While continuing to stare out into the darkness before her, Amanda hurriedly drummed her fingers on her steering wheel and then punched the thing in frustration, dropping her phone in the process. After muttering to herself about her stupidity and how things would be simpler if she were more than just dead, she fumbled around in the driver’s side of the footwell to retrieve her missing device. The sound of an engine starting, however, cut her search short. In her rush to look at what was happening outside, Amanda cracked her head against the steering wheel. She only managed to get back into a normal sitting position just as the headlights of the school minivan were turned on, dazzling her. She scrambled to open the door, stepped on her still hidden phone and only got out of the car in time to see the minibus bounce its way across a couple of pot holes at a speed with no consideration for comfort. It quickly disappeared down the untended road from which it had arrived only about an hour before.
Amanda’s first reaction was to jump back into her car and turn on the ignition, but as soon as the engine started to run she turned the engine off. She was certain that the minivan would not stop for her, nor was she keen on the idea of racing down the treacherous track that led back to the main road. Slumping down into the seat, she managed to kick her phone. When she finally managed to retrieve it, she was relieved to find she had only scuffed its case.
Though she was not certain, Amanda believed she had seen the deputy at the wheel of the minibus, with two slightly surprised looking teachers behind him. Had the man been watching her from the darkness, waiting for the right moment to rush to the minibus and avoid any of her questions? Surely such a thing was preposterous, she told herself, though she had to admit that it seemed to be a rather fortuitous coincidence for the deputy that he had appeared just as she had turned her attention away from the school’s vehicle. Either way, it did not matter. The man had left and she was fairly certain she would not be seeing him anytime soon.
Now that Brenden had gone, she supposed she could tell herself that there was no expectation that she should delve up anything else about the Radcliff case. No-one cared about addressing the minor loose end in a case that had already been solved. But these arguments did not sit well with the young vampire. She drummed her fingers again on the wheel and calculated how much blood she had stored in her car, and in her fridge at home. It had to be enough for just over a month. She then thought about what she had saved from being paid for the cases she had worked on since solving Brenden’s murder, and what she was yet to be paid, and came to the conclusion that she probably had enough money to keep herself going for at least an additional half a year. All she needed was someone from whom she could buy blood, and suddenly there was only one name on that list that she was interested in. After opening a map app on her phone, Amanda called up the directions for Radcliff.
***
The towering patchwork figure that had met Brenden at the entrance to the Tunnels had said nothing more to the boy after the two had made their way to the other side of steel entrance. Instead, the thing had just guided Brenden to a large, ancient oak chest, which looked as if it were on the verge of falling apart. After disappearing for only a moment, the figure reappeared with a large key, opened the chest, and retrieved three sets of stamps with adjustable numbers from a baize lined tray that sat in the centre of the chest. The figure then carefully adjusted each stamp, taking great care not to move the number straps too far; applied the stamps, one at a time, to a red ink pad that sat atop a nearby mahogany table; pressed the stamps down on a slip of paper; and then returned everything to its given place before relocking the chest. Finally, the man, or whatever it was, handed Brenden the slip, placed the key on a rusted iron hook, and slowly lowered itself down into a battered armchair, where it took on the stillness of stone.
It was only after the strange ritual came to an end that Brenden’s sense of awareness returned to him. He looked around and saw that apart from the thing that had greeted him and its odd set of furniture, the tunnel around him seemed much the same as the one he had just left. Next, he checked the slip of paper he had just been given and was puzzled to find that it was blank.
“Don’t mind that,” came a woman’s voice from behind Brenden. “I’ll get you sorted in just a moment.”
Brenden looked around to see a short woman, with short curly brown hair and the yellow, grey skin of a zombie, quickly approaching him. She was wearing a relatively ordinary white blouse and black trousers, which in the surroundings he was in struck Brenden as completely out of place.
“I’m Gwen,” said the woman as she reached Brenden, extending a leathery grey hand out to the boy for him to shake.
“Brenden,” the boy murmured in response, before trying a little harder to make himself heard. “I’m Brenden.”
“Well, good to meet you, Brenden. Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”
The woman swiftly made her way past Brenden and inspected the tunnel beyond the entrance through which the odd patchwork figure
