Tunnels of Blood

It was a cold, late-November night. There hadn’t been any snow yet, but it was threatening. I was dressed in my colourful pirate costume: a light green shirt, dark purple trousers, a gold and blue jacket, a red satin cloth round my belly, a brown hat with a feather in it, and soft shoes with toes that curled in on themselves.

I strolled away from the vans and tents and found a secluded spot around the side of the old mill. I stuck the cross on a piece of wood in front of me, took a deep breath, concentrated on the cross and willed it into the palm of my outstretched hand.

No good.

I shuffled closer, so my hand was only centimetres away from the cross.

“I command you to move,” I said, clicking my fingers. “I order you to move.” Click. “Move.” Click. “Move!”

I shouted this last word louder than intended and stamped my foot in anger.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asked behind me.

Looking up, I saw Mr Crepsley emerging out of the shadows.

“Nothing,” I said, trying to hide the cross.

“What is that?” he asked. His eyes missed nothing.

“Just a cross I found while hunting,” I said, holding it out.

“What were you doing with it?” Mr Crepsley asked suspiciously.

“Trying to make it move,” I said, deciding it was time to ask the vampire about his magic secrets. “How do you do it?”

A smile spread across his face, causing the long scar that ran down the left side to crinkle. “So that is what has been bothering you,” he chuckled. He stretched out a hand and clicked his fingers, causing me to blink. Next thing I knew, the cross was in his hand.

“How’s it done?” I asked. “Can only full-vampires do it?”

“I will demonstrate again. Watch closely this time.”

Replacing the cross on the piece of wood, he stood back and clicked his fingers. Once again it disappeared and turned up in his hand. “Did you see?”

“See what?” I was confused.

“One final time,” he said. “Try not to blink.”

I focused on the small silver piece. I heard his fingers clicking and – keeping my eyes wide open – thought I spotted the slightest blur darting between me and the cross.

When I turned to look at him he was tossing the cross from hand to hand and smiling. “Rumbled me yet?” he asked.

I frowned. “I thought I saw… It looked like…” My face lit up. “You didn’t move the cross!” I yelled excitedly. “You moved!”

He beamed. “Not as dull as you appear,” he complimented me in his usual sarcastic manner.

“Do it again,” I said. This time I didn’t look at the cross: I watched the vampire. I wasn’t able to track his movements – he was too fast – but I caught brief snaps of him as he darted forward, snatched up the cross and leapt back.

“So you’re not able to move things with your mind?” I asked.

“Of course not,” he laughed.

“Then why the click of the fingers?”

“To distract the eye,” he explained.

“Then it’s a trick,” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with being a vampire.”

He shrugged. “I could not move so fast if I were human, but yes, it is a trick. I dabbled with illusions before I became a vampire and I like to keep my hand in.”

“Could I learn to do it?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said. “You cannot move as fast as I can, but you could get away with it if the object was close to hand. You would have to practise hard – but if you wish, I can teach you.”

“I always wanted to be a magician,” I said. “But… hold on…” I remembered a couple of occasions when Mr Crepsley had opened locks with a click of his fingers. “What about locks?” I asked.

“Those are different. You understand what static energy is?” My face was a blank. “Have you ever brushed a comb through your hair and held it up to a thin sheet of paper?”

“Yeah!” I said. “The paper sticks to it.”

“That is static energy,” he explained. “When a vampire flits, a very strong static charge builds up. I have learned to harness that charge. Thus I am able to force open any lock you care to mention.”

I thought about that. “And the click of your fingers?” I asked.

“Old habits die hard,” he smiled.

“But old vampires die easy!” a voice growled behind us, and before I knew what was happening, someone had reached around the two of us and pressed a pair of razor-sharp knives to the soft flesh of our throats!

CHAPTER TWO

I FROZE at the touch of the blade and the threatening voice, but Mr Crepsley didn’t even blink. He gently pushed the knife away from his throat, then tossed the silver cross to me.

“Gavner, Gavner, Gavner,” Mr Crepsley sighed. “I always could hear you coming from half a mile away.”

“Not true!” the voice said peevishly, as the blade drew back from my throat. “You couldn’t have heard.”

“Why not?” Mr Crepsley said. “Nobody in the world breathes as heavily as you. I could pick you out blindfolded in a crowd of thousands.”

“One night, Larten,” the stranger muttered. “One night I’ll catch you out. We’ll see how smart you are then.”

“Upon that night I shall retire disgracefully,” Mr Crepsley chuckled.

Mr Crepsley cocked an eyebrow at me, amused to see I was still stiff and half-afraid, even though I’d figured out our lives weren’t in danger.

“Shame on you, Gavner Purl,” Mr Crepsley said. “You have frightened the boy.”

“Seems all I’m good for,” the stranger grunted. “Scaring children and little old ladies.”

Turning slowly, I came face to face with the man called Gavner Purl. He wasn’t very tall but he was wide, built like a wrestler. His face was a mass of scars and dark patches, and the rims around his eyes were extremely black. His brown hair was cut short and he was dressed in an ordinary pair of jeans and a baggy white jumper. He had a broad smile and glittering yellow teeth.