Witch-Finder Page 4

  'We don't have television in my college Halls.'

  That did it, Taylor skipped down the steps a little faster, away from a person so out of touch with Real Life. I'm not with this weirdo, her actions said.

  You don't know how weird I am honey, he thought.

  A tall man with a body to rival Mike's greeted them at the bottom of the stairs. He loomed at them, a faint smile drifting over his lips. His black suit, black shirt and tie, blending seamlessly with his black hair were designed to intimidate.

  Taylor shrank away.

  Mike gave him back look for look.

  The tall man's thin smile became more genuine.

  'Hi darlings, I'm Jason. You look like a Nordic couple to me,’ he said. Over his shoulder, he added, ‘Get them into ski clothes. We'll take their practice shots on the “ski run".'

  'This way, kids,’ sing-songed another woman with a clipboard. Mike christened her Twin 3.

  Taylor pasted on a smile. Following her, Mike sneaked looks through doors, open onto the stark, whitewashed corridor.

  The basement smelled damp and mildewy underneath the air freshener. Earlier candidates posed in unnatural positions for the camera, sucking in their guts.

  'Oh I'll never be that thin,’ Taylor whispered to Mike. ‘I've dieted and dieted.'

  Mike opened his mouth to contradict her, but Twin 3 looked over her shoulder. ‘You don't have to worry about your diet. We have a nutritionist who will help you with all your ... dietary needs.’ She held open a door. ‘There are clothes for you in that cubicle, girl. In that changing room for you, young man.'

  Mike was faced with clothes that he had last worn on a skiing trip to Switzerland with school. They looked warm for July—thankfully the day was overcast. As he pulled up the zip on his jacket, he heard the other cubicle unlock.

  'I've practiced the correct walk for weeks, after I read the ad,’ Taylor said, her face red and glistening.

  'Why bother?’ Mike asked, thinking cool thoughts. ‘If you read it, you'd know the advert said all training would be given.'

  A door opened. Mike saw Twin 3 standing, listening to them.

  Taylor wrinkled her nose. ‘I wish I were partnered with someone more professional. Don't make me fail just because you can't be bothered. I'd do anything ... I'd sell my soul to be a model.'

  Mike's hand lifted to his neck and fingered the crucifix that his other teacher, Mr. Dunkley, had given him as he left the car.

  'Just a precaution, Mr. Rider,’ Dunkley had said.

  Twin 3 looked at Mike as if waiting for a similar expression of enthusiasm.

  He gave her a half smile and said, ‘I'm sure I'll be able to prove my commitment to your satisfaction.'

  Twin 3 nodded. ‘Through here now, the photographer is ready for you.'

  The skiing trousers they wore made swushing noises as they clumped after her in heavy ski boots. Mike looked around. A photo backdrop of an idealized pine forest, hung over a floor covered with a sheet and some polystyrene flakes. The flakes fluttered when people moved.

  'Be a dear and make them up for me, will you?’ said Twin 4, from behind a camera. She turned and rearranged some white umbrella arrays to diffuse the flashlight. Electric cables ran to a bank of sockets near the door.

  How many of these clone women were there in this place? Now he thought about it, Taylor could almost be Twin 5.

  Twin 3 checked Taylor's make up and passed it for the practice shoot. She dragged Mike to a table set up near the electrical sockets and flicked his hair into a wind blown style, holding it in place with hairspray.

  'Now I need all mobiles turned off and put here,’ she said, pushing aside some fashion magazines and dumping the can back onto the junk-filled table. ‘And all your jewelry. We don't want any glinting on the camera. And that includes that chain around your neck, young man. It could slip out in an action shot and ruin the picture. When you've done that, get those skis fastened on. Hurry up about it.'

  Reluctantly, Mike removed his neck chain and slid his mobile out from his pocket. He dumped them both on the table and quickly turned away to deal with the skis. He crouched and fastened the straps over his boots. He stood and slid the skis over the fake snow. Taylor looked awkward in the get-up.

  'Hold your pole like this. And stand still or you'll trip over the skis.'

  Taylor let him arrange her limbs. Then they stood on the fake ski slope, under the hot lights, pretending they weren't sweating.

  For an eternity, they followed the directions shouted at them. The photographer and Twin 3 alternated giving orders with swigging from water bottles. Mike and Taylor eyed the water, bottled in the Strix region of Romania—the label held Mike's thirsty eye.

  Eventually, it was over; they were told to await the verdict.

  Twin 3 took Taylor aside and helped her off with the ski clothes.

  Mike unfastened the straps on his skis. He watched everything. When Taylor had shed the skiing clothes, Twin 3 handed her a bottle of the water. Mike licked his dry lips.

  'Now, you read this dieting manual,’ said Twin 3, with a bright smile. She handed Taylor a book. Mike frowned. His mother's dieting books were all paperback with garish covers, not hardbound in pale-brown leather. Taylor opened the book hungrily.

  Quickly, Mike set his skis and poles to one side and slid out of the waterproof trousers. He was unzipping his jacket, and wondering why Taylor merited a water bottle, when Jason entered the photo room with Twins 1 and 2.

  Taylor rubbed her drooping eyelids, trying to look alert as she joined Mike.

  'We loved you both,’ Jason said. ‘The photographer says you follow directions like a dream with no arguments. We'd like to hire you.'

  Taylor squealed and hugged Mike. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in his ear.

  Awkwardly, he patted her back. But he saw Twin 3 whisper in Jason's ear. He flicked a glance at Mike, then nodded at Twin 3.

  'I have your contracts here,’ Jason continued. He waved the papers he held in his hand. Taylor's eyes followed the wafting paper as if it were a hypnotist's swinging watch. Mike looked longingly at the door—something felt wrong here.

  'Look, after today I've changed my mind,’ he said. ‘Glad you got your contract Taylor.'

  'Now wait a moment there, Mike,’ said Jason. ‘You said you needed help with college fees. This job is ideal—you work your available hours.'

  Mike worried his bottom lip with his teeth. As long as he signed nothing, he should be all right. ‘Okay, I'll look through the contract.'

  'Oh darling, that's great,’ said Jason. ‘But first, our nutritionist needs to discuss your diet. We have strict requirements here, in this agency. We can make sure you never go hungry or get fat again.'

  Finally he smiled, a proper toothpaste-grin baring his gleaming teeth. Around Jason, Twins 1 through 4 also smiled maniacally.

  Mike saw the fangs.

  His mind went completely blank. Beside him Taylor stepped forward, her eyes glazed over. Then he realized what he was seeing.

  'Strix Water!’ he screamed. ‘Not Romania, Transylvania! You're infested with a vampire demon.’ His hand went to his neck for his crucifix, which was ... on the table behind the vampires. Twin 3's grin broadened.

  Stepping slowly away from them, Mike grabbed Taylor's arm. ‘Get behind me, I'll protect you.'

  'What are you doing?’ Taylor blinked dreamily.

  'They want to infest you with a demon. They'll make you a vampire.'

  Jason's eyes narrowed. ‘Dear me! Have we a baby witch finder here? Sent to investigate us. Let's return him—with a present.'

  The four Twins stepped forward, like chorus girls with a perfect routine. Mike retreated. He tried to remember anything he had learned about vampires this year—ever since he had accidentally signed on for a seven-year apprenticeship.

  He continued backing up, trying to restrain Taylor from joining the kindred.

  The twins’ reaching hands became claws.

  Mike broke,
ducking away from Taylor.

  A cable, hidden in the fake snow, tripped him and he tumbled headlong through the photo backdrop. He remembered to roll with the fall, but his back hit the wall, winding him.

  Gasping, he scrambled to his feet in the tight space between the scene display and the wall.

  Claws swiped long raking gashes through the backdrop.

  He ducked right, but the claws left gouges across his cheek. He felt blood dripping down his chin.

  Hunched over, he ran towards the door. The raking claws snagged in his jacket. More claws cut through in front of him.

  He doubled back. If he could just reach the table!

  Panic was going to get him killed, or worse. He had to think. Right, let's see ... He wiped his chin and looked at the smear on his hand. That's it! Vampires infested the blood. That made them water elementals. He darted out into the room.

  Fire opposes water. Mike snatched glances at the fittings. Surely fire-starting should be the first thing on the witch finder curriculum.

  Moving with liquid grace, the four Twins pounced across the room.

  He grabbed for Taylor's ski pole and swiped at the first of the fast-moving twin vampires, like he was using a quarterstaff.

  The creature fell, burrowing into the fake snow. The other three blocked the exit. He had to move now!

  He feinted for the door, then sprinted for the table, one of the twins on his heels.

  He dived for shelter under the work surface, still clutching the ski pole, his only weapon.

  The twin skidded to a halt and yanked out the chair. It clattered away.

  As the twin vampire gripped the table, Mike got his feet raised and rammed up with all his force. It caught the vampire under the chin, jerking its head back. It flung backwards into another twin who tried to catch it, and they both dropped to the floor. The junk scattered everywhere.

  Panting, Mike jumped to his feet. He needed fire, now! He ran a hand through his hair to push the strands out of his eyes and saw a can of hairspray. The very thing.

  He snatched it up and slashed through the electricity cables with the spike on the ski pole.

  Sparks flew into the volatile spray and the fashion magazines caught light. The flames flared into his face.

  His eyes shielded by his arm, still covered in ski jacket, he kicked the burning mags into the photo backdrop and sprayed it with hairspray.

  The backdrop slowly took flame.

  Everyone in the room, bar him, shied away from the flames, even Taylor, who cuddled up to the leader, Jason.

  Mike's heart sank—he'd abandoned her and they'd got her. Six feral stares turned on him. They promised death. Now what should he do?

  He rubbed his dry lips and backed towards his fire. His foot knocked against his mobile. He ducked down, seized it and stabbed a number on his QuickDial.

  It was answered, first ring.

  'Mike?'

  'There's bloody vampires in here,’ he screamed, then added, ‘Sir.'

  'Dunkley, they're attacking him! We're on our way, Mike.'

  Black smoke coiled up from where the fake snow was beginning to melt. The fire alarm blared through the building and the sprinkler system sprayed over the reluctant fire. With his toe, Mike scratched about in the junk on the floor for his crucifix. He kicked more combustible material onto his fire and emptied the hairspray canister into it, but the flames were losing the battle to the sprinklers.

  Around him, the vampires edged ever-closer, restrained only by the dying fire.

  The ringer on his phone chimed like a doorbell, alerting him to a text message. He flicked a look at the screen—it was from Dunkley. Darting glances at the stalking vampires, Mike scanned the message.

  'Bll Bk Cndl Rd alwd.'

  Bell! Right, thought Mike. He set his mobile chiming on repeat. Book! He skimmed the message. It was taken from the Book of Common Prayer; that was the Book! He would bet anything that Mr. Dunkley was texting from memory. Candle! He hunted for something he could use as a candle. The ski pole in his hand was carbon fiber. Carbon! Wood! It would burn.

  He snapped the spike off over his knee and held the splintered end into the dying electrical fire, encouraging it to burn. It flared up immediately, his desperation adding the edge.

  Feeling foolish, he lifted his burning skiing poll and wiped the misting water off his phone screen with a thumb. He read the words.

  'O Lord defend thy servants.’ His voice cracked, as the demons sent doubt his way. He cleared his throat and continued, ‘That put their trust in thee. Send unto them help from above. And evermore mightily defend them.'

  The body hosts of the Vampire demons screamed in pain.

  His words drove the demons out of their hosts.

  As water elementals, they dragged water with them.

  The host bodies tried lapping water out of the air from the fire sprinkler system, desperate to re-hydrate. Even Taylor, who barely understood what was happening, was screaming with the pain of the creature that had taken her.

  'O Lord hear our prayer, and let our cry come unto thee.'

  His voice faltered to a halt as the hosts shriveled like sun-dried tomatoes. No one had mentioned what he should do now.

  Out of their body-hosts, misty figures ghosted towards him through the fire-dousing spray. A gathering of water droplets formed into an arm reached for his nose, clearly intending to be drawn into his panting lungs.

  He turned his head away, and pulled his tee shirt over his nose, trying to filter out the misty creature from his precious air.

  The watery arm stretched down his shirt.

  Mr. Dunkley and Mr. Trewithick burst through the door.

  'And for seven years the rain will fail and the rivers run dry,’ Dunkley said, glowering at the sprinkler system. The Scots burr in his voice sounded extra dry.

  The water eased, then failed.

  Mike felt the pressure of the demon rage lift as Dunkley took over the defense.

  Mr. Trewithick looked like a demented angel with his blond hair flying loose from his ponytail as he stood in front of Mike. ‘Then a great fire rushed through, but the Truth was not in the fire.'

  Mike's pitiful fire leapt eagerly up. It grew up the backdrop like a vine. The misty water elementals crowded away from the heat.

  'Get out of here,’ Trewithick shouted to Mike.

  Mike needed no second warning; he paused only to pick up Taylor. She clawed at her face from the pain, trying to swallow with a parched throat, but she was not shriveled. He had driven the demon out of her before she had been properly possessed.

  As he ran up the steps to the street, Mr. Trewithick and Mr. Dunkley shouted more excerpts from the Book of Common Prayer over the sound of the fire alarm.

  Dunkley's two wolfhounds sat at the entrance, sniffing everyone who fled the fire. They growled a little at Taylor, but Mike pushed them away.

  As he carried her lightly into the street, he could hear fire engines’ sirens wailing down The Strand. Dunkley and Mr. Trewithick quit the burning building. Mr. Trewithick closed the door. Dunkley ran over to Mike.

  Mike crouched and lowered Taylor to the pavement. She slapped him across the face.

  'You bastard, you stopped me from become the next supermodel.'

  Mike shied away. ‘But they were turning you into a vampire. It's how they keep thin.'

  'Vampires! That's nonsense! I was being told dieting secrets and you burned down the Agency. Are you a Religious Nutter or something? I heard you spouting that God stuff.'

  Dunkley rubbed the soot from his close-trimmed beard. His eyes twinkled, but he set his face into pious constipation. ‘Yes, we are Religious Nutters, here to save you from the depravity of that life.'

  'He was going on about vampires. Stories!’ Taylor spat.

  'Yes,’ said Dunkley, the Scots accent promised Hellfire, but Mike could see his lips trying not to twitch into a grin. ‘Evil Vampires that suck the health and vitality from today's youth, forcing them into the shallo
w life of celebrity.'

  'He said you didn't have television or anything. You really are a Nutter.’ She pulled away from him and wept into her hands.

  'But I rescued her,’ Mike muttered. ‘Why did you tell her that stupid stuff? She thinks we're—that I'm crazy now.'

  'That's the way it is in our career,’ said Dunkley. His wolfhounds snuffled his hands. ‘Did you expect to get the girl and ride into the sunset with her on your white charger? I told her what a normal person could believe. We are—you are—set apart from them now.’ His hazel eyes reflected the fire behind them.

  'I think we can pass you into year two, Mike,’ said Mr. Trewithick, wiping his glasses on his shirttail as he joined them.

  Mike spun to look at Mr. Trewithick, his mouth dropping open. ‘You mean all of this.’ He waved a hand at the burning building. ‘All of this was just my end of year exam?'

  'Well, we could hardly test your practical skills with multiple choice questions, now could we?'

  'If it's any consolation.’ Mr. Dunkley flicked Trewithick a quelling look. ‘We thought we had sent you on an observe-and-report assignment. I didn't expect it to blow up in your face like that.'

  'But what about her?’ Mike pointed at Taylor, who lay weeping on the pavement.

  'Yes,’ said Mr. Trewithick. ‘I'm afraid we had to take marks off you because you let her get infested. It stopped you getting a distinction. Now, can we give you a lift back to your Halls of Residence?'

  'This is all just a game to you, isn't it? Don't you care at all about the people you rescue?’ Mike shouted with his nose level with Mr. Trewithick's. ‘You two could have waltzed right in and sorted it without my aid.'

  His hand still clutching the broken, burnt ski pole rose almost by itself.

  Mr. Trewithick replaced his glasses and calmly regarded his student.

  Mike looked at the pole then flung it at the doorstep of the burning modeling agency. Without looking back at the sobbing girl, he strode to the car.

  Dunkley slid open the back door of his people carrier. He nodded at the ski pole.

  'Excellent improvisation with non-standard equipment by the way, Mr. Rider. Come, boys.'

  His wolfhounds jumped into the car.