Читать книгу The Demon Road Trilogy: The Complete Collection: Demon Road; Desolation; American Monsters - Derek Landy - Страница 42

BETWEEN HERSELF AND GLEN they half walked, half carried Althea up the hill and back to her house.

She was, despite her modest height, quite a heavy woman, and the journey was slow and difficult. Althea came out of her faint twice, started muttering, then succumbed to it once again, the cross around her neck dangling beneath her chin. They got to the house and Amber knocked, calling Milo’s name. A few moments later, the door opened and he let them in. On their way upstairs, they filled him in on what had happened, then laid Althea carefully on her bed. All at once the muttering stopped and Althea was sleeping deeply.

Milo and Glen shared a glance, then left the room. Amber frowned until she realised that she was expected to take care of the undressing.

Ten minutes later, she joined them both in the living room.

“Next time an old person needs to be readied for bed,” she said, “one of you is going to do it.”

The living room was modest, with a low-hanging faux-chandelier and wallpaper that hadn’t even been in style when it was made. Rugs lay atop the carpet and the curtains were heavy and old. A sofa and an armchair huddled round the cold fireplace, the armchair facing a TV so stocky it would have crushed the old lady if it had fallen on her. Beside the window there was a small, circular table covered with a tablecloth. Framed photographs stood like privates in a parade. There was a painting of Jesus over the mantelpiece.

“I’ve been to church,” said Glen, standing at the window and peeking out from behind the blinds. “That is not supposed to happen. That was creepy. It was more than creepy. It was … it was very creepy.”

Milo was flicking through an address book, but paused long enough to glance at Amber. “Think it’s got anything to do with what you saw last night?”

“Probably,” she said. “The priest was talking about how the seeds of evil have already taken root here. I’m pretty sure those were some of the seeds he was talking about. Did you find anything?”

“Not yet,” Milo replied. “But maybe Althea will be more willing to talk to us after this.”

“She’ll probably need one of us to be with her when she wakes, though,” said Glen. “Just to make sure she doesn’t freak out. I’ll take first watch.”

“Wait,” said Amber. “You think waking up to find a strange Irishman in her bedroom will reassure her?”

Glen frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

Amber didn’t bother answering. She just went back upstairs. She sat in an armchair, watching Althea sleep. After a few minutes, she closed her eyes. Just for a moment. Just to rest them.

When Amber awoke, the sunlight had a red tinge to it, like drops of blood in bathwater. She yawned, sitting up straighter in her chair. Mid-yawn, she froze. The bed was empty.

Alarmed, she hurried downstairs to find Althea sitting in the living room with Glen.

“Amber,” said Glen, smiling broadly, “you’re finally awake!”

“I didn’t have the nerve to disturb you,” Althea said. “You looked exhausted, so I thought to myself I’ll let this poor girl sleep.”

“Uh, thank you,” said Amber. “I hope I didn’t frighten you, or anything.”

Althea smiled ruefully. “Takes more than a young girl to frighten me, let me tell you.”

Milo came in, holding a saucer with a delicate cup of steaming tea. “Here you go, Althea,” he said, passing it over.

“A saint, that’s what you are,” Althea said, taking it from him and sipping.

“Not too strong this time?”

Althea chuckled. “No, dear, it’s perfect, thank you.”

Milo sat in the armchair and looked at Amber. “Althea was just telling us who those people in church were. Some of them have been ill recently.”

“That’s right,” said Althea. “I know Tom Prendergast hasn’t been in work since Monday, and Rachel Faulkner didn’t show up for her shift in the cafe yesterday or the day before. She didn’t even call in sick. And I’m not one to listen to gossip, but that Stevens boy hasn’t been well all week. They say he’s got an infection.”

She nodded when she said it, like Amber would know what kind of infection she meant.

“Do you think they were all sick with the same thing?” Amber asked.

Althea took another sip from her cup. “I’m sure I don’t know. But it would appear so, wouldn’t it? They were all complaining of weakness, and everyone who saw them remarked on how pale they looked. Then there were the …”

She trailed off.

“Then there were the what?” Milo prompted.

But Althea only smiled. “Nothing, dear. Worried people, that’s all it is.”

“You said something earlier about strange deaths?” Glen said.

“Oh heavens, no,” Althea responded, her small eyes glittering. “Such talk is nothing more than salacious gossip, and I for one do not partake. But we have had a very odd year, a very unsettling year. People have died in mysterious circumstances and others have claimed to see them days or even weeks later, walking the streets. Always at night, though. Always at night. And it all began with that poor family.”

“Tell us,” said Glen. “Please.”

The tip of Althea’s tongue popped out from between her lips as she considered the request, and then vanished. She put her cup and saucer on the coffee table and sat forward on the sofa. Milo and Glen leaned in. Amber perched on the arm of Milo’s chair and did the same.

“The Mastersons,” Althea said. “Lovely family. The mother was a lawyer, her husband was a teacher. Mathematics, I think. They had two beautiful children. The boy was the youngest. A prodigy, they said. Sit him at a piano and he could play like Mozart. Hand him a violin and he could play like Vivaldi. The daughter, though, Rosalie, she was the one you’d remember. I daresay you’d have fallen in love with her at first sight, Glen. Beautiful and kind, intelligent and funny. She was the flower of Cascade Falls. She had many would-be suitors and, from what I’ve heard, they were remarkably well-behaved around her. No inappropriateness of any sort. Until Caleb Tylk.

“Caleb was a troubled boy,” she went on. “Fights. Suspended from school three times. Vandalism. But, like every boy his age, he was in love with Rosalie Masterson. She was polite to him, which is testament enough to her character, wouldn’t you say? But that was Rosalie. A girl much too lovely for this world.”

“So I’m guessing something really bad happened,” said Amber.

Althea nodded gravely. She reached for her cup, took a sip, and replaced it on its saucer. “Caleb Tylk’s attentions were wildly, grotesquely inappropriate. He mistook her kindness for something more, and she was forced to reject his advances. He didn’t take it well. They said he hanged himself on the old tree beside the Varga Hotel.”

“They said?” Glen echoed. “They didn’t know for sure?”

“My friend, Sally-Ann Deaton, insists that she saw him hanging there, but, by the time the authorities came, the body was gone.”

“What happened to it?” asked Amber.

“Nobody knows,” said Althea. “But three nights later, cruel and bloody murder paid a visit to the Masterson house. The mother had her head cut off. The father had his heart ripped out. The son, that poor boy, was torn limb from limb. And Rosalie was taken.”

“You think Caleb did it,” said Milo.

“Oh yes,” said Althea. “Rosalie’s bedroom door had been broken down. On the wall beside the open window was Caleb Tylk loves Rosalie Masterson, written in Rosalie’s own blood.”

Silence followed her words. She took her saucer in her hand and had another sip of tea.

“Since then, things have gotten bad, and are getting worse. People are dying, and rising again. Oh, come now, wipe those looks off your faces. You know. I can tell. There’s something out there … something evil. You can feel it, too. He is not of this world.”

“He?”

“Varga,” she said. “It’s all centred around him.”

“Why don’t you leave?” Glen asked.

“I would’ve been out of here last week if my car hadn’t broken down,” Althea said with a chuckle. “At first, I was stubborn. I have lived in Cascade Falls my entire life and I was determined not to let any unholy creatures force me from my home. But then, well, my mind was changed. Vampires can do that to a person.”

Glen blinked. “Vampires?”

“Well, of course,” said Althea. “What did you think we were talking about?”

“I … have no idea,” said Glen. “But vampires? Really?”

Althea nodded. “That’s why I carry a crucifix with me wherever I go, and it’s why I never invite anyone into my house after dark. Those people singing in church today were the vampires’ human familiars – people who have been enslaved, but who have not yet been drained completely. I know my stuff, you best believe it.”

“Are we seriously talking about Dracula-style vampires here?” asked Glen, an excited grin starting to spread.

“Of course we are,” said Althea. “If you’d looked close, you would have seen that they all share two puncture wounds on their necks.”

“Wow …” said Glen.

Althea looked at him sadly. “Just like yours.”