The Children Of The Mist (17 page)

Morven stood up. ‘I have to go.'

Everyone turned and stared at her in consternation. A volley of protest broke over her head like waves dumping on the sand, but she didn't hear as her mind leapt into overdrive. She'd head to the city. Hide until she could make a plan. Zest and Dog must stay and protect her family.

‘Morven.
Morven
.'

It was her mother. And Morven recognised that tone. She forced herself to focus on her agitated parent. ‘What?'

‘We have something else for you, too. For your birthday.'

It was hard to clamp down on the desperate fear that surged like hot lava in her brain. Morven started to count the right angles in the caravan. Six, seven, ten. Better. She managed to reach out and take the envelope her father passed to her. She ripped it open and peered inside. There was a passport and traveller's cheques for 10,000 dollars.

Her mother managed a tremulous smile. ‘The passport is a fake. But a really good one.'

Morven felt like a giant tree falling in the forest. ‘Fake?' she whispered.

Her mother nodded and looked smugger than Puss in Boots. ‘Well, you know what they say. It's not what you know but who you know. I haven't been knitting socks on the diplomatic circuit all these years.'

Morven was speechless. Discovering that you are a vampyre rated a whopping 10 on the Freak-a-meter, but finding out that one's parent was a master criminal blew the mercury right out the top. ‘Fake?' she managed again.

Her father beamed at her mother. ‘She's great, isn't she?'

Zest grinned. ‘Smokin'.'

Morven licked her lips. Her two pointy teeth felt strange on the tip of her tongue. Mmm. Perhaps she wasn't in a strong position to criticise. Still, she had lost her focus. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was at…then it came to her. That's right. She had to leave. ‘Thanks, Mum. Thanks, Dad. It's an amazing gift.' And this was sincere.
Ten thousand dollars!
Wow. And then she realised that this was a birthday gift that had been planned before she morphed into Batgirl. Her hand closed tight around the envelope. ‘Why did you give me the passport and money today?'

‘Ah,' said her dad. ‘We've had a savings account for you since you were tiny. We thought we'd gift it to you at 18. Well, under the circumstances, we decided to bring the plan forward a couple of years. Our intention was for you to go to Scotland and see for yourself where you came from.' He paused and looked at Morven, a furrow of strain between his eyes. ‘But now….well, we must think what's best to do.'

Morven agreed. She looked at the cheques and took a deep breath. ‘I have to leave…' She held up a restraining hand as Zest's mouth opened to begin a protest. ‘And go to Scotland. You are dead set right. I need to go back. To where it started. To find out about where I came from. Who I am.' She stopped and looked at her mum and then her dad. ‘What I am.'

There was silence.

Her mother reached out a hand and gripped Morven's firmly. ‘Morven, you are our daughter. Nothing and no one can ever change that. We love you…pointy teeth and all.'

A large rock seemed to wedge in Morven's throat and she had to pretend that the tartan rug was slipping off her knee to cover up the stubborn tears that teetered on the brink of her lashes. Apparently vampyres were emotional. Leastways, this one was. It did not escape her that Zest had turned abruptly away and seemed deeply involved with a carton of milk. Again it hit her how fortunate she was. How had he ever survived? All alone. And then it occurred to her that Zest, being so like herself, may know something about her kind. ‘Zest,' she said, slowly trying to format her words into a sensible sentence, ‘what do you know of Vampyre?'

He ducked into the fridge and tinkered around for a minute, then re-emerged and grinned. ‘You know…the usual. Bloodsucking beasties of the night that terrorise Christian folk. Most famously found in Transylvania. Sleep in coffins. Turn into bats. Generally good looking, although you might be the exception Morven, and highly intelligent. Again, questionable.'

Morven's lips twitched but she forced herself to scowl at him. ‘You are not being helpful. This is serious.'

The young man's cheeky smile melted away. ‘I'm sorry. You're right. But the truth is, Morven, I know little about my own kind. And even less of yours. All I really know is that for as long as there have been humans there have been werewolves and vampyres. And it's never been an easy relationship. Fault on both sides.'

Morven felt her patience fading fast. Personally she couldn't see a lot of fault on her side. She'd been drugged, incarcerated, shot at and pursued across half the state. How rude was that? It seemed as plain as the nose on her face that if they got their hands on her, she was in for a very rough ride. There was only so much that she and Zest could achieve alone. What they needed were a few more bodies on their side. Even up the odds. Odds should always be evened.

She smoothed the woollen rug and looked once more at the coat of arms. And her mind was made up. ‘Okay. I think that the longer I sit here, the greater the risk to everyone. I'm pretty sure I can make it to Brisbane airport tonight and slip on some sort of plane bound for the UK. Even Europe would be a good start.' She stopped, her brain in hyper drive. ‘With this money, I can head for Scotland and try my luck. I have the tartan's clan name and the coat of arms. And…I have, you know, Batgirl powers.' She paused to assess her plan. It was without flaw. She nodded and began to get up. ‘Yes, I really think that's the best plan.' She looked at Zest. ‘Please, stay and look after them.'

His emerald eyes stared into hers and she stared back, willing him to help her. If she knew he were here, it would make the parting bearable. Almost.

‘Shit, Morven. You don't ask much, do you?'

She did not reply, but begged him silently.

He looked at her parents who watched on, wide-eyed and pale. ‘Well, alright — ‘

Morven leapt out of her chair and wrapped him in a bear hug. ‘Thank you. Oh, thank you.'

But he leant away and looked down at her sternly. ‘I haven't finished yet.'

Morven was almost glad for an excuse to retreat, disturbed by the feel of the broad acre of back. She loosened her grip, her finger tips just brushing the cotton of his tattered shirt and took half a step back.

Zest's expression hardened. ‘I'll stay for two months. Every night I'll be on the last train. If you don't show, I'm coming to get you.'

Morven bristled. ‘Two months. That's not long.'

Zest shook his head. ‘It's not a long time to search, but Morven, it's a hell of a long time to wait.'

Her father cleared his throat. ‘Morven, I'm with Zest on this one. I don't think your mother and I could cope for any longer. Two months should be enough. If you haven't made inroads by then, you are going to need help.'

Morven knew she was beaten. She could fight Zest, but not her parents as well. ‘Okay,' she said.

Zest blew a loud raspberry of relief. ‘Glad that's sorted. I gotta take a shower.'

Morven thought that sounded a fine idea. She felt like she'd been hosed down and rolled in dust bunnies. To her horror she found herself preoccupied with the concept of Zest in the shower. Naked. Wet. And naked. Soapy. And naked.

‘
Morven
.'

With a face as red as a cherry tomato she turned to her mother. ‘Sorry,' she said. ‘What was that?'

‘Are you hungry?'

Morven wasn't. ‘No. But I'd love a drink.'

Her mother looked suddenly nervous and glanced sideways at her husband.

Morven giggled. ‘A coke would be good.'

Her mother giggled too. ‘A Coke. Of course.' She turned to Zest who was digging around in a chest of drawers that seemed to be vomiting clothes. ‘Zest, do you have Coke?'

‘Fridge,' said Zest. ‘A few beers there if Clifford fancies one.'

Clifford did. As Zest disappeared into the tiny shower cubicle there was a round of hissing from cans. Morven's mother took a delicate sip of her Coke. ‘Morven,' she said ‘I'm really sorry we never got you a dog.'

Morven looked at Dog, curled up on Zest's bed, fast asleep. ‘Mum,' she said, ‘funny you should say that…'

The water was hot and the jet of spray strong. As Zest washed away the accumulated grime of the day, he relaxed. A little. While he sensed that Morven was right and that she should get as far away as possible, he was filled with unease. But he felt more of a deep sense of loss. It seemed grossly unfair that having finally found a soul mate, fate conspired to take her away. Also, he was not at all happy about letting her go alone. But neither did he have the strength to resist her wide-eyed plea for help. Morven loved her parents. He could understand that. If he insisted on going with her and something bad happened to them, Morven would never forgive herself. So, he would stay. They were good people. More to the point, they were Morven's people.

Aware that the hot water had to be shared around, Zest finished up, dried and dressed. He looked at himself in the mirror. But he didn't see himself. He pictured Morven, pale as alabaster, dark as night, lithe as a cat, and more deadly than a taipan. All in all, one hot chick. The only problem was…did Morven feel the same? It was hard to tell. Seriously, women were harder to read than a thesaurus. Had she wrapped her arms around him, and held him close out of some misplaced sense of gratitude, or was it a bit more than that? She'd felt pretty enthusiastic to him, but then, he could be wrong. Of course, he'd like to tell himself that they were made for each other. Trouble was, he knew that wasn't strictly true.

With a sigh he picked up the remains of his clothes and eyed them critically. Wolfman was going to cost him a fortune if he gave up the Wolf's Bane permanently. At the thought, he felt a shift in his metabolism. Just the recollection of his big night set him on fire. Holy shit, it had been awesome. And he knew he'd do it again. He simply wouldn't be able to help himself any more than a hammer could resist a nail. There was no going back. And perhaps that was partly because Morven had finally Become. There seemed little point in restraint anymore. Plus, he felt that as the Smith's personal guard, he'd be better equipped for the job.

‘Zest!'

Alarmed by the high pitched tone of Shelley Smith's voice, Zest exited the bathroom speedily. ‘What's wrong?' he said. A dozen possible disasters jostled in his brain for pole position. His eyes fixed on Shelley and Clifford who were bent over Morven.

Shelley looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Zest, something's wrong with Morven. I don't think she's breathing. I can't find a pulse.'

Zest felt his heart miss several beats as he stepped closer. Morven's parents took a few steps back, and Zest squeezed into the vacated space. With anxious eyes he looked down at Morven who was slumped in her chair. Her eyes were closed. Zest put two fingers gently on her neck. And waited. Nothing. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Twenty. Panic floated through his brain like flour through a sieve. Twenty-five. And then he tensed and looked at Shelley, but forced himself to be patient. Again there was nothing and then, half a minute later an almost imperceptible surge of blood in her carotid artery. ‘There's a pulse,' he said.

Shelley let out a small sob of relief, and Clifford hugged her gently.

Zest hunkered down, lowered his head, his ear resting gently on Morven's chest. And he heard it. A heartbeat. Slow…but sure. He stood up. ‘She's asleep.'

Shelley looked utterly incredulous. ‘Asleep. She can't be. We've been shouting at her and shaking her like a pair of crazy people.'

Zest didn't doubt it, but he realised that neither of Morven's parents had fully grasped the new reality of their child's world. He had to try to get them to understand. ‘Shelley. Clifford. Morven has Become. She is Vampyre. She has entered the twilight world, and can never leave.' He could feel the waves of distress rolling off the couple, but he ploughed on regardless. ‘Morven and her kind are nocturnal. This much I know. There are many legends; some say that the light of day is lethal to her kind. This may or may not be true. I'm not absolutely sure. But I suspect that this comatose state may be normal. For Morven.' He paused and looked at the pair. He had their complete attention. ‘If you think this is hard for you, remember, it is 100 times tougher for Morven. She is still your daughter and she loves you. But even more, at this point in time, she needs you.'

The stunned pair was silent. A tap dripped steadily and an unseen magpie warbled outside.

Clifford turned slowly and sat down heavily in a chair. He looked at Morven. He looked at his wife. He looked at Zest. ‘Has Morven…killed someone?'

It was not a question Zest had anticipated, although he probably should have. There was no point in lying. He nodded his head. ‘She killed a police officer.'

‘Oh, God.' Shelley covered her mouth and sagged down onto the only other vacant seat.

Zest said nothing; he reckoned the pair needed some recovery time. After a minute he sat down beside Morven and took her cool hand in his. He stared them both hard in the eye. ‘Tell me,' he said softly, ‘would you persecute a kestrel for killing? Would you hunt a shark to extinction for feeding? Would you shoot a cat that killed to protect her kittens?'

Neither spoke, but they exchanged a look, and Shelley shook her head almost imperceptibly.

Encouraged, Zest proceeded with more confidence. ‘Morven is Vampyre. Yes, she killed the cop. But if she hadn't she wouldn't be sitting here now.' He stopped and looked at Morven before proceeding. ‘Morven wouldn't be here. And neither would I. Your daughter saved my life. But you must understand that she did so because it is the way of her kind.'