LITMIR.BIZ

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seeing how long I can survive.”

      “You’re crazy!” I chortled. “Do you really think you can get the better of the sun?”

      “I don’t see why not,” he said. “A foe’s a foe. If it can be engaged, it can be defeated.”

      “Have you made any progress?” I asked.

      “Not really,” he sighed. “It’s much the same as when I began. The light half-blinds me – it takes almost a full day for my vision to return to normal and the headaches to fade. The rays cause a reddening within ten or fifteen minutes, and it gets painful soon after. I’ve managed to endure it for close to eighty minutes a couple of times, but I’m badly burnt by the end, and it takes five or six nights of total rest to recover.”

      “When did this war of yours begin?”

      “Let’s see,” he mused. “I was about two hundred when I started – ” Most vampires weren’t sure of their exact age; when you lived as long as they did, birthdays ceased to mean very much “ – and I’m more than three hundred now, so I guess it’s been the best part of a century.”

      “A hundred years!” I gasped. “Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘banging your head against a brick wall’?”

      “Of course,” he smirked, “but you forget, Darren – vampires can break walls with their heads!”

      With that, he winked and walked off into the sunlight, whistling loudly, to engage in his crazy battle with a huge ball of burning gas hanging millions and millions of kilometres away in the sky.

       CHAPTER TWELVE

      A FULL moon was shining when we arrived at Lady Evanna’s. Even so, I’d have missed the clearing if Mr Crepsley hadn’t nudged me and said, “We are here.” I later learnt that Evanna had cast a masking spell over the place, so unless you knew where to look, your eyes would skim over her home and not register it.

      I stared straight ahead, but for a few seconds could see nothing but trees. Then the power of the spell faded, the imaginary trees ‘vanished’ and I found myself gazing down upon a crystal-clear pond, glowing a faint white colour from the light of the moon. There was a hill on the opposite side of the pond, and I could see the dark, arched entrance of a huge cave in it.

      As we strolled down the gentle slope to the pond, the night air filled with the sound of croaking. I stopped, alarmed, but Vancha smiled and said, “Frogs. They’re alerting Evanna. They’ll stop once she tells them it’s safe.”

      Moments later the frog chorus ceased and we walked in silence again. We skirted the edge of the pond, Mr Crepsley and Vancha warning Harkat and me not to step on any frogs, thousands of which were at rest by or in the cool water.

      “The frogs are creepy,” Harkat whispered. “I feel like they’re … watching us.”

      “They are,” Vancha said. “They guard the pond and cave, protecting Evanna from intruders.”

      “What could a bunch of frogs do against intruders?” I laughed.

      Vancha stooped and grabbed a frog. Holding it up to the moonlight, he gently squeezed its sides. Its mouth opened and a long tongue darted out. Vancha caught the tongue with the index finger and thumb of his right hand, careful not to touch the edges. “See the tiny sacs along the sides?” he asked.

      “Those yellow-red bulges?” I said. “What about them?”

      “Filled with poison. If this frog wrapped its tongue around your arm or the calf of your leg, the sacs would pop and the poison would seep in through your flesh.” He shook his head grimly. “Death in thirty seconds.”

      Vancha laid the frog down on the damp grass and let go of its tongue. It hopped away about its business. Harkat and me walked with extreme care after that!

      When we reached the mouth of the cave, we stopped. Mr Crepsley and Vancha sat down and laid aside their packs. Vancha took out a bone he’d been chewing on for the last couple of nights and got to work on it, pausing only to spit at the occasional frog which wandered too close to us.

      “Aren’t we going in?” I asked.

      “Not without being invited,” Mr Crepsley replied. “Evanna does not take kindly to intruders.”

      “Isn’t there a bell we can ring?”

      “Evanna has no need of bells,” he said. “She knows we are here and will come to greet us in her own time.”

      “Evanna’s not a lady to be rushed,” Vancha agreed. “A friend of mine thought he’d enter the cave on the quiet once, to surprise her.” He munched cheerfully on his bone. “She gave him huge warts all over. He looked like … like…” Vancha frowned. “It’s hard to say, because I’ve never seen anything quite like it – and I’ve seen most everything in my time!”

      “Should we be here if she’s that dangerous?” I asked worriedly.

      “Evanna will not harm us,” Mr Crepsley assured me. “She has a quick temper, and it’s best not to rile her, but she would never kill one with vampire blood, unless provoked.”

      “Just make sure you don’t call her a witch,” Vancha warned, for what must have been the hundredth time.

      Half an hour after we’d settled by the cave, dozens of frogs – larger than those surrounding the pond – came hopping out. They formed a circle around us and sat, blinking slowly, hemming us in. I started to get to my feet, but Mr Crepsley told me to stay seated. Moments later, a woman emerged from the cave. She was the ugliest, most unkempt woman I’d ever seen. She was short – barely taller than the squat Harkat Mulds – with long, dark, untidy hair. She had rippling muscles and thick, strong legs. Her ears were sharply pointed, her nose was tiny – it looked like there were just two holes above her upper lip – and her eyes were narrow. When she got closer, I saw that one eye was brown and the other green. What was even stranger was that the colours switched – one minute her left eye would be brown, the next her right.

      She was extraordinarily hairy. Her arms and legs were covered with black hair; her eyebrows were two large caterpillars; bushy hair grew out of her ears and nostrils; she had a fairly full beard, and her moustache would have put Otto von Bismarck to shame.

      Her fingers were surprisingly stubby. As a witch, I’d expected her to have bony claws, though I guess that’s an image I got from books and comics I read when I was a child. Her nails were cut short, except for on the two little fingers, where they grew long and sharp.

      She didn’t wear traditional clothes, or animal hides like Vancha. Instead she dressed in ropes. Long, thickly woven, yellow ropes, wrapped around her chest and lower body, leaving her arms, legs and stomach free.

      I’d have found it hard to imagine a more fearsome, off-putting woman, and my insides gurgled uneasily as she shuffled towards us.

      “Vampires!” she snorted, stepping through the ranks of frogs, which parted as she advanced. “Always ugly bloody vampires! Why don’t handsome humans ever come a-calling?”

      “They’re probably afraid you’d eat them,” Vancha laughed in reply, then stood and hugged her. She hugged back, hard, and lifted the Vampire Prince off his feet.

      “My little Vancha,” she cooed, as though cuddling a baby. “You’ve put on some weight, Sire.”

      “And you’re uglier than ever, Lady,” he grunted, gasping for breath.

      “You’re only saying that to please me,” she giggled, then dropped him and turned to Mr Crepsley. “Larten,” she nodded politely.

      “Evanna,” he replied, standing and bowing. Then, without warning, he kicked out at her. But, swift as he was, the witch was swifter. She grabbed his leg and twisted. He rolled over and collapsed flat on the

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