Playing With Fire

Chapter Thirty-five ATTACK OF THE VAMPIRES

VALKYRIE WALKED FROM the party and went downstairs, passing the trophy cabinet and the golfing Wall of Fame; and as she approached the doors, she saw someone standing just outside. The doors were glass, with stainless steel handles, and the parking lot outside was supposed to be lit up — but right now it was in darkness. The lights must have shorted out.

The man wasn't moving. She could see his outline but not his features.

Valkyrie slowed. She could feel his eyes on her. The closer she got, the more she could see. There were others out there with him, just standing there in the gloom.

She stopped, looked at him through the glass.

The man reached for the handle and rattled the door, but it wouldn't open. This time of night, it was controlled by the door-release button on the inside. If someone wanted to get in, they had to talk into the intercom, get a member of staff to come down and open the door.

Dusk pressed his face against the glass door and looked at her. She could see his scar quite clearly.

She heard a window break somewhere else on the ground floor, and she turned and ran back to the stairs, taking them three at a time. She burst into the function room, assailed by the music and the noise. She looked around for some way to secure the door, but there was nothing.

There was no lock. She could barricade it, but how long would that last? And what would she tell everyone in here? What would she tell her parents?

And where the hell was Skulduggery?

There had to be a way. She needed to stop people from getting hurt, and she needed to do so without alerting anyone that there was actually any danger. She opened the door a crack.

The lights were out, and the Infected were climbing the stairs.

It was her they wanted. They'd ignore everyone else if they thought they could get her.

Valkyrie slipped out, making sure the door closed behind her and the Infected on the stairs saw her, then bolted for the staircase, heading up to the top floor.

Footsteps behind her, running, and she reached the top floor and glanced around quickly, getting her bearings.

Her adrenaline was pumping. The air shifted and she felt someone almost upon her. She ducked down and spun, bringing her right arm around in a wide arc to slam into the Infected man's back and send him flipping over her straightened leg. Another grabbed at her, and she batted the arms away and snapped her elbow into his chest. Her attacker crashed back. The others tumbled over him and snarled.

She sprinted down the corridor and barged into a dark room, almost tripping over a chair.

The terrace stood out against the darkness along the far wall, and she made for that, the Infected right behind her. She pulled open the balcony doors and ran out and leaped over the railing.

Wind rushed in her ears.

Directly below her, the Infected stood outside the glass doors, waiting for their undead comrades to flush her out. They looked up in surprise, saw her flying over them.

And then the tarmac-covered driveway was coming at her and she used both hands, trying to manipulate the air. She did her best to cushion her fall, but this wasn't the easy drop from her bedroom window — this was much higher, it was at an angle, and she hadn't taken into account the sheer velocity. . . .

She landed and cried out in pain as she rolled, knees and elbows striking the driveway, her hip scraping as she tumbled, her skin torn and bleeding.

She knew she should have worn trousers.

The world rocked to a stop and balanced itself out, and she opened her eyes.

The Infected were standing looking at her, and Dusk strode between them, his eyes narrowed and his lips curled in hatred.

And then Valkyrie was up and running.

She was sore, she felt blood on her legs and arms, but she ignored the pain. She looked back,

saw the mass of Infected surge after her.

She passed the club gates and took the first road to her left, losing a shoe in the process and cursing herself for not wearing boots. It was narrow and dark, with fields on one side and a row of back gardens on the other.

She came to a junction. Up one way she could see headlights, so she turned down the other, leading the Infected away from any bystanders. She darted in off the road, running behind the Pizza Palace and the video store, realizing her mistake when she heard the voices around the next corner. The pub had a back door that smokers used.

She veered off to her right, ran for the garden wall, and leaped over it. She stayed low and wondered for a moment if she'd managed to lose the Infected so easily.

Dusk dropped onto her from above, and she cried out. He sent her reeling.

"I'm not following the rules anymore," he said. She looked at him, saw him shaking. He took a syringe from his coat and let it drop. "No more rules. No more serum. This time there'll be nothing to stop me tearing you limb from limb."

He grunted as the pain hit.

' "I'm sorry I cut you," Valkyrie tried, backing away.

"Too late. You can run, if you want. Adrenaline makes the blood taste sweeter."

He smiled, and she saw the fangs start to protrude through his gums.

He brought his hands to his shirt, and then, like Superman, he ripped the shirt open. Unlike Superman, however, he took his flesh with it, revealing the chalk-white skin of the creature underneath.

She darted toward him, and his eyes widened in surprise. She dived, snatched the syringe from the ground, and plunged it into his leg.

Dusk roared, kicked her onto her back, his transformation interrupted. He tried to rip off the rest of his humanity, but his human skin tore at the neck. This wasn't the smooth shucking she'd seen the previous night. This was messy, and painful.

Valkyrie scrambled up. The Infected had heard Dusk's anguished cries, and they were closing in.