Slawter

“Just wait a minute. Please?”

Dervish breathes out heavily, then takes a step back.

“We’re trying to help,” Prae says, speaking to me but looking at Dervish. “Your uncle is a man of old science — he calls it magic, but to us it’s science by a different name. We’re of the new school. Dervish fights one battle at a time. Your mother and father made that choice too. But we’re trying to attack the root of the disease. We want everyone to benefit, not just a few. To do that, we have to examine and explore.

“Your brother is one of the very few victims to beat the curse. If we can study him, unlock the secrets behind his remarkable cure, perhaps we can replicate it and save others — without the need for demons or so-called magic.”

“You can’t,” Dervish says wearily. “I’ve told you before, it’s not science. It’s not of this universe. You can’t understand it and you can’t mimic it. Do you think I’d stand in your way if I thought there was the slightest chance that you could?”

“You can’t be sure,” Prae says.

“I am.”

Prae mutters something beneath her breath, then tries me again. “We wouldn’t hurt Billy. You and your uncle could come and observe. We just want to know more, to understand… to help.”

I feel sorry for Prae Athim. Despite her scary appearance and manner, she only wants to do good. But the thought of her taking Bill-E away, locking him up, experimenting on him… I shake my head.

“You should leave now,” Dervish says quietly. “We can’t help you.”

“You’re condemning others to change, to die,” Prae says angrily.

Dervish shrugs. “We’ve been condemned a long time. We’re used to it.”

He lays a hand on Prae’s shoulder. She jerks away from him and stands. “My daughter changed,” she hisses. “I tried to cure her, but I couldn’t. She’s still alive. Because I hope and believe. By denying us, you deny her and all the others like her. How will you sleep with that on your conscience?”

“Lousily,” Dervish says. “But Billy will sleep sweetly. And to me, that’s what matters most, just as your daughter matters most to you.” He leans towards her. “If the positions were reversed, would you allow your loved one to be taken?”

“Yes,” Prae answers immediately. “Without question.”

“Well, that’s where we differ. Because I always question.”

“There are other ways,” Prae says, a dangerous tremble to her tone. “We didn’t have to ask. We could just take him.”

Dervish’s expression goes dead. “Try it,” he whispers. “See what happens.”

“You couldn’t stop us,” Prae insists, a red flush of anger rising up her throat. “You’re powerful, but so are the Lambs. We could–”

“Mess with me and you mess with us all,” Dervish interrupts. “Do you really want to do that? Do the Lambs now think themselves the equals of the Disciples?”

“We aren’t afraid of your kind,” Prae says, but her words ring hollow.

Dervish smiles lazily. “If you lay a hand on Billy or Grubbs, I’ll teach you to be afraid. That’s a promise.”

“You don’t want us as enemies,” Prae warns him. “Nobody stands alone in this world, not even the Disciples. You may need us one day.”

“Yes,” Dervish agrees. “But not today.” He points at the door.

Prae opens her mouth to try again. Realises she’d be wasting her breath. Shakes her head with disgust. Shoots a look at me. “Pray you never turn. Because if you do, thanks to people like your uncle, we won’t be able to help. All we’ll be able to do is kill.”

She strides to the door, throws it opens and marches out. The front doors slam several seconds later. Then the faint sound of her engine starting, rising, fading.

Dervish stares at me. I stare back. Neither of us says anything. I don’t know what my uncle’s thinking, but there’s only one glaring thought in my head — who the hell are the Disciples?

MONSTERS GALORE

→ Dervish has another nightmare. Four nights in a row — he must be going for the record. Luckily I’d been expecting this one. Dervish shut himself off from me after Prae Athim left. Kept to his study, pacing around, muttering, brooding. I guessed nightmares would follow. Stayed awake after he went to bed, alert, prepared for a long, active night.

I catch Dervish in the hall of portraits. He snuck past my room without me hearing, even though I’d been listening closely. But a minute ago the screaming started and it was easy to track him down.

The walls of this hall are lined with photographs and paintings of dead family members, mostly teenagers who became werewolves. It’s on the first floor, close to my bedroom. When I arrive, Dervish has knocked several photos to the floor and is wrestling with a large portrait, trying to tear it free of its peg.

“Leave me alone!” he screams. “It’s not my fault!”

“Dervish,” I call, hurrying over to him, grabbing his right hand, trying to prise his fingers loose. “Derveeshio! Derv on a curve — don’t lose your verve. Don’t roar and bawl — not in this hall.”

He ignores the rhymes and jerks free. “Get out of my skull! You’re eating my brain!” He collapses to his knees, grips his head hard with both hands, moans with pain and terror.

“Dervish, easy, it’s OK, it’s coolio, you have to chill. You on the ground — everything’s sound.”

His eyes fix on a nearby photograph. His breath catches. “I didn’t do it!” he gasps. “I didn’t kill you! Leave me alone!”

I sweep the photos away, then grab Dervish’s hands, pull them down from his head and lock gazes with him. “Wake up, you crazy, bald coot! It’s only a dream — no need to scream. None of it’s real — fantasy’s the deal. You have to snap back. Come on, I know you’re in there, I know…”

His expression clears. He looks like a lost child for a few seconds, pitiful, silently begging me for help. Then the real Dervish surfaces and terror gives way to exhaustion and embarrassment. I release him, nodding slowly and repeatedly to show that everything’s OK, no damage done.

Dervish looks around at the photos on the floor. Most are ripped, a couple beyond repair. No glass in the frames. We removed all the glass a few months ago, in case something like this happened. Didn’t want him hurting himself — or me.

“I thought they’d come back to life,” Dervish says. “They blamed me. Claimed I was the cause of the curse. They wanted revenge.”

“It was just a dream.”

“I know. But still…” He shivers. “I could have done without Prae Athim and the Lambs. I didn’t need them now. Not in this state. Why do bad things always come at the worst time?”

“Forget about her,” I tell him. “She’s gone. You ran her off.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe…” He coughs, then stands. “No. That’s the nightmare talking. The Lambs can’t help. They mean well, but in matters like this they’re helpless.”

“Unlike the Disciples?” I ask, broaching the mysterious subject for the first time, not sure if it’s the right moment, but curiosity getting the better of me.

Dervish shakes his head. “I’ll tell you about them later. Not now. OK?”

I sniff like it doesn’t matter.

Dervish grows thoughtful. “Billy doesn’t know about the change, Lord Loss, what we did for him. It’s better this way. No point throwing his world into chaos. The Lambs are part of the human world. They’ve no direct experience of the Demonata or magic. They couldn’t learn anything from Billy.”

“Then don’t worry about it,” I mutter. “Go back to bed, get a good night’s sleep, kick the nightmares out the window.”

Dervish laughs. “If only it was that easy.” He checks his watch. Yawns. “But I’ll try to snooze, to keep nurse Grubitsch happy.” He glances at me. “If I drop off, I might go walkabout again. You should lock me in.”