Darren Shan - Birth of a Killer

“Paris is a vampire Prince,” Larten said. “They do not care about looks.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not letting you leave in such a state. I’m going to call for a hot bath. Once you’ve bathed, dressed in clean clothes and blown your nose a few more times, you can present yourself to him.”

“But if he is waiting for me Larten exploded.

he will have to be patient,” Malora finished calmly. “I’ll take him a glass of wine to keep him quiet

— they don’t have a great selection here, but there are a few nice bottles tucked away in the back — and say that you’ll be with him presently.”

“How do you know what wine they have?” Larten asked as she let herself out.

“I’m your assistant,” Malora said. “It’s my job to know things like that. Now make sure you’re undressed by the time I get back, and don’t be shy, you don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”

“Malora!” Larten gasped, but she was already gone.

Paris was amused and impressed by Malora, and when Larten was finally allowed to present himself to his elderly friend, they spent the early part ofthe night discussing her. He told the Prince how they’d met and grinned sheepishly as Paris howled with laughter when he heard how Larten had acquired his scar.

“Don’t tell anyone else that story,” Paris chuckled. “Let them think you got it fighting a lion or a vampaneze.”

“Evanna is far more dangerous than that,” Larten said.

“Aye, but she’s still a woman. Trust me, if you want to keep your reputation, be mysterious about this.”

“I did not think that I had a reputation,” Larten said glumly.

“In some quarters you do,” Paris replied kindly. “You’re not the first vampire to lose his way. We understand how difficult it can be to choose the path of the Generals. If you return to the fold, you’ll find us more welcoming than you imagine. We’ll even accept your strange choice of assistant.”

“Malora is not a real assistant,” Larten said. “She does not show any interest in being blooded. I think she just likes having someone to boss around.”

“Show me a woman who doesn’t,” Paris chortled and called for another glass of the interesting wine Malora had found forthem.

The pair chatted the night away, retiring to a cozy back room when all the other customers had gone to bed, where they drank by the light of a single fat candle. Paris sipped wine and Larten quaffed ale. (He would get into trouble for defying Malora, but he didn’t care. This was an occasion for ale.) Paris relayed the latest news from Vampire Mountain. Seba and Wester were well. Wester had become a guard and was proud as a peacock.

“Seba is just as proud,” Paris said.

Larten was too, though it reminded him of his own failures and he had to strain to keep his smile in place.

Paris gave Larten some advice on the best way to fight off the flu. The Prince had endured a few bad cases himself over the centuries and he recommended herbs that were no longer fashionable but that had eased the worst of his suffering in the past.

“But to be honest, you just have to ride it out as best you can,” he added. “It will plague you for at least another month. It comes and goes in waves, so don’t think you’ve beaten it. Wrap up warm, heed Malora’s advice, and pray to the gods to let you live if that’s their will.”

Shortly before dawn, when they both had a rosy glow from the wine and ale, Paris spoke of his real reason for tracking down the stray vampire.

“Seba is in poor spirits,” he said.

“Sick?” Larten yelped with alarm.

“No — upset. He misses you, but there’s more to it than that. Seba doesn’t care whether or not you become a General, live among humans or take some other path. He just wants you to be happy. But from reports he’s received over the years, you’re not. He senses you struggling and wandering blindly. That troubles him.”

“I never wanted to disappoint Seba,” Larten said miserably. “I wanted him to be proud of me, like he is ofWester.”

“Then give him something to be proud of,” Paris said softly but pointedly. “In the name of the gods, Larten, choose. You’re not a new-blood. You’ve enjoyed your wild years and had time to reflect since distancing yourself from the clan. Surely by now you must have some idea of what you want to do with your life.”

Larten sighed. “It is complicated. I yearn to be a General, but I feel there is more I must do before I return and complete my training. I do not know what, but at the moment the thought of coming back…” He shook his head.

‘What if you could train outside of Vampire Mountain?” Paris asked. “I could be your tutor and teach you as we travel.”

Larten was stunned by the offer. Seba had said that the Princes were interested in him, but he hadn’t believed it — he’d thought his old master was merely trying to flatter him. This was an amazing opportunity. Only a fool would turn it down. The chance to train under a Prince would probably never come his way again. And yet…

For some reason Larten recalled the ticking sound he’d heard in Evanna’s cave. That noise disturbed his dreams occasionally, though he had no idea why, just as he didn’t know why he should think of it now.

“Sleep on it,” Paris said, seeing the flicker of temptation in Larten’s bloodshot eyes. He rose and stretched. “There’s no rush. I don’t have to leave for a few more nights. Think it over. Discuss it with Malora. I won’t press you for an answer.”

‘You are too good to me, Sire,” Larten mumbled, bowing his head respectfully.

“I know,” Paris laughed, then went upstairs to the room that Malora had prepared for him, where he was stunned to find a coffin lying on a couple of tables. “Now this is what I call first-class service,” he murmured as he lay inside and happily pulled the lid closed over himself.

As soon as Larten rose in the afternoon, Malora scolded him for drinking the night before. He tried to defend his actions and said he thought the ale had done him some good, but she made him take a cold bath to purge himself of the evils of alcohol. Afterwards he told her of Paris’s offer and asked her opinion. She thought about it a long time before answering.

“It’s not a question of if you become a General but when."

Larten was surprised by her certainty. ‘You think so?”

‘You were born to be a General. It’s just a matter of whether you think this is the right time to complete your training or if you’d rather roam the world a few more years, moping about what a hard choice you have to face.”

“That is a cruel way to put it,” Larten muttered.

''But true,” she smirked. “I don’t know why you’ve strayed for so long. I doubt you even know that yourself. If you feel this is the wrong time to commit, say no to Paris. But you should consider the possibility that the right time might never come. Maybe you’ll feel indecisive all your life and you just have to pick a moment to say, I am going to become a General, damn the consequences." She did an accurate impression of him and he found himself smiling.

“What about you?” Larten asked. “If I return to the clan, you will have to study hard before I can blood you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Malora snorted. “I’ve no intention of letting you blood me. Vampirism doesn’t interest me in the slightest.”

Larten gaped at her. “Then why, by the black blood of Hamon Oan, have you been following me around the world?” he thundered.

‘You really thought I wanted to become a vampire?” she asked. When he nodded, she sighed. “I knew you were naive but I didn’t think you were that dense.” As he puffed himself up to bellow at her, she reached out and gently caressed his scar. Hertouch calmed him.