Birth of a Killer by Darren Shan

abroad at so early an hour. It would be nice to go for a stroll and watch the world come to life.
    Mr. Tall had set up camp close to several towns and a scattering of villages. People would travel many miles for a performance of the legendary Cirque Du Freak, but the owner tried to make things as easy as possible for them. Larten skirted the homesteads, preferring the countryside. He smiled as he walked, as if the cattle and sheep he passed were old friends. He spotted a fox on its way home. He could have stalked and caught it, but there was no need—Sebawould soon be feasting in the Halls of Vampire Mountain, and the cupboards and barrels at the circus were always well stocked.
    Larten wove his way along paths and through forests for a few hours before pausing to rest. He sat on a hill overlooking a village and soaked up the sunlight. He was hungry, so he looked for a shop or an inn where he might be able to buy food.
    As Larten was studying the village, he spotted a handful of people scurrying towards a tiny church. A few more tore along after them less than a minute later. Larten’s interest was aroused. This wasn’t a holy day, and even if it had been, the people hadn’t looked as if they were on their way to a service. They’d looked
scared
.
    Larten trotted down the hill. A few more villagers hurried along and passed him on the street. None spared him a glance, even though a stranger would have drawn curious stares on any normal day.
    He paused at the door of the church. He could hear angry muttering and weeping from within. He had a bad feeling about this. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t enter.
    Larten would have retreated, except a family of four children and their parents pushed up behind him while he was dithering, the father carrying the smallest child and looking wild. “Go on!” the man snapped. “Get the door!”
    Larten pulled the door open and stood back as the man and children brushed by. He still might have turned away if the woman hadn’t waved him in. She looked on the verge of tears, and Larten didn’t want to upset her, so he stole in ahead of her and let her close the door behind them.
    Larten’s unease increased inside the church. He hadn’t been in one since he’d become Seba’s assistant. Vampires had their own gods, and although Larten didn’t know much about them, he knew that he was finished with the religions of humanity.
    But that wasn’t the reason for his discomfort. He could see that these people were distraught. Many were crying. Others were cursing and striding around like caged wolves, snapping at their neighbors or the empty air.
    A group of men stood at the center of the church, in front of the altar, huddled close together as if protecting something. A few women and children approached them but were turned back with angry gestures. Larten found himself drawn to the group as if hypnotized. It wasn’t just curiosity. It was as if this church had been lying in wait for him, as if he had business here that couldn’t be avoided.
    The men close to the altar stared suspiciously at Larten as he drew near. He could see them silently debating whether to let the stranger step among them or drive him back like the other youths. Larten straightened his shoulders and looked directly at the men, neither slowing nor speeding up. As he came level, a couple shrugged and stepped aside so that he could slip between them.
    Larten found a boy beyond the men, his own age or a bit younger. The boy was kneeling in the middle of four bodies–a man, a woman, and two children–that were laid out on the floor, arms crossed neatly over their chests. The boy was rocking backwards and forwards, moaning softly, his hands outstretched and bloodstained. One lay on the forehead of the man. The fingers of the other stroked the cheek of the woman.
    The man, woman, and children were dead, and Larten could see that they’d been murdered—their throats had been slashed open. He also saw, by the