Lord of the Shadows. Darren Shan

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      CHAPTER THREE

      I DIDN’T go exploring that day. I stayed at the Cirque Du Freak and celebrated Shancus’s birthday. He loved his new snake, and I thought Urcha was going to float away with joy when he found out Shancus’s old snake was to be his. The party went on longer than expected. The table was loaded up with more cakes and buns, and not even the ever-hungry Rhamus Twobellies could finish them off! Afterwards we prepared for that night’s show, which went ahead smoothly. I spent most of the show in the wings, studying faces in the audience, looking for old neighbours and friends. But I didn’t see anybody I recognized.

      The next morning, while most of the Cirque folk were sleeping, I slipped out. Although it was a bright day, I wore a light anorak over my clothes, so I could pull the hood up and mask my face if I had to.

      I walked rapidly, thrilled to be back. The streets had changed a lot – new shops and offices, many redecorated or redesigned buildings – but the names were the same. I ran into memories on every block. The shop where I bought my football boots. Mum’s favourite clothes boutique. The cinema where we’d taken Annie to her first film. The newsagent where I shopped for comics.

      I wandered through a vast complex which used to be my favourite computer arcade. It was under new ownership and had grown beyond recognition. I tried out some of the games, and smiled as I remembered how excited I’d get when I’d come here on a Saturday and blast away a few hours on the latest shoot-’em-up.

      Moving away from the central shopping area, I visited my favourite parks. One was now a housing estate but the other was unchanged. I saw a groundsman tending to a bed of flowers — old William Morris, my friend Alan’s grandfather. William was the first person from the past I’d seen. He hadn’t known me very well, so I was able to walk right past him and study him up-close without fear of being spotted.

      I wanted to stop and chat with Alan’s grandfather, and ask for news about Alan. I was going to tell him that I was one of Alan’s friends, that I’d lost touch with him. But then I remembered that Alan was now an adult, not a teenager like me. So I walked on, silent, unobserved.

      I was anxious to check out my old house. But I didn’t feel ready — I trembled with nerves every time I thought about it. So I wandered through the centre of town, past banks, shops, restaurants. I caught glimpses of half-remembered faces – clerks and waiters, a few customers – but nobody I’d known personally.

      I had a bite to eat in a café. The food wasn’t especially good, but it had been Dad’s favourite place — he often brought me here for a snack while Mum and Annie were doing damage in the shops. It was nice to sit in the familiar surroundings and order a chicken and bacon sandwich, like in the old days.

      After lunch, I strolled past my original school — a really eerie feeling! A new wing had been added, and there were iron railings around the perimeter, but apart from that it looked just the way I remembered. Lunch break was ending. I watched from underneath the shadows of a tree while the students filed back into class. I saw some teachers too. Most were new, but two caught my attention. One was Mrs McDaid. She’d taught languages, mostly to older students. I’d had her for half a term when my regular teacher was on a leave of absence.

      I’d been much closer to the other teacher — Mr Dalton! I’d had him for English and history. He’d been my favourite teacher. He was chatting with some of his students as he entered class after lunch, and by their smiles I saw he was still as popular as ever.

      It would have been great to catch up with Mr Dalton. I was seriously thinking about waiting for school to finish, then going to see him. He’d know what had happened to my parents and Annie. I needn’t tell him I was a vampire — I could say I had an anti-ageing disease, which kept me looking young. Explaining away my “death” would be tricky, but I could cook up some suitable story.

      One thing held me back. A few years ago, in Mr Crepsley’s home city, I’d been branded a killer by the police, and my name and photo had been flashed all over the TV and newspapers. What if Mr Dalton had heard about that? If he knew I was alive, and thought I was a murderer, he might alert the authorities. Safer not to take the risk. So I turned my back on the school and slowly walked away.

      It was only then that it struck me that Mr Dalton wouldn’t be the only one who might have picked up on the “Darren Shan — serial killer!” hysteria. What if my parents had heard about it! Mr Crepsley’s city was in a different part of the world, and I wasn’t sure how much news travelled between the two countries. But it was a possibility.

      I had to sit down on a street bench while I considered that horrific potential. I could only begin to imagine how shocking it would have been if, years after they’d buried me, Mum and Dad had spotted me on the news, under a caption branding me a killer. How had I never thought about it before?

      This could be a real problem. As I’d told Harkat, I didn’t intend going to see my family — too painful for everyone. But if they already knew I was alive, and were living with the misbelief that I was a killer, I’d have to set the record straight. But what if they didn’t know?

      I had to do some research. I’d passed a brand new, ultramodern library СКАЧАТЬ