Chris Hollison.”
“What about the rest of you?”
“Lauren Johnson.”
“Wesley Chambers.”
“Isabel Banks.”
“Thank you,” said Jamie. “So, Chris Hollison, you assaulted a member of the public. You call that not doing anything wrong?”
“You see?” hissed Lauren, digging her elbow into Chris’s ribs. “I told you to leave the old man alone.”
“Shut up,” said Chris, the colour in his face darkening. “I’ll handle this.”
“No you won’t,” said Jamie. “You’ll do what I tell you. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” said Lauren, instantly. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Chris shot her a look of utter contempt, and Jamie suddenly understood the dynamic of the group of teenagers standing before him.
Chris is the leader,
he thought.
He tells them what to do, and gets off on their obedience. And I bet he really doesn’t like it when someone does it to him.
“That’s good,” he said. “Luckily for you, the man you assaulted doesn’t want to give a statement, so no charges are going to be brought. But I’m afraid you have a much bigger problem. You’ve seen the three of us.”
Wesley and Isabel looked at each with wide-eyed expressions of panic, and Jamie felt his heart soften.
These aren’t bad kids,
he thought.
They don’t really want to be vampires. They just went along with something and now they regret it. Maybe next time they’ll tell their friend to piss off.
“Why is that a problem?” asked Chris. His eyes had narrowed and he was looking coldly at Jamie.
“Because you can never tell anyone what happened here,” said Jamie. “Ever. And I need to be sure I believe you before I can let you go.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” said Lauren, quickly. “Will we?” She looked round at the others, who responded with huge, exaggerated nods.
“I might,” said Chris. “Given that I can’t see how you’re going to stop me. You
are
the ones McKenna wrote about, aren’t you? The vampire police.”
“Don’t worry about who we are,” said Jamie. “Worry about what will happen if you don’t do what I tell you.”
Chris narrowed his eyes even further, then smiled smugly. “You can’t threaten us,” he said. “You’re the police. Our parents pay your salaries.”
Jamie took a step towards the teenager and let his gloved hands move fractionally towards his belt. Chris glanced down; his smile faltered as he saw the array of weaponry that was now within reach.
“Tell me the truth,” said Jamie. “Do I look like a policeman to you?”
Chris didn’t respond, but nor did he step back.
Jamie pulled his console from his belt, logged into the population database, and entered the names the teenagers had given. The results appeared, showing four matches: all between fifteen and seventeen years of age, all living within a mile of the graveyard. He patched them across to the Department’s civilian control programme and tapped ENTER. A new window appeared, containing an abridged version of the Official Secrets Act, and the first of the names alphabetically.
“Isabel Banks,” he said, and held out the console. “Sign this.”
The girl walked forward, until Chris Hollison called for her to wait. She turned back, her face pale with worry.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Are you going to just sign something without even knowing what it is?” asked Chris. “What does it feel like to be so stupid? Describe it to me.”
Jamie felt familiar anger race through him, and told himself to stay calm. There had been boys like Chris Hollison at every school he had attended: bullies, who got what they wanted by intimidation, who gave the impression of being smarter and cooler than everyone else, even though they always turned out to be full of shit.
And cowards,
thought Jamie.
They’re always cowards when someone comes along who’s scarier than them.
They were the boys who had targeted him after his dad had died, sensing isolation and weakness; the boys, he knew, who had
“What about the rest of you?”
“Lauren Johnson.”
“Wesley Chambers.”
“Isabel Banks.”
“Thank you,” said Jamie. “So, Chris Hollison, you assaulted a member of the public. You call that not doing anything wrong?”
“You see?” hissed Lauren, digging her elbow into Chris’s ribs. “I told you to leave the old man alone.”
“Shut up,” said Chris, the colour in his face darkening. “I’ll handle this.”
“No you won’t,” said Jamie. “You’ll do what I tell you. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” said Lauren, instantly. “We don’t want any trouble.”
Chris shot her a look of utter contempt, and Jamie suddenly understood the dynamic of the group of teenagers standing before him.
Chris is the leader,
he thought.
He tells them what to do, and gets off on their obedience. And I bet he really doesn’t like it when someone does it to him.
“That’s good,” he said. “Luckily for you, the man you assaulted doesn’t want to give a statement, so no charges are going to be brought. But I’m afraid you have a much bigger problem. You’ve seen the three of us.”
Wesley and Isabel looked at each with wide-eyed expressions of panic, and Jamie felt his heart soften.
These aren’t bad kids,
he thought.
They don’t really want to be vampires. They just went along with something and now they regret it. Maybe next time they’ll tell their friend to piss off.
“Why is that a problem?” asked Chris. His eyes had narrowed and he was looking coldly at Jamie.
“Because you can never tell anyone what happened here,” said Jamie. “Ever. And I need to be sure I believe you before I can let you go.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” said Lauren, quickly. “Will we?” She looked round at the others, who responded with huge, exaggerated nods.
“I might,” said Chris. “Given that I can’t see how you’re going to stop me. You
are
the ones McKenna wrote about, aren’t you? The vampire police.”
“Don’t worry about who we are,” said Jamie. “Worry about what will happen if you don’t do what I tell you.”
Chris narrowed his eyes even further, then smiled smugly. “You can’t threaten us,” he said. “You’re the police. Our parents pay your salaries.”
Jamie took a step towards the teenager and let his gloved hands move fractionally towards his belt. Chris glanced down; his smile faltered as he saw the array of weaponry that was now within reach.
“Tell me the truth,” said Jamie. “Do I look like a policeman to you?”
Chris didn’t respond, but nor did he step back.
Jamie pulled his console from his belt, logged into the population database, and entered the names the teenagers had given. The results appeared, showing four matches: all between fifteen and seventeen years of age, all living within a mile of the graveyard. He patched them across to the Department’s civilian control programme and tapped ENTER. A new window appeared, containing an abridged version of the Official Secrets Act, and the first of the names alphabetically.
“Isabel Banks,” he said, and held out the console. “Sign this.”
The girl walked forward, until Chris Hollison called for her to wait. She turned back, her face pale with worry.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Are you going to just sign something without even knowing what it is?” asked Chris. “What does it feel like to be so stupid? Describe it to me.”
Jamie felt familiar anger race through him, and told himself to stay calm. There had been boys like Chris Hollison at every school he had attended: bullies, who got what they wanted by intimidation, who gave the impression of being smarter and cooler than everyone else, even though they always turned out to be full of shit.
And cowards,
thought Jamie.
They’re always cowards when someone comes along who’s scarier than them.
They were the boys who had targeted him after his dad had died, sensing isolation and weakness; the boys, he knew, who had
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