogged before her as she walked, unfazed by the darkness and the shadowed trees which loomed around her like monsters. There was a bite to the air that promised snow but she kept her steps unrushed and steady.

She reached the edge of town and paused to take her bearings. To call it a town was perhaps a little generous. It comprised of a huddle of shops around a market square, cobbled roads preserved in deference to an age when the sound of horses' hooves echoed a hollow resonance as they pulled carts laden with produce from farms scattered across the countryside for miles around.

The horses were still around but these days the farmers brought their goods to town by tractor, their rusting suspensions protesting as they juddered along, fighting a losing battle against the cobbles.

A clock tower rose from the centre of the square, keeping time quietly, chiming away the hours as life moved on.

Directly behind the clock stood the life's blood of the town, the pub.

No one could remember how the King's Cruelty got its name. It had been generations since the people had bowed to royalty.

But the lights in the windows always promised a warm welcome, the food was good, the wine exquisite and the entertainment guaranteed to see patrons returning for more. So who cared if the place had a silly name?

Eleanor could hear the drone of conversation and the clatter of glasses from within the pub while the swell of music told her the band was earning its pay in the back room.

She pushed open the door and breathed in the warm air, the heady mix of sweat and ale and cigarette smoke dancing in her nostrils as she closed the door behind her.

It was like walking into an old English pub somewhere in the heart of Somerset - an image William, the owner, barman and bottle-washer positively encouraged.

The beer was pulled from wooden barrels from beneath the bar that dominated the centre of the room; the lighting was just low enough to hide the corners of the room in shadow and the haze of cigarette smoke made the air move.

The bar was busy but not too crowded, men and women flushing a hard day out of their systems over a drink or two and a debate with friends about the state of the world and how they would put it right if they were in charge.

William, a bear of a man with shoulder-length hair, paused in his task of polishing a glass, the fragile container looking tiny in his huge hands, and nodded to Eleanor as she passed, easing herself through a group of drinkers and opening the door to the back room.

The back room was a foreboding den, the atmosphere as dark and heavy as the music.

In a parallel of the main bar the air hung heavy with smoke and alcohol fumes, so thick you could taste it, but the similarities ended there.

While the bar was built for carousing, the back room was designed with comfort in mind.

The whole room reeked of cosy opulence and the low beams hanging from the ceiling making it seem a lot smaller than it actually was.

The panelled walls were draped with silk curtains and cluttered with private booths while the seats were topped with deep cushions.

Most of the booths were empty but one or two were occupied, shadows hiding those within from prying eyes.

A discreet bar was tucked into one corner of the room, the barman a picture of refined dignity, in complete contrast to William's earthiness.

Couches were dotted about the room while embroidered rugs and hidden lighting complete the feeling of hominess.

A raised stage at the far end of the room was home to the latest band to grace the King's Cruelty: a quartet of young men who looked barely old enough to shave but whose deep guitar pieces and soulful voices had the meagre crowd hypnotised.

Nodding to the drinkers who raised their glasses in silent greeting, Eleanor fixed her gaze on the stage, her eyes drinking in the lead singer as he came to the end of the song, bidding farewell to the microphone with one last caress.

The hunger was building and she swayed across the room toward him as he acknowledged the patter of polite applause.

He saw Eleanor as she reached the stage and, with a quick word to his band mates, vaulted down to meet her: "What did you think?"

She smiled at him, enjoying the child-like question that was his face, his green eyes bright, his shaven head glistening with a sheen of sweat.

As the band melted into a slow, sultry number that matched the mood of the patrons, she ran an immaculately manicured hand down his cheek, feeling him shudder at her touch:

"Perfect, Rafe. Just perfect."

He blushed, taking her hand and whispering the lightest of kisses against the skin: "Drink?"

She nodded, fire in her eyes, accepting a glass of wine from the waiter who came running at the snap of Rafe's fingers.

She took the smallest of sips and licked the sweet liquid from her lips with a purr: "Hungry."

He smiled: "Business first," and lead her to a vacant sofa.

Eleanor sank into the cushions with a sigh and Rafe sat next to her, smoothing out his baggy shirt.

"Is this all of you?" she asked, waving a hand at the stage as the rest of the band melted into a smooth jazz number.

"This is us," he said, leaning into her until they were cheek to cheek, facing the stage. "That's Ryan on bass, Conor on sax and the little one at the back mauling the guitar is Marco." He flicked her an apologetic glance, "He's new. You'll get used to him."

She shrugged, "As long as he can do the job."

Rafe grinned, "Are you kidding. He may look like a baby but he's a hard bastard underneath."

Eleanor watched as Marco, his face tight with concentration, battled to produce the correct chords from his guitar. A flop of blond fringe dropped over his face and he flicked his head back to clear his vision, catching her eye as she studied him.

She smiled at him and a deep blush crept up his neck and he fluffed the next chord before jolting his attention back to the song at hand, ignoring the glares of his band mates.

"Oh yeah," said Eleanor, "I can tell he's as hard as nails."

Rafe reached across and plucked the wine glass from her fingers, draining the contents. He smacked his lips and gave an exaggerated sigh: "Are we needed yet? Is the bastard on the move?"

She shook her head: "Stackmore's sealed himself in the castle with a bunch of kids. Seems he's having a party, converting some new followers."

"And you still say we're not needed?"

Eleanor shifted in her seat, the hunger making the room feel stifling, the air hot on her skin: "He deserves the same chance as everyone else, Rafe. I'm close to a breakthrough. A matter of days and I'll have it."

He shook his head and allowed his gaze to trail back to Marco and his on-going battle with G-sharp: "You've said that before."

Eleanor gripped his chin in her hand and turned him back to face her, earnest pleading flooding her eyes: "I am so close to a cure I can taste it. Give me another day. If I can't do it by then, you can kill him."

Rafe nodded: "You'll need a couple of guinea pigs."

"Yes."

"We'll fetch them to you later tonight."

She smiled at him, aware that the slow song had finished and that Marco, Conor and Ryan had launched into a darker piece, heavy with clashing chords.

She took Rafe's hand and placed a gentle kiss at the centre: "Thank you," she whispered, "Thank you for your patience."

He watched as she trailed a blaze of kisses to his wrist, her eyes bright in her flushed face. Swallowing with difficulty, he flashed her an encouraging smile, his voice a shuddering squeak of suppressed excitement: "Eat."

Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes devouring him as she lowered her mouth to his wrist.

Rafe caught a glimpse of feral fangs peeking from between her lips before a sharp pain drew a gasp from him as she pierced the soft skin of his arm and began to suckle.

His head was pounding; his vision a nonsensical blur, and he could hear his own pulse as wave after wave of life flooded from his arm as she continued to drain him.

Just as he thought she had gone too far, just as he was about to give into beckoning darkness, she pulled away and ran her tongue over blood-stained fangs and ruby lips with a satisfied sigh:

"Sweet."

Rafe smiled a stupid smile and allowed her to stroke his head as though he were a child. For a moment there was only him and her, Rafe and Eleanor, nothing else mattered. Everything else was just background noise.

He heard the band playing and her husky voice singing gently to him as he fell asleep.

***

As klaxons wailed their distress throughout the ship, Macfadyan balled his hands over his ears and screamed at the voices in his head to damned well shut up.

A man of many lives, in this body Macfadyan appeared to be in his thirties, his long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, his full beard neatly trimmed. He wore the clothes of a 17th century gentleman pirate, bucket boots trimmed with gold, his patterned black waist coat snug under a black over coat.

Usually he was a picture of elegance but now his hair was awry and his eyes wild as he howled at hallucinations.

The control room was shrouded in the dim glow of hidden lights that refused to obey his commands to shine at full power.

He had been battling with the controls for more than an hour, desperately trying to catapult the ship from the confines of the universe into the void that was E-Space.

But the ship seemed determined to fight his every move, taunting him with touches of dusk as the voices of guilt droned on in his head, the grating chorus of alarms unable to drown them out.

And with each voice accusing him, imploring him, there was a candle - a tiny light for each lost soul.

No matter how many times he swept them away or torpedoed them into the eternity of the space-time continuum, there were always more waiting wherever he went, mocking him, accusing him of an atrocity that was a blur in his mind.

He had made mistakes, many mistakes in his time, but none that deserved being doomed to this slow descent into madness the wretched voices were bringing.

How dare the ship turn on him? How dare it judge him?

Whatever it was he was being accused of, he was sorry.

Didn't the ship know how sorry he was? He had howled his repentance on his knees to the heavens at the shore of a crimson sea on some deserted world while his companions slept deep in the safety of the ship.

Did his good deeds count for nothing?

Where were the candles for the countless souls he had saved through one heroic act or another?

The ship lurched and he slammed his hands down on the console, using it as an anchor against the bucking floor.

He had to get away. If he ran far enough and fast enough perhaps, just perhaps, he could leave the voices of the damned far behind.

The Exo Space-Time continuum was perfect. No one could follow him there. A year or two with no voices in his head should be enough to allow his demons to find rest.

With a tiny squeak of air, a candle appeared next to his hand and he flicked it away with a frustrated growl, extinguishing its mocking glow as the ship's lights dimmed even further.

He spun round, teeth bared, and glared into the shadows, certain he had seen something move:

"Blanche?" Nothing. "This really is not the time to mess about."

With an exasperated sigh he turned away, refusing to squint at shadows like a frightened child.

The wailing klaxons were making his ears ring but he kept his hands clenched in tight fists at his side, refusing to give the ship the pleasure of watching him make another futile attempt to block out the sound.

"You don't scare me," he roared at the cloisters, "I've faced down far worse than you can conjure up."

"...Warlock..."

Macfadyan spun round; certain he had felt the slightest whisper of a breath against his cheek.

His eyes darted around the control room coming to rest on the incongruous growth of ivy that had taken root along one wall, twisting its way round the gothic pillars and climbing to the vaulted ceiling.

There was someone there... he was sure of it.

He took a cautious step forward: "Captain Curtis? There are a few rules we must discuss about creeping up on people..."

"...Warlock..."

For a second the ship allowed the lights to rise and, as he blinked into the resulting glare, Macfadyan was faced with the solid form of a soldier, his armour glistening, the sword at his side honed to lethal sharpness. The man raised his hand in greeting, a smile brightening his dark features: "...Warlock..."

Macfadyan frowned, his head starting to ache: "Crilla..?"

The lights dimmed once again and Crilla's eyes shone in the darkness as he drew his sword with a threatening hiss, his face twisted with hate: "Murderer!"

With a yell, Macfadyan vaulted the console, his fingers like claws on his outstretched arms, but Crilla disappeared beneath his hands.

He tore the ivy from the control room wall, ripping its hold from the stone and flinging it from him with a petulant sneer: "I have nothing to feel ashamed of."

The lights flared briefly before dimming once more and Macfadyan spun round as the voices whispered behind him.

There was noting there. Of course there was nothing there, but when he turned back to the controls he found himself faced with row upon row of candles, their flames casting an ethereal glow over the console.

Macfadyan squeezed his eyes shut, gripping his scruffy hair tight between sweating fingers and roared: "Leave me alone!"

A hand clapped down on his shoulder and he hurled a fist wildly at his attacker, expecting to connect with nothing more than thin air.

So it was a surprise when he bruised his knuckles on something solid and heard someone fall to the floor with a startled: "Oof!"

He opened his eyes. The lights were back on, the control room was free of candles, the klaxons and voices in his head were silent and Colin Curtis was sitting on the floor holding his stomach, a slightly hurt look on his face.

"Grief, Mac," he groaned: "I know we discussed not creeping up on people but really..."

Macfadyan blinked, taking in the complete normality of the control room.

He was aware of a gentle hum as Cre'at pootled into the room and the patter of bare feet as Blanche, still clad in her pyjamas, followed hot

on his non-existent heels.

* Captain Curtis is injured, * grated the Sot'm, * I will fetch hot chocolate and ham. *

Blanche helped the young soldier to his feet: "S'oaky Head, no need for that."

She turned to Macfadyan, who hadn't moved since punching out their friend, and waved a hand in front of his face: "You okay, Bucky? We heard alarms."

Macfadyan stared right through her, his eyes wide and far too bright: "...what..?"

Blanche shot a glance at Colin, confused by the normally confident Bucaneer's shrunken attitude.

Straightening his back and flexing his shoulders with some discomfort, Colin reached out a placed a cautious hand on the Time Lord's shoulder: "You okay, Mac?"

With a blink and a shudder Macfadyan came to life: "Perfectly," he said, "Perfectly."

An exaggerated smile plastered across his face, he clapped Colin on the shoulder and ruffled Blanche's hair, an overly affectionate gesture which left her smoothing out her cropped locks with the flat of her hands, a scowl aimed at her unpredictable mentor: "So what was with the alarms?"

Crossing to the console, Macfadyan waved a dismissive hand as he fiddled with the controls: "Nothing to worry about. Just the ship complaining about being taken into E-Space."

Blanche frowned: "What's that then? What's E-Space?"

Macfadyan flicked a switch and frowned at the red light which began blinking at him: "It's a dimension outside normal time and space which may or may not exist depending on which literature you believe."

Blanche nodded thoughtfully: "I didn't understand that but it sounded a bit dangerous."

Macfadyan shrugged: "It is. But we need to go somewhere where the normal laws of time and space not apply."

"Why?"

"So I can repair the chameleon circuit. Go and get dressed."

Shooting him a dirty look, Blanche pattered out of the control room, muttering under her breath.

Colin peered over Macfadyan's shoulder, trying to make out what he was doing, but the array of dials and switches were well beyond his patchy technical training.

"You said 'might or might not exist'."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, what exactly did you mean by that and is it likely to get us killed?"

Macfadyan pressed a large, blue button and smiled as it gave a self-satisfied beep.

He gave Colin one of his haughtier looks: "I sincerely doubt that, Mr Curtis. I happen to be a firm believer in E-Space and am quite looking forward to seeing it. And so is Cre'at, aren't you Cre'at."

The Head bobbed gently over the control panel:

* Repairs must be effected. A planet with a suitable atmosphere must be found. We will picnic under purple skies and stay-out-of-Macfadyan's-hair-for-once-is-that-too-much-to-ask. *

Colin let the slur pass: "But, assuming it does exist and we don't all end up dead, how do we know it's safe?"

Macfadyan straightened his jacket and snorted: "What possible danger could there be with you and your trusty service revolver to guard the perimeter?"

Any reply Colin was about to make was lost as all the lights in the control room went out and the room lurched with a mechanical groan, hurling him against the back wall.

When the lights came back up a moment later, he found himself being helped up from the floor for the second time in as many minutes with a sizable bump on his head.

With a frown, Macfadyan dusted down his crewmate and checked him over with a critical eye: "I think we've arrived. Cre'at?"

A desperate whirr of gears drew their attention to one of the majestic columns that swept up to the vaulted roof of the control room. The ship's erratic lurch had disoriented the Head and it had careered into the pillar becoming entangled in the ivy.

* I am here, * it said, sounding slightly annoyed, * I have been consumed by greenery. Assistance please. *

Colin reached into his boot and unsheathed his standard issue knife with a cocky flourish: "Don't panic C."

* I am unable to panic. *

"Well that's good." With a tug, he tore the blade through the ivy, tearing its tendrils away from the floundering Sot'm, "Now why don't you go and check on Blanche. Tell her we're going to land soon."

* Yes, Captain Curtis. * And he pootled off through the connecting door to find her.

Wiping clean his knife on his trouser leg, Colin sheathed it and looked up to find Macfadyan staring at him, an arrogant sneer spread across his face: "Mac?"

Macfadyan glared at his companion: "You assume a lot, my lad."

"Sorry?"

"Did I say we would land?"

"No. But if you need to repair the chameleon circuit surely we have to land to find out whether or not it works."

Macfadyan's sneer turned into an almost petulant scowl: "I decide where and if we land. Not you."

Colin held up his hands: "Okay, okay. I just assumed..."

"Well don't."

Blanche and Cre'at entered the control room and paused at the sight of the two men glaring at one another.

The girl stepped forward, tugging a red jacket on over a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and black jeans:

"You two gonna kill each other or what?"

Colin dragged his brooding glare away from Macfadyan and grinned at Blanche: "Just a little disagreement about where we land, kid. Mac was about to stamp his foot and storm off in a huff."

"Cool."

Macfadyan straightened his back with a sniff, pulling himself to his full, substantial, height: "I refuse to be dragged into this childish bickering. Cre'at?"

* Here. *

"Set course for the nearest planet with a breathable atmosphere and begin landing protocols.

* Doing it. *

Colin raised an eyebrow at Macfadyan: "So we are landing..."

"Because I say so. No other reason."

The soldier shook his head: "You are unbelievable."

"Thank-you."

Counting to ten before speaking was something Colin had grown accustomed to since becoming a member of the ship's crew. He had taken to counting in different languages just to make a change. But he was fast running out of languages.

Clenching his fists at his side he began pacing back and forth in front of the door, waiting for the familiar shudder as the ship materialised on solid ground.

"Un, deux, trios, quatre, cinc..."

The shudder came and Cre'at announced:

* Landed. Safe. No dents. *

Macfadyan clapped his hands and rubbed them together with glee: "Excellent. Our first glimpse of an E-Space planet."

He smacked his palm down on the door control and swept his coat from the hat stand in the corner: "Shall we?"

Feeling slightly less enthusiastic, Blanche, Cre'at and Colin followed, the latter checking his revolver before stepping out onto the planet.

"Well, this is boring."

Macfadyan frowned at Blanche as she summed up the beauty of their surroundings with typical teenaged apathy.

"Look around you, Blanche," he said: "Tell me what you see."

The girl screwed up her nose and let her gaze take in the wooded glade in which they stood; the cloudless sky, tinged with a touch of purple, the greenest grass she had ever seen and the carpet of bluebells disappearing into the trees.

Colin was spreading out a chequered blanket next to a bubbling stream and Cre'at was zipping back and forth between the blanket and the ship - which was cunningly disguised as a yellow-and-blue-striped beach hut - carrying a wide array of foil covered dishes.

"S'pretty enough, I suppose."

"Exactly."

"But it's not very exciting, is it?"

Macfadyan sighed and shook his head: "Cre'at was muttering something about a picnic. Do you think the three of you could stay out of trouble while I work on the chameleon circuit?"

Blanche grinned and plucked a bluebell from the grass at her feet. She reached up and slipped it into Macfadyan's flowing locks: "Well, Bucky, unless all these flowers rise up in protest at the sight of a million ham sandwiches, I think we'll be okay."

Macfadyan pulled the bluebell from his hair and wandered off to the ship, sniffing it absent-mindedly.

Colin came up behind Blanche and put a hand on her shoulder: "You gave him a flower?"

"Just appreciating nature, Crumbly, even if it is boring."

Colin smacked her gently on arm: "We want to make a fire. How about finding some fire wood?"

Blanche picked up a twig and waved it at him before skipping off into the trees in search of branches.

By the time Colin returned to the picnic site, Cre'at had laid out quite a healthy looking spread of dishes and it was only when he looked closer that he realised they all contained ham sandwiches cut in a variety of imaginative shapes.

Cre'at was bobbing close by, his expressionless face exuding smugness: * You may feast now. *

Colin scratched his head: "Yeah, thanks, C. Let's wait for Blanche."

* Very well. *

There was an awkward silence, filled only with the gentle tweeting of some unseen bird. Then:

"Cre'at?"

* I am here. *

"Yes...is there anything else apart from ham sandwiches?"

The Head extended his arm and extracted a small tub of ketchup from the centre of the blanket. He held it under Colin's nose: * For dipping. *

"Of course..."

The very Blanche-like holler from the woods was almost a welcome relief and they both raced off in the direction of the scream.

Despite previous protestations of boredom, Blanche found strolling through the trees quite relaxing.

The aroma from the flowers mixed with a just-rained-on smell in the air reminded her of her one and only visit to the country with her mother, shortly before the horrible woman had gambled her away in a dodgy hand of blackjack, abandoning her to a life on the streets.

She had gathered quite an armful of dry wood and was about to return to the campsite when she spotted something.

It was only when she moved in for a closer look that she realised it was a leg.

A leg attached to a torso, attached to a head, the eyes of which were staring blankly at the sky out of a bloodless, dead face.

The hefty stake of wood sticking out of the man's chest had pinned him to the ground, piercing his heart.

Maggots were eating him.

Dropping her meagre armful of wood, Blanche staggered back with a scream and landed unceremoniously on her backside, her eyes as wide as those of the corpse.

Seconds later, Colin and Cr'eat burst through the trees.

"Blanche?"

"Dead man by the tree. Oh dear."

Colin automatically checked the body for a pulse, knowing he would find none. The smell alone told him the man had been dead for days:

"Poor bastard."

* I will fetch Macfadyan. *

Colin waved a hand at the retreating Sot'm and turned to help Blanche to her feet: "Alright, kid?"

She dragged her gaze away from the dead man, certain his festering eyes were watching her:

"I...."

And she threw up on Colin's shoes.

With a heavy sigh, he patted her on the back and steered her away from the corpse: "I guess this was a bit more excitement than you hoped for."

Chapter Two - The Turning

Twenty years ago

The house was a wreck.

Perched precariously on the side of the hill like an open wound, it reminded Eleanor of a haunted mansion she had read about in a tacky horror novel years ago.

The windows were a mess of jagged glass, the walls grey and imposing and speckled with moss and strings of ivy.

The door had long since fallen from its hinges and was lying askew of the frame, the gaping hole making it look like the house was screaming.

The roof was sagging but intact and at one corner of the building was a tower topped of with castle-like battlements from which one could see for miles.

The path to the house was steep and overhung with trees, their branches protecting it like a canopy, and when Eleanor took her first cautious step towards the building she realised some one somewhen had taken the time to put down gravel.

Her footsteps crunched loudly, sending a flock of birds squawking from their hidden nests into the afternoon sky.

If it had been nighttime Eleanor would have turned and ran.

As it was, the sun was hot on her back and she would be glad of the shelter of the house, however ramshackle its appearance.

Her grandfather had given her the key before he died but the house had probably not been secure for years.

As she made her way up the path she kept her eyes on the gaping yaw that was the door and felt a chill ripple down her spine, immediately and illogically terrified.

Her steps faltered and she reached into the pocket of her dress, seizing the large brass key tightly, aware that nerves had made her palms clammy.

The house cast a long shadow in the afternoon sun and she stopped at the very edge of its reach, loath to allow it to swallow her.

Breathing deeply, she willed her racing heart to calm down.

It was just a house - an old, tumbledown mess of a house that she would probably have demolished so that she could sell the land.

There was absolutely no reason to be afraid and her body's instinctive urge to turn and run was ridiculous.

If the place harboured any ghosts they were played up by the fertile imaginations of the village children.

The same children who accepted a dare or a double dare to run and touch the broken door as a demonstration of courage while their playmates hid in the branches of the trees far, far down the path. Safe.

Swallowing her fear she took her first step into the shadow of the house and immediately wished she had brought a coat as an unseasonable chill ruffled her hair.

"Great, a cold wind...and for our next cliché..."

Taking a deep breath, Eleanor marched toward the house and clambered over the splintered remains of the front door.

The interior of the house might once have boasted an elegant beauty to visitors.

A wide hallway greeted Eleanor as she stepped across the threshold, closed doors to the right and left tempting her to explore further.

Before her lay a staircase, broad at the bottom, narrowing as it neared the landing.

There was something almost regal about the way it swept up to the first floor of the house.

"Yes, and the second I set foot on it it will creak like the Devil."

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Eleanor realised that the house was bare. No furnishings dotted around to gather dust, no faded photographs of long-dead ancestors.

She felt absolutely cheated.

Haunted houses should have dusty furniture and faded pictures. It was part of what made them so spooky.

And portraits.

There should be tattered portraits hanging on the walls of mad uncles with staring eyes, not the endless expanse of yellowing wallpaper she saw before her.

"Thanks, grandpa," she muttered, her curiosity leading her to the foot of the staircase, "I've always wanted to own a dust magnet that may or may not be haunted, depending on which urchin you speak to."

Running her hand along the banister she sneezed as the dust swirled under her nose.

Taking her first step towards the landing she waited for the ominous creak of aging floorboards that had confirmed to many a curious child that the place was definitely, 100 per cent haunted.

With her attention fixed on the landing above and her hand drawing patterns in the dust caking the banister as she considered whether or not to explore further, it came as something of a shock to Eleanor when the staircase gave out beneath her, sending her plummeting with a panicked scream into the cellar below.

Life before the short, sharp trip through the floorboards of her inheritance - thanks again grandpa - had been simple.

There had been no incidents, no accidents, no adventures in all of her 23 years.

Some would call it boring but Eleanor enjoyed the tranquillity.

She had a roof over her head and all the books she could read. She had access to the university labs and could mess around with her experiments to her heart's content.

She knew that one day she would have to bite the bullet and produce some real work - there was only so long her parents would pay for her extended education - but she had no worries just yet.

She was daddy's little girl and, unless her fed up mother actually dragged him to the divorce courts over the amount he spent on his daughter, he would happily show off the depths of his wallet to keep his angel happy.

Not that she was spoiled. God, no. He had made it perfectly clear that he expected to see results from his generosity and had kept track of every brass farthing he had given her to use as emotional ammunition should she lapse into student apathy.

Not that she ever would. She was too much like her mother.

"A day in which you achieve nothing is a day wasted."

How often had she heard those words?

They would engrave them on the woman's tomb. But Eleanor knew it was a sentiment she would always share.

Which was why lying in the rubble of what had once been the staircase in her reception hall was not an option.

Not only would she achieve nothing, but a rather large spider was taking a keen interest in her left hand and if it lay one spindly leg on her she would scream and bring the rest of the building down on top of herself.

And that would make furthering her education rather difficult.

With a heaving cough that did nothing to clear the dusty gunk lining her throat, she flicked her hand at the inquisitive spider, sending it scuttling into the gloomy depths of what she assumed to be a cellar.

Okay, so at least her left arm worked fine, but what about the rest of her?

With some trepidation she took inventory of her body parts.

Toes...seemed to wiggle, legs...bent in the right places with no bones poking out at alarming angles, back...she could sit up with only the slightest twinge, head...

"Ow! Damn! Bugger!"

So there was a problem with the noggin, and something was dripping into her eyes making them sting like crazy.

With a sigh, Eleanor reached up and tentatively ran her fingers across her forehead, holding them up in the pathetic light.

They were covered in blood.

Of course they were.

Dragging her palms across her eyes to clear the worst of the blood, Eleanor climbed to her feet and made a redundant attempt to dust herself down.

Blinking up through the trickles of dust at the hole that had been the floor of her newly inherited reception hall, she gave fleeting thought to climbing out.

"And for my next trick..."

No, she would have to find a back door.

"Grandpa, why couldn't you leave me a porcelain pig in your will like normal grandfathers do, or enough cash to buy me a month or two on a desert island being waited on by oiled hunks? It would have hurt less and I wouldn't have ruined my favourite dress."

Of course, she could sit here in the encroaching darkness and keep the spiders amused by screaming for help.

And considering the house was more than a mile from town and she had no idea how long she had been unconscious so all the brat children were probably home for the night, help was sure to come running.

"Sarcasm when no one is listening is the most desperate form of wit..."

So she tried screaming for help anyway and was promptly bathed in a cascade of loose rubble.

Grumbling, she flicked pieces of plaster from her shoulders and shook her head vigorously, spluttering as yet another shower of dust tickled her face and caked her mouth.

"Can I help you?"

When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost refined but the sound was enough to make her scream again as she spun to face him, fists clenched before her.

The man was handsome in a restrained way. His hair was dark and fell to his shoulders in an ebony wave, his build was slight, unthreatening, and his eyes were black as jet.

He was regarding her with curiosity, his hands clasped behind his back, his head to one side, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Can I help you?" he asked again.

Eleanor allowed her gaze to travel down his body. From his pressed shirt to his immaculately polished shoes, everything he wore was black.

"Give him a little white dickie bow and he's look like a waiter."

"Excuse me?"

Eleanor clamped her hands over her mouth in horror, "I'm so sorry. I have a habit of saying what I'm thinking. I don't mean to. I think my brain and my mouth are out to get me."

He was going blurry so she blinked her streaming eyes frantically until he came back into focus, "Sorry."

"You already said that."

"Oh...sorry..."

He smiled and she found herself melting into his gaze - he had the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen.

He looked her up and down as if apprising a side of beef, and his smile faltered as he stared at the gash above her eyebrow.

"You're hurt."

"Oh...yes..." Eleanor gestured pointlessly at the gaping hole in the ceiling, "I kind of...well, I fell..."

"I see."

He stepped closer and, before she could blink, ran his hand across her brow in the gentlest of caresses, his fingers tickling the wound as they passed.

"You're bleeding."

Eleanor was finding it hard to breathe, her eyes locked on him as he slowly raised his bloodstained fingers to his lips and licked them clean.

It was the most disturbingly erotic thing she had ever seen.

She swallowed audibly when he raised his heavily lidded eyes to hers and purred, "Delicious."

"Why am I not fighting this? Why am I not questioning this? Why am I not demanding to know what this freak is doing in my grandfather's cellar?...Why can't I move?"

When he reached out again her brain screamed at her to run but her treacherous body was a statue, rooted to the spot as his eyes ate her up from within.

She could do nothing as his arm encircled her shoulder, pulling her to him in a crude imitation of a lover's embrace.

"Why can't I run? Why can't I run? Oh God, why can't I run?"

As he lowered his mouth to the wound above her eye, his tongue darting across every torn scrap of flesh, her soul began to scream.

"You're not real...this is not real...I know what you are but you're not real...please..."

She hardly noticed when he nibbled a trail down her cheek and latched on to the pulse in her throat, sucking gently.

It was only when two razor-sharp teeth sank into the flesh of her neck and buried themselves deep in her throbbing artery; it was only when her hot blood began to pour into his mouth as he lapped and slurped hungrily; it was only then that she found her voice and began to scream.

As her vision blurred into a red haze, Eleanor felt his hand stroke her hair, his touch ridiculously gentle as his mouth violated her throat, and his voice somehow echoed in her head, deep and sultry: "Shh, quietly..."

"Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone..."

"Soon..."

*

Cushions...

Did Hell have cushions?

People who were sucked to death by vampires always went to Hell. It was something to do with losing ones soul, which was completely unfair as, if she'd had a choice, she would have hung on to it as if her life depended on it.

Which, as it turned out, had been the case all along.

Did soulless ghouls such as herself have any need for cushions?

Was this some kind of strange Hellish torment designed to drive her crazy?

And why did her head hurt?

Did the dead feel pain?

"Well, it wouldn't be much of a Hell if there wasn't any pain, would it?"

She tried to open her eyes and sit up but the throbbing inside her skull and the buzzing in her ears forced her back down onto the cushions with a heavy groan.

"Don't try to move yet. You're still very weak. It will pass."

The voice was a whisper next to her ear and Eleanor jumped, trying desperately to open her unresponsive eyes, "Who's there."

A gentle hand hooked itself behind her head and helped her into a half sitting position, while a glass mug was placed at her lips, "Drink this. You'll feel better."

Her head fuzzy, Eleanor took a cautious sip from the mug, pulling away when a bitter liquid coated itself around her tongue, "What is it?"

The mug was back at her lips again, the voice insistent, "A tonic. Finish it."

She took another sip and the bitterness lessened, the liquid becoming sweeter the deeper she drank.

In seconds she had drained the whole mug and felt herself lowered back into the cushions.

As sleep enveloped her, the same rich voice slinked through her muggy brain, "Sleep now. Tonight I will teach you all you need to know."

*

Some one was making tea.

Someone was making the most aromatic tea she had ever smelled.

Off to her left a deep voice was humming a melancholy tune and beneath her the heavenly softness of downy cushions was caressing her body.

She felt absolutely wonderful.

Opening her eyes, she found herself staring up at the filthiest ceiling imaginable, it's dirty brown paint speckled with cobwebs.

Sitting up in one smooth movement, she yawned luxuriantly and took in the rest of her surroundings.

The room was large and spacious, the grimy ceiling low and heavily hung with aging wooden beams.

There were no windows and in one corner a rickety staircase lead up to a trap door.

"I'm in a cellar."

"One man's cellar is another man's home."

Snapping her head sharply to the left she found herself face to face with her attacker.

Bracing herself for the expected urge to run in terror, she was surprised to find there was none.

It might have been the fact that the blood-sucking fiend was smiling at her warmly while proffering a steaming mug of tea, but she found herself fighting a bone-deep need to slap him.

Glaring at him she allowed images of his violation of her soul to wash through her mind along with fuzzy memories of drinking some God-awful liquid under the promise that it would make her feel better.

Licking her lips she detected a faint residue of something coppery.

Blood.

"You son of a BITCH!"

A resounding slap reverberated around the cellar and Eleanor was left shaking her stinging palm as the man touched his fingers to his reddening cheek, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

"My tea usually receives a much warmer reception, my love."

"Your love? YOUR LOVE?" She was standing toe-to-toe with him now, a furious blush colouring her cheeks, "You twisted, evil bastard."

The man took a deep swig of the tea, amusement replacing danger in his eyes, "I have displeased you?"

Eleanor was beyond rage, "You sucked my blood, you stole my soul. You made me drink that...that...STUFF. You stole my life "

"I gave you a better life."

"What."

He shrugged, "Call it a gift."

He drained the mug and turned away from her.

Eleanor felt a growl building in her throat and, with a howl of anger, threw herself at his taunting back.

Before she could touch him he spun round, hurling the mug to shatter against the cellar wall, while the other arm snapped out and snatched her out of mid air by the throat.

"You will not strike me a second time, my love. I am not known for my patience."

His words barely registered with the furious woman. Her attention was split between fighting the impossibly strong hand that was gripping her throat; long nails digging into the sensitive flesh; and the twisted mockery of a human face now warn by her attacker.

His eyes, once darker than dark, were yellow, almost cat-like, his skin deathly pale. His mouth was a red gash housing two rows of sharp yellow teeth, a set of extended canines gleaming sharply against his lips.

"...oh my God..."

His voice was a growl, "I doubt very much He would wish to be seen here."

Eleanor fought back tears as his grip loosened, "Your face..."

He let go of her neck, allowing her to fall to the floor, "Is a perfect match for yours, my love. They do say anger brings out another side in people."

Swallowing a lump of fear and trepidation, Eleanor reached a trembling hand up to her face.

Her skin was cold, but she put that down to shock.

But her mouth...oh God...

She ran her fingers over a vicious-feeling set of extended canines and burst into tears.

*

"Are you feeling better, my love?"

"Why did you do this to me?"

"I was lonely."

"That's not much of a reason."

"I could have killed you. You were trespassing on my property."

"It's MY property. My grandfather left it to me in his will."

"No one has lived here for more than 150 years."

"How do you know?"

"Because I have lived here for more than 150 years."

"I guess grandpa forgot to mention that."

"I guess so."

"So what happens now?"

"Now you tell me your name, my love."

"Eleanor."

"Beautiful. It is a p pleasure to meet you, Eleanor."

"Right."

"I am Laurence Stackmore, Lord of Glenhaven, one-time master of the Eastern Estates."

"The Eastern Estates burned down..."

"150 years ago. Yes, I know. I wasn't able to stay there any longer. People were starting to notice that I wasn't aging and there are only so many bodies you can hide safely. I didn't feel charitable enough to allow some one else to own the place so there was a mishap with a tinder box and a gallon of oil."

"You're 150 years old? Will I live that long?"

"If you're careful and stay clear of slayers."

"Do I have to kill people?"

"It's a perk."

"That's not funny."

Sigh "You don't have to kill people but once you have the taste for mortal blood you are lost."

"Are you lost?"

"Many thousand times over." Grin "I have a particular affinity for blondes. Spicy. Most of the others go for the darker ones but I like that virginal feel."

"Others? How many more are there."

"I'd say we're down to 50 or 60 now, what with slayer sweeps and the odd vigilante mob. It's a tough life being a blood-sucker."

"I don't want to be like that?"

"Then I hope you enjoy the taste of rat blood."

"You made me drink your blood - it tasted terrible."

"Cold blood from a cup cannot be compared to the warm, sweet nectar as it pulses through living veins."

"I won't drink blood."

"If you want to live you will." Shrug "It's a vampire thing."

"I can't believe this is happening to me."

"You'll get used to it."

"Thanks a lot."

"You know, you're being very ungrateful. I give you a new life and you wallow in self pity."

"Well, I hadn't finished with the last life, thank you very much."

"Was it interesting being you?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"I'm a research student."

"Were a research student..."

"..."

"You're crying again, my love."

"Bugger off."

"I could go out and find you a peasant if you're hungry - a small one -- get you started on something easy."

"I WILL NOT KILL. I WILL NOT DRINK BLOOD."

"So you said."

"I don't have to accept this."

"Accept what"

"THIS! This thing you've turned me into."

"Well, unless you plan to find yourself a slayer or take a stroll in the midday sun, there's not a lot you can do about it."

"I can try."

"You would be wasting your time. There is no cure for vampirism - it's like ginger hair - you have to bite the bullet and accept it as part of you."

"Apparently time is something I have plenty of now."

"Good point."

"Then you won't mind if I start my research straight away."

"Be my guest."

"Right."

"Just keep the noise down - I sleep during the day."

Twenty years later

In the back room of the King's Cruelty Eleanor kissed Rafe's brow and watched as he slept the sleep of the sated.

His blood had been sweet but was sitting heavy in her belly, the usual dose of guilt weighing it down.

Lifting his arm, she licked tenderly at the double puncture holes on his wrist, causing him to groan in his sleep as her tongue teased the wounds.

She hated what she had become, hated using these young fools for her own needs, but she was so, so close to finding a cure.

"And how many times have you told yourself that over the last 20 years. Keep it up, girl. You might start believing it one day."

Rafe had promised her an extra day. He had sworn to bring her people on whom to try out the drug.

"They are NOT people. Don't think of them as people. They're soulless devils...just like you."

But if the experiment failed, if the drugs didn't work, she would have to let this band of infants loose with orders to kill Stackmore.

And when they failed, he would destroy their souls.

Chapter Three - The Body

Watching Curtis with Blanche I can't help but feel an irrational stab of jealousy.

He comforts her so well, his voice low and soothing as she snuffles and blubs into his shirt.

I can't make out what he's saying but I know that if she had run to me I would not even have been able to wrap a consoling arm around her shoulder, let alone find the right words to ease her fears.

I would have made some cutting remark, some entirely inappropriate witticism about the dead man before us that would have driven her mad with rage.

And yet again a gulf would have opened up between us, stretching our friendship to its fragile limits.

I miss the old days.

I miss the days when she would look up to me, when she would turn to me, her eyes large with wonder, as she pointed out some miracle that I had long ago taken for granted.

I used to find the way everything fascinated her so delightfully childlike.

Now I just find it childish and we argue and fight over the slightest thing.

I miss the way things were and would give anything to feel that way again.

I miss the evenings in the Ship when she would slip into my study while I was working and curl up on a beanbag to watch me.

I miss watching her learn. I miss that feeling of throat-swelling pride when she discovered that she could appreciate something without having to steal it, when she realised there is good in the universe and not everyone is out to get her.

I wish she could teach me to see that way again, because I think I've forgotten how.

*

"You've ruined my shoes, you know."

Blanche pushed herself away from Colin's chest and sniffed wetly, her eyes flooding with unshed tears, "Sorry 'bout that."

Colin tenderly stroked a stray lock of mousy hair back behind the girl's ear and patted her on the shoulder, "Why don't you go back to the Ship while we try to find out what happened here?"

She shook her head, "I can help."

"You're sure?"

"Definitely."

Colin turned to Macfadyan, "As murders go, it's pretty gruesome."

The Time Lord ignored him, crouching next to the dead man and running his fingers along the shaft of wood that was impaling the corpse to the tree.

Colin and Blanche watched in morbid fascination as Macfadyan reached up and, after the briefest of glances in their direction, pulled back the man's upper lip and peered closely at his teeth.

Blanche gagged, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Shh."

Fighting down the urge to scream, shout, swear - anything to get him away from that corpse - Blanche clenched her fists at her side and edged closer to Colin.

"Would you care for a ham sandwich?"

Colin looked up incredulously as Cre'at hovered next to him; a plate of nibbles bobbing gently on his outstretched arm.

"What?"

The floating head regarded him impassively, "From studying humanoid interaction I have learned that while observing moments of drama you will often partake of refreshment. The theatrical works of Shakespeare and the televised showings of Jane Austen romances often lead to major calorie consumption. When Mr Darcy removed his shirt and leapt into the lake during Pride and Prejudice Blanche consumed an entire strawberry cheesecake. I have found that marathon showings of Star Trek: Voyager result in the mass consumption of chocolate products but Blanche has informed me that that is known as comfort eating. I could prepare some chocolate ice cream if you would prefer."

Colin sighed, "Thanks, C, but that won't be necessary."

If it was possible for a floating metal head to look crestfallen, Cre'at managed it, "I have prepared 126 rounds of ham sandwiches and two rounds of cheese and pickle. They will go to waste if not consumed promptly."

And he pootled away towards the Ship.

Blanche gave Colin a sideways look, pleased for the distraction, "Why cheese and pickle?"

Colin shrugged, "I told him that variety is the spice of life - suggested a whole range of foods he could experiment with - but cheese and pickle sandwiches was as far as he was prepared to go."

"Why?"

"Dunno. Perhaps Mac likes them..."

"When you've quite finished."

They looked up at the man in question in time to see him cover the corpse's face with a large polka dot handkerchief.

Straightening up, he strolled towards them, dusting himself down with a miniature clothes brush.

Blanche glowered at him, "So?"

Macfadyan tucked the brush into his pocket without even sparing her a glance, "Vampires. Are there any sandwiches left?"

And he strutted off towards the picnic site.

*

"She looks extremely cross with me and part of me is glad.

How arrogant could I possibly get? Announcing 'vampires' like it was the most natural thing in the world and then walking away.

If I were of lesser breeding I would call myself a smug bastard.

Perhaps Colin will do it for me.

I know I'm starting to annoy him.

He's a soldier - he likes to know what's what. How long will it be before my unpredictability finds its way to his trigger finger?

I bullet between the eyes may not kill me but it would damned well hurt.

And I don't think Colin would ever forgive himself.

He's a good man.

Which is more than I'll ever be.

A good man would apologise to them for being - how did Blanche put it the other day - so far up my own arse I can see through my teeth.

Interesting turn of phrase but a point well made.

A good man would explain to them, without needing to be asked, how I came to my 'vampire' conclusion. And then he would ask their opinions on what to do next.

A good man would take the time to thank Cre'at for preparing enough ham sandwiches to feed an army and still including a few rounds of my favourite cheese and pickle.

A good man would be...better than me.

I am arrogant, I am rude. Even my pretensions have delusions of grandeur.

I could be a good man if I put my mind to it. But that would mean admitting I am wrong about so many things.

That would mean admitting that I care.

And that would never do...not any more.

So I watch as they approach - one furious, one resigned - and I pop a sandwich into my mouth and chew briskly.

I am smugness in a fancy coat.

I don't know how to be anything else."

*

Cre'at had substituted the little checked picnic blanket for a striped one the size of a small tennis court and was buzzing around it in a mechanical frenzy arranging and rearranging the copious plates of sandwiches, always making sure the solitary pile of cheese and pickle were within Macfadyan's reach.

Colin flopped down next to the Time Lord and helped himself to a much-needed snack, "So are you going to explain what you just said or do we start the guessing games?"

Macfadyan licked a smear of butter from the end of his thumb and regarded his companions with a cautious eye.

Colin was reclining against a capacious picnic basket, seemingly at ease with life.

Only the sideways glances he threw at Blanche betrayed the fact he was worried.

And he was right to be.

Given the way the girl was pacing up and down just far enough away to stay out of reach told them both that there was an explosion of temper rumbling across the horizon.

Mac watched her through lidded eyes.

She had grown so much since the day they met, emotionally, mentally and physically.

The scrawny urchin he had plucked from the streets of Victorian London had blossomed into a woman - almost.

She was almost a foot taller now and her skin held a healthy glow instead of the gaunt paleness of malnutrition and a life spent fighting to survive.

She was still too skinny for his liking but years of neglect was not something you recovered from over night.

Aware she had an audience, Blanche glared at him, "You gonna answer him?"

Mac flashed her a smile and selected a cheese and pickle sandwich from the plate in front of him, "I would have thought my statement spoke for itself. Our friend by the tree had been staked through the heart with a length of oak. The tried and tested method to guarantee the death of a vampire."

Blanche snorted, "The tried and tested method to guarantee the death of anyone, if you ask me. That's your great theory?"

A blob of pickle dropped from the sandwich and plopped onto the blanket.

Macfadyan scooped it up absently and popped it into his mouth, "His lower lip bore unmistakable scarring left by extended canines which tore into his flesh during transformation."

"So he cut his lip and someone stabbed him. It's hardly irrefutable proof that he's Nosferatu, Lord of Darkness."

Macfadyan raised an eyebrow, "I didn't know you'd even heard of Nosferatu."

"You made me read that book."

"Was it good?"

"It gave me nightmares."

"Yes, you really shouldn't read horror novels at bedtime."

"I was expanding my horizons."

Like a spectator at a tennis match, Colin watched the conversation fly back and forth before deciding enough was enough, "Blanche does have a point you know, Mac. How do we know this guy was a vampire? I mean, shouldn't he have disappeared in a puff of smoke or something once he was stabbed?"

Macfadyan wagged an admonishing finger at the young soldier, "You watch too much television, my lad."

Colin smiled brightly, "And you're an arrogant sod. Will you just answer the question."

Macfadyan sighed, ignoring Blanche's snort of delight.

Reaching into his coat pocket he pulled out the stake of wood that had been pinning the corpse to the tree and tossed it to Colin.

The soldier caught it without thinking, his face dissolving into a grimace as his fingers stuck in the tacky mess of blood that stained the stick from its point to half way along its shaft, "Jesus, Mac..."

"Read it."

"What?"

With a tut of impatience, the Time Lord reached across and tapped the underside of the stake, "For a competent soldier you really can be unobservant."

Colin lifted the gruesome object higher, allowing it to catch the sunlight, and could just make out a line of words carved into the wood.

'Stake (Mk III, oak, 11 inches). To be used on vampires only. Instructions for use: Apply violently to heart and stand well back. If used in error on human being or other non-vampiric race, report immediately to nearest law enforcement officer and await sentencing. Warning: Point may be sharp.'

Colin blinked and looked up at Macfadyan, "Is this a joke?"

"Apparently not. There were a bundle of these behind the tree along with vials of water, which I assume to be holy, and a string of garlic. It would appear that someone is in the vampire slaying business."

Blanche snorted, "And you say he watches too much television."

Macfadyan gave a haughty sniff, "You may mock, my girl, but vampire slaying is a noble and tricky profession. There are records from across the universe detailing incidences of entire civilisations being over run."

Colin tapped the stake against his hand, his brow furrowed, "Yes, but we're not in our universe, are we."

Macfadyan glared at him for a split second, then his face fell, "Yes, well...there is one well-documented case of vampire domination in E Space...it was...oh dear..."

He pushed himself up from the blanket and began pacing, his stride broken every few paces as he took a bite of another sandwich.

He was muttering to himself.

Blanche sighed and flopped down on the blanket, "Do you think he's going to fill us in?"

Colin sat next to her, jabbing absently at the patchy glass with the sharp end of the stake, "Your guess is as good as mine, kid."

There was a moment's silence, broken only by Macfadyan's inarticulate mutterings and Colin's efforts to scratch his name in the soil.

Blanche twirled a loose strand of hair round her finger and puffed out her cheeks before letting out a huff of air and peering at Colin through a flop of fringe, "Do you wanna go find the vampire slayers."

Colin looked up, "What?"

Blanche nodded towards the pacing Time Lord, "Well, he's not going anywhere fast, Cre'at's sulking in the Ship and I'm bored. Let's go and find whoever killed the pale-looking dude."

"Why?"

"We could congratulate him on a fine day's work. We could complement him on his aim."

Colin looked at her.

"You could arm wrestle him, soldier boy. A person who goes round stabbing vampires for a living has got to have developed some useful wrist muscles."

He was looking at her as if she was crazy, "And what if the slayer has worse social skills than the vampire? What if he doesn't believe you're human and gives you a poke with his stick?"

"You're rude."

"Blanche..."

She jumped to her feet, itching to be off, "Oh come on, Colin, Mac's gonna want to talk to the guy. You don't think he's gonna let this be, do you? He's gonna want to know the whos, whys, wheres and whats of this. If we're gonna be dragged into a tacky Night of the Living Dead scenario we might as well be prepared."

With a heavy sigh, Colin took her proffered hand and tugged himself to his feet, "Okay, strange girl, let's go find him."

Unnoticed by the pre-occupied Time Lord, the duo strolled off into the woods.

"And that was zombies."

"What was?"

"Night of the Living Dead."

"Are all soldiers so anal?"

*

"They think I didn't see them as they talked about me. They think I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't hear what they were saying.

Well I heard and I have to admit to feeling a little disappointed.

I didn't think they would be so easy to manipulate.

I know we have to find our friendly neighbourhood vampire slayer and I know he must be nearby but I really do not have time to walk to the nearest town, ask questions, bribe answers out of superstitious natives and then work out what to do next.

I have to analyse the blood on the stake. I have to find out if this creature was in any way ...normal...for this world or if he was one of an invading force. Doubtful, but you never know.

I have to scour the Ship for weapons to use against these things.

I can't do that if I'm convincing yokels to talk to me.

Letting Colin and Blanche take care of the leg work seems like an ideal solution.

Oh, I suppose I could have just asked them nicely to go, but that would have led to questions. Why wasn't I going? What was I going to do while they were gone? What if no one wanted to talk to them? What if, what, what if...

Best to let them think it was their idea.

They'll be safe enough. Colin's a big, strong lad and Blanche could talk her way out of the arms of Death herself.

I'm not worried.

What's the worst that could happen?"

Chapter Four - The Woods

"It doesn't matter where I go with Mac; it doesn't matter what wonders I see and what amazing places I visit, I still can't get used to the trees.

You didn't get no trees in London unless you went to the parks or one of them posh houses on the edge of the city what had oaks and elms and sycamores in their gardens.

They didn't like to see the likes of me in the parks. Said I was up to no good, looking for an easy mark to con out of a fat wallet. They were usually right but I think the main reason they kept kicking me out of the park was because I made the place look untidy.

And if anyone ever saw me within a mile of those posh houses they summoned the law and I found myself up before the beak where I would swear and scream and tell them I had done nothing, but end up with a thick ear for my trouble anyway.

No, I can't be doing with trees. Nothing good ever come of hanging round trees.

I liked London. I liked the houses that loomed like stone giants over the cobbled streets and the way the horses' hooves gave a hollow 'clop-clop' as they pulled heaving carts from one market to the next.

I liked the dark, damp alleyways that could swallow you up invisible and safe from prying eyes, but could bounce an echo loud enough to be heard from Cheap Side to Westminster.

I liked the people.

You knew were you were with the people of London. There was no falseness - no pretending to be mates when really you wasn't.

If someone was your friend, you were friends for life. But if someone didn't like you they made sure you knew it.

Mac made me read Oliver Twist once by that Charles Dickens bloke.

I think he found it funny to see me reading about places I've been and things I've done.

I think he wanted me to get cross with Mr Dickens and rant and rage about how he was a fool who knew nothing.

But he got a lot of it right.

I've certainly met my share of Fagins in my time - right evil bastards to a man.

I tried to tell Colin about Mr Dickens. I tried to explain the oddness I felt reading about my city, my time.

I tried to tell him that, although Mr Dickens got so much right, there was an awful lot he missed out.

I suppose the people of my time were more delicate about these things than Colin's are - at least, the ones what could afford books were.

Why would they want to face up to the cruel facts of what was happening to the street kids who shivered and coughed and died outside the door to their safe little world when they could just gloss over it in a pretty story with a happy ending and pretend it wasn't there.

It was a good book. But there weren't enough girls in it and wimp-boy Oliver would have got a right kicking if I had met him.

I saw that musical version they made. Colin watched it with me with a big grin on his face as he sang along to all the songs.

I couldn't stand it for long.

When Colin asked why, I just got cross and locked myself in my room for a week.

Try imagining a chirpy, bouncy, happy musical about the killing of them people at Auschwitz when you had actually been there and seen the horror and you'll know how I feel.

But when I tried to tell Colin this, tried to explain how Mr Dickens had got it right but so very, very wrong, he muttered something about being a Pratchett man himself and left it at that.

I don't think he understands that I need to talk about things occasionally.

I can't talk to Mac any more and Cre'at doesn't usually stay still long enough to pass the time of day.

Besides, I'm not sure how much a floating metal head would understand about the pain of growing up in the gutter with no one to hold you close when life became too hard to face.

I tried talking to him once and he almost analysed me to death. I'm not sure I could face his Sigmund Freud impression again. It's disturbing.

He told me I had issues with my mother.

I told him of course I bloody well did - that was the bleedin' point. The woman had gambled me away before I was old enough to talk proper and the tin brainbox was telling me I had issues with her.

After stamping around and slamming doors I spent another week locked in my room refusing to come out.

Colin's a great guy, don't get me wrong, but he's a soldier. Apart from the occasional bout of big brother over-protectiveness he's not too comfortable with 'emotional stuff'.

I just wish there was someone around who was.

I need to talk to somebody.

Soon."

*

Colin watched Blanche from the corner of his eye as they traipsed through the trees, weaving a path through bracken and brambles in search of a road.

She seemed pre-occupied, her earlier enthusiasm evaporating like so much steam.

The woods around them were truly beautiful. Towering species' he had never seen before loomed overhead, their branches inter-twined in a leafy embrace, their canopy all but obscuring the sky.

Dotted between them grew what looked like oaks and cedars, their leaves alive with birds and crawling things.

The place was a botanist's paradise, but to a soldier it was hell.

There were too many places to hide; too many chances for an attacker to leap out on them.

And he knew for sure there was at least one killer on the loose around here.

An explosion of leaves from a bush in front of them startled him and he stepped in front of Blanche, knocking her backwards, gun cocked and aimed as a rabbit darted across their path, its brown eyes huge with fear.

Blanche looked at him, "Bit jumpy, ain't we?"

Colin lowered his gun, a blush creeping up his neck and colouring his cheeks, "I'm alert."

"Yeah, 'cos that rabbit could have given me a nasty nip."

"Sorry."

Blanche grinned, "Don't you worry, soldier boy. Next bunny we see I'll let you shoot it for supper."

"You can be a brat sometimes."

"Cheers."

Shaking his head, Colin pushed on through the undergrowth, "Come on."

And they trudged on.

Colin estimated they had battled through almost a mile of branches and brambles before they hit the road.

Before they hit the dirt track, more like.

But it was a sign of civilisation that had been noticeably lacking up until then.

Blanche stood in the middle of the track looking back and forth, "Which way d'you reckon?"

Colin looked around. The track was dwarfed by the surrounding woods, giving no clues that would lead him confidently towards the lights and life of a town.

But the sun was going down, painting the sky a hazy purple, and he had no desire to wander around in the dark.

He pointed towards a bend in the track, his face set with a confidence he didn't feel, "This way."

Blanche shrugged, "Lead on, Tex."

*

Matthias watched the odd couple from the safety of the trees.

These two were new.

He had been the town's protector since he was old enough to walk and he had never seen these two before.

Fresh blood.

Stackmore had a thing for fresh blood and no sane person from the town would go near him or his horde of the undead.

He must be hunting further from home. Must have caught these two unawares.

Pity. They looked like nice kids. Shame he couldn't have got to know them before the beast sucked their souls dry.

One arm wrapped securely around a branch, Matthias reached into his coat and pulled a stubby black club from his pocket.

He gave it a practice swing and smiled, dark eyes glinting beneath a mess of curly brown hair.

Incapacitation was nowhere near as much fun as the kill, but Eleanor needed live ones if she was to find her elusive cure.

With a stealth borne of years of hunting, Matthias inched his way from the tree and stalked his unsuspecting prey as they chatted amiably.

For vampires they had very peculiar ideas about keeping hidden.

Definitely new blood.

They didn't notice as he drew level with them, just continued their inane banter.

The male was armed, though his weapon was held in the loosest of grips as he watched the female and made a pitiful attempt at scrutinising his surroundings.

Matthias wondered briefly if the creature had been a hunter before the Bite. He had the bearing of one trained for stealth but his execution of the skills was poor.

No matter. He could tell Eleanor all about his old life while she cut him open.

With a feral growl, Matthias burst from the trees and slammed his club down on the male's arm before crashing an elbow into his temple.

The weapon flew from the creature's grip.

The male fell to his knees clutching his head, "Blanche! Run!"

But she had left it too late, her eyes wide as her companion fell.

Matthias flashed her a grin, his eyes bright in the rising moonlight, and was pleased to see a cloud of fury darken her face.

He let her run towards him, arms outstretched, fingers like claws, ready to tear out his throat.

Side-stepping as she reached him, he brought his knee up into her stomach and cracked his club down onto the back of her head.

She fell without a sound, blood oozing from her scalp and matting her hair.

Matthias stepped back and wiped the club clean, returning it to his pocket.

A good night's work.

Eleanor would be pleased.

*

"This is ridiculous." Macfadyan hurled an armload of clutter to the floor and dived back into the cupboard, "I know it's around here somewhere."

Cre'at pootled into the room, a string of garlic looped around him, and surveyed the chaos with an impassive metal eye, * I have brought garlic. *

"What?"

* Legend states that garlic is most effective when dealing with vampires. *

Macfadyan's voice was muffled as he continued to delve deep into the cupboard, "Really?"

* Indeed. Also advisable are sharp sticks, holy water, bright sunlight and silver bullets. *

"Silver bullets kill werewolves."

* You are mistaken. *

The rummaging intensified, "I am not mistaken. Silver bullets are used to kill werewolves. You must have a crossed file in your mythical creatures database."

* I will amend it at once. *

Cre'at's eyes dimmed and he whirred gently, the garlic bobbing beneath him like a pendulum.

"You do that...Aha!"

Macfadyan burst from the cupboard in an explosion of bric-a-brac, a narrow grey metal cylinder, about a foot long, with a bulbous attachment at one end clutched in his hands.

He smirked at Cre'at and hefted the device into firing position, like a Wild West sheriff about to pick off a bad guy.

"There's one other thing guaranteed to finish off a vampire."

Cre'at scanned the weapon, * I am unfamiliar with the design. *

Macfadyan's smirk widened, "Dalek gun. Mark 2. Lethal from a mile away - devastating from close range. If our pointy-toothed friends are immortal, let's see how they like spending eternity as dust."

Adding the information to his database, Cre'at buzzed over to the door, * Blanche and Captain Curtis have been gone for two hours and seven minutes and it is now night time. I believe we should effect a rescue. *

Macfadyan was polishing the gun with his sleeve, "What makes you think they are in trouble?"

* They left the Ship. *

"Fair point."

Opening his coat, the Time Lord slipped the gun into one of its deep pockets, patting the line of the material back into place before striding past Cre'at, "You stink, by the way."

The Head drifted after the Time Lord, flakes of garlic floating to the floor behind him, * My aroma is good for the neck. *

"You don't have a neck."

* But you do. *

*

Colin stumbled for the third time in as many minutes but refused to allow himself to fall.

The throbbing ache in his head was matched only by the leaden heaviness thumping across his shoulders.

Pausing for a second, he hefted the unconscious Blanche into a more comfortable position, his breath hissing through his teeth as he felt the barrel of his own gun jab sharply into the base of his spine.

The weasely little man who had so effectively and embarrassingly mugged them, put his mouth to Colin's ear and cackled, "You stop again and I'll stake you both here and now."

Colin flinched away, the man's rank breath turning his stomach, "As I have told you five times, we are not vampires."

Matthias gave Colin a hefty shove and followed as he trudged along the track, "Then why were you in the forest?"

"We were looking for a town."

"You were looking for pure souls to suck dry. Well, that was a mistake, friend. We're not scared of your type here."

Colin sighed, "Good. Great. Glad to hear it. Tell me, are they all as stupid as you in town or is there the chance of speaking to someone with a brain?"

Matthias growled, his face reddening with fury, and he slammed the butt of the gun down hard on Colin's back.

With a cry of pain, the soldier stumbled forward, Blanche spilling from his arms as he fell to his knees.

She hit the ground with a hefty thump, groaning as consciousness smacked back into her, and she found herself blinking up into Matthias' leering face.

"What the bloody hell..?"

Matthias reached down and hauled her to her feet by the front of her jersey, the gun held inches from her nose, "I've learned a lot today," he hissed, "I've learned vampires feel pain."

Even as she held her breath against the stench of decay wafting from his mouth, Blanche found herself absurdly fascinated by the man's yellowing teeth.

They filled her vision as he spoke to her, the gun so close to her nose she went boss-eyed trying to bring it into focus.

And they loomed toward her like mouldy tombstones when he shook her roughly and yanked her forward, all the better to yell at her, "Are you listening to me?"

Blanche blinked fuzzily, "Not really, no. My head kind of hurts."

His eyes sparkled and suddenly the gun was replaced with a pointed stake of wood. Spittle flew from his lips and his grin tightened, "I could kill you now..."

"The gun would be a lot more effective."

"Against your kind? I'm not an idiot."

He raised the stake and Blanche closed her eyes. There was an ominous click very close to her face and then Colin spoke, "I beg to differ."

Matthias didn't move.

"Let her go."

The grip on her jersey slackened and Blanche cautiously opened one eye.

Colin was standing behind Matthias, his reclaimed gun aimed, rock steady, at the back of the man's head.

Colin's eyes were like flint, his body rigid, his lips tight with fury.

For a fraction of a second Blanche was afraid of him.

And then he winked at her and she grinned, "Nice one, soldier boy."

*

* We are going the wrong way. *

"Nonsense."

Macfadyan dismissed Cre'at's fears with a wave of the hand and pushed aside yet another curtain of leaves, "My sense of direction is only bettered by my tracking skills. They went this way."

* I disagree. *

"There's a surprise."

Cre'at hovered on the spot for a moment, conducting one final and totally unnecessary scan of the area.

Blanche and Captain Curtis were quite clearly 2.71 miles east of the thicket through which Macfadyan was struggling, curses flying from his lips as his coat caught on yet another bramble.

There was one other life form with the elusive duo, but Cre'at's sensors had no way of determining whether or not it was friendly.

He chose to believe it was not, saving himself any future disappointment in that area.

If he and Macfadyan continued on their current course they would come to a building.

If Blanche and Captain Curtis continued on theirs they would come to a town.

Zipping after the advancing Time Lord, Cre'at analysed the worrying probability algorithms his security programme had automatically started running.

According to the laws of averages, likelihood and pure bad luck, something nasty was due to happen.

Logging his friends' co-ordinates for later retrieval, he turned his sensors onto the building that lay just ahead of them.

It appeared to be deserted. No life signs from anything larger than a rat were registering.

Cre'at prepared the appropriate responses to Macfadyan's predictable declaration that he had known all along that there was a building nearby and he had known all along that it was abandoned and let's take a stroll through the forest again to find Blanche and Colin.

The Time Lord burst through the final tangle of undergrowth and frowned at the building.

It was a tumbledown house, set into the side of a hill. One wing had been designed to look like the battlements of a castle and there was no doubt that, in its day, it would have been a fine-looking building.

Macfadyan puffed out his chest, "As I suspected."

* It is deserted. *

"We'll see."

Cre'at scanned the building again, allowing his motors to whirr noisily, drawing a raised eyebrow from the Time Lord, * There is no life here. *

"Good evening."

Macfadyan spun round and found himself face to face with a dapper-looking man. He was dressed from head to toe in black, his jet hair framing an alabaster face, his eyes as black as the encroaching night.

He had his hands clasped behind his back and bowed slightly, a small smile playing at his lips, "It's not often I receive visitors."

Macfadyan shook himself, dragging his gaze away from the man's face. He stepped forward, hand outstretched in greeting, "Yes, hello. Interesting home you have here."

The man stared at him, making no attempt to shake the proffered hand, "It fills my needs."

Macfadyan lowered his hand, "Indeed."

There was an awkward silence which the Time Lord felt curiously compelled to fill, "We're looking for a couple of friends. Wandered off. Probably lost in the forest."

"I have seen no one."

"Ah."

"Would you care for a bite to eat before we seek out your friends?"

Macfadyan grinned back at Cre'at, "Excellent. Yes. Excellent. Lead the way, Mr...?"

The man smiled at him, "Laurence Stackmore, at your service. If you'll just come this way, Mr Macfadyan."

Cre'at watched as the Time Lord followed the strange man into the ruin that had once been a house.

His sensors clicked, * There is no life here. *

Chapter Five - The Road

"Cheese and pickle are very hard to come by in E-Space, yet he ate all the sandwiches himself.

Blanche once described Macfadyan as 'a bit of a berk'.

I have no point of reference to ascertain whether or not this is true, and she did not volunteer information to determine which part of the berk he is, but I am becoming more skilled at interpreting the moods of humanoids and I find her statement holds true.

Macfadyan is indeed a bit of a berk.

If it were not so he would have shared the sandwiches. Or at least said thank you.

If I point out this flaw in his character he will simply say that he forgot.

So when he asks why I did not point out that the person to whom he is speaking does not register on my sensors and is, in all likelihood, a vampire, I shall say that I forgot.

There is enough cheese and pickle left to make one more plate of sandwiches. If he becomes angry I shall simply present them to him as a peace offering.

'To shut him up', as Blanche is wont to say.

Captain Curtis often tells me that I should stand up for myself.

I have no legs, and Captain Curtis is not a man prone to cruel jokes, so I believe he means I must do what I wish on occasion.

My processors have yet to inform me if this is the correct course of action, but until the data is presented to me I shall stand up for myself on this point.

Cheese and pickle will surely be enough to smooth over any unforeseen error in my judgment."

*

Stackmore paused inside the doorway of the tumbledown house and allowed Macfadyan to pass, his mind to snaking out to read the man - to know him inside and out.

When he met resistance he blinked in surprise.

Stackmore was not entirely sure how long he had been alive, but knew that the years had run into the hundreds.

In all that time he had never met a mind even close to being the equal of his own. He read the thoughts and feelings of the puny people of this world as if they were pages of a book.

They were never aware of him leafing through their minds, and even if they had been, they wouldn't have understood or known what to do.

And now he met resistance in this joke of a man - this stranger - who hadn't even blinked when his own companion had warned him of danger.

Speaking of which...

He peered out at Cre'at. The creature was bobbing gently at the edge of the trees, its motors whirring gently: "Fascinating..."

It did not speak again and Stackmore got the absurd impression that it was fighting the urge to flee.

He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Macfadyan: "Machine?"

Macfadyan nodded. Stackmore took a step forward, and sure enough Cre'at whirred back a yard.

"You know what I am, little creature, and you do well to fear me."

"It's afraid of me."

Macfadyan smiled: "He's funny around strangers. Quite harmless though."

"Will it join us inside?"

"Yes, come and watch me play your master for the fool he is."

Cre'at's motors whirred and he spun round, zipping into the trees and away from Stackmore.

Away from Macfadyan.

He had to find Blanche.

*

Macfadyan gaped at the shower of leaves that floated gently to the forest floor in Cre'at's wake.

"I'm terribly sorry about him," he said with an apologetic shrug, "He's due a tune up...gets very ratty if his cogs aren't oiled properly."

Stackmore waved a dismissive hand: "Think nothing of it. Allow me to show you around. Would you care for some tea?"

*

"You silly creature. Is that all you think of me? How long have you known me?

Do you think me incapable of smelling power? I'm the Buccaneer - power comes to me when it wants advice.

I know what Stackmore is - I'm not a fool.

This planet reeks of vampires and there he stands looking like a reject from a trashy Goth novel.

There's nothing to fear here except a night crawler who needs a new line in bedtime reading - and some serious fashion advice.

It would have been helpful, Cre'at, if you had credited me with some sense rather than running for the hills.

What kind of fool must he think I am? And now you've left me to work this out alone. It's a good thing I have enough know-how for both of us.

This creature is nothing. He's a worm with ideas above his station. We need to find the man in charge - the big cheese, the head honcho - and if it was down to you we would be hiding in the bushes until the scary things went away.

You and I will have words about this, Head.

I do not appreciate being abandoned on a strange world in the company of some two-bit vampire with delusions of grandeur who thinks me a fool.

If I have to resort to saying 'Take me to your leader' I will be extremely annoyed.

I sense a 'tears before bedtime' situation coming up."

*

Cre'at zipped through the forest as fast as his motors could carry him.

Branches whipped against him as he passed, sending him spinning wildly until her servos regained control. Sot'ms, he reasoned, were not built to deal with greenery; and the leaves and twigs that had embedded themselves all over him were playing havoc with his workings.

He contemplated returning to the Ship and waiting it out.

Macfadyan would eventually talk his way out of the vampire's clutches and rescue Blanche and Captain Curtis from whatever trouble they had stumbled into.

He could wait in the control room until they returned perhaps work on correcting that annoying glitch in the time circuits that insisted on taking them to Albuquerque, New Year's Day, 1473, every other week.

There really wasn't much to see in Albuquerque on New Year's Day in 1473.

Yes, those circuits definitely needed immediate attention. The others would be fine.

He burst through one final curtain of leaves and there was the Ship, alone and silent, bathed in shadows as dusk crept in, a curious long-eared mammal hopping around in front of it.

Shaking himself in a futile attempt to dislodge the assorted forestation from his sockets, Cre'at told the Ship to let him in.

With a gentle hum, the Ship refused.

The long-eared mammal sat up on its haunches and twitched its nose at Cre'at.

The Sot'm reasoned with the Ship, threatened the Ship and finally begged the Ship to let him in, but the doors remained closed and the hum intensified.

"Are you ignoring me?" asked Cre'at.

The long-eared mammal ran away.

Cre'at pootled round the Ship and back again.

"I am crew," he said, "You must obey my commands."

The humming took on a singsong tone and the Sot'm stared at the Ship as hard as he could.

"Very well," he said, "I shall retrieve the others and return. And then I shall re-programme you."

And he zipped off into the forest, his guidance systems leading him towards the town and Blanche and Colin.

The humming stopped and the long-eared mammal poked its nose out of the foliage.

With a cautious twitch it hopped back into the clearing.

The Ship opened its doors and let the creature in.

Then it fed it raisins.

*

"I like what you've done with the place."

Stackmore smiled graciously as he led Macfadyan through the run-down tangle of decay that was the house.

"Your politeness is appreciated," he said, "But this is not my home."

Macfadyan wiped a streak of dust from his sleeve, "I did wonder how you kept up appearances."

Stackmore pushed open a battered door that looked as if it would fall off its hinges with the slightest breeze.

"There are many unsavoury characters in these parts," he said, "It does not do to show off. I let them think me a hermit and they leave me alone."

Macfadyan peered into the ruined room, "Then I take it you have a coin or two to rub together?"

"Appearances can be deceiving."

Stackmore approached a large, ragged box that might once have been a wardrobe. Its door was missing and mice were playing chase in and out of its musty depths.

Macfadyan frowned in distaste as Stackmore thrust his arm into the wardrobe and gave its back panel a hefty shove.

The panel swung back to reveal a tunnel - Deep and dark, Macfadyan noted. Obviously.

Stackmore dusted himself down and sent the mice skittering away with a stamp of his foot.

"I was unlucky enough to fall through the floor not long after I arrived," he said. "But lucky enough to find quite a roomy cave system beneath my feet."

"Cosy."

"Not at first. A few home comforts and a woman's touch and it became almost bearable."

He stepped back and, with a flourish, beckoned Macfadyan forward.

"Step into my parlour. Allow me to show you around."

With a shrug Macfadyan edged into the wardrobe and stepped through to the tunnel beyond.

"Do you have any Turkish delight?" he muttered as Stackmore followed him in, pushing the panel shut.

*

The first thing Blanche became aware of when she woke was the drilling pain in her head, as if some tiny miner was trying to chip his way out of her skull from behind her eyes.

The second thing she became aware of was that she was being carried rather uncomfortably in someone's arms, each jolt making her stomach heave.

The third thing she was aware of was a growl of disgust as she leaned over and threw up all over someone's rather grubby shoes, and the threatening snap in Colin's voice as he said: "Don't even think of dropping her, pal."

"Disgusting..."

"Yeah, whatever, give her here."

Blanche opened her eyes as Colin helped her find her feet; Matthias glaring at her as he tried to wipe his shoes clean on the grass.

Her head was thumping and she felt absurdly tipsy, as if she was watching the world from a distance. She held on to Colin's arm for a moment while her legs tried their hardest to remember how to hold her up.

"What happened?"

"You keeled over right in the middle of a sentence. I had to let weasel boy carry you."

"Yeah, thanks for that."

"It was either that or drop you on your backside every time he tried to clobber me. I only have the one pair of hands."

"I suppose."

She grinned at Matthias, "Thanks for the ride, buddy."

Matthias glowered at her, his face hot with fury, "I should have culled you, vampire. Eleanor only needs one of you..."

Blanche felt her headache intensify and she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain.

Colin pushed the annoying man forward and the three of them continued their walk towards the lights of the town, Matthias muttering foul curses under his breathe every step of the way.

With her head thumping, it didn't take long for Blanche to tire of his attitude.

Allowing her fingers to dig into his arm, she spun him round to face her, "Listen, weasel boy, if we were vampires, creatures of the night - whatever - would we have let you knock us about? You wouldn't have got within two feet of us."

He shook himself free of her grip and glared at her.

"I mean, think about it. Wouldn't we have changed into bats and, I dunno, flown away?"

Matthias' eyes widened, "You can really do that?"

Behind, them, Colin grinned, shaking his head as Blanche continued.

"Oh, yeah," she said seriously, "It's one of the first things they teach you."

Colin glanced around at the forest around them, keeping his revolver trained on Matthias as he listened, wide-eyed, to Blanche's explanation of the intricacies of turning into a bat, complete with expressive actions.

"...of course, changing back's a bit of a bugger, 'cos I can never remember where I left me clothes." She flashed the man a knowing wink and filthy grin, "Had one or two dodgy moments, I can tell you. And it takes a fair few hours to get over the urge to hang upside down from a tree..."

A rustle from the trees ahead of Blanche and Matthias knocked the grin from Colin's face, and he stepped forward, his revolver cocked and ready to fire.

The warning died on his lips as someone grabbed him from behind, wrapping a muscular arm around his throat.

"Lower the weapon," said a voice at his ear.

Colin cursed as the cold metal touched his throat; a lethally sharp blade caressing the skin with an almost gentle sting that he knew had drawn blood.

Blanche's verbal rambling was cut off in mid flow and she froze, hands in the air to illustrate hanging upside down from a tree, as three men stepped onto the path in front of her.

"Oh bugger."

Moving slowly, aware that the fourth man's blade could fillet him in seconds, Colin crouched and placed his gun on the ground, hands raised in submission as he stood next to his friend.

"There's been a mistake," he said.

"I can see that."

The voice at his ear seemed almost amused and Colin craned his peripheral vision to take in a well-built man, with shining green eyes and a clean-shaven head.

Matthias was almost bouncing with glee, "I caught them in the forest, Rafe. I was taking them to Eleanor. For the experiments, you know."

Rafe gave an impatient snort and stepped away from Colin, "Shut it, Matthias."

Blanche almost laughed at the expression of shock plastered across the little man's face.

"But, Rafe..." he whined.

With a flourish, Rafe returned his knife to its sheath, and bent to pick up Colin's revolver. He examined the weapon carefully, turning it over in his hands before returning it to Colin with a quick nod.

"Eleanor needs vampires," he said.

Matthias' voice was almost childlike, begging for his efforts to be appreciated, "But, these two..."

"Are as normal as you and me...well, me anyway. I don't know what hole you crawled out of, Matthias, but you left your brain down there."

The little man glowered, "Eleanor said I was to watch the forest. She said I was to bring any of those creatures to her. She said..."

Rafe turned his back, fumbling at his belt for a canteen, "How many vampires have you known to throw up and pass out?"

Matthias blinked at him.

"And given that the sun hasn't quit gone to bed, I'd say you've been throwing you weight around with a perfectly normal couple out for an evening's walk."

He handed the canteen to Blanche, who unscrewed the top and took a cautious sip. Water. She drank deeply, rinsing her mouth.

"Besides, the girl's right," said Rafe, peering owlishly at Matthias, almost nose to nose, "They could have finished you off and flown out of here before you could say 'thick as a plank'."

Matthias was turning a curious shade of purple, "Eleanor said..."

"Eleanor sent you out here to keep you out of trouble. Stackmore and his recruits are still in hiding. There's no way any of them will be venturing out yet. It's too soon."

"But we saw one," said Blanche, a little too loudly, before covering her mouth with her hand.

Everyone was looking at her and she began to wonder whether admitting there were actually creatures of the night around was such a good idea.

After all, where there was one, who's to say there weren't two more.

She and Colin had already had one close encounter of the crazy kind - and she had the pounding headache to prove it. The last thing they needed was for Rafe and his men to have a change of heart and slam a couple of stakes into their chests - just to be sure.

She blinked up at Rafe, her hand still firmly clamped over her mouth.

He raised an eyebrow and beckoned to one of his friends, "Marco..."

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, and Blanche turned to face the youngest of the other three men.

Men...he was little more than a boy really, but good looking, with eyes you could drown in, and when he smiled down at her Blanche knew she would tell him anything he wanted to know.

Gently, he prised her hand away from her mouth, "What did you see?"

She told him about the body staked to the tree and how Mac had said it was a recent kill.

"You're sure it was a vamp?"

She nodded, "He had the teeth thing going on and seriously needed a suntan."

Marco chuckled, "You get that a lot round here."

He turned to Matthias, expecting to see the little man puffed up with gloating pride, but instead saw a confused frown wrinkle his brow.

"Matthias?"

The little man shrugged, "I didn't stake no one tonight. Wasn't me."

"You're sure?"

Matthias bristled, "Of course I'm sure. I may be thick as a plank but do you think I'd forget something like that?"

He spun round to Rafe, fists clenched, "I want to speak to Eleanor. I don't care what you think, she needs to see these two."

Colin tightened his grip on the revolver. His instincts were telling him that Rafe and his crew were safe enough, but he had no intention of allowing Blanche and himself to be delivered to this Eleanor person like sacrificial lambs.

He edged closer to the girl and watched Rafe consider Matthias' request.

Matthias was glaring at the taller man, frustration flickering across his face.

"I want to speak to Eleanor," he said again.

Rafe clapped a calloused hand down on the little man's shoulder and flashed him a friendly smile, "You'll speak to her," he said, "But she needs you to finish your job first."

Matthias pouted, "What job?" he whined, "There's no one out here."

Rafe looked him in the eye, "You need to get over to the clearing and find out who their vamp is...was. Find out who staked him and then come to the pub and report to me."

"And then I can talk to her?"

"I'll let her know you're coming," said Rafe.

Matthias pulled himself up to his full, unimpressive, height and puffed out his chest, "I won't let you down."

With a sneer at Blanche and Colin, he slipped into the trees and was swallowed up by the fast-encroaching night.

Blanche looked up at Colin, "Damn," she said, "And I was really starting to warm to him."

Colin didn't answer, his concentration focussed on Rafe, Marco and the other two.

The group were huddled together, talking in low voices, the occasional glance back at the two time travellers letting Colin know exactly whom they were talking about.

Blanche nudged him, "What's up?" She tapped his gun hand, "And what's with the fire power? We're among friends."

Colin kept a firm grip on the revolver, his eyes riveted on the other men, "I'm taking no chances."

Blanche shrugged, "Well, if you're that worried," she whispered, "we could leg it. They're not paying attention. We could hide out in the forest."

He shook his head, "They'd find us. I didn't know they were anywhere near us until that Rafe guy had a knife at my throat. They're good. They'd find us easily. Besides," he looked down at her, "I have no intention of letting them take us to Eleanor unarmed."

"You don't even know who she is."

"Then he has good instincts."

Colin's head snapped up. He hadn't heard Rafe move, had only taken his eyes off him for a moment, yet here he was - gazing at them intently.

"He has?" said Blanche.

Rafe inclined his head, "No one should face Eleanor unarmed."

With a nod and a grin to Colin, he turned and walked toward the town, his friends in tow.

With few options left open to them, Blanche and Colin followed.

Chapter Six - The Interview

"I can feel him sneaking around inside my head, trying his hardest to hide the fact that he's reading my thoughts.

I have never come across a mind as strong as his.

There's something almost familiar about his methods but I can't pin it down. It's unnerving. He's clearly experienced in the ways of telepathy.

I'm shielding my thoughts as best I can; hiding secrets I have no desire to share.

But if I close the door too obviously in his face, he'll know who I am - what I am. I have to be careful.

Blanche would question my sanity if I told her I planned to enter the lair of a vampire - albeit a minor vampire.

Actually, what she would say is 'You're off your bleedin' nut'.

Always has had a way with colourful phrases that girl.

But I need to know more about that creature we found staked to a tree.

Who was he? Did he have a family before some fiend sank its teeth into his neck? Are there more like him?

I know instinctively that this Stackmore can lead me to the answers. And then I can lay him and his twisted kind to rest.

After being held hostage for so long in my own nightmares it will be nice to be the hero again.

I can't stand the way Cre'at has started to question me - the way Curtis has taken to walking around the Ship armed.

He may think I can't tell he has a revolver strapped beneath his shirt, but I can.

Most of all I hate the pity I see in Blanche's eyes when she catches me in the throes of demonised dreams.

And I hate the fear that flickers across her face whenever I so much as raise my voice.

She's scared I'll hurt her and, even though I cherish her more than even I care to admit, I'm afraid I'll hurt her too.

I have to prove to them all that I am the good guy.

I have to be right again.

Otherwise what's the point?"

*

Macfadyan followed Stackmore down a passage that fell just short of being claustrophobic.

Although neither man had to stoop, it was too narrow to allow more than one person at a time.

The walls were a rusty brown, and dust crumbled away when Macfadyan ran his fingertips over the surface.

Every few paces a torch jutted from a tiny niche, its flickering flame casting shadows that danced and shimmered as the pair walked past.

The air was heavy and damp and felt like lead in Macfadyan's throat.

He found himself wishing that the passage would end, hating that all he could see was the back of Stackmore's coat as he strode confidently ahead.

"Don't worry, friend, we're almost there."

Macfadyan jumped, unsure whether the vampire's voice had been in his head or if he had spoken out loud.

"What?"

Stackmore glanced back at him with an insincere smile, "I didn't say anything."

Before Macfadyan could berate himself, the passage ended, blossoming into a cavern like none he had seen before.

The walls were alive with paintings and murals, the floor thick with rugs of every shape, size and colour.

In the far wall a fire burned, each pop and crackle echoing in an almost homely manner.

A deep leather armchair was set in front of the hearth, its black surface warn from years of use.

A large wooden table dominated the centre of the cavern, long benches on either side and a stylised chair at the head, its arms and back swarming with intricately carved figures which Macfadyan yearned to examine.

And around the walls, curled up on the rugs and cushions, were people.

Macfadyan quirked an eyebrow at Stackmore, who raised a quietening finger to his lips.

"Don't wake them," he whispered.

"Who are they?"

Stackmore walked to the fire and held his hands out, allowing the flames to warm them, "Lost souls."

Macfadyan watched him closely, "What do you mean?"

"Examine one."

"But you said..."

"A little joke, friend. They won't wake. Night is not quite with us."

Cautiously, Macfadyan approached a young man. He looked barely old enough to shave, his skin far too pale in the flickering fire light.

He looked dead.

Reaching out to the boy's neck, Macfadyan searched for a pulse, his eyes fixed on the chest that failed to rise and fall.

Nothing.

"He's dead."

Stackmore rubbed his hands together briskly and fed another log to the fire, watching intently as embers spat and crackled and raced each other up the channel of rock that passed for a chimney.

Macfadyan watched him, wondering briefly where the chimney led, then a cold hand clamped down on his arm and he cried out in shock.

Stackmore's grin was almost cruel as he watched his guest peel the boy's hand from his jacket, one finger at a time, "I told you he wasn't dead."

The boy's eyes were tight shut.

"Why doesn't he wake?" asked Macfadyan.

He will. He knows you're there."

Pushing himself away from the hearth, Stackmore sank into the chair and let his eyes wander back to the flames, "He'll try to kill you when he wakes. Hunger, you see."

Macfadyan scrambled away from the boy and brushed down his jacket with as much dignity as he could muster.

Stackmore laughed, "Don't worry, friend. I'll not let him hurt you."

The Time Lord glowered at Stackmore, "You control them?"

"No. I'm trying to cure them."

Macfadyan snorted, "They are vampires."

"I know. But it's not their fault."

"What do you mean?"

Pushing himself out of the chair, Stackmore crossed the chamber and crouched next to the sleeping vampire.

Reaching out, he stroked a wayward lock of hair from the boy's forehead with fatherly tenderness.

"His name is Tyrel, He's 15." he said. "Until a week ago he spent his days working in his father's fields or whittling wood for the younger children.

"He had a talent for singing and a soul as gentle as an evening breeze."

He stood up and looked Macfadyan in the eye, "Now he would tear out your throat and feast on your blood before you had time to cry out."

Macfadyan studied the boy.

He was small for his age with unruly blond hair that stood up all over his head. His face still bore the chubbiness of childhood but his rolled up sleeves revealed the muscled arms of a working man.

"What happened to him?"

"Eleanor took a shine to him."

"And Eleanor is?"

Stackmore shrugged, "She's the one you came here to find."

"I don't..."

Stackmore waved him away impatiently and returned to his chair, gazing into the fire, "If you want to play games, then fine, but I can tell you that that gun in your jacket will solve everyone's problems."

Macfadyan's hand moved automatically to the front of his jacket, brushing against the bumpy outline of the Dalek blaster while his eyes fixed on Stackmore's.

"You see, that's where I have a problem," he said. "For you to know all this must mean..."

"That I am reading your mind. Yes, you've known that all along. Your attempts to shield your thoughts were very impressive."

Macfadyan blinked at him, unsure what to say.

Stackmore smiled at him, "I have no interest in your secrets, friend. I just want her gone."

"I know what you are."

The laugh was short and too loud in the echoing chamber, "Of course you do." Stackmore's tone was mocking, "I wondered how long we were going to dance around this. I am a vampire. I make no attempt to hide it."

"Then how do I know I can believe one word you say?"

Firelight reflected in Stackmore's eyes, dancing as he smiled, "Because you're still alive."

"Comforting, I'm sure."

"Enough!"

The armchair toppled back precariously as Stackmore leapt up and confronted Macfadyan, nose-to-nose, anger contorting his handsome features, "I have waited years for some one like you to come along. Years. Do you have any idea what it's been like for these people, living in fear of that woman?"

"Tell me."

Stackmore walked back to Tyrel and looked down at the boy who was stirring restlessly, mumbling incoherently as he struggled to fight off the sleep of the undead.

"This is her work," he said, "Every one of them. She turns them for the fun of it then leaves them to fend for themselves."

"How do they end up here?"

He shrugged, "I take them in. Train them..."

"Train them?"

Stackmore sighed, "They have no sense of self-restraint. They eat when the hunger takes them. Without me they would have feasted on the entire village by now. I could not allow that to happen."

Cautiously, Macfadyan knelt to examine one of the other creatures - a woman whose elfin features and slight frame reminded him of Blanche.

"If you're so concerned why don't you do something about it?"

"I can't."

He checked the girl's throat for a pulse, "Why not?"

Dead...undead...he wasn't sure which was worse.

When Stackmore didn't answer, he glanced across at him and saw him gazing at the boy with what could have been regret.

Straightening up, he dusted down his jacket once more, "I asked you..."

"I heard."

"Then..."

"I'm afraid of her."

It had been little more than a whisper and Macfadyan had to strain to hear, "What?"

Stackmore glared at him, "I said I'm afraid of her. She's my sire. I couldn't hurt her even if I wanted to."

Macfadyan matched the vampire's glare, "That's why you were so pleased to see me. You want me to do your dirty work for you."

He lowered his eyes, "I want you to help."

*

"He's being honest with me and that puts me on my guard straight away.

An honest vampire is not the most common creature in the universe.

I know now that I was right to follow him down here. I knew he would point the way.

His claim that he is working on a cure fascinates me. I have never before heard of research in this field. I must speak to him about it once this Eleanor is gone.

I will offer him my assistance.

If between us we can save this huddle of lost souls and return them to their families this will all have been worth it.

My nightmares brought me to this place and now this creature's dreams will make me a hero once again.

But I have questions..."

*

"We found a body."

Stackmore's head snapped up at Macfadyan's voice.

The Time Lord carefully watched his reaction, "It was staked to a tree about a mile from here. A man...a vampire."

Stackmore nodded, "That was Jaden. I'm sorry you had to see that. I was going to retrieve his body once night fell."

"Did you kill him?"

"Yes. He left us, refused to stay. He would have put the town in danger. I did what I had to."

"Where was he going?"

Stackmore's face clouded and his eyes glinted in the fire light, "Back to her."

"Why?"

Stackmore turned away, "Not everyone appreciates what I am doing here. Jaden wasn't strong enough to fight her. So he went back to her. If I had let him leave innocent people would have suffered and it would have been the end of me."

Macfadyan frowned, "She doesn't know where you are?"

"No."

"Yet Cre'at and I were able to find you without trying."

Stackmore's glare returned, "Surely you're not a fool. I allowed you to find me. I sensed your approach even from down here. If I hadn't wanted you to see me you would have walked straight past."

Macfadyan nodded, "Very well. I'll deal with this Eleanor character for you and then we'll take a look at your research. A cure for vampirism will be a welcome breakthrough. Why, I know of worlds in the Miletian Cluster that..."

"...father..."

The voice was small, wavering with fear and confusion and Macfadyan spun round to confront the source.

The boy, Tyrel, was stirring, his eyes blinking open, his face a frown.

At first he appeared not to know where he was, then he rubbed a hand across his face and his gaze fell on Macfadyan and Stackmore.

For a second it looked as though he would shrink back in fear, but then his eyes hardened with hate and, with a growl, he leapt to his feet.

Macfadyan took an involuntary step back.

Normally he would have had the boy beat for both height and build, but there was something in his eyes that promised a fight to the death, and he wasn't looking for that kind of battle.

Glancing over his shoulder he tried frantically to remember how he had entered the chamber, his legs tensing as he prepared to run.

"Stand down!"

Stackmore's thundering command bounced around the chamber in a painful echo, its effect on the boy immediate.

With a whimper, he fell to his haunches, trying desperately to cover his head with his arms.

Stackmore strutted towards him and hauled him up by the collar, shaking him harshly, "You will respect guests in my home."

The boy's eyes were huge and hungry, his trembling betraying his fear.

Stackmore thrust him away, glaring as he scuttled back to the wall and crawled behind one of the still-sleeping bodies.

Satisfied Macfadyan was in no more danger, the vampire gave an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry, friend. Some are a little too enthusiastic for the kill."

The Time Lord cleared his throat, trying and failing to exude an air of unruffled calm, "Well, hopefully he won't have that problem for much longer."

"You'll help."

"I said I would and I am a man of my word. Where will I find Eleanor?"

Stackmore smiled, "Go back to the clearing where you found Jaden and keep heading south. There's a town. You'll find her in the tavern."

Macfadyan raised an eyebrow, "She lives among the people?"

Stackmore nodded, "She's clever. She never indulges in the hunt herself. She surrounds herself with ghouls who give her all she needs."

"What do you mean?"

"She feeds off them. She boasts she has never shed a drop of unwilling blood."

Macfadyan's face screwed up in disgust, That's barbaric."

Stackmore's smile deepened, "Agreed, The innocent may give of themselves willingly but that doesn't mean they understand what they are doing."

The Time Lord reached into his jacket and drew out the Dalek gun, "Are you sure this thing will work. I thought a stake to the heart was needed to kill a vampire."

"A stake to the heart would kill anyone, friend, not just a vampire. No, the weapon is more than adequate."

He took Macfadyan by the arm and walked him to the chamber's entrance, "I will leave you to find your own way out. I must tend to Tyrel." He clapped the man on the back, "Good luck."

With a final glance at Tyrel, who was watching him with hooded eyes, Macfadyan slipped back into the tunnel and began the long walk back to the forest.

Once he was out of sight, Stackmore's smile fell like lead from his lips.

His eyes still riveted to the tunnel entrance he shot out an arm and pointed at Tyrel.

The boy whimpered and edged back against the wall.

His master's voice was cold, "Follow him."

Tyrel bounded to his feet and darted across the chamber, edging towards the tunnel, giving Stackmore a wide berth.

He was about to step into the passage when Stackmore's voice whispered at his ear, "When you see the bitch is dead, kill him."

Tyrel's eyes lit up and he glanced back at his master, his feral smile a drool of excitement.

Without a word he slipped into the tunnel and the shadows swallowed him.

Stackmore crossed the chamber and sank into his armchair, watching the dance of the flames and waiting.

Chapter Seven- The Past

"That was too easy.

I'm missing something.

It has been a long while since I encountered a mind as strong as his.

I could feel him closing off his thoughts at just the slightest of touches.

Frustrating and yet exciting.

I admit to feeling a touch apprehensive as I watched Tyrel bound off, ready to shadow the stranger's every move then slaughter him once the deed was done.

Once Eleanor was dead.

Mixed feelings? Of course. She was the best I ever turned. There had been no fear in her soul as I tore it from her and she remained unafraid until the day she left.

She would stand toe-to-toe and berate me for being what I am, for dragging her along with me.

On day one she refused to kill, trying to sustain herself with the food of the living. Nuts and berries and things foraged from the woods - it was disgusting.

After two weeks without tasting blood I truly believed she would die.

Then it happened.

She had thrown herself into her research, refusing my offers of help with sharp rebukes and threats of violence.

It was almost as if she didn't like me.

After 10 days she could no longer concentrate.

After 12 she was reduced to huddling in corners, screaming at nightmares and imaginary foes.

On the 14th night she had vanished.

I had been concerned, naturally, and sent two of the others to find her. They returned battered and bruised an hour later, limping home like beaten dogs, telling tales of a mad woman who had laid claim to the forest.

Curiosity led me through the trees to find her, but it was her screams that truly lit the way.

She had caught a young one - a girl.

There were no wounds on the body apart from two neat little holes at the jugular, so I knew the kill had been quick and clean.

I had been glad for her.

Nothing sours the taste of blood like fear.

Instinct had allowed to her to drink her fill and her lips and chin were red with left-overs.

When I found her she was howling out her grief, tears streaking trails through the blood, the cadaver limp in her arms.

I must admit that I began to wonder whether I had turned her correctly.

There was too much soul in those cries for one who should be undead.

Who had ever heard of a vampire mourning a kill? Did the townsfolk weep and wail every time they slaughtered a pig for a feast?

I had approached her cautiously, one hand stretching before me as if she were a frightened animal.

"My love?"

I think I should have chosen my words more carefully.

In the blink of an eye she was on me - teeth glinting in the moonlight, eyes burning yellow in her twisted face. She bore me to the ground with disturbing ease, digging her elongated fingernails into my throat.

"You will not speak to me again."

I blinked at her, wondering how far I should let this go before I beat her down.

Her grip had tightened as my attention wandered, "You are nothing to me, do you hear? You are not capable of love and I will never forgive you for what you have done to me."

Then she pushed herself away from me with a look of utter disgust, as though I were some mess she had fallen into.

"I hate you."

She turned to the corpse and scooped it into her arms, cradling it tenderly while crooning a ridiculous lullaby to its dead ears.

With one final glare at me as I sat on my backside in the mulch of leaves that made up the forest floor, she had turned towards the lights of the town and was gone.

She was magnificent. We could have ruled supreme, side by side, lords of the night.

I had assumed that the townsfolk would string her up and tear out her heart for what she had done.

Shame really - she had been very entertaining.

It was eight years before I learned she was still alive and kicking.

Our numbers had dwindled in that time. The coming of the slayers had been hard on us and by the time we realised they would be a problem they were too well-established to destroy.

Damn them.

My minions brought me tales of an undead who was working with the slayers, feeding off them at night while they hunted for our nests by day.

I killed three of my own kind for spreading such lies, so naturally I felt a little silly when I found out they were true.

One of my oldest friends brought the news that the undead in question was Eleanor; that he had spoken to her; that she was still working to find a cure for our condition.

Naturally I had tried to speak to her.

Surely, after all those years, she was ready to come home.

She refused to hear me.

We met one night at the edge of the forest outside the town. I brought her flowers; told her I was pleased to see her alive and well.

I invited her to return to us, all history forgiven and forgotten.

She took the flowers with a smile, her hand lingering on mine - at least that's how I saw it.

Then she asked me for help.

She was close to a cure, she said, as if our people were simply succumbing to a heavy dose of flu.

With my help her work would be easier, she said.

I told her about the new blood that had been turned to swell our numbers, described the thrill of the hunt.

I urged her to recall the ecstasy she had felt as she sank her teeth into the neck of the girl, the warm blood pumping down her throat, spilling over her chin and filling her aching belly.

How could she feed off the willing when the hunt was so much more?

She had pushed me away then, crushing the flowers against my chest as anger clouded her ageless features.

"You're nothing but an animal," she hissed.

And she had turned her back and walked away from me, ignoring my calls.

I hated her from that day to this.

I had lost countless brethren to her and her slayer band.

Some to the hunt and some to the failed potions she injected into their veins, hoping each time that it would be the one to return them their soul.

They all failed.

But with each friend I lost to her experiments, the fear that she would one day succeed gnawed painfully at my gut.

Because if she succeeded she would be sentencing me to death.

You cannot cure what was never infected.

There is always one seed from which every plant blossoms, and I am that seed.

There are so few of us left.

For every one of my children she strikes down I can create another. For every friend her slayers slaughter I will find more.

But I cannot allow her to turn her attention to me.

All would be lost.

I am unique on this world. Far from home, displaced from my own kind by light years of space, I am the last of my kind.

And that is why she had to die.

But now I find myself questioning the method.

I was quick to judge this stranger a fool - his dress and his manner did not give the impression of an educated man - but his mind spoke volumes about who he really is.

Or, more accurately, it hardly spoke at all. And that was the problem.

It has been 100 years since anyone among the townsfolk was able to hide so much as an emotion from me. I read them as easily as day turns to night.

But this man, with his arrogant manner and strange, metallic friend, was able to shield himself from me with no effort at all.

I wonder if I was hasty in my instructions to Tyrel.

Would this man serve me better alive?

These days I fond it hard to concentrate and I suspect my judgement has been flawed on more than one occasion.

It's annoying, but I know deep down that it is the way of things for my kind.

It will not last but I am impatient for it to end.

Only a century ago my wits were as sharp as my fangs and my kindred looked to me for guidance.

I knew when to hunt and when to sleep; I knew when to move on and when to erupt from the night and lay waste to a town.

Now my brethren huddle for warmth in a subterranean cavern, taking comfort from one another, afraid to approach me for fear I will strike them down.

They have no pride in what they are - what I have made them - and that has made them weak.

They crouch in corners whispering about slayers, and the fear and awe in their voices makes me retch.

How can they expect to survive if they are afraid of their prey?

For the first time in decades, the list of the lost is far longer than the list of the hunters.

But not for long.

I recognise the signs - the calm before the storm.

My weakness will not diminish our strength much longer.

The time of rebirth is almost upon me and I will rise up once again, more powerful than I have ever been.

And when I do I will show my kindred the meaning of strength.

We will swarm over this land, crushing all before us, feasting on the very soul of this world.

The slayers will learn the meaning of fear.

And I will rule eternal."

Chapter Eight - The Questions

"Blanche once told me that curiosity killed the cat.

I had been exploring her room whilst waiting for her to finish shouting at Macfadyan, and she was very cross to find me there.

She had thrown a pillow at me, knocking my rotors out of kilter and I had fallen to the floor.

Blanche is not an unkind human being and she had been quick to help me up, steadying me on the palm of her hand while I ran a quick diagnostic.

Once I assured her I was undamaged she had let me go and smiled at me.

'You know what they say, Cre'at,' she had said, 'Curiosity killed the cat.'

It was a strange statement for her to make given that I had no idea who 'they' were and I was not a cat.

But when I pointed this out to her she merely hefted another pillow in her hand and instructed me to 'bugger off'.

I wish she would explain these strange idioms to me. Macfadyan pretends to understand them but I believe he is simply trying to make himself appear cleverer than he really is.

Captain Curtis listens to my questions for a moment or two before shrugging and saying, 'Cre'at, old chum, if you every manage to fathom women, you're a better man than me."

This simply confuses me even more, for I am neither a man nor a chum.

And I am already 'better' than the Captain. I can work out the value of pi to 400 million places whereas he has problems with his seven times table.

I can calculate the acceleration needed for a dual-propulsion rocket to break free from the gravity of Venus whereas he once shot a hole in the wall of the library whilst trying to reload his revolver.

I am better and, given my life expectancy far exceeds his, I have no desire to be a man.

When I explained this to him he laughed at me and called me the Anti-Pinocchio.

Human beings confuse me.

At the moment, though, I would be very grateful for their advice.

I have found a house.

My scanners were trained on Blanche and the Captain and I had set myself the task of tracking them down.

They need to be informed of Macfadyan's folly before it is too late. He may claim to have a dual bypass system to control his circulation but that simply makes him sound like a motorway.

Time Lords are as vulnerable to a vampire's fangs as the rest of the sentient beings in the universe.

This is one of those times that leave me grateful that I am a machine.

I can still see Blanche and the Captain on my sensors - they are almost at the town now - but my decision to take a short cut through the trees has turned up this problem.

The house looks like any other you would expect to find on a world at this stage in its technical evolution. Blanche would think it was a mansion whereas Captain Curtis would call it a hovel.

I think it is quaint.

The problem lies in the strange power readings my sensors are detecting.

They are coming from deep within the house and I know for a fact that they should not be there.

My first priority is to find my crewmates and keep them safe.

But my curiosity - if I am capable of such a thing - is screaming at me to take a quick look around the house and find out where the power reading is coming from.

It is what Macfadyan would do.

But given that he has just ambled freely into the lair of a vampire, perhaps he is not the best person from whom to take my lead.

Captain Curtis would tell me to know my enemy. Good advice.

If I leave now and continue my journey to town I will not know what is contained within the house.

Captain Curtis will ask me and I will have failed in my duty.

I must investigate.

I will be sure to keep clear of any felines I see on the way."

*

The door wasn't locked and it took Cre'at a matter of seconds to pootle inside and hide behind a handy coat rack.

The house was dark and, apart from a few faint flickers that were rodents of some kind, his sensors detected no life signs.

No one was home.

He took a moment to peer between the folds of a woollen cloak and take in his surroundings.

He was in a hallway.

The ceiling was low, heavy with wooden beams, and the walls were panelled, though someone had decorated them with paintings and drawings of people and places he did not recognise.

The floor was made of polished dark tiles and he could see the ghost of his reflection peering back at him from their depths.

A steep staircase led up into darkness while two doors offered new options to explore.

A huge candle was set into a recess in the wall above one of the doors, its gentle flame offering the only light.

The strange readings were coming from behind the door.

Bobbing slightly as the cloak hooked over one of his arms, Cre'at pootled to the door and pushed it open.

The Sot'm was not built for frowning but he gave it a try.

The room before him was not what he had expected to find.

There was no doubt that it was a laboratory but neither the equipment cluttering the worktop nor the books crammed, floor to ceiling, in the jungle of bookcases were capable of registering at the levels he had been detecting.

Hovering above the workbench he peered cautiously into the test tubes that were laid out neatly in racks, and pondered the contents.

Viscous yellow goo oozed against the side of the tubes, the occasional puff of escaping air bubbling the surface.

Fascinating, but no help at all.

Bobbing to the middle of the room, Cre'at adjusted his sensors, tightening the range to within a few metres.

There. The bookcase.

Though it looked like a normal, dust-covered bookcase, leaning precariously against the far wall, a colony of spiders skittering along the top, the readings he was picking up told a different story.

Power.

He peered closely at the rows of battered tomes, beaming out electronic greetings across the ether to whatever was concealed within.

"Password."

Cre'at paused. Whatever was behind the bookcase had answered his inquiries quickly and precisely.

But how would it react to wither further questioning or an incorrect password?

Taking a chance, he scanned further, his sensors picking up circuitry and power signals that had no right existing in what was the equivalent of the Victorian era.

"Password."

It had detected his covert tinkering and experience told him it was about to throw the mechanical version of a hissy fit.

Putting aside his new-found curiosity, Cre'at focussed his attention on the machines access codes.

It took him a fraction of a second to decipher them and transmit the correct password. He was definitely slowing down as the years caught up with him - only a decade ago he would have worked that out in a nanosecond.

With an incongruous hum, the bookcase rose toward the ceiling, terrified spiders using the Sot'm as a launch pad from which to drop to the floor before scuttling off into the shadows.

Just as it seemed the bookcase would crash into the low beams of the ceiling, a section of the wall slid open and it flipped back into the alcove, leaving an archaic but immaculate computer in its place.

The silence was absolute as Cre'at regarded the machine before him.

A human would describe it as a gunmetal grey box with a screen in the middle, and the lack of a mouse or keyboard would confuse them.

Cre'at recognised it as a mid-35th century (Earth time) Psych-comp and his suspicion that something was not quite right on this Victorian-esque planet was hammered into place.

Psych-comp Inc had dominated the galactic markets for computer hardware from the 28th to 43rd century (Earth time).

Inventors of the first psychic computers, the company had monopolised the business and leisure industries, spewing out endless new programmes for the technologically greedy races of the time.

Psycho-comp constructed machines around a single strand of DNA from whichever species had placed the order, allowing the user to form a mental link with the hardware that made the keying in of information obsolete.

One drawback was that if the machine was not 'in the mood' to work, the customer could be left arguing with it for hours on end, whilst this and that dead line flew past their ears.

Psycho-comp brought out patch after patch to try to counter the bug but nothing seemed to completely do the trick.

Cre'at knew that neither Colin nor Blanche would stand a chance of being able to operate the computer - they simply lacked the belief that such technology was possible.

Macfadyan would claim he had been weaned on these things and would show off by persuading it to play backgammon with itself, but Cre'at knew that Psycho-comps were relatively rare since the riots of 42,456 when the Sentient Beings' Rights brigade declared the computers to be an abomination against nature and forced the firm to give its entire stock a "decent burial".

Psycho-comp had tried to recover by introducing a voice-activated basic computer model, but it was the equivalent of forcing the entire galaxy to conduct business on a Speak and Spell and the company soon went bust.

Cre'at had seen a Psycho-comp once before but that had been in a museum and the DNA within it was long-dead.

He had been itching to find a working model ever since - it was like coming face to face with your great-great grandfather, and hearing first-hand all the stories you had only read about in books.

The Sot'm hovered gently above the machine and transmitted his query: * Can you hear me? *

"Of course."

* I am Cre'at. *

"I know. How may I assist you, Cre'at."

* Why are you here? *

"To find a cure."

* A cure for what? *

"My master's condition."

* Who is your master? *

"Lawrence Stackmore, Lord of all he surveys."

* A strange title. *

"He bestowed it upon himself."

* Where is your master? *

"Unknown."

* When was he last here? *

"My master has never been here."

* Yet you are here. *

"I am."

* Why are you here and yet your master is not? *

"I was stolen."

* By whom? *

"By my mistress."

* And who is your mistress? *

"Eleanor."

* She has no title? *

"She never saw the need for one."

* Why did she steal you? *

"To help her find the cure."

* To your master's condition... *

"Yes?"

Cre'at paused for a second, his mind analysing the day's events.

Given the evidence the crew had stumbled upon since landing on this planet, logic suggested that the condition the Psych-comp spoke of was vampirism.

His database held no record of any attempts to find a cure but that did not mean that one could not be found.

He contemplated the creature he and Macfadyan had met and was startled when the Psych-comp interrupted his train of thought.

"That is my master."

* He is a vampire. *

"Indeed."

* How did you come to be owned by your master? *

"He purchased me whilst in service to the Great Ones."

* The Great Ones? *

"They crashed on this world many thousands of years ago. They are gone now. My master believes himself to be the last of his kind."

* But your mistress is also a vampire. *

"That is correct. Though she is merely a novice in such ways. My master is the oldest living creature on this world."

* But he and your mistress must once have been of the same race for you to acknowledge both. *

"Their DNA shares enough similar traits to allow them to access my data."

* Did she also come to this world with the Great Ones? *

"My mistress was born in the town."

* What of her ancestors? Is anyone in the town indigenous to this world or are they all descended from the Great Ones and their kin? *

"There was life here when the Great Ones came, but it is gone. My master's people proved dominant and those who chose not to oppose their rule were absorbed into the gene pool."

* Your master did not purchase you on this planet. The technology does not exist. *

"I was with him before that. We survived the crash together and served the Great Ones before the Time Lord came."

Cre'at had no ears, but if he had, they would have perked up noticeably.

* Time Lord? *

"The Time Lord destroyed the Great Ones, forcing my master to go into hiding for many years."

* Show me the Time Lord. *

The man whose face grinned its way across Cre'at's circuits was a mess of curly hair, mix-and-match clothes and gleaming teeth.

He wore a scarf that was far too long to be practical and there was a touch of madness to his eyes.

He was not Macfadyan.

Cre'at was mildly relieved. To have been led here by Macfadyan's nightmares was bad enough. To find out he had been here before would indicate a level of deception to which the Time Lord had never before sank with his shipmates.

The fact that another Time Lord had breached the boundaries of ordinary space and visited this void was fascinating.

He should tell the others.

"I must report your interest to my mistress."

* That is not necessary. *

"I disagree. Your associate is also a Time lord. He may be able to assist her in her research."

* Where is your mistress? *

"She travels to the town in the evening to feed. She will return before sun rise."

* She kills the townspeople? *

"She does not. My mistress refuses to endanger others to satisfy her own needs."

* I do not understand. *

"You must speak with her. I will discuss the matter no further."

With a subdued beep, the Psych-comp severed its link to Cre'at and carried on with its work.

With a final scan of the room, Cre'at pootled back towards the front door,

Behind him, the bookcase slid back into place with a quiet hum.

It was dark outside.

Chapter Nine - The Cruelty

"He's looking at her again.

I swear to God, if he gives her that stupid grin one more time I will slap him.

It doesn't help that she has turned on the 'little girl lost' charm - all eyelashes and shy smiles - that makes the poor sap think she needs looking after.

We've been walking for a while now and I can see the first houses of the town through the trees.

I've been trying to concentrate on what Rafe is telling me - vampires preying on his people for more than 100 years - but all I can see is Blanche and Marco walking in front of us making eyes at one another and 'accidentally' brushing shoulders every few paces.

It brings out the big brother in me, and my over-protective streak is likely to get him thumped.

I've never seen her like this before. Sure, she'll flirt with anything that has a pulse and walks upright, but this is different. We met these guys 30 minutes ago - by now she usually has a string of phone numbers and a declaration of undying love from some doe-eyed fool who thinks she'll come home with him and meet his mother.

Perhaps it's just because we're in the middle of a forest; perhaps it's the floppy hair - women love floppy hair - but she seems perfectly happy to trot along next to this guy and chat about everything from the stars in the sky to the first flakes of snow that are fluttering round our ears.

It's almost innocent. It's not normal.

Pay attention...pay attention...

Mac will want to know the ins and outs of what these guys are about and I can't afford to get distracted.

When we left that Matthias skunk, Rafe sent one of his men ahead while the other hung back 10 yards, covering our rear.

They are obviously a professional outfit, but besides Rafe none of them look old enough to have been through any decent level of training.

I asked Rafe how many men he has to fight the vampires and he just smiled and raised an eyebrow. 'You're looking at them,' he said, and laughed when my answer got no further than 'Oh'.

There's a big chief vamp called Stackmore, apparently. Mac will want to know about him. But it's this Eleanor I want to meet.

Rafe seems a decent sort and he speaks highly of her without actually giving anything away about who she is and what she's up to.

I must be sure to take in as much information as possible. Mac's not the only observant one.

He's touching her arm now, guiding her attention to some rodent that has just scampered across the track in front of us, and she's laughing at whatever it is he just whispered in her ear.

When we get back to the Ship - whenever Mac has wandered into town and helped Eleanor win whatever fight it is she needs help with - young Blanche and I are going to have a very long chat.

And if she giggles at that jumped up yob one more time..."

*

"Blanche!"

She jumped at Colin's sharp tone and turned to look at him, "What?"

The soldier glared at her, embarrassed that he had shouted, annoyed at the blush that he could feel creeping up his neck.

He gestured vaguely at the forest around them, "Keep your eyes on the road. How many times have I told you, you have to be aware of your surroundings?"

Blanche frowned at him then exchanged a smirk with Marco. Silently counting on her fingers with a look of exaggerated concentration on her face, she grinned and said, "Including all the other times you've told me? Once."

Marco gave a bark of laughter and the pair turned away from Colin and continued walking.

Rafe chuckled and clapped the fuming soldier on the back, "Look at it this way - you're armed to the teeth but you let her live. Sign of a real man, that is."

Colin grumbled and shot his new friend a glare.

The snow looked like it was considering turning into a blizzard and he had left his hat and gloves back at the Ship.

Blowing on his hands he glanced at the forest around them, his imagination summoning hidden creatures to tear Marco limb from limb.

Not that he was jealous - that was ridiculous. Blanche was like a little sister to him and he was just looking out for her welfare.

A mop-haired vampire slayer with a little boy smile and eyes that were far too dark to be normal was not his idea of a suitable boyfriend.

Besides, if events ran true, they would be off this world and back to normal space within a day or two. And Marco certainly wasn't joining the crew.

Mac wouldn't allow it...

Wiping away an errant snowflake that had settled on the end of his nose, Colin peered through the encroaching gloom at the young couple ahead of him.

Marco had slipped out of his coat and wrapped it around Blanche's shoulders to keep her warm.

She was smiling up at him as he chatted his way through some pointless tale or other, snuggling deep into the coat as if it were a 35-tog duvet.

Colin snorted and glared daggers at the back of Marco's head. Despite his best efforts, it didn't explode.

*

When the forest parted before them, branches unravelling to expose the town nestled ahead, it almost took Colin's breath away and for a moment he forgot that he was supposed to be angry at the world.

It was like looking at a picture postcard.

The gently falling snow bright in the moonlight, the snug little houses with their thatched roofs dotted higgledy-piggledy along the length of the cobbled street, the clock tower jutting up from the town square - it was like stepping back into the Victorian age.

Colin loved it on sight.

If the moment ever came when Mac lost his patience once too often and told him to pick a time and place in which to be abandoned, this is where he would choose. It was beautiful.

There was even a pub! He could see a fire flickering in the hearth through the window - an honest to goodness fire - none of that central heating nonsense to dry out your skin and irritate your throat.

If the place served ale he would be sold...

"Bit of a dump, ain't it. Looks like Dunstable."

Colin glared at Blanche as she gazed around at the town, obviously unimpressed with what she saw: "What? It's nothing like..."

She waved him away: "I went to Dunstable once to see my nan. It was just before mum gambled me away in that hand of poker. I remember it 'cos it were the first time I saw a chicken." She grinned up at Marco as he tried not to shiver, goose pimples bubbling up under his shirt: "Weird-looking buggers, they were, and really hard to catch."

Colin blinked at her, allowing his retort to die on his tongue as she opened the coat and invited Marco to share its warmth.

Rafe had halted the group on the edge of town while his lead man - Colin thought his name was Ryan - darted into the pub.

He re-appeared at the door now and Rafe acknowledged his wave with one of his own.

"We'll drink now," he said to Colin, "A little something to warm our souls and then we'll take you to Eleanor."

Blanche peeked out from the depths of the coat, her face flushed from the warmth while her nose reddened in the chill: "Won't she be drinking with us?

Rafe grinned at her: "It's wasted on her, little one, she has no soul to warm."

And with a wave of his hand he ushered Marco, Blanche and Colin towards what ever welcome the pub had to offer; the fourth man, Conor, bringing up the rear.

*

Eleanor had the prettiest face Blanche had ever seen and her smile was warm as she handed the girl a mug of mulled wine, fresh from the fire.

'Thank you.'

'Your welcome.'

The King's Cruelty may have had a strange name but, once through the door, the pub was the cosiest, most welcoming place Blanche could imagine to protect her from the ever-thickening snow that was busy painting the town and forest a fluffy white.

Gazing around the room, she felt a nostalgic twinge tug at her belly. Add a few drunks, a good bar fight, some blood and vomit on the floor and a poker game in the darkest corner and the place could pass as one of the many drinking holes her mother had dragged her to a lifetime ago.

The barman had a kindly face but looked more than capable of defending himself; the floor was made of flagstones strewn with straw and the clientèle had the ruddy complexions of people who worked on the land.

Eleanor had drifted to the far corner with Colin and Rafe and the three of them were talking in hushed whispers, though the Captain seemed to be getting worked up about something.

Blanche watched as Rafe lay a placating arm on his shoulder, then Colin extended his hand to Eleanor, who shook it warmly.

OK, so it looked as if they would be staying for a while. All friends together. She turned her attention back to much more interesting drink in her hand, inhaling the musky aroma with a sigh.

Huddled inside Marco's coat, her fingers tingling as the warm mug slowly thawed her hands, she edged towards the hearth to allow the roaring fire to heat her face.

'Better?'

She looked up at Marco and smiled, sure that her cheeks must be glowing as much as his in the firelight, 'Yeah, loads. It's cold out there.'

He rubbed his hands together briskly then held them out to the fire, 'It'll get worse than this before tomorrow. We're in for a chilly night.'

She sipped the wine and smiled shyly, 'I've still got your coat.'

He reached out and straightened the collar, his fingers 'accidentally' stroking her cheek, 'You were cold.'

'I'm warm now.'

'Me too.'

Blanche grinned at him, loving the way his blond mop of hair kept flopping over his eyes making him look like an incredibly cute and attractive sheepdog. She could lose herself in those eyes...

'Did you know there are 12 different ways to kill a man using only your fist?'

Startled, Blanche and Marco spun away from the hearth to see Colin standing behind them, a flagon of ale in one hand and a forced smile plastered across his face.

Blanche glared at him while Marco took a slightly wary step back, 'What?' she said.

Colin shrugged and took a swig of his ale, 'Just making conversation.'

'You're bloody weird, do you know that?'

'And you're just visiting. Remember that.'

He took her arm and led her away from the hearth, 'I need to talk to you.'

Blanche shook off his grip, 'I'm talking to Marco.' She turned away from him and turned away.

'Eleanor's a vampire.'

Blanche stopped, 'Damn.'

With a longing glance at Marco, who seemed to find the contents of his own mug strangely fascinating, Blanche turned back to Colin and glowered at him as if Eleanor's condition was his fault.

'How long have you known?'

'She just told me.'

'She told you?'

Colin nodded, 'Seems her creature of the night condition wasn't through choice and she's spent years trying to find a cure.'

Blanche frowned, 'Is there a cure for vampirism?'

'She seems to think so.'

Taking a sip of her wine, Blanche allowed her gaze to drift back to Marco, who was staring into the fire, allowing the flames to warm his face.

'So, are the others vamps?'

Colin saw who she was looking at and scowled, 'No, just her. So if lover boy offers to nibble your neck you'll be perfectly safe.' He gulped down a healthy swig of wine and muttered, 'Can't say the same for him, though.'

Blanche looked at him, 'I can't believe you're jealous.'

'I'm just looking out for you.'

'Thanks, dad.'

Colin's bit down on his retort when Eleanor approached, a jug of wine in hand, whispering something to Marco as she passed.

The young man nodded and sulked off to speak to Rafe.

With a smile at Colin and Blanche, Eleanor hefted the jug, 'Refill?'

Blanche took a small step back, unconsciously edging behind Colin, 'No thanks.'

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, her smile as warm as the heat from the hearth, 'Can I assume that Captain Curtis has explained the situation to you?'

Blanche nodded, 'He said you're a vampire.'

'Not through choice.'

'Yeah,' said Blanche, 'Well I have to warn you that I have really thin blood - runs in the family. You'd hardly get half full if you took a bite out of me.'

Eleanor nodded, 'I'll bear that in mind.'

Colin scowled back at Blanche, 'Will you pack it in.' He stepped deliberately away from her, forcing her to face their host, 'I've told her about Mac. If there's a cure for this, he'll find it.'

'If we can find him first.'

Colin snorted, 'He's probably still sitting outside the Ship muttering about the "one well-documented case of vampirism in E Space". I doubt he's even noticed it's snowing.'

'Even Mac's not that oblivious.'

They grinned at each other, friends again.

Elenor had been watching them with cautious amusement, 'Your friend knows of vampires?'

Blanche shrugged, 'He says he does. He says he knows a lot of things...'

'And what is E Space?'

Colin frowned, 'Well, it's here. It's what we call this place...from where we're from...' He tailed off, offering Eleanor an apologetic smile, 'I don't explain these technical things very well. That's Mac's area of expertise.'

Eleanor leaned forward and refilled Blanche's half-empty mug, the deep red wine sloshing against the side of the jug, 'Then I shall look forward to meeting him. He sounds like a remarkable man.'

Colin muttered something unintelligible and look a sip of his wine.

Blanche smirked at him and, aware that Marco had edged closer once more and was gazing at her with puppy dog eyes, she raised her mug to Eleanor in a toast, 'I'm not sure remarkable is the word you're looking for. "Prat" would be closer, but if anyone can help you out, it's him.'

*

Half listening to Eleanor as she chatted to him, Colin watched as Blanche wandered away with Marco.

The man-boy had found another coat from somewhere and they looked like a pair of stunted Yeti as he guided her towards a side door.

'No you don't pal!'

Rafe loomed in front of him, grinning over the brim of a frothing mug of ale, 'He's showing her the gardens.'

'It's dark.'

Rafe threw an arm round Colin's shoulder and guided him to a table by the window where the others were already seated, 'Don't fret, friend. It's a clear night, love is in the air and our Marco just wants to teach Blanche how to howl at the moon.'

Colin spluttered on his wine, a spray of red droplets spattering down his jacket. He pulled away from Rafe, 'You what?'

The three slayers began to roar with laughter and Eleanor lay a placating hand on Colin's arm, 'Ignore them.'

'Blanche is my responsibility.'

She smiled, 'I need to discuss a few things with you, so I asked Marco to keep an eye on Blanche. She is perfectly safe.' She shot a mock glare at the three men crowded round the table, giggling into their drinks, 'Unlike some I know, he would never take advantage of a new friend.'

His glare riveted to the side door as it closed behind the two youngest members of the group, Colin allowed himself to be guided to his seat at the table, 'OK...what do you want to talk about?'

Eleanor regarded him with serious eyes, 'I am keen to meet your friend, but I must know, will he understand my work?'

'What do you mean?'

'Good intentions are all well and good, Captain, but will he be able to advise me on cell counts and haemoglobin? Will he be able to point out errors I have missed?'

Colin was nodding as she spoke, 'Mac is the smartest guy I've ever met. There's nothing he can't offer an educated opinion on. And, of course...'

She nodded, 'He seems to have dealt with this problem before.'

Colin shrugged, running one finger around the edge of his mug, 'Well, I don't know about that. He knows a lot of people who know people who've done things, if you see what I mean.'

Eleanor fell silent for a moment and Colin noticed that Rafe was watching her closely.

The big man reached out and squeezed her hand, 'You OK?'

She nodded, chewing her bottom lip in thought, but didn't look up at him.

'Do you need to feed?'

To Colin's astonishment, Rafe pushed up the sleeve of his jacket and edged closer until his arm was almost under her nose.

His forearm was pockmarked with tiny reds dots, two at a time, row after row, parading up and under his sleeve, the skin surrounding them puffy and red.

Colin reached across the table and snatched Rafe's arm away, 'What the hell is this?'

He glared at the faces seated around him. Neither Conor nor Ryan seemed bothered by what they saw, one sipping quietly at his drink while the other hefted a small knife in his hand and began carving random tiny patterns in the wood of the table.

'What's going on here?' Colin's eyes darted from Rafe to Eleanor and back to Rafe. "Do you need to feed?" 'She feeds off you? Is that it? She sucks your blood?'

Rafe gently pulled his arm away from Colin and tugged his sleeve back into place, 'It's nothing I'm not willing to give.'

Colin pushed his chair away from the table, aware the pub had fallen quiet as all eyes watched him, 'This is sick. You can't let her...I don't understand...'

Rafe stood and placed a meaty hand firmly on Colin's shoulder, pushing him back into his seat, 'No you don't, friend, so sit down and shut your mouth while we explain it.'

Colin glared up at Rafe, the man's deep, brown eyes burning into his, daring him to challenge his authority. He could feel a roomful of stares boring into his back, the tension almost physical as they all waited for him to make his next move.

Eleanor was gazing at him with soft eyes, 'Please.'

Colin sat, his back ramrod straight, fists clenched in his lap as he willed them to stop trembling, 'Sorry,' he said, 'Very rude of me. I just wasn't quite ready...'

Rafe grinned, 'My fault. I should have warned you before serving up a pint of red.' He waved across at William, who had edged out from behind the bar, a sizable club hefted in one hand, 'S'ok, Bill, no head-cracking today, but I think our friend here could use something a little stronger than wine.'

The barman nodded and before Colin knew what had happened he found himself knocking back a shot of something that smelled and tasted potent enough to sedate a rhino.

When his eyesight returned they were all laughing at him again and even Eleanor was chuckling.

'Christ!' He blinked away a lake of tears and grinned, 'That'll put hairs on your chest.'

Rafe slapped him on the back and poured out another shot, 'More?'

'God, yes.' Colin took a sip of the drink and sighed with contentment as it warmed him all the way down to his toes.

Gradually the chuckles faded as Eleanor folded her hands in front of her, palms-down on the table, 'You need to go out again.'

Rafe raised an eyebrow, 'Tonight?'

She nodded, 'If this Mac is to help us I want everything ready for him. He needs to see how far I have come with the serum - he needs to see its effects on one of the turned. I need you to bring me one here, and quickly.'

Conor looked up, gently spinning the blade of his knife from finger to finger, 'It's dark out. They'll be hunting now. It'll be dangerous.'

Rafe nodded, 'I'll go alone. Safer.'

He pushed his chair back with a scrape of wood on stone, but stopped when Colin's hand gripped his shoulder, 'I'll help you.'

The vampire slayer shook his head, even as the soldier got to his feet, but Colin cut him off, 'Mac's out there somewhere,' he said, 'He's an "over-react first, ask questions later" kind of guy, so I should be there when you meet.'

He shrugged on his coat, his face grim with determination, 'Besides, if it wasn't for Blanche and me you'd have caught one already.'

Rafe watched as Colin drew his revolver and checked the ammunition before returning it to his belt with a flourish.

'Fine,' he said, 'I'll be glad of the company.'

Colin nodded to Eleanor, 'Would you take care of Blanche for me until I get back.'

Rafe tugged open the door, grinning as a flurry of snow danced into the pub on the back of a biting breeze, 'Don't worry about the kid,' he said, 'She's in good hands with Marco.'

Colin glowered at the vampire slayer as he stepped out into the night, 'Yeah,' he scowled, 'That's what worries me.'

Chapter Ten - The Sky

“I didn’t think girls like Blanche existed. They certainly don’t in this town - not until she arrived. The men around here tend to keep their daughters out of reach when slayers are in town. They don’t mind sharing a drink with us or bragging about their own glory days, but if we show more than a passing interest in one of their women-folk the knives and pitchforks appear quicker than you can say ‘but we were only talking’.

Blanche doesn’t give a damn about things like that.

When I suggested I go back and ask Colin’s permission to talk to her alone, she said, ‘I’ll talk to whoever I bloody well please. If he’s got a problem he can discuss it with me.’

She clenched her fist in a twisting, squeezing motion on the word ‘discuss’ and I must admit feeling a little sorry for Colin.

Then she smiled at me, her eyes twinkling brown in the moonlight, and suddenly it was just her and me and nothing else mattered a damn.

She tells such fantastic tales and I wish I had half the imagination she does.

She told me about far away places and wondrous lands I can never hope to see.

She told me about the adventures she has shared with Colin and this guy called Mac - who I can’t work if she loves or hates - and some one called Cre’at.

The only thing she’ll tell me about him is that he’s very short and has trouble walking but can fly on a breeze. I think she’s being poetic but I don’t want to ask in case she thinks I’m a fool.

It’s snowing quite heavily now but it will soon pass. The sky in the distance is almost black and I wonder if she’ll laugh at me if I name a star after her.

There are a couple of long benches under one of the trees and she scampers across and lies on her back looking at the sky.

Drawn like a moth to a flame by the grin on her face, I follow at a more sedate pace, my feet crunching lightly in the layer of snow that is already covering the grass in a blanket of white.

There are worse ways to pass the time than gazing at the night sky with a pretty girl. Especially when the air is chill and she looks extremely likely to snuggle up to me to keep warm.”

*

“Marco is being the perfect gentleman and it is driving me crazy.

He followed me to the bench but, instead of sitting close and letting me cushion my head in his lap while we gaze at the stars, he perched on the end so precariously that he’ll fall off if he so much as sneezes.

I’ve never felt like this before - head over heels for a complete stranger - and I think he feels the same. That’s probably what’s making him so nervous.

I’m not used to this. On the Ship it’s like the battle of the egos with Mac and Colin and even Cre’at. They square up to each other so much you can almost hear the antlers clashing.

They have no time for words and feelings and ‘girl stuff’

If Mac were here he would be pointing out star systems to me - pretending he knows their names just to make himself look impressive. Colin would be sighing and fidgeting and wishing he was somewhere else.

Cre’at would just bob there, saying nothing, doing nothing until we both got bored and wandered away.

With Marco it’s different. He’s nervous as a lamb but I can feel him trying to convince himself to step off the edge and move closer.

Guess I’ll have to give him a push.”

*

“Are you cold?”

Marco smiled at her, “A little.”

Using her feet for leverage, Blanche shuffled closer, “Me too.”

The slayer grinned and met her half way, his lap making a comfortable cushion for her head.

He watched her as she gazed up at the night sky, studying the stars that were twinkling down at them. He began to stroke her hair, hesitantly at first but then with more confidence as she settled deeper into him, “I wasn’t sure…”

Blanche gave him a gentle smile, her eyes shining, “I like it here. I like having some one to talk to.”

Without warning her smile crumpled and she covered her face with her hands as deep sobs heralded a flood of tears.

“Blanche?”

She waved him away and rolled off of the bench, sitting in the snow, hugging her face to her bended knees, her body a ball of despair.

He was at her side in an instant, one hand stroking her back while the other pulled her into an awkward hug, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It hurts.”

Marco blinked in confusion, “What…? I don’t under… Was it Matthias? Is that what it is? Your head…? I’ll kill that little weasel…”

Blanche shook her head, flakes of snow fluttering from her damp hair and floating round her knees as she hugged them tighter.

Her voice was muffled in the fabric of her clothes and Marco had to strain to make out what she was saying.

“’S not that. I’m sorry…”

With concerned eyes and the gentlest of touches, he lifted her chin, wiping away her tears with the pad of his thumb, “No need for apologies. Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Blanche peered at him through the blur of tears and drew a shuddering hiccup of breath, “I don’t know what to do any more. I‘ve made such a mess of things.”

He held her gaze, his expression earnest concern, “You’re amazing, do you know that? The places you’ve seen - the stories you’ve shared with me. How can you possibly think you’ve messed things up?”

Blanche wiped her forearm across her face, sniffing wetly into her sleeve, trying desperately to stop her chin from trembling, “I must have done something wrong. We used to have fun - such a laugh - but now it’s almost like he hates me. And it hurts.”

“Who?”

“Mac. He’s always been a bit of a sod but he used to tease me - like mates do, you know - and show me things - teach me things. I used to think I’d stay with him forever, but now….” Her eyes filled again, the tears glistening like snowflakes in the moonlight, “…Now he’s gonna take me home and dump me there - I know he is. And I can’t live like that no more - not after all the things he’s shown me.”

And she threw herself into the young slayer’s arms, sobbing pathetically, while he rocked her and muttered nonsense words of comfort.

*

“I do not like trees. They are home to crawling things that explore my circuits and leave slime trails across my skin.

It is an odd feeling.

A creature has been following me for some time now. It flies ahead of me and waits for me to pass beneath it.

Its eyes are rather too large for its body and it is able to turn its head almost full circle as it watches me forge on.

Then it hoots at me and flies ahead once more.

I am approaching the town to which Blanche and Captain Curtis headed and I need to be cautious. I need to be sure my shipmates are in friendly company before I reveal myself.

If the hooting, flying creature threatens to give away my position I will have to disable it.

I am a master of disguise but I would have a hard time blending in in such a primitive environment.

Although…

I have an idea…”

*

A hoot and a strangled squawk stopped Colin and Rafe in their tracks.

They squinted into the darkness as a flurry of feathers floated down with the snowflakes.

Rafe grinned, “Looks like we’re not the only ones hunting tonight.”

And they made their way into the woods in search of their prey.

*

Resplendent in a freshly acquired covering of owl feathers, Cre’at watched from the trees as Captain Curtis and another man walked into the woods.

The captain seemed to be in no danger, so the Sot'm turned his attention to finding Blanche.

Disguised as a common creature of the night he felt sure he could approach the town unchallenged.

Trying hard to navigate through the feathers, he pootled off towards the welcoming lights.

Chapter Eleven - The Subject

“I will admit to being a little worried. There are vampires wandering through the night and I have no idea where Colin and Blanche are.

If they have any sense at all they will have returned to the Ship to wait for me.

Who am I kidding? Colin has enough sense for the pair of them but Blanche is bound to wander off and the good Captain would never leave her.

So I’ll add that to the list of things to do… deal with Eleanor, deal with Stackmore, rescue wayward companions. A Time Lord’s life is not an easy one.

At least I can rely on Cre’at to be sensible.”

*

Colin was impressed. As a soldier he had developed an instinct for stealth but Rafe was on another level.

He was having a hard time keeping track of the man as they crept through the trees in search of a vampire.

He had long since lost his bearings and was fighting down an irrational fear that, if he lost track of his companion, he would be lost in these woods forever.

A hand grabbed him by the collar and hauled him to the ground and Rafe’s voice hissed in his ear, “Is that him?”

“Where?”

“Listen?”

Colin peered into the darkness and tilted his head to one side. Then he heard it.

Some one was stomping through the woods, making no attempt to hide their presence, muttering to themselves as they went.

He saw him not long after he heard him.

Macfadyan trampled his way into view, impatiently shaking a string of brambles from his leg.

Colin tried to get up, but Rafe’s hand held him in place.

“It’s OK,” the captain whispered, “That’s Mac.”

Rafe clamped one hand over Colin’s mouth and glared at him, “Yeah,” he hissed, “And he’s got company.”

Pushing Rafe’s hand away, Colin peered passed the oblivious Macfadyan and further into the gloom.

There was some one following him. A boy, by the looks of it. He could just make out his messy blond hair as it caught the moonlight.

There was something strange about him…

“He’s a vamp,” said Rafe and pulled Colin lower as Macfadyan passed by.

“We should warn…”

Rafe shook his head, “He’s heading right for the town. He’ll be fine. We need to get the boy to Eleanor. You ready?”

Macfadyan had disappeared from sight by the time the boy drew level with them.

Colin and Rafe stepped silently from their hiding place and Rafe smirked as the boy took a step back.

“S’matter, vamp, we scare ya?”

The boy snarled at them, his teeth glinting.

Colin held his ground, ready to fight the creature, but then Rafe launched a vicious left hook and punched it full in the face.

The boy dropped like a stone and Rafe hauled him over his shoulder with a scowl, “Come on.”

Colin stared at his new friend, “What’s wrong?”

“I know him. He’s one of the lads who went missing from the farms recently. I’ve worked with his father. If Eleanor’s cure doesn’t work, I’m gonna have to kill him myself.”

And he headed off towards the town.

Colin followed silently.

***

They made it back to the town just as the boy woke and began to struggle fiercely; feral growls erupted from his throat as Rafe was forced to drop him.

The lights of the pub were a welcome sight and the commotion brought men running to help subdue their burden.

“Get him on the table,” cried Eleanor as the struggling vampire tested the strength of the four men holding him.

Colin found himself almost laying across the boy’s chest as he fought to free himself, growling and cursing in guttural words they couldn’t understand.

“Eleanor, hurry!” Rafe yelled, snatching his hand away as the boy tried to bite him.

And then it was over.

Eleanor appeared at the boy’s head, whispering soothing words and stroking his sweat-soaked hair, before jabbing a needle into his arm and squeezing the potion into his system.

The vampire fell silent almost immediately, shuddering and fighting for breath before slipping into unconsciousness.

They release their hold on him one by one, half expecting him to leap up and attack them all.

“Is he dead?” said Rafe.

Eleanor shook her head, “He’ll sleep for a while. We’ll know one way or another within the hour.”

She nodded to Conor, “Take him into the back room and keep watch over him.”

With a nod, Conor gathered the boy into his arms and disappeared behind the bar into the living quarters.

A thought occurred to Colin, “Have you spoken to Mac?”

Eleanor frowned, “Your friend is not here.”

“But we saw him in the woods. The boy was following him.”

Rafe chuckled and pushed a flagon of ale into his hand, “Relax. He was heading this way. Only a complete idiot would have missed the town.”

***

“I’m a complete idiot!”

Macfadyan curse as yet another bramble tangled round his feet as if determined to trip him.

He had passed what looked like the same dead log twice, but when it lay mocking him for a third time he realised he had been walking in circles.

A few steps to his left and his feet found the rough path that would lead him to the town, the vampire Eleanor and - he hope - Colin and Blanche.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, he edged away from the door of what looked like a pub and searched for a back way from where he could size up the situation.

Edging round the building he spotted a snowed-speckle grassy area dotted with benches - it seemed a pub garden was the same no matter what universe you were in.

And he heard crying.

Peering round the side of the building, he saw a sobbing Blanche being restrained by a young man whose life expectancy had just taken a dramatic nose-dive.

* Blanche is distressed. *

Macfadyan almost leaped out of his skin as Cre’at’s tinny voice piped up right next to his ear.

“Cre’at!” he hissed and spun round to face the Sot'm. “Why are you covered in feathers?”

* I am in disguise. *

“Of course you are… we need to help Blanche.”

* She would not appreciate it. *

“Do you have feathers in your servos? Come on.”

And he took off at a run towards the garden.

Cre’at bobbed gently up and down.

* Oh dear, * he said, before pootling after Macfadyan, shedding feathers as he went.

***

Marco was feeling extremely guilty.

Though he hated the fact that Blanche was upset, wanted to tear this ‘Mac’ character limb from limb for making her cry and was really starting to feel chilly, he never wanted the moment to end.

As he held Blanche close, smoothing down her tousled hair and whispering calming nothings into her ear as her tears soaked into his shirt, he realised he had never felt happier in his life.

The moment was cut short, when the loud crunching of footsteps on snow warned him that some one was approaching at speed and he looked up into the fist of a large, strangely clad, furious-looking man.

Then Marco was sitting on the ground, clutching his nose, while Blanche screamed at the stranger to “sod off and leave us alone”.

***

“He was hurting you!”

“No he bloody well wasn’t!”

“You were crying.”

“How big of you to notice! Cre’at, will you bugger off before some one sees you!”

* I am in disguise. They will not recognise me. *

“You’re a floating head with a few feathers sticking out of you. I think they’re gonna twig that you’re not of this world.”

Marco blinked at Blanche as she crouched down next to him and prised his hand away from his face, “Are you OK?”

“Yeah. That’s Mac, I presume.”

“How did you guess?”

She pulled him up as the sound of running feet heralded the arrival of Colin, Rafe and others.

Rafe looked between Marco and Macfadyan and back again, “What the hell’s going on?”

Marco shrugged and Blanche said, “Mac was protecting my honour.”

Colin glowered at the young slayer, “Why did it need protecting.”

Blanche sighed, “Easy, soldier boy. It was just Mac getting the wrong end of the stick as usual.”

“Excuse me,” Rafe interrupted them, “What’s that?”

He was staring at Cre’at, who was staring right back.

Macfadyan shook himself from the grasps of two of the pub men who had seen fit to restrain him, “would you believe, an owl?”

* Too-wit, too-woo, * said Cre’at, somewhat unconvincingly.

“No,” said Rafe, “I wouldn’t believe that.” He peered closely at the Sot'm, “You’d better take care, little friend, or Eleanor will want to dismantle you and find out how you work.”

“Eleanor?” said Macfadyan, “It’s here?”

Rafe stared at him, frowning, “She’s here, yes. She’s waiting for the vamp to wake up.”

“What’s wrong, Mac?” said Colin.

Straightening his jacket, his face set in a glare, Macfadyan turned towards the pub.

“Leave this to me,” he growled and opened the door.

“What was that about?” asked Blanche.

Colin shook his head, “No idea, but we should go with him.”

***

Eleanor looked down at the sleeping boy and sighed.

She had recognised him as soon as the men had dragged him into the building, and her heart went out to him.

He had been such a good lad - so smart, so gentle - and he didn’t deserve what Stackmore had done to him.

Gently brushing a stray lock of blond hair from his face, she pulled a rough blanket up to his chin to keep him warm.

“Come back to us soon, Tyrel.”

She smiled at the ever-watchful Conor, “Please call me if he moves.”

Conor nodded, “I will.”

Eleanor wandered back through to the bar and smiled a thank you to William as he passed her a mug of mead, “Will the boy be OK?”

“I hope so. I just…”

The outer door slammed open and Macfadyan stormed in, one hand reaching into his jacket pocket, “Eleanor?” he demanded.

“Yes?”

Macfadyan pulled the stubby Dalek gun from his pocket and took aim, “It ends here, lady,” he said.

And fired.

Chapter Twelve - The Cell

“I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that. I can’t believe he did that.”

“Son of a bitch! What is it with this guy? We had allies here and he’s just blown it all apart. What kind of freak enjoys being the under dog?”

“They can shout and cry all they want - I’ve done the right thing. They’ll understand in the end.”

***

Rafe peered through the tiny barred window of the cellar door and watched the prisoners.

The new guy - Mac - the one who had snuffed out Eleanor in the blink of an eye - was standing with his back to the door, gazing at his feet as if they held the answer to his troubles.

Colin was pacing back and forth, back and forth, shooting glares at the other man’s back, while Blanche was curled up in the darkest corner, hugging her knees to her chest and refusing to look at her cell mates.

Rafe sighed. Before Mac’s tornado arrival, he felt sure he and Colin would become friends. Now he didn’t know what would become of any of them. Without Eleanor.

With a final glare at Macfadyan, he pushed himself away from the door and headed back up to the bar.

***

“Would you please stop that.”

Colin paused in mid-stride and glared at Mac, “What?”

Mac gestured with one hand, back and forth, back and forth, “Pacing. It annoys me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Tough.” But he stayed where he was and scowled at the Time Lord.

Mac shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed his shoe through the straw that littered the floor of the cellar, “It was for the best.”

Blanche lifted her head from her arms, “You didn’t even know her. You just waltzed in and shot her.”

“She was a vampire.”

The girl leapt to her feet and threw herself towards Mac, “She was a good person!”

“You don’t understand.”

Spittle flew from her lips as her rage took hold, “Too bloody right I don’t! What the hell is it with you? Do you like nightmares? Is that what it is?”

“Enough!”

“I’ve heard you at night on the Ship. I’ve heard you talking to your ghosts. How pathetic is that? A grown man talking to shadows. Well you’ve got a new ghost to shout at now, Mac, cos you’re a murderer and I hope she never lets you forget it!”

The slap ricocheted round the room with a crack and suddenly Blanche was on her back, one hand clutching her bleeding lip, eyes wide in shock as Colin hauled Mac away from her and threw him against the cellar door.

Refusing to give in to the welling tears, she dabbed her fingers to her lips and held out her hand, the blood shining, “Feel better? Cos I tell ya, you get me killed and I’ll haunt you forever.”

Colin glared venom at Mac, one fist gripping his collar, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Blanche, “Here, kid.”

She smiled at him and held the small chequered square of cloth to her mouth, the blood soaking the material red.

Colin let go of Mac and stared him in the eye, “Tell us why. And no ‘secret’ crap. Just tell us why you did it.”

Mac tugged his collar straight, “There’s another vampire.”

“Where?”

“Deeper in the forest. He calls himself Stackmore. Cre’at and I found him. He warned me about Eleanor.”

Blanche scowled, “Warned you what?”

“That she kills for fun. That she feeds off the fools who worship her. His home is full of people she infected. He’s working on a cure…”

“You idiot!”

Mac frowned at her, “I’m not saying I trust him. He obviously has his own agenda. But this Eleanor was a threat and he helped me neutralise it. He’ll be next.”

“Eleanor was no threat! She was the one working on a cure!”

“No. It’s Stackmore - though he’ll fail. There is no remedy…”

Blanche slapped her hand on the concrete floor, “You’re so full of it!”

Mac’s expression darkened and Colin stepped in front of him, keeping him away from the girl who was glaring fire at him.

She got to her feet, the bloody handkerchief clutched in her whitening fist, “You can never be bothered to hear both sides, can you? You come blundering in and blow everything apart because you’ve decided to listen to Stackmore and you just have to be right! You and Eleanor could have worked together on this. She could have helped you get this bloke and you could have helped her with the cure…”

“There is no cure!”

“Just because you say it, doesn’t mean it’s true! How do you know there’s no cure? You didn’t even give her time to speak! You bastard!”

They all jumped when Rafe’s voice shouted out, “Enough!”

He was standing by the open door, his face like thunder, Marco behind him, standing at attention, refusing to look at Blanche.

Colin looked at his one-time friend, “Rafe?”

“He’s awake.”

“What?”

Rafe returned Colin’s gaze, “The boy. Tyrel. He’s awake and he’s fine. The cure works.”

***

Chapter Thirteen - The Pack

“Something's different. Something has changed. The Time Lord has completed his task. Eleanor is dead - I can sense her loss and it aches more than is acceptable. But this world is mine and I will not allow her to prick my conscience. There is another loss - the boy - I felt his fear as they ended him. He will be avenged. But first there is work to be done - and top of the list is Macfadyan. Legends of the Time Lords must have been greatly exaggerated because the man is a fool - and his death will be sweet.”

Pushing himself out of his chair, Stackmore placed his wine glass on the table and let his gaze travel around the cavern, taking in its docile occupants.

They were looking at him with hazy contemplation, their teeth glinting white against their skin, the fire jumping and crackling as it reflected in their eyes.

They were his children and his children's children - sired by his own sweet bite. And now Eleanor was gone, her slayers would fall and their numbers would swell.

A growl rippled through them as he stepped forward, his eyes aflame, and he took in each and every one of them with his gaze.

“Feed” he whispered.

And like a breeze, they blew by him, whispering through the tunnel and into the night.

In search of blood.

Stackmore smiled and returned to his wine.

*

“Captain Curtis once told me that he who fights and runs away lives to fight another day. He said it means that retreating to regroup was an acceptable option in battle. Blanche said it was simply a fancy way of making excuses when you chickened out of a punch-up. I have chosen to believe the Captain. When Macfadyan vaporised Eleanor, he and the others were arrested. None of the townspeople seemed willing to apprehend me so I opted to live to fight another day, left the town and hid in the trees. I am beginning to think it was the wise option. The creatures of the forest are behaving in a most unusual fashion and, as I am the only one here, it is up to me to find out why.”

Cre'at hovered in the branches of a tree and watched, intrigued, as the forest floor came to life with small creatures all in a hurry to be somewhere else.

They were reacting, he reasoned, as if there was a forest fire hot on their heels, but the night sky was clear of smoke and flame. So what had scared them?

Shaking the last owl feathers from his servos, the little Sot'm set his thrusters to maximum and zipped in and out of the branches, heading against the tide of creatures towards whatever horror had made them run.

There was nothing on his sensors larger than a wolf, certainly nothing that should have caused such panic.

It was most vexxing.

And on top of that, the trajectory was leading him straight to the home of the vampire...

* Oh dear... *

A human - and even a Time Lord - may have felt the need to see proof of a hunch before accepting the obvious, Cre'at was neither.

He knew what the creatures were running from and he knew that it spelled disaster for the people of the town and his own friends.

And he knew he had no time to waste trying to convince the slayer Rafe that danger was on its way.

There was only one option open to him.

With a whir of servos, he turned tail and zipped through the trees towards Eleanor's house.

***

Chapter Fourteen - The Computer

“Password”

"I have seen Macfadyan argue with the Ship when it fails to live up to his expectations. I have seen Captain Curtis thump the food machine when it serves him egg salad instead of the requested tea and crumpets. I have seen Blanche glare at the console when it beeps at her and makes her jump. I have seen all these things and heard them all say the same thing with varying degrees of venom but this is the first time I have ever understood what 'bloody machine' means.”

* You are familiar with me - a password is unnecessary. *

“Password”

Cre'at sighed and wasted a valuable second meeting the machine's request.

“Greetings, Cre'at”

* Greetings. I require your assistance. *

“Ready.”

* Three point seven two kilometres to the east is a Ship. You must make contact. *

“Done.”

* Excellent. *

“It is a very rude machine.”

* I am aware of this. *

“Why would a construction of such high quality use a term such as 'butt out'?”

* My apologies - Blanche has become fond of American soap operas and some of the terms have corrupted the Ship's vocal systems *

“You should repair it - it is most unbecoming.”

* I shall endeavour to do so. *

“Acceptable.”

* Are you able to access the Ship's defence systems? *

“A password is required.”

Cre'at sighed: * The password is 'fluffy'. *

“In what way?”

* You misunderstand. The password is 'fluffy'. *

“But...”

* Just tell it 'fluffy'! *

“Access granted. You should also repair the password generator. Such misunderstandings could prove troublesome.”

* I am aware of this, also. I shall suggest changes. *

“Also acceptable. Instructions?”

* A forcefield is required. It must cover the area from the Ship to include the town. It must exceed the height of the trees. Maximum strength. *

“Done.”

* Excellent. Maintain the forcefield until otherwise instructed. *

“Naturally.”

* Bloody machine... *

Leaving the Psych-comp to its task, Cre'at left the house and zipped back through the trees towards the town.

***

Chapter Fifteen - The Barrier

“Damn snow.” Matthias pulled his jacket tight across his chest, leaned back against the branch and took a lung-burning drag of his roley,

Burning with embarrassment after being dismissed so casually by Rafe, he had returned to his duties, alone in the cold, dark forest on the off-chance that a vamp may wander by.

He snorted, tobacco smoke jetting from his nostrils as he laughed. As if he would actually risk his life for any of those high and mighty slayers.

He had only jumped the man and the girl because he had thought it would earn him some alone time with Eleanor - that vamp could suck on his arm any time she liked.

But Rafe had treated him like a kid, a dead brain - a nobody - so they could all get bitten for all he cared.

Shifting his shoulders against the bark, he stubbed out his smoke on the branch and flicked it away, watching the tiny glow of burning ash as it tumbled gently to the ground at the feet of...

“Oh no...”

The vamp grinned up at him, teeth and eyes catching the moonlight like the stuff of nightmares.

Then it started climbing.

Fumbling to pull his club from his jacket, Matthias scrambled across the canopy of branches to the next tree, braced himself against the trunk and waited for the vamp to get within striking distance.

“Come on, then!”

The vamp pulled itself up, its eyes never leaving his, its grin widening as it closed the gap between them. Twelve feet, ten feet, eight feet...

Matthias hefted the club above his head, “Come on!”

The vamp sprang, a flash of golden light streaked between them and suddenly the creature was falling headfirst to the forest floor.

Matthias blinked, “Wha'..?”

He peered down at the vamp, which had found its feet and was swaying dizzily. It threw itself forward and Matthias gasped as the air shimmered and the blood-sucker fell back, stunned.

Returning the club to his jacket, he stretched out a hand and edged along the branch. The air was tingling and he snatched back his hand as a tickling shock shot up his arm.

Dropping from the branch he landed, cat-like, and ran his hand over the invisible barrier, “Devil work!”

The vamp lay motionless just a few feet ahead of him.

He grinned - Devil work or not, it was keeping the monsters out. Eleanor would want to know - and this time Rafe would not be able to belittle him.

He had saved everybody!

A twig snapped behind him. He froze.

They surrounded him in seconds, silent as the grave, teeth bared. He had counted five of them before they tore his throat out and bent to feast, snapping at one another like wild animals.

His last thought was that Devil-made barriers were all well and good when it came to stopping vamps but what did you do about the ones that had already got past?

*

Cre'at paused in mid-flight. The scream that pierced the night had been horrific, full of pain and terror and was silenced all too abruptly.

He ran the voice pattern through his memory bank and dismissed it - it did not belong to any of his shipmates so a pointless rescue attempt of some one who was so obviously already dead was not necessary.

His scanners were showing the force field at full strength. Good. At maximum speed he should reach the town in minutes.

Nothing else showed up on the scans - but he didn't take that to be good news.

***

Chapter Sixteen - The Assault

“I think I may have made a mistake. They won’t allow me to leave this damned cell and examine the boy but I have to accept that these primitives know the difference between a vampire and a human. I just don’t understand how I could have been so wrong. Eleanor had no right to perfect the cure! How could she possibly…Blanche is right. I seem to have some perverse need to live under the shadow of nightmares. Idiot.”

Colin leaned back against the bars of the cell and watched his two friends.

When Rafe delivered the news about the boy, Mac reacted as if he had been punched in the gut. He was sitting below the cell window, elbows propped on his knees, head thrown back against the cell wall. He hadn’t said a word but Colin could see the cogs turning in his head.

Blanche, on the other and, was on full alert, standing in the centre of the cell, glaring at the Time Lord, her bruised mouth a testament to how quickly things had come unravelled.

He gazed at her with a sad smile. She was the little sister he never had and Mac treated her like dirt. He had seen the way Marco had looked at her as he brought food to the cell, seen the way the slayer had squeezed her hand through the bars.

The girl had been crying out for some one to treat her with respect and the vampire killer had ticked all the right boxes without even trying.

Colin got the feeling that, when this whole fiasco was done, he would be hugging her goodbye.

Why would she step back on the Ship with Mac and his abusive ways when there was a good man right here willing to give her the world?

* Captain Curtis *

Colin spun round, unable to pinpoint the voice, “Cre’at?”

* I am at the window, Captain Curtis. *

Blanche grinned, “Hi, metal head!”

* Greetings, Blanche. Where is Macfadyan? *

“I’m here, Cre’at,” Mac stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his jacket, “Where have you been?”

* Hiding in the trees. *

Blanche grinned, “Wish I’d thought of that.”

* There are vampires in the forest. *

Macfadyan shrugged, “We know.”

* There are many vampires on their way here. They wish to kill you. I did not approve but I was unable to stop them all. *

“Shit!” Colin grabbed the cell bars and rattled them, “RAFE!”

Macfadyan waved an impatient hand, “How did you ‘stop them’?”

Cre’at’s servos gave a self-satisfied burble, * I was able to persuade Eleanor’s Psych-comp to activate the Ship’s defence shield. Unfortunately some of the vampires were already inside the perimeter. *

“She has a Psych-comp?”

* It is a very annoying machine. *

The tramp of heavy footfalls made them all turn as Rafe, Marco and Conor arrived, “What’s going on?”

Macfadyan frowned, “You have a problem - but I think I know how to help.”

*

As command centres went, the bar of the King’s Cruelty pub didn’t really make the grade but it was the best they had at such short notice.

While the slayers and the townsfolk took up position guarding the perimeter, Rafe and Marco were huddled with Mac, Colin and Blanche round a table on which had been sketched a rough map of the area.

Mac beckoned to Cre’at, who was bobbing on an air pocket next to the fire, “Show us the path of the forcefield.”

Cre’at pootled forward and considered the map, * This is not to scale. *

“It’s the best we have. Now tell us.”

* The shield runs in a circle south from the Ship to the town and the same distance to the north. It emcompasses Eleanor’s house to the east and the same distance to the west. It is quite large and is running at full power. *

Rafe frowned, “And this shield is keeping the vamps out?”

* Correct. Though I believe a number may have already been within its boundaries. *

“Why do you think that?”

Cre’at’s servos clicked and a bone-chilling scream rang out, ending in a sharp choke.

Rafe stepped back as the slayers reached for their knives, “Sweet maker!”

* I believe that is the sound of a vampire’s prey meeting its end. *

Marco shook his head sadly, “Sounded like Matthias.”

Rafe nodded, “Never liked the bastard but he didn’t deserve that.”

Mac shushed them, “Yes yes, enough of that…”

Rafe spun on him and grabbed the front of his shirt, “THAT was one of my men and you will show respect. I only let you out of your cell because I trust Colin and he said you can help but you step out of line and you’ll be back behind bars before you can blink. Understand?”

“Well, quite.”

With a snarl, Rafe let him go, “So how many vamps are we dealing with?”

Mac shrugged, “Inside the shield? Who knows? I saw dozens in Stackmore’s cavern but there could have been hundreds. The cave system likely goes for miles.”

Rafe stalked across the room, “Conor!”

The slayer turned from his position at the window, “Yeah?”

“Everyone ready?”

“We’re set, Rafe.”

Rafe nodded and stalked back to Mac, “When they come, we’ll deal with them. But what I don’t understand is why you took Stackmore’s word. You murdered Eleanor. If she was here we’d be able to help these vamps - cure em. Now we’re gonna have to kill them. Because of you.”

Mac glared at the slayer, “We don’t have time for this.”

“Whose fault is that?”

The Time Lord slammed his fists onto the table, making the splinterwood shudder, “Enough!”

He looked from one face to the next as they gaped at him, “I made a mistake. I allowed Stackmore to make all the moves when I should have taken him down. I dismissed the idea of a cure before I had all the facts.”

He glared at Rafe, “But I will not apologise for killing Eleanor. I’m just sorry I didn’t let her explain the cure before I shot her.”

“You son of a bitch!”

Colin stepped in front of Rafe as he threw himself at Mac. It took all his strength to hold onto the furious slayer, “Enough, man, enough! Focus on the job in hand.”

Rafe pushed away from Colin’s grip, his eyes spitting fury as her glared at Mac, “When this is over, I’ll find you.”

Colin and Marco exchanged a worried glance. With their leaders at each other’s throats the ball had fallen in their court.

The young slayer stepped up, “How long will the shield hold.”

Colin shrugged, “For as long as the Ship has power, I guess.”

“So for now all we have to worry about is…”

“VAMPS!!”

The shout came from one of the men at the window.

As one, the slayers and the townsfolk ran out into the snow, armed with little more than torches and knives.

Colin drew his revolver and glared at Blanche, “Stay here.” And he ran out into the night.

Blanche bristled, “Who the hell does he think he is?”

She turned to Mac as the scream of battle began. He was the only one left in the tavern, “Aren’t you going?”

The Time Lord huffed, “Certainly not. Now make yourself useful and find the syringe.”

“What?” She jumped as the sound of Colin’s revolver exploded outside.

“The syringe, girl. The needle Eleanor used to inject the boy. It must be here somewhere.”

Muttering under her breath, Blanche started searching the room.

*

Colin had seen active service before - had shot a man in the face who was trying to kill one of his colleagues. He told himself that he had dealt with the nightmares. It was a lie.

Though he was happy to carry a gun, and saw it as a necessary part of his life as a soldier, he was uncomfortable with the need to fire it - especially when the target was armed with nothing but a sharp set of teeth and an unhealthy psychosis.

He had read plenty of trashy vamp fiction as a boy that described them as creatures of the night, an analogy that fit perfectly.

They were melting through the town, camouflaged against the snowy night, attacking one by one and he had been forced to shoot one as it threw itself at Rafe from the roof of the blacksmith’s.

He had been unable to make a proper count but, no matter the numbers, they had reduced the inexperienced townsfolk to screaming at shadows while Rafe and his men did their best to conduct matters with some form of discipline.

He saw Marco disappear beneath three of the creatures, only for Rafe and Conor to throw themselves into the battle, knives drawn, bloodlust in their eyes.

A panicked cry to his left saw him sprinting to the aid of a young farmer whose axe had been wrenched from his grasp and laid uselessly at his feet as one of the vampires used claw-like fingers to pin his arms.

As the creature lowered its gaping mouth to the screaming man’s neck, Colin took aim and fired.

The top of the vamp’s head exploded messily and the body toppled slowly sideways allowing the farmer to scramble free, his feet slipping on the snow-covered cobbles, “Thank you, thank you…” And he ran off into the night.

Colin nodded and checked the chamber of his revolver. Empty. Throwing the useless weapon to the ground, he snatched up the axe and turned - just as a second vampire plummeted from the rooftops and smashed him to the ground.

The creature’s claws gripped the axe shaft, it’s fetid breath burning in Colin’s lungs as he tried to push it away.

It’s strength was frightening and he felt his muscles failing as it pushed the axe down towards his throat, a string of spittle looping from its mouth as it grinned at him with insane eyes.

With a roar, Colin doubled his efforts, pushing hard against the axe shaft, “Come on!”

The vamp simply grinned and pushed back. It was like trying to wrestle a Sumo fighter and Colin fought down terror as he realised he was going to die.

Then it was over. The vampire gasped and slumped over, its gruesome teeth just missing the side of his face, and Macfadyan was smirking down at him, a syringe in one hand as he reached out the other to help him up.

“What the hell..?”

Mac shrugged and showed him the needle, “There wasn’t a lot left but this is powerful stuff. We’ll see if the smaller dose worked when it wakes up.”

A hand slapped Colin on the back and a bedraggled Rafe nudged the comatose vamp with his foot, “His name’s Cadmer, he’s a cooper. They got him about seven years ago. It’ll be good to have him back.”

“If it works.”

Rafe sneered at Mac, “Eleanor knew her stuff. It’ll work.”

Fearing another row, Colin stepped between the pair, “Are they all dealt with.”

Rafe nodded, “All dead. There were only 15 of them. We got through with hardly a scratch.”

“Excellent.” Colin turned to Mac, “Now what?”

Macfadyan grinned and gazed at the remnants of the serum as it oozed gently inside the syringe, “Now we take the battle to Stackmore.”

***

Chapter Seventeen - The Plan

“The force shield was an interesting idea but it’s only delaying the inevitable. Unless the Time Lord plans to live out the rest of his lives in that vile little town and his ship has an endless supply of power, all I have to do is wait. Once the shield is down, my children will feed until every man, woman and child have been sired. There are other settlements out there and they will all fall until every corner of this world is home to my kind - and I will be a god.”

The snow had started falling in earnest, swirling through the night sky and settling like powder on the forest floor at the feet of the vampire lord.

He stood facing the force shield, an army of the Turned at his back, fidgeting anxiously as if straining to be set free to hunt.

Stackmore ran his hand along the golden barrier smiled, “Very pretty.”

With a twirl of his cloak he turned, his feet crunching in the snow, and marched back towards home, his children slinking after him like wolves on the scent of prey.

*

The King’s Cruelty bar was packed, the air humming with excited conversation as the townsfolk swapped stories of battle.

William was darting from table to table, refilling tankards and bashing heads when enthusiasm threatened to descend into rowdiness.

Conor and Marco were at the door on guard duty, having drawn the short straw and despite their protests that nothing was getting through the force field any time soon.

Their annoyance wasn’t helped by Blanche, who insisted on ambling past taking deep, healthy slugs from a tankard of mead, “Can I get you something, boys…oh, I forgot - no drinking on duty!” And she wandered off.

Conor frowned at his friend, “You fancy that?”

Marco grinned, “Oh yeah!”

Blanche smirked to herself as she walked over to Mac, Rafe and Colin. They were seated round a table with the empty serum test tube in front of them. Cre’at was bobbing silently on air at Mac’s shoulder.

She plonked herself down next to Colin and nudged him along the bench, “Decision?”

Mac grunted and Colin said, “If you insist on curing those creatures we’ll need more serum.”

“Obviously. Can you make more?”

Mac looked up, “I don’t have enough to reverse analyse it. We’re going to have to find Eleanor’s notes and then we’ll need to find a way to distribute it without getting bitten.”

“And what about Stackmore?”

“I doubt it will affect him. He’s the corrupting element here. It would be like exposing you to an extreme dose of radiation - I could cure you but I couldn’t ‘cure’ the radiation itself.”

Blanche frowned, “So there’s no chance he’s just gonna turn out to be a good guy who wasn’t in control of his own actions?”

Mac snorted, “No, Blanche. He is what he is - he’s ancient, he’s powerful and he’s eating through this society like a cancer. We have to stop him.”

He shot an annoyed glance at Colin and Rafe, who had been muttering to one another in hushed voices, “Anything you want to share with the class?”

The men looked at each other and nodded Rafe leaned back in his seat and smirked at Mac, “If you and Metal Head get to Eleanor’s house will you be able to make more serum?”

“If her notes are adequate, yes.”

He squinted at Cre’at, “Colin tells me you’re capable of defending yourself, little friend.”

* Correct. *

“How?”

* I am equipped to emit an electromagnetic beam that will corrupt the circuits of certain weapons, I have laser technology, I can spit darts to a range of 80 metres, I can bounce on people’s heads to… *

Colin held up a hand to stop him, “Darts - as in poisonous.”

* I would need access to a supply of poison for that to be correct. *

“Or serum?”

* Correct. *

Blanche grinned and punched Colin on the arm, “You clever sod!”

He shrugged, “I have my moments.”

Macfadyan was glaring at them, “You expect me to prepare the serum, load it into Cre’at and let him buzz about shooting darts at vampires while…”

“While we get to Stackmore and take him out once and for all,” said Rafe, “Problem?”

Mac’s piercing gaze was met with one of equal strength, “No,” he said, “But I still say it would be easier to just wipe them out.”

Rafe sneered, “You’re all heart. I can see why these guys despise you.” And he called to Marco and the rest of his men to lay out the plan.

***

Chapter Eighteen - The Calm

“Mac and Cre’at have been gone for a day and the rest of us have nothing to do but wait. It’s driving me crazy. The barrier is holding, like a shimmer of gold cutting through the forest and those creatures are prowling on the other side, watching us. We have to be alert because if the force field fails they’ll be on us in a flash - and this time there are too many for us to take.

Rafe and the slayers have been teaching the townsfolk some basic moves so they can hold their own if it comes to a fight. Rafe and the slayers - sounds like a pop group. Speaking of…Blanche has been following Marco round like a groupie. He’s stuck to his duties and sort of ignored her - but every time he has a break they disappear behind the inn - and when his break’s over he looks smug and she looks, well, ruffled, for want of another word. He’s a good kid but I still want to thump him.”

Colin jumped and snapped to attention as something nudged his shoulder - only to find Rafe grinning at him.

The slayer nodded at Blanche and Marco as the pair giggled conspiratorially over a mug of mead, huddled close against the cold, “They’re doing it to annoy you, you know.”

Colin snorted, “You think?”

Rafe shrugged, “Well mostly. You’re too easy to read. I think Marco has decided a punch on the nose would be the best thing you could do to him.”

“Why?”

“War wounds, and all that. Women love a wounded soldier.”

Colin stamped his feet, watching mini avalanches of snow slide from his shoes, “I think she’s going to stay here.”

“I think you’re right.”

“It’s just so far from home…”

Rafe placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him, all joking forgotten, “We’ll take care of her. She’ll be family.”

The soldier flashed a half smile at his new friend, “I know you will. But she’s my family too and I worry about her. I’ve lost her too many times before and once we leave here there’s no turning back.”

“Colin…”

What ever Rafe may have been about to say was lost as a shout went up from one of the lookouts and Macfadyan dashed from the forest, Cre’at bobbing along behind him.

The Timelord was cradling a holdall in the crook of one arm and smiling in a self-satisfied way that failed to put Colin at ease.

They followed him into the Kings Cruelty where he showed the bag to one and all with a flourish and dumped it onto a splinterwood table, “You did it?”

Macfadyan nodded, “There’s enough serum here to…well, there’s enough. All we need to do now is load up Cre’at, drop the shield and step aside.”

Rafe slapped the Timelord on the shoulder, “Nice work!”

He turned to Marco and Colin, “OK, we’ll need to be ready to keep the vamps distracted while Metal Head does his thing. Marco, get everyone who is confident enough to fight into the town square - the rest should stay indoors until it’s over, I want you to stay here and make sure everyone knows what they’re doing.”

The young slayer nodded and grinned, his chest swelling with pride, “I can do that.”

Rafe nodded, “I know you can.”

Colin stepped in, “The rest of us will be going for Stackmore. I doubt there will be many guarding him - they’re too hungry for the kill.”

Rafe nodded and drew a shuddering breath, “I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

Macfadyan snorted, “We’re going to confront the most powerful and ancient creature on this planet - it’s not over by a long chalk.”

Reaching into the bag he drew out a gun metal grey container about the size of a cannonball and held it up, “Cre’at. You ready?”

The Sot'm pootled towards him, * I am ready. *

“Then open up and say ‘ah!’”

* Ah? *

“Just take the serum.”

A small panel opened with a hum in the side of the little creature and Macfadyan slotted the globe of serum into place, “All done. I suggest you wait at the force shield. Once it’s down you can start shooting.”

* Understood. *

“Well go on, then.”

Cre’at regarded Macfadyan for the briefest of moments before pootling towards the door only to pause as Blanche called out to him, “Good luck, Metal Head.”

* Luck is but a fantasy dreamed up by bookmakers to allow them to steal without going to prison. *

Blanche grinned, “Whatever. Just be careful, OK?”

* I shall. *

Rafe watched the little Sot'm vanish into the forest, “OK, Marco, get out there and rally the troops. The rest of us will head for the Ship, lower the shield and then go for Stackmore with Mac.”

Macfadyan snorted, “I can manage perfectly well with just Colin and Blanche.”

Rafe glowered, “We’ve got your back, whether you like it or not.”

“Besides,” Blanche piped up, “I’m staying here to help Marco.”

Macfadyan turned on her, “You are not!”

“Oh, don’t you start! We can keep our hands off each other long enough to do our jobs.”

“That’s not…”

Colin stepped in front of the Timelord, “She’s probably safer here, Mac. Cre’at will look out for her.” He glanced at Marco, who had stepped closer to Blanche, “She’s got plenty of protectors.”

Macfadyan looked like he was going to protest further before scowling at his companions, “Fine. Do what you like.” And he stormed out of the pub.

Blanche grinned at Colin, “You’d better get after him, soldier boy.”

He pulled her into a hug, “You be careful, OK. No heroics.”

“As if I would.”

With a brief nod to Marco, Colin dashed from the Kings Cruelty with Rafe and Conor hot on his heels.

Blanche took Marco’s hand and squeezed.

*

“Watching Marco speaking to the townspeople I know I’ve made the right decision. He’s strong and kind and he’s making them feel confident and safe even though most of them have never had to fight and have spent their lives cowering in fear from vampire stories they’ve been told since they were kids.

“Colin said ‘no heroics’ and I think - just this once - I’ll pay attention to him. Oh, I’m not saying I’ll hide from the battle - that would be cowardly - but I’ll be aware of my surroundings and conscious of my opponents’ strengths…I think that’s how it goes. Colin tried to teach me some of his basic training once. I think I annoyed him by giggling and saying ‘sir, yes, sir!’ every time he spoke. Now I wish I’d listened. Marco has all these people to look out for and I don’t want to get in his way.

“I know Colin and Mac will do their part - and Mac really came through with this serum - but I’m worried we’ll let them down and they’ll come back to a village of corpses and Cre’at firing an empty gun.

“That ball of serum seemed really small - and we’ve got no idea how many of those vampires there are.

“I hope it’ll be enough - I plan to spend the rest of my life here. I can’t do that if I’m dead.”

Blanche watched with a small smile as Marco made his way from man to man, woman to woman, checking they knew what to do and inspecting the collection of farming tools that would have to pass for weapons.

His mop fringe kept flopping into his face, making her smile as he brushed it aside with a scowl before breaking into a goofy grin as he crunched through the snow to be with her.

“I need a haircut,” he said as he drew her into a hug.

“Don’t you bloody dare!”

They stood in silence for a while, watching their ragtag army whisper to each other in nervous voices, hugging scythes and hoes and shovels close to their chests as they peered into the surrounding trees with frightened eyes.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

Marco gazed down at her “Of course. I’ve made plans that will only work if Stackmore dies and we live, so we have to make it.”

Blanche chuckled, “That’s all right then.”

Stepping away from her, the slayer drew a dagger from his belt, flipped it over and handed it to her, “Take this. We’ll cure as many as we can but if it comes to it, aim for the throat.”

“I thought it was the heart.”

“Sod that. A knife through the heart will kill them sure enough but they’re dying instinct is to take you with them. Stab them in the throat and they’ll grab the wound - and you’ll be running.”

Blanche hefted the weapon in her hand, “But what about you?”

Marco had no time to respond. With a squeal of servos and an explosion of leaves, Cre’at burst from the trees, firing a serum dart behind him.

* Alert! *

The creature that crashed to the ground, a dart embedded in its throat, looked barely human. It’s skin was pallid, it’s black eyes like coals in its reddened sockets and its clothes hung from its bones in tatters.

Blanche had no time to check whether the creature would react to the serum as Marco gave her a warning shove and bellowed, “At arms!” as a flood of vampire erupted from the trees.

***

Chapter Nineteen - The Storm

“The shield came down easily enough but the Ship seemed ill at ease when we left, taking its time to open the doors and almost growling at Mac when he bellowed at it. I asked him about it as we hit the forest but he just shrugged.

“The forest is silent and it’s bothering us all - except Mac. The slayers are jittery and I think Conor would have bolted by now if Rafe weren’t here.

“I feel like I’m in a dodgy horror film where some one says ‘Gosh, aren’t the birds and animals of these deep, dark woods quiet?’ just as some hairy monster leaps from the trees and tears their throat out. It’s that kind of feeling - as if the forest is holding its breath and hiding so that no one will harm it.

“I know the vamps must be at the village by now and I asked Mac if Blanche and the rest will be OK - if Cre’at’s aim is good - if the serum will last. He snapped at me to concentrate on the task at hand.

“I’m beginning to wonder why I keep trusting the guy. And I’m hoping I won’t be the next person on the Ship to be kept awake by nightmares.”

*

“It’s there.”

Conor’s trembling call brought them all to a halt and Colin pulled his revolver from its holster as Rafe crept towards the entrance to Stackmore’s lair.

After a moment, the slayer waved them over.

As they moved forward, Colin caught a glimpse of Mac pulling something from the holdall and slipping it into his pockets, “What was that?”

The Timelord glanced at him, before scrunching the empty bag into a ball and tucking it into a bush, “Insurance.”

Colin stared at the empty bag before following the slayers and the man he was no longer sure was a friend into the cavern.

As Mac made to move on, Rafe stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. Reaching into his jacket he pulled out the stubby Dalek gun that had been confiscated after Eleanor’s death.

He handed it to the Timelord, “You’ll need this.”

Macfadyan took the gun with a brisk nod and they stepped into the gloom.

*

“He is here! And what has he done? Oh, wonderful! His mind is in turmoil and he’s letting so much through. Such betrayal! And all because he has to win. Let the battle come to me - I relish it!”

*

The darkness as they hit the first passage was as stifling as the air and as unnerving as the silence. There was not so much as a whisper of life and Colin’s quiet “I don’t think he’s here” echoed around them like the loudest fanfare.

Macfadyan shot a glare at the soldier and crept further along the passage to the point where it blossomed into the cavern chamber.

The ghost of flames from the huge open fire danced along the walls and ceiling but there was no sign of the vampires who had been sleeping so restlessly the last time he was here.

The foursome stepped warily into the chamber and Mac glanced across at the grand chair that still stood in front of the fire - and the vampire Lord who merely smiled at him and raised a glass of what Colin dearly hoped was red wine.

Macfadyan raised the Dalek gun and trained it on the vampire’s heart

Stackmore’s grin widened as he deliberately showed off his fangs, “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

“Who ever said we were friends?”

“Two people so alike could never be anything but,” Stackmore’s gaze settled on Colin and the slayers, “You know the value of pawns, as do I, and you have no fear of making sacrifices to achieve your aims.”

Colin’s grip tightened on his revolver, “What does he mean?”

Stackmore chuckled as Macfadyan snapped, “Ignore him!”

“You haven’t told them, have you?”

“Told us what?”

“That this is a fight you can’t win.”

Rafe scowled, “Every fight is winnable - and we outnumber you.”

“Maybe, but the price of betrayal will outweigh any victory you may claim.”

Colin cocked the revolver and aimed it at Stackmore, “Enough!”

The smile was steady, just this side of smug, “Our friends are dying.”

“What?”

“Your friends, my friends - there will be no winners because of him.”

As one, the three men glanced at Macfadyan - and in that second of indecision, Stackmore threw his goblet into the fire where it shattered into a thousand pieces.

The flames exploded from the hearth with a roar and six figures dropped soundless from the cavern walls where they had been hidden in flickering shadows.

They growled long and low at the intruders, their limbs straining to leap at exposed throats and pounding hearts.

Colin and the slayers crouched low, their weapons drawn as Stackmore laughed at Macfadyan, “Pawns are fun to sacrifice, Timelord, but if you crave victory you save your best for the killing blow” His gaze flicked to the six beasts quivering before him, “The Timelord will not be touched.”

With a wave of their master’s hand, the six vampires were free to attack and hurled themselves at the feast before them.

*

“I am concerned. There are far more of the undead creatures than Manfadyen predicted and, although the people of the town are fighting well, I fear we cannot win.

“I have brought down 25 of the creatures and I am aware that the serum Macfadyan prepared is running low.

“He informed me it would be more than enough, ignoring my suggestion that we needed more.

“Blanche once told me that it is better to have too many cookies than allow one person to go hungry. She said it was a good outlook to have in life. I think she was right and Macfadyan was wrong.

“I think that he has left us in the middle of a battle with not enough weapons.

“I think people will die here today and that it will be his fault.”

Ignoring the internal bleep that told him he was nearing the end of his usefulness, Cre’at fired a dart into the neck of a vampire as it prepared to sink its teeth into a screaming woman.

The creature dropped like a stone and the woman smiled a frightened smile at the Sot'm before grabbing up the shovel that was serving as a weapon and throwing herself back into the fray.

Aware of a need to protect her, Cre’at scanned the square in search of Blanche, spotting her as she stood side by side with Marco outside the Kings Cruelty, shouting encouragement and swinging wildly at the vamps as they swarmed around her.

Cre’at pootled across to her, firing another precious dart into the back of the creature that had scaled the roof and was ready to drop down on the unsuspecting pair, * Blanche. *

She spun round as the vamp crashed unconscious to the ground next to her, and beamed at her hovering friend, “Thanks, mate.”

* Blanche. *

A frantic scream from across the square saw Marco leave her side and sprint to the aid of a weaponless man who was fighting desperately to keep the lethal talons and teeth of a creature twice his size away from his throat.

As Blanche made to dart after him, the dagger drawn, Cre’at zipped down in front of her, * The serum is almost gone. *

“What?”

* The serum is almost gone. *

Her frantic gaze darted from the Sot'm to Marco and back again. There were still more vampires conscious than they could safely handle, “But we’re not done…Mac said there would be enough…”

* He was mistaken. *

Her face clouded, “You mean he lied.”

The Sot'm gave a sad burble and fired one more dart, taking down a vamp in mid-leap and watching, emotionless, as it crashed to the ground.

Blanche’s hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger and she let out a long breath that fogged before her in the cold air, “How many of those things do you have left?”

* One more. *

Just for a second she looked terrified, then, squaring her shoulders she glared at the fighting figures around her and growled, “Then make it a good one. And when you’re done, find Mac and make damned sure he knows what he’s responsible for.”

* I shall. *

“And Cre’at?”

* Yes, Blanche? *

“Take care of yourself.”

Then she was gone, charging after Marco with a dagger she had never used held tight in her hand.

Cre’at used his final dart to take down a creature that came within inches of tearing her back with its claws, then pootled off into the forest to find the Timelord.

He wondered if he would ever see her again. He had a large store of hot chocolate for when nightmares struck and he doubted Captain Curtis would appreciate his efforts as much as she did.

***

Chapter Twenty - The Face

“Why doesn’t he use the gun? We’re getting torn apart and he’s just staring at the head vamp, Great Lord, big cheese, whatever he calls himself.

“Why doesn’t he use the gun?”

Colin tumbled across the cavern floor, his arm bleeding heavily through the tattered shirt sleeve, his head ringing from the side-swipe that had felled him.

His revolver was long gone, knocked from his grip early in the fight it had tumbled end over end into the shadows, out of reach. Colin’s hands felt empty and useless as he balled them into fists and struggled to his feet once more.

Conor and Rafe were valiant in their efforts to fend off their attackers and Colin briefly marvelled at some of the moves they were pulling from their bag of slayer tricks.

One of the vampires was already laying dead in the corner, its neck snapped and its chest gaping a bloody testimony to Rafe’s skill with a pointed stick.

And as for Macfadyan. He was doing nothing.

Standing silently, his eyes shining in the firelight, he was cradling the Dalek gun in his hands and staring at Stackmore - who was watching the battle with undisguised glee.

Colin ducked a vicious swipe that almost took his face off, then struck out with a punch to the throat that would have killed a normal man.

The vamp fell back with a howl before crouching for another attack and Colin screamed at the Timelord, “Don’t just stand there!”

Macfadyan’s gaze flitted briefly to his friend and down to the weapon in his hand before returning to the vampire Lord.

And still he did nothing.

*

Cre’at sped through the silent trees, trying his best to dodge the snowflakes that floated lazily around him.

Something was not right.

He had assessed their chances of success based on the discussed plan and, although there were obvious dangers, he had judged the odds to be fair to good.

Running out of serum had not been a possibility - he had watched Macfadyan prepare the recipe and there had been enough.

Which meant the Time Lord had not handed over the entire stock. But why?

True, he had not agreed with the plan to cure the Turned - preferring, instead, to rule over a slaughter - but would he deliberately sabotage the efforts of his friends and colleagues?

Would he risk Blanche’s life just to get his way?

With an almost human jolt of realisation, Cre’at thought back to the conversation in the King’s Cruelty. Macfadyan had not gambled on Blanche offering to stay and fight. He had not expected her to be in the village when the Turned attacked. He had expected the village to be over-run - expected a slaughter.

Would he risk Blanche’s life just to get his own way? Cre’at suspected that he had his answer.

And it was not acceptable.

With a whirr of servos he sped up, zipping through the forest towards Macfadyan.

*

As a career soldier, Colin was familiar with battle and had taken down his fair share of enemies in hand-to-hand combat.

But this was the first time he had been afraid.

He and the slayers were peppered with injuries and his arm was heavy with pain and beginning to give him real trouble, his fingers tingling with the bite of pins and needles.

The vampires had backed away, almost as if they were regrouping, and Colin was able to scramble across the floor to retrieve his revolver before standing shoulder to shoulder with his friends.

Most of his friends. Macfadyan was like a statue, glaring at Stackmore as the creature grinned back at him.

Rafe nudged him; “Forget him. Concentrate,” and Colin snapped his attention back to the task at hand.

With a howl, the Turned threw themselves at the slayers and the battle was joined once more.

As one of the creatures descended on him, teeth bared, Colin took panicked aim and fired off one precious round.

The creature’s forehead exploded in a bloody mess and it slumped to the ground, twitching.

Something slammed into his back and Colin found himself fighting off a hissing, spitting opponent who was intent on tearing his face off.

As he fought for his life, Colin saw a silver blur fly into the cavern and hover before the Time Lord.

Macfadyan blinked, “Cre’at?”

* You must give me the serum. *

“I don’t know what you…”

Clawed hands closed round Colin’s throat and the Turned began to slowly throttle him.

* You are lying. You will give me the serum. *

“I need it.”

* There was not enough. Blanche will die. *

With a growl of rage, Colin threw the vampire from him, his throat burning as one of the creature’s claws tore into him.

Leaping to his feet with more strength than he thought possible, he stormed towards Macfadyan and thrust the revolver in his face, “You son of a bitch!”

The Time Lord stared at him, the Dalek gun clutched in his hands - and suddenly Colin was flying.

His feet left the ground and his back slammed against the cavern wall as clawed fingers dug into his shoulders, holding him in place.

He kicked out frantically, trying to wriggle free but his feet were flailing in thin air, the stones in the wall rasping painfully at his back.

Raising his head, Colin stared aghast into the grinning face of Stackmore.

The vampire licked his lips, allowing his tongue to play over his horrifically sharp teeth as he hoisted the struggling soldier higher.

Behind him, the battle between the vampires and the slayers raged on and Colin gasped as a vicious blow to the face floored Rafe.

As he watched the slayer stagger to his feet, slashing out at the vampire with his knife, Macfadyan’s voice boomed out, “Stop!”

Holding Colin against the wall as if he weighed nothing, Stackmore flashed out a cruel hand and, as one, the Turned stepped away from the battle and slinked back into the shadows.

The silence was thick, broken only by Colin’s gasping breaths as Stackmore’s grip irritated his wounds.

The Time Lord stepped forward, the gun lying loose in his hands, “Let him go.”

Stackmore raised an eyebrow, “Now why would I do that?”

“Because I demand it.”

Stackmore threw back his head and laughed, “You demand? Just who do you think you are?”

The Time Lord shrugged, “Some one who is better than you. You will release my friend and call off your hounds.”

“Or?”

Macfadyan slowly raised the Dalek gun and pointed it at the vampire, “Or I will kill you.”

Stackmore’s eyes flicked between the Time Lord and the weapon and his evil smile spread, “You still don’t understand, do you. Your weapon is useless against me. You have no idea who I am, Time Lord.”

“You’re no one to me.”

Colin swallowed painfully as anger darkened the vampire’s eyes. He cried out as Stackmore’s talons dug deeper into his tortured shoulders.

Spittle flew from the creature’s lips and a growl tore through him, “Such arrogance… I am no one to you? Then allow me to educate you.”

He turned his malevolent glare back to Colin.

There was a low whine as Macfadyan primed the Dalek gun and raised it to his shoulder, “You’re all talk, Stackmore, and I look forward to shutting you up for good.”

Colin felt a shudder tear through the vampire and the creature looked back at the Time Lord, “I shall enjoy feasting off of you, my friend. Your blood will be ripe.” He cracked a smile and chuckled, “But for now an appetiser will have to do.”

And, to Colin’s horror, the monster pinning him to the wall started to grow, its muscles bulging, its bones cracking before it was towering above him like a malformed giant.

A scream tore from the soldier’s throat as the vampire’s skull turned to face him - while the creature’s unmoving face grinned back at Macfadyan. Colin sobbed in terror as the creature’s skin undulated before him, the outline of teeth tightening against sinew and muscle.

He slammed his feet into tree trunk shins with no effect, gritting his teeth as the unholy skull bore down on him, “Mac! For God’s sake! Help me!”

As the skull came closer, Colin heard Macfadyan chuckle, “Oh I knew exactly what you were. I just needed you to show me.” And he reached into his coat, pulled out the second vial of serum, jammed it into the barrel of the Dalek gun and fired.

*

Some one was kicking him.

“On your feet, soldier.”

Colin blinked, his head throbbing, and frowned at the battered figure of Rafe as the slayer nudged him with the toe of his boot.

“Is it over?”

Rafe nodded, “Stackmore’s dead, if that’s what you mean. We’re heading back to the village.”

“What happened.”

Rafe took Colin’s hand and pulled him to his feet, steadying his friend when he staggered, “Ask Mac.”

And the slayers left the cavern at a run, Cre’at bobbing along behind them.

With his first unsteady step, Colin felt his arm and shoulders scream in protest. He looked across at Macfadyan.

The Time Lord was crouching next to the remains of the very dead Stackmore.

The vampire’s skull was a shattered mess and he was spread-eagle on the floor, his clawed hands reaching out towards the shadows where his Children now cowered, subdued and bound by the slayers.

“Mac?”

The Time Lord barely spared him a glance, “You should go with the others. Blanche may need you.”

“Rafe and the others are dealing with it.”

He crouched down next to Macfadyan, “What happened? What was that creature? I can’t…”

“If he had stayed hidden, he would have won. But he couldn’t resist boasting.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was so old. Easily the oldest creature on this little world. Every vampire we’ve encountered was either sired by him or his Children… so powerful…”

“I don’t understand.”

Mac smiled, “I know you don’t. What you see was definitely not what you got where he was concerned.”

He pushed himself to his feet and dusted down is coat, “Stackmore was the last of the Great Vampires. I had suspected as much for a while but I needed… well, I needed to hear it from him.”

Colin stared at the creature’s claws, “Why? If you knew what he was, why not just kill him?”

“The gun wouldn’t work on him while he was in human form. He was too powerful, his energy was too compact. I could have pumped bullets of Eleanor’s serum into him and it would barely have tickled.

“But when a Great Vampire is in blood form he is both immensely powerful and pathetically vulnerable.”

Colin turned away from the corpse, “Well, I saw the powerful side but how come the gun suddenly worked.”

“Blood form uses a lot of energy..I mean, A LOT… he would still have been able to resist the gun - but there was enough serum in that package to floor dozens of his Children.”

The Time Lord smiled at the soldier, “Cre’at nearly spoiled everything. Your little temper tantrum was nicely timed. If Stackmore had had time to think, he would have realised what the serum was - he would never have taken blood form. Boasting - it never ends well.”

Colin blinked at him, “You risked Blanche’s life for this.”

Mac shrugged, “Not just hers. How many people were in that village? How many vampires did Cre’at drop?”

Colin shook his head, “I don’t know.”

“I do. And that’s why I’m the one who has nightmares.”

***

Chapter Twenty-one - The Loss

“Please let her be alive.”

Rafe met Colin and Mac as they approached the village, the Time Lord half carrying his companion as blood loss and exhaustion threatened to fell the young soldier.

The slayer hefted Colin’s arm over his shoulder, “I think we won.”

Mac nodded, “Casualties?”

Rafe looked at him, “They lost more than we did. And we’ve got a whole batch of ex-vampires wondering what the hell just happened.”

“You’ll need to watch them closely.”

Rafe frowned, “They’re cured.”

The Time Lord gave a non-committal grunt, steadying Colin as he tried to pull himself free, “Careful, Captain.”

Colin shook his head and turned frightened eyes to the slayer, “What about Blanche?”

*

“My head hurts. Cold. Has some one left a door open? I hate having hangovers when I’m cold. Who’s calling? Why can’t they just let me sleep?”

“…blanche…”

Blanche opened her eyes and blinked as a snowflake landed on her nose.

It was so quiet…

“…blanche…”

Rolling onto her front she came face to face with the staring eyes and gaping maw of a vampire. She scrabbled crablike backwards before noticing the blade embedded in the creature’s throat. The dead creature’s throat.

She reached out and touched the handle. It was the dagger Marco had given her. She had dropped it when…

“…blanche…”

She spun round, “Marco!”

He was lying in the snow, his stomach red, his hands clinging together, pressed into the gaping wound that was turning the snow crimson.

Slipping her way desperately through the snow, Blanche threw herself down next to the young slayer, pulling him gently to her, tears flooding her eyes as his blood soaked into her sweater.

“Oh God, why did you do it?”

Marco reached out one blooded hand and gently stroked her hair, his voice barely more than a whisper, “That thing was going to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

She sobbed, “I dropped the knife. My hands were too cold. I’m sorry. I let you down. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry…”

“I should have been able to protect you. I should have killed it.”

Marco smiled up at her, “But then I wouldn’t have got the chance to be a hero.”

His smile faded as a coughing fit wracked his devastated body with pain. Blanche tried to pull away, “I’ll get help…”

His hand was in hers, so weak she could have broken away easily, but she stopped and gazed down at him, “…marco…”

“It’s too late…”

For a moment they said nothing, her heartbroken sobs mixing with his desperate breaths. She settled his head in her lap and gently stroked his sodden mop of hair away from his glistening eyes, “…what can I do?”

Marco smiled, “Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening.”

Blanche glanced around, the village a blur through her swollen eyes, “The battle’s over. People are starting to clear up. I can see William and the pub staff. They’re tending the wounded. Some one’s crying…”

“Is it still snowing?”

She looked down at his blood-stained face and the beautiful eyes that so easily took her breath away. He was gazing, unseeing, up at her, almost gone.

He had done so much for her in so short a time, made her feel loved, made her feel welcome in this tiny, terrified community.

She had planned to spend the rest of her life with him and now he was leaving her. So brave, so calm, asking her to picture the world for him.

So she described the snow as it fell gently around them, dusting everything a powdery white.

She described the countryside, bathed in the eerie glow of the moon, trees jutting from the ground like soldiers.

She described the shuffling gait of a night fox as it snuffled its way across the square looking for a meal.

As Marco’s hand fell from hers, the life finally leaving his struggling body, she carried on talking, blinking away tears in a desperate attempt to obey his request not to cry.

She was still talking to him, her voice cracking with grief, her face wet with tears, when Colin found her and gently eased her to her feet.

As Rafe and Conor covered Marco’s body with a blanket, he pulled her into a tight hug and she sobbed a lifetime’s hurt and sorrow into his chest.

*

The King’s Cruelty was cold and dark, the light of a dying fire barely flickering across the hearth.

People were huddled in tired clusters around the splinterwood tables, some talking quietly, some nursing drinks, some staring blankly into the guttering flames, their thoughts a million miles away.

Blanche was standing alone next to the window, a threadbare blanket hanging from her shoulders, her eyes shining in the moonlight as she watched the snow falling.

Macfadyan sighed as he finished tying a bandage around Colin’s arm, “I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Sorry would be a good start.”

“I did what I had to do.”

Colin tugged down the sleeve of his shirt, “No Mac, you did what you wanted to do and Blanche got caught in the cross-fire.”

“I had to finish Stackmore.”

Colin looked at him, “We were a team. We deserved to be told what you had planned. We could have worked something out which didn’t involve sacrificing half the damned village.”

“I didn’t know…”

“You didn’t care!” He took a deep breath and concentrated on the dull ache that was his body, “Just talk to her.”

Macfadyan watched the young soldier walk gingerly to the bar where he was greeted by a subdued Rafe and the two men shared a drink to fallen friends.

With a sigh, the Time Lord abandoned his first aid kit and crossed to the window, standing as close to Blanche as he dared.

She sniffed, “What do you want?”

Macfadyan thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at his feet, “Marco was a good man.”

She said nothing.

“I would have been sorry to lose you, but I know you would have been in good hands.”

She blinked and shuddered as a stream of tears chased one another down her face.

“Blanche, I’m sorry.”

She looked at him for the first time, pulling the blanket tightly around her, refusing to wipe the tears from her distraught face, “I hope he haunts you.”

“What?”

“I hope he keeps you awake at night and follows you round the Ship. I hope he takes every happy thought you have and turns it into what I’m feeling now.”

“Blanche,” Macfadyan placed his hands on her shoulders and looked deep into her welling eyes but she shook him off with a growl.

“I hate you. Don’t ever pretend that I don’t.”

And she walked away, whispering briefly to Colin before heading out into the snowy night.

Macfadyan watched her go and his heart broke.

*

“So that was happiness - as brief as I had come to expect.

“The Ship has a huge library and Colin has told me about what he calls trashy novels. They all involve a man, a woman, an adventure and a happy ever after. I should have known they were too good to be true.

“I don’t know why I’m still here. No, that’s a lie, I know exactly why I’m here - because I have nowhere else to go. Rafe said I was welcome to stay in the village but why would I want to without Marco?

“So I’m here with Colin and Cre’at and we’re watching Mac prep the ship for take off.

“There’s something different about him. He looks smaller - a lesser man - and I know we both have a lifetime of nightmares to look forward to but I can’t feel sorry for him - I won’t.

“I wish we’d never come.”

Colin watched Blanche watching Macfadyan and knew he was witnessing the end of something special.

The girl had an almost infinite capacity for forgiveness, seeing the good in everyone and everything but the Time Lord had pushed and prodded and finally found her limit.

He had snuffed out the light in her eyes and added a shadow to her demeanour for which Colin would never forgive him.

The coming days, weeks and months would be tough to deal with and he wondered whether they would survive together.

The Ship shuddered as Macfadyan succeeded in coaxing the engines to life and Colin placed an arm round Blanche’s shoulders, “Come on, I’ll make you some hot chocolate and you can tell me all about him.”

She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand, “OK.”

Colin looked across at Cre’at, “You got any of those marsh mallows left?”

* I do. Plus chocolate and cream for tastiness. *

The three of them left the control room without a backwards glance.

*

Macfadyan turned away from the console and gazed after them as the door clicked shut.

“…I’m sorry…”

But no one was listening.

THE END

***