Innocent Blood

Recent Titles by Graham Masterton from Severn House

The Jim Rook Series

ROOK

THE TERROR

TOOTH AND CLAW

SNOWMAN

SWIMMER

DARKROOM

Anthologies

FACES OF FEAR

FEELINGS OF FEAR

FORTNIGHT OF FEAR

FLIGHTS OF FEAR

Novels

DOORKEEPER

GENIUS

HIDDEN WORLD

HOLY TERROR

INNOCENT BLOOD

Graham Masterton

First world edition published in Great Britain 2005 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2011 by Graham Masterton.

All rights reserved.

Wednesday, September 22, 8:34 A.M.

As usual, the school gateway was jammed with mothers awkwardly trying to maneuver their oversized SUVs in and out, so Lynn steered her Explorer over to the opposite side of the street and parked it with two wheels mounted on the grass.

‘Remember it’s your dance class today,’ she told Kathy, turning around in her seat. ‘That means no dawdling after school, OK?’

‘I don’t feel good,’ Kathy protested, flopping in her seat.

‘Nonsense. I’ve never seen you look healthier. Just because you have a math test.’

‘I think I’m going to barf. I know I’m going to barf. I can feel all of those mushed- up pancakes in my tummy, and they don’t like it down there.’

Lynn snapped her seat-belt buckle back into place. ‘OK, then. If you feel so bad, I’ll just have to take you back home to bed and cancel your dance class.’

‘Not my dance class! That’s not till three thirty! I’ll be better by then!’

‘No, I’ll have to cancel it. You can’t jete with a tummy full of mutinous pancakes.’

‘But I want to be an actress like you. Why do I have to learn math? You don’t have to know math to be an actress, do you?’

‘You don’t think so? Supposing you’re an actress and you make squillions and squillions of dollars like Julia Roberts and your agent takes three and a quarter percent more than he’s supposed to? How are you going to know?’

‘Because all agents take more than they’re supposed to. Agents are chiselers and shysters and they all work for Satan.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake! Who told you that?’

‘You did.’

‘Come on,’ said Lynn, unbuckling her seat belt again. ‘Let’s get you into school before Ms Redmond gives you another demerit for being late.’

Kathy climbed out and tugged on her beret. She was a small girl for ten years old, with blonde braids and a pale, elfin face like her mother’s. Her eyes were that same luminous green as her mother’s, too, like pieces of a glass bottle found on the seashore. Her legs were so skinny that she kept having to pull up her long white socks.

‘What do you want to do after your dance class? We could go to De Lunghi’s for spaghetti if you like.’

‘So long as Gene doesn’t have to come with us.’

‘I thought you liked Gene.’

‘I don’t like his nose. He looks like an anteater.’

‘He does not. You’re just being obnoxious.’

‘He does too. Every time he has soup the end of his nose dips right into it.’

They crossed Franklin Avenue to the school gates. The Cedars private elementary school didn’t look like a school at all: although it had no religious affiliations, it shared the First Methodist Church building, with its tall square tower and its gray stone walls, and several of the classrooms, even though they were large and airy, had stained-glass windows, with scenes of Christ surrounded by little children.

‘You won’t forget to bring home your hockey kit, will you?’ asked Lynn. But at that moment Kathy caught sight of her friend Terra, and waved, and jumped, and immediately skipped off. Terra’s mother, Sidne, came up to Lynn and the two of them watched their daughters run through the school gates and into the yard, where thirty or forty other children were jumping and screaming and tearing around in circles.

‘Some tummy ache,’ said Lynn.

‘Oh, the math test,’ smiled Sidne. ‘Terra said she had leprosy.’

‘Leprosy?’

‘That’s right. On the spur of the moment, it was the only illness she could think of. At least it shows she’s reading her Bible.’

‘They really kill you sometimes, don’t they? I love Terra’s braids.’

‘Janie did them. I don’t know how she has the patience.’

They walked back to Sidne’s car together. ‘Did you hear from George Lowenstein?’ Lynn asked her.

‘No, nothing. If you want to know the truth, I think he’s looking for somebody younger.’

‘But you’d be perfect as Corinne, you know you would!’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. I used to wonder when I would have to stop playing wayward daughters and start to play harassed mothers, and maybe it’s now. I think I’ll go to Miska’s and have a massage and a pedicure. And then I’ll go to Freddie’s and order a treble strawberry sundae with extra cream.’

‘I’d join you, believe me, if we didn’t have a read-through.’

Lynn said goodbye to Sidne and crossed the street. A short, crop-haired man with a neck like a stovepipe and