Birth of a Killer. Darren Shan
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ran a couple of fingers through one of the webs, breaking the strands. Then he twirled his fingers around several times, adding to the webby covering. When it was thick enough to hide his flesh, he brought his fingers to his mouth, shut his eyes and peeled off the webs with his teeth.
Larten gagged on the foul-tasting webs and almost vomited, but then he gulped and forced down the disgusting, dusty strands. After a brief pause for breath, he scooped up more, working his way down from the top of the fountain. He kept looking for spiders or even a few desiccated flies, but no joy.
Then, out of the solemn, sinister silence of the crypt, as he was sucking more of the spider’s silk from his sticky fingers, someone spoke from a spot high above and behind him.
“Are cobwebs a treat where you come from?”
Larten whirled, eyes locking on the wall above the door, the one place he hadn’t thought to check when he’d entered the crypt. Something was attached to the bricks. It was a red-skinned beast, with a pale face and long dark hair streaked with white. Its claws were dug into the bricks and it was studying Larten with what seemed to be a wicked, bloodthirsty smile.
Larten darted for the door, certain he was too late, that the creature would drop in front of him and block his way, before falling upon him and finishing him off. But to his surprise the beast never moved and a second later Larten was in the doorway, freedom a couple of paces ahead of him.
“I would ask you to stay a while,” the creature murmured, and something in its tone made Larten pause. He cast a quick glance upwards and saw that the thing had lowered its head. Only a handful of inches now separated their faces.
Larten squealed and slammed against the jamb of the doorway. But still he didn’t spill out of the crypt and run away. Because the creature hadn’t sounded threatening when it spoke. It had sounded strangely lonely.
“What are you?” Larten gasped.
“Should not the question be who am I?” the creature asked, then released its grip, dropped to the floor and stood. Larten saw that it was actually a man — or at least it had the body and face of one. The red he’d glimpsed was the material of the man’s clothes, not his skin, which – from what Larten could see – was no different to any other person’s.
“Aren’t you a monster?” Larten frowned, eyeing the man suspiciously.
“I would not describe myself as one,” the man chuckled, “although there are many who would.”
To Larten’s surprise, the man extended a hand. Larten’s heart was pounding, but it would be rude to refuse this gesture of friendship. Sticking out a trembling hand of his own, he accepted the man’s offer of a handshake. The man’s grip was loose, but Larten sensed immense strength in the fingers.
“My name is Seba Nile,” the man said, “and this is my home for the night. You are more than welcome to share it with me if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Larten said weakly, feeling like he was in a dream. “My name’s Larten Crepsley.”
“I bid you welcome, Larten,” Seba said warmly, and without releasing the boy’s hand, he led him back into the shadows of the crypt.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Seba Nile sat on the floor, brushed away dust, then produced an apple from within the long red cloak he was wearing. He split the apple in two with his sharp but clean fingernails and offered half to the boy. Larten wolfed down the fruit. When Seba saw how ravenous the child was, he gave him the second half of the apple too. Taking it with a brief nod of thanks, Larten sat crosslegged like Seba and munched down to the core, chewing the pips and all.
“I am guessing that you have not eaten in a while,” Seba noted drily. “I would give you more if I had any, but I do not. You can hunt with me later, or I can bring food back for you if you prefer to remain where it is warm and dry.”
Larten grunted and picked the remains of a pip from between two of his teeth. Squinting at Seba, he said suspiciously, “What do you want?”
“I do not want anything,” Seba replied.
“Then why are you helping me? Why let me stay here and give me food?”
Seba smiled. “I am simply being hospitable.”
“I don’t believe you,” Larten sniffed.
“You should never call a man a liar unless you are sure,” Seba said coldly.
“You’re living in a crypt,” Larten said. “You can’t be up to any good if you’re staying in a place like this.”
Seba raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same about you, young pup!”
Larten chuckled weakly. “I suppose you could.”
“Why are you here?” Seba asked. When Larten’s lips drew thin, he added, “You do not have to tell me, but you look troubled. I think you will rest easier if you are open with me.”
Larten shook his head. “You first. What are you doing here?”
“I often stay in places like this,” Seba said.
“You sleep in crypts?” Larten asked.
“Usually.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a vampire.”
Larten frowned. “What’s a vampire?”
Seba was surprised. “You have not heard the tales? I thought, in this part of the world… Have you perhaps heard of the living dead? The walkers of the night?”
“Do you mean ghosts?”
“No. Vampires are…” Seba considered his words.
“Hold on,” Larten said, a memory sparking somewhere inside his head. “You’re not a bloodsucker, are you?”
“Now you have it,” Seba beamed.
“I remember Vur telling me…” What? Larten only had a dim recollection. Vur had told lots of tales. It was something about creatures who drank blood and lived forever.
“There are many legends about vampires,” Seba said. “Most are unreliable. We do drink blood to survive, but we are not killers. We do no harm to those from whom we feed.”
“A monster who doesn’t kill?” Larten was sceptical.
“Not monsters,” Seba corrected him. “Just people with extraordinary powers. Or weaknesses, depending on how one looks at it.”
Seba uncrossed his legs and stretched. “I cannot recall my exact age, but I am more than five hundred years old.”
Larten grinned — he thought it was a joke. Then he saw Seba’s expression and his smile faded.
“All vampires start life as humans,” Seba continued. “We turn from the path of humanity when another vampire bloods us.” He held up his hands and Larten saw small scars at the tip of each finger. “My master cut my fingertips, then his own, and pumped his blood into me. That is how I became a vampire.”
“Why did he do it?” Larten asked.
“I wanted him to.” Seba explained how vampires aged at one-tenth the human rate, meaning they could live for several hundred years. He told Larten of their great strength and speed, the codes of honour by which they lived. He explained about the hardships, the way humans feared and hunted them, how sunlight killed them after a few hours, their inability to have children.
Larten listened, entranced. Like most of his friends, he believed fully in a world of ghosts and magic, demons and witches. But this was the first time he had been exposed to the reality of that world, and it was far different than he’d imagined.
Seba told Larten some of the many myths about vampires. Crosses were meant to frighten