Carpe Jugulum

one side of me, and I’ve got this staff. Then it’s just a walk in the woods, eh?”
    “You don’t look better.”
    “Young man, if we’re going to wait for me to look interestin’ we’ll be here for years.”
    She raised a hand and the wowhawk flew down out of the shadows.
    “Good thing you were able to get a fire going, all the same,” she said, without turning round.
    “I have always found that if I put my trust in Om a way will be found,” said Oats, hurrying after her.
    “I reckon Om helps those who helps themselves,” said Granny.

Throughout the town of Escrow the windows glowed. Lamps were lit and there was the sound of doors being unbolted. Over all, the bell went on ringing out through the fog.
    “Normally we congregate in the town square,” said Vlad.
    “It’s the middle of the night!” said Agnes.
    “Yes, but it doesn’t happen very often, and our covenant says never more than twice in a month,” said Vlad. “Do you see how prosperous the place is? People are safe in Escrow. They’ve seen reason. No shutters on the windows, do you see? They don’t have to bar their windows or hide in the cellar, which I have to admit is what people do in the…less well regulated areas of our country. They exchanged fear for security. They—” He stumbled, and steadied himself against a wall. Then he rubbed his forehead. “Sorry. I felt a little…strange. What was I saying?”
    “How should I know?” snapped Agnes. “You were talking about how happy everyone is because the vampires visit, or something.”
    “Oh yes. Yes. Because of cooperation, not enmity. Because…” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “…because…well, you’ll see…is it rather cold here?”
    “Just clammy,” said Agnes.
    “Let’s get to the square,” Vlad muttered. “I’m sure I shall feel better.”
    It was just ahead. Torches had been lit. People had congregated there, most of them with blankets across their shoulders or a coat over their night clothes, standing around in aimless groups like people who’d heard the fire alarm but hadn’t seen the smoke.
    One of two of them caught sight of Vlad and there was a certain amount of coughing and shuffling.
    Other vampires were descending through the mist. The Count landed gently and nodded to Agnes.
    “Ah, Miss Nitt,” he said vaguely. “Are we all here, Vlad?”
    The bell stopped. A moment later Lacrimosa descended.
    “You’ve still got her?” she said to Vlad, raising her eyebrows. “Oh well…”
    “I will just have a brief chat to the mayor,” said the Count. “He appreciates being kept informed.”
    Agnes watched him walk toward a small, dumpy man who, despite getting out of bed in the middle of a wet night, seemed to have had the foresight to put on a gold chain of office.
    She noticed the vampires taking up positions in a line in front of the bell tower, about four or five feet apart. They joked and called out to one another, except for Lacrimosa, who was glaring directly at her.
    The Count was deep in conversation with the mayor, who was staring down at his own feet.
    Now, across the square, the people were beginning to form lines. A couple of small children pulled away from their parents’ hands and chased one another up and down the lines of people, laughing.
    And the suspicion bloomed slowly in Agnes like a great black, red-edged rose.
    Vlad must have felt her body stiffen, because his grip tightened on her arm.
    “I know what you’re thinking—” he began.
    “You don’t know what I’m thinking but I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” she said, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. “You’re—”
    “Listen, it could be so much worse, it used to be so much worse—”
    The Count bustled. “Good news,” he said, “Three children have just turned twelve.” He smiled at Agnes. “We have a little…ceremony, before the main lottery. A rite of passage, as it were. I think they look forward to it, to tell you the truth.”
    He’s watching you to see how you react, said Perdita. Vlad is just stupid and Lacrimosa would weave your hair into a face flannel if she had the chance but this one will go for the throat if you so much as blink at the wrong time…so don’t blink at the wrong time, thank you, because even figments of the imagination want to live…
    But Agnes felt the terror rising around her. And it was wrong , the wrong kind of terror, a numbing, cold, sick feeling that froze her