The Vampire Gene

"I don't know what you are talking about," she whispered.

"You lie." Oliver spoke calmly, but he was clearly furious. "I can feel your twisted little thoughts. You were jealous of Rebecca, weren't you." It wasn't a question. Lucy just sobbed.

"She's a vampire, and you're not. You thought you were nothing special, and she was, and you hated her for it," he continued, his tone biting. She shook her head. "Well, now you're an accomplice in the kidnapping of an innocent girl."

"No I'm not!" Lucy protested. "I didn't like her, but I didn't mean for her to be kidnapped. You have to believe me!" she cried hysterically.

Oliver pulled his phone out of his back pocket, and started dialling. "We'll let the police decide, shall we?"

"Nooo!" shrieked Lucy, clutching at my hand which was still wrapped around her throat. "Mum, you can't let him!"

Julia Colborne gazed at her daughter impassively, her arms crossed. She said nothing.

"OK, OK, it was Uncle James! He said he just wanted to talk to her about a proposal he had for her, something to make up for a deal that had gone bad a while back. He said it was very important it be a surprise..." she broke off, and started sobbing.

"So where is she now?" I rasped, enraged at the actions of this selfish little girl. She had endangered my Rebecca, and I wanted to destroy her. I felt her pulse thrumming under my hand and swallowed reflexively.

"Where has he taken her?" Oliver asked, his voice level and cold.

"I don't know!" Lucy wailed. I sensed her thoughts as I stepped back and released her. We were wasting our time with her. She had no idea where Rebecca was. She slid down the wall and sat on her heels with her face in her hands. I turned to Fergus, but he already had his Mac Book Pro open - he'd retrieved it from the Bentley - and was tapping away. He looked up at Julia.

"Does Uncle James have a second name?" he asked dryly.

"And a third," she replied. "James Richard Michael Colborne. He has a house a few miles from here, but other than that..."

"No problem. He owns a few other properties too, mostly industrial. The closest is about twenty miles from here. I suggest we start there."

"There's a GPS tracker in one of her shoes," I told him, annoyed with myself that I'd momentarily forgotten about it, and handed over my mobile phone. "You direct me while I drive." I was impatient to get going.

"I'll come with you," said Oliver.