Page 41 of You’re So Vein

Because I heard the pain in his voice when he spoke to a child who isn’t his, a child he so obviously loves.

But one thing I’ve learned as a member of the Nevermore Coven is that you can’t always believe the best of people. And if I’m going to catch the husker and improve Argleton, then I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of the truth.

And the truth is… Augustin Durant could be the killer.

14Augustin

Hannah: Smokey Bacon crisps. Smiths Scampi Fries. Baby carrots. Club Orange biscuits. Terry’s Chocolate Orange Minis. Jaffa Jonuts. Hobnobs. Twiglets. More of that delicious garlic pizza bread. Jammie Dodgers.

If you get all of these, it will go PART WAY to making it up to me. Have you sold any of my scarves yet?

RAIN ASSAULTS MY PEACOAT AS I hurry from the market, laden with every item on Hannah’s extensive birthday make-up shopping list, plus a couple of scraggly-looking Sambucus nigra I rescued from the plant display. Of course, Hannah wanted to come with me tonight, but I had to tell her no. Again. I hate myself for it. I used to bring her into the village as a baby. But I had less to fear when she wasn’t mobile and there weren’t any vampires or Nevermore Coven members around.

Last night, I noticed Komal’s friends Beth and Celeste skulking around outside my cottage. This is Celeste with the strange and distinct scent, and the same Beth who thinks her pole studio rebuild should be rushed through the planning process, even though that building was a death trap and a fire risk, proved by how quickly it burned to the ground. This happened after I saw the Nevermore Coven watch us leave the bookstore. They have their eyes on me. They probably think I’m the husker.

I can’t risk them finding out about Hannah, so she has to stay inside tonight, away from the windows.

I glance through the sheets of rain towards the campaign posters we put up to replace the ones Komal ruined. Hannah and I had great fun on her birthday skipping around the village before the bookshop opened for the evening, jumping over puddles where the stormwater had overflowed and plastering every community noticeboard with a list of my campaign promises.

Someone – I can’t imagine who – has defaced every single poster. Again.

In one of them, stink lines emerge from my body. In another, I’m holding a flame-thrower and burning a pot of Gorilla Gardener flowers.

Of all the childish, petty…

I drop my shopping on a sheltered park bench and stalk around the green, tearing them down. Komal mocks me from one of her posters, where she’s holding a wooden gardening stake. The slogan reads: “STAKE YOUR VOTE ON KOMAL”.

Oh, yes, because I’m a vampire. I get it. Yes, very funny.

If Komal Ahuja wants a doodle war, she has one.

I take one of Hannah’s markers from my pocket and draw a couple of fangs over Komal’s shoulder. I add a speech bubble that says, “Cute, but needs more bite.” I’m about to tackle the next poster when I notice the light on in the tourist office.

Interesting. I thought she wasn’t going to give in to the evening hours.

I wince at the now familiar tightening around my heart, as if it’s held in an invisible fist. I should speak with her about the posters. I should explain what she saw from the window of the bookshop. I should convince her, somehow, that I’m not the husker, so she stops watching me.

The Conclave representatives will arrive tomorrow, and I’m growing more concerned that Komal’s involvement will put her in danger from Kael, Dante, or the husker. She shouldn’t risk her life for the sake of pride.

And I should also politely request that she no longer deface my campaign posters.

I can be polite, even when my heart feels like it’s been doused with lemon juice.

As I pick up my shopping and stalk across the green, my breath catches in my throat. None of this is normal for a vampire. I read about two conditions that might explain my symptoms. But I haven’t drunk fresh blood recently, so it can’t be blood bloat, and I’ve newly polished my casket and checked for borers, so coffinitis seems unlikely—

My hand freezes on the door handle.

Komal isn’t alone. She sits on one side of her desk, head resting in her hands, eyes fixed on a handsome man opposite her, who talks with such wild gesticulations that he knocks a model aeroplane off her desk. Komal dives out of her seat, catching it before it crashes to the floor. The man doesn’t appear to notice. There are open takeaway containers between them, and I notice the distinct smell of hummus.

She’s on a date.

The air rushes from my lungs.

I am unwell. Maybe it is coffinitis.

I should turn away, but something compels me to slip into the shadow of the porch. With my vampiric hearing, I don’t have to strain to listen to their conversation. There’s a clatter as a second model aeroplane joins the first, but Komal’s date still doesn’t appear to notice, and he certainly doesn’t slow down.

“The app is so simple. It keeps people on track with their fitness goals. BurpeeSurprizz – with two z’s, because z’s are the new r’s – will send you a push notification randomly during the day. It locks your phone until you drop and do twenty burpees. It’s verified via GPS and biometric data, so you can’t cheat—”