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17.1: NIGHTMARES (part 1)

In which nobody gets much sleep.

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Harriet was not the only one skulking around that night. While she was having her skulk around Pinwick town gaol, Fang was also have a good skulk. Fang was, predictably, better at skulking than Harriet. This was partly because he had been practising for four hundred years, but mostly because he wasn't wearing a pair of fluffy slippers.

The inn at which Fang, Winkton and Gustav had stopped for the night was called The Traveller's Rest. Quaint, one might say. Gustav did just that as their coach rattled into the courtyard. Fang found this extremely annoying, but at the time he was concentrating too hard on not being garlic-sick to comment.

As Fang skulked along the hallway of the upper storey of The Traveller's Rest, he could hear huge, rumbling snores issued from behind the closed door of Winkton's room. Fang stalked past, giving the door a disdainful glance as he did so. It was not Winkton he was interested in tonight. Another noise had caught his attention, and it was because of this second noise that he was out of his room, skulking. He couldn't hear it anymore, but he was determined to skulk around until he did.

He didn't have to wait long until it came again. Fang stood on his tiptoes, poised, and listened. Yes, there it was, very quiet. A voice: high-pitched, insistent. Female. And, he realised with vague surprise, coming from Gustav's room.

Fang skulked closer. Yes, that was a woman's voice all right, speaking quietly but rapidly. He couldn't make out the words. Then came the lower slur of Gustav's reply-drowsy.

Fang turned away, contempt curling his lip. He should have known Gustav would be one for picking up women. A showman, a charmer. Probably told her he eats five vampires for breakfast. He didn't remember seeing Gustav talking to any women, but the 'Scourge' had probably snuck back downstairs after Winkton and Fang had retired. Probably ordered a good many drinks and charged them to Winkton, too. Well, it wasn't as though Fang cared about that.

Turning back down the corridor, he passed Winkton's door again. The snores were, if anything, louder.

Blustering buffoon, Fang thought. Why am I even bothering with him? Briefly, he entertained the notion of leaving Winkton and vanishing into the night alone. He could find Rupert by himself. But no-if he wanted Rupert restored to full vampirism, he needed to remain on good terms with Winkton. Whether he liked it or not (and he certainly did not), he was stuck with the Lord. And Winkton was stuck with him. For he had something Winkton wanted very much indeed.

Or, at least, he used to.

Fang sighed. His face, already shadowed by the night, shaded further into the darkness of some great sorrow.

Readers, you are very privileged to witness this moment. Fang seldom let his sorrow creep out from its concealment. But everyone, even the most proud and self-controlled vampire, has their unguarded moments.

In this case, Fang would have been wiser to remain guarded. Because something had been waiting for this opportunity and, at that moment, it swooped.

Somewhere behind him, he heard her.

"Fang..."

Fang froze. That was not the voice he had heard through Gustav's door. No, this was a different voice: older, softer, tender... and instantly and intimately familiar.

"Isabella?"

A pause. Then: "Fang..."

Fang turned, slowly, ever so slowly, as though one sudden movement might blow her away, like the last dandelion kiss quivering on its stalk.