Darren Shan - The Demonata 1-5

Coming up to the houses. There’s a road behind them, where most of the residents park. We make the road and close in on the Spleen residence. I start to think about what Ma Spleen is going to say, and what will happen when she phones Dervish to complain about the condition he let her grandson walk home in. Perhaps I should take Bill-E directly to a doctor. It’s late but I’m sure–

Bill-E gasps painfully and collapses. He dry retches and paws at the pavement, whining like a wounded animal.

“What’s wrong?” I cry, dropping beside him. I reach to examine his face, but he brushes my hands away and snarls. “Bill-E? What is it? Do you want me to–”

“Grubbs — step away.”

A harsh voice, straight ahead of me. Slowly, trembling, I stand and stare.

Dervish!

→ My uncle’s standing between us and the rear garden gate of Bill-E’s home. No way past. He’s illuminated by moonlight. A long hypodermic syringe in his right hand. Eyes ablaze with anger. “Meera,” he says, gaze flicking to a spot behind me. I glance back. A moment’s pause, then Meera steps out from behind a van. My head spins. I remember an earlier mad thought — “What if they’re both werewolves?”

Dervish starts walking towards me.

“Stop!” I moan, warning him off with my axe.

“Step away, Grubbs,” he says again, not slowing. “You don’t know what’s happening.” Then, to Meera, “Be careful. Block his escape, but don’t get too close.”

“I know what you are,” I sob, tears of fear springing to my eyes. “If you come any closer…”

“Don’t interfere,” Dervish snaps. “I don’t want to hurt you, but if you don’t step aside, I’ll–”

He comes within range. I swing at him with my axe. Tears impair my aim — I swing high. Dervish curses and ducks. I take another blind swing. He shimmies closer as I’m swinging, dodges the blade, chops at my axe arm with his free left hand.

My arm goes numb from the elbow down. The axe drops to the ground. I dart after it. Dervish grabs the back of my collar and yanks me aside. I crash into a car. He’s upon me before I have time to recover. Wraps his left arm around my throat. Exerts pressure.

“Dervish!” Meera gasps.

“It’s OK,” he pants. Then, to me, as I struggle for my life, “Easy! We’re on the same side.”

“Let go!” I wheeze. “I know what you are! Let–”

Low growling. Animalistic. Wolfen.

But not from Dervish.

From ahead of us.

Dervish releases me. I stand rooted to the spot. Eyes wide. Staring at the beast as it rises to its feet and snarls. A contorted face. Yellow eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Dark shadows. Open mouth full of bared teeth.

It raises a hand — dark skin, long nails, fingers curled into claws.

And I realise, about a million years late, that a monster has breached the barriers of Carcery Vale tonight — but it’s not Dervish.

The werewolf’s Bill-E Spleen!

→ “Bill-E?” I moan. He glares at me, naked hate filling his abnormal yellow eyes. “Bill-E… it’s me… Grubbs.”

“He doesn’t recognise you,” Dervish says, stepping to the left. Bill-E’s eyes snap to the adult and he crouches defensively. Behind him, Meera takes an automatic step backwards. “No!” Dervish barks. “Don’t move! You’ll attract–”

Too late. Bill-E’s head swivels. He spots Meera. Leaps.

Meera gets out the start of a scream. Then the beast is upon her, hissing as he hauls her to the ground. They land hard, Meera underneath. She tries to throw the animal off. He grabs her hand and bites hard into the flesh. She starts to curse, but is cut short by the creature’s fist — it crushes into the side of her face. Meera chokes, stunned. The beast grabs both sides of her head and smashes her skull down hard on the pavement. The fight goes out of her. Teeth glinting in the moonlight, fastening around Meera’s throat. The monster’s about to rip her head off and all I can do is stand here and gawp like an idiot.

But Dervish isn’t so helpless. He moves as fast as Bill-E, and gets there a split-second before he bites. Grabbing Bill-E’s ear, he tugs hard. The creature’s head jerks clear of Meera’s throat. He whines and lashes out. Dervish ducks the blow. Shoves the animal down hard, head first. Pins it with his right knee, digging it hard into the boy-beast’s back. Brings up his right hand and jabs the tip of the syringe into the side of Bill-E’s neck. Pushes on the plunger. The liquid in the barrel disappears into Bill-E’s veins.

Bill-E stiffens and groans. Dervish whips the syringe out and tosses it aside. Bill-E thrashes wildly. Dervish uses both hands and knees to hold him down.

Mad seconds pass. Bill-E stiffens again. More thrashing. Stiffens for the third time — then collapses, eyes closing, limbs limp.

Dervish lays Bill-E’s head down, then shoots to Meera’s side. “Meera?” he mutters, checking her pulse, putting his ear to her lips, rolling her eyelids up. No response. He straightens her legs and arms, checks on Bill-E, looks around to see if anybody’s noticed the scuffle — but the road is deserted except for us. He turns to face me.

“You bloody fool,” he snarls.

I stare blankly at my uncle, then slide to the ground and give myself over to bewildered tears.

→ Dervish lets me cry myself dry, then hands me a handkerchief and says gruffly, “Clean yourself up, then help me with Billy and Meera.”

I wipe my face with the handkerchief. Stand, still sniffling.

“You thought I was a werewolf?” Dervish asks.

“Yes,” I answer hollowly.

“You ass,” he says, and manages a ghost of a smile. “There’s nothing more dangerous than someone half-close to a terrible truth. What would you have done if I was? Taken that axe to me? Chopped me up into little bits? Buried me in the forest and told the police I’d gone out walking and never returned?”

“I don’t know,” I moan. “We didn’t think that far ahead. We thought you’d lock yourself up in the cage in the cellar. When you started for the Vale, we–”

“You know about the cellar?” he interrupts. “You’ve been there?”

“Yes. Not Bill-E — just me. I saw the cage, the deer, the books…”

Dervish snorts, disgusted. “I knew you’d sniff it out eventually, but not this quick. I underestimated you — Sherlock Grady.”

He bends, ties Bill-E’s legs together, then his hands. He slips a gag between the unconscious boy’s jaws, then picks Bill-E up and drapes him over his shoulders, much as he carried the captured deer.

“What are you going to do with him?” I whimper, flashing on images of Dervish cutting Bill-E’s throat, or caging him up for life.

Dervish grunts. “We’ll discuss that later. First we have to get him home. He’ll be safe once we lock him in the cage — there’s water, and he can feed on the deer. We’re exposed here.”

“But–” I begin.

“Save it,” Dervish snaps. “We need to move — now! I don’t want to be the one to try explaining to Ma Spleen that her grandson’s a werewolf!”

I smile fleetingly, then put the questions on hold. Dervish carries Bill-E to the van which Meera had been hiding behind. He pulls the rear door open and bundles Bill-E inside, then returns for Meera. I’m too terrified and ashamed to ask if she’s alive or dead. Instead I pick up my axe, Bill-E’s dropped sword and the syringe — my right arm tingles fiercely where Dervish hit me, but I can use my hand now — and put them in the back of the van beside the bodies. Dervish closes the door on the beast and the woman. Then we climb in up front and drive back to the mansion.

→ For a full minute I say nothing, as if this is an ordinary drive home on a normal night. Dervish concentrates on the road, driving slowly for once in his life. His hands are shaking on the steering wheel. I watch him change gears. Then, unable to hold the questions back any longer, I spit it out.