Catherine Jinks - The Reformed Vampire Support Group

Nina was stuck. She didnt know what to write next.

So far, her teenaged captive had been dragged into a refrigerated meat locker by two thugs armed with a gun and a boning knife. But Zadia Bloodstone was already waiting for them. Hanging upside-down from a meat hook, wrapped in a long black cape and covered by a thin layer of frost, Zadia had cleverly disguised herself as a harmless side of beef. Only when shed spread her arms wide had the crackle of breaking ice announced her presence.

Bang-bang! Two bullets had promptly smashed into her ribcage. But Zadia wasnt troubled by bullets, because her vital organs could regenerate themselves at lightning speed. Somersaulting to the floor, shed walked straight up to the bigger thug and kicked the gun from his hand. Then shed whirled around to fight off his friend. Within seconds, the two baddies had been knocked out leaving a very important question unanswered.

What would the rescued boy do?

Obviously, he would be grateful. He might even be dazzled by Zadias flawless face and perfect figure. But if he saw her sink her fangs into anyones neck, he would also be frightened. He would realise instantly that she was a vampire, and run for the door.

He would be unaware, at this point, that Zadia was a heroic crime-fighter who preyed only on lowlife scum.

Nina chewed away at a lock of her hair, thinking hard. She was in the middle of chapter eight. The room in which she sat was illumined solely by the glow of her computer screen; barely visible in the dimness were her brass bedstead, her Indian cushions and her lava lamp. A poster of David Bowie hung on the wall, curling at the corners. A small bookshelf contained multiple copies of Youngblood (book two of the Bloodstone Chronicles), by someone called N. E. Harris.

Splashed across the cover of Youngblood was a glamorous, slinky young girl with white skin, black hair and ruby-red lips. She wore high-heeled boots and lots of black leather, as well as an ammunition belt. Her canine teeth were long and pointed, but she was stunningly beautiful nonetheless.

She appeared to be leaping from rooftop to rooftop, her black cape streaming out behind her.

Nina! somebody shouted, from beyond the closed bedroom door. Nina didnt respond. She stared unblinkingly at the computer screen, still gnawing at her hair which was thick and dark, and cut in a heavy, clumsy, old-fashioned style that didnt suit her bony little face.

It was about time, she decided, that Zadia made friends with the boy shed rescued.

Zadia hesitated, Nina wrote, torn between her desire to punish the wicked and her need to reassure the tall, pale, handsome teenager with the big brown eyes.

Nina! a distant voice called again. Ignoring it, Nina deleted the word pale. Her hands on the keyboard were like chickens feet, all scaly and dry. Her skin was the colour of a maggots, and her legs were so thin that her tights were wrinkled around the knees.

Her boots had flat heels on them.

Nina! The door burst open to admit a withered old woman in a quilted nylon dressing-gown. For Gods sake, are you deaf? Father Ramons outside you want to keep him waiting?

Nina sighed. She shut her laptop, moving sluggishly.

All right, she murmured. Im on my way.

Arent you feeling well? the old woman wanted to know. She had the hoarse rasp and yellowed fingertips of a chronic smoker; her hair looked like a frayed clump of steel wool, and her scarlet lipstick was bleeding into the cracks around her mouth. Because if youre sick, she said, you shouldnt be going.

Im not sick, Mum. Im fine.

Thats what you always say, and you never are. Is your head giving you trouble?

No!

What about your stomach?

Nina didnt reply. Instead she rose, reaching for her sunglasses which shared the cluttered surface of her desk with a Pet Rock, a pile of vintage vampire comics, and a netball trophy awarded to the Junior Regional Inter-School Champions of 1971. Pinned on a noticeboard hanging above the desk lamp were various faded photographs of laughing teenage girls.

If any of these girls was Nina, it wasnt immediately apparent. They were so sleek and glossy and bright-eyed that they could have belonged to an entirely different species.

Are you nauseous? her mother nagged. You are, arent you?

Theres nothing wrong, said Nina, on her way out of the room. It was a lie, of course. There was always something wrong.

And her mother knew it.

If you get sick, I want you to come straight home, the old woman advised, as they descended a narrow wooden staircase together. Dave wont mind bringing you back early, if you cant stay to the end. And dont leave it till the last minute, the way you did before. Dave wont want you throwing up all over his sheepskin seat covers again

Nina winced. It was true. She had ruined Daves precious seat covers. Was it any wonder that he didnt exactly beat a path to her door? Was it any wonder that she spent so much of her time in imaginary meat lockers with the stylish and vigorous Zadia Bloodstone? At least there were no uncontrollable bouts of vomiting in Zadias world.

Nina pulled open the heavy front door of her mothers terrace house. Outside, the darkness was relieved only by the soft glow of a nearby street lamp; stars were scattered like sequins across a coal-black sky. Yet Nina had already donned her sunglasses, which were big, heavy, wraparound things that made her pinched face look smaller than ever

You know what? This isnt going to work. I cant write about myself the way I write about Zadia. Its too weird. Its confusing. Next thing Ill get mixed up, and start making me do things that I cant actually do. Like turn into a bat, for instance. Zadia can do that, but I cant. No one can.

The plain fact is, I cant do anything much. Thats part of the problem. Vampires are meant to be so glamorous and powerful, but Im here to inform you that being a vampire is nothing like that. Not one bit. On the contrary, its like being stuck indoors with the flu watching daytime television, forever and ever.

If being a vampire were easy, there wouldnt have to be a Reformed Vampire Support Group.

As a matter of fact, I was going to a group meeting that very night. Father Ramon had come to pick me up. It was a Tuesday, because all our meetings are held on Tuesdays, at 9.30 PM, in St Agathas church hall. And in case youre wondering why I couldnt have driven myself to St Agathas well, thats just one of my many problems. I still look fifteen, you see. I still am fifteen, when alls said and done, since I stopped ageing back in 1973, when I was infected. So Id attract far too much attention behind a steering wheel. (Besides which, Mum doesnt have a car.)

As for the public transport option, Sanford Plackett has ruled that out. Hes always ruling things out; youd think he was our lord and master, the way he carries on. Hes forbidden any of us to travel around Sydney on buses or trains, for instance, in case we stumble across something that Father Ramon would probably describe as an occasion of sin. I suppose Sanfords worried that we might encounter a bleeding junkie rolling around on a station platform, and wont be able to stop ourselves from pouncing.

You think youll never succumb, he once said to me, because you cant come to terms with your true nature. You refuse to concede that youre really a vampire, with a vampires weakness. But you are, Nina. We all are. Thats why we have to be careful.

And being careful means not catching cabs. According to Sanford, its too risky. Staring at the back of a cab drivers exposed neck would be quite stressful for most of us especially if someones been bleeding onto the seats beforehand. Sanford also insists that no one in our group should go wandering the streets all alone. He says that we wouldnt stand a chance against the drunks and addicts and muggers on the loose out there. He says that everyone should follow his advice, because hes been around for so long and has so much experience, and because, although Father Ramon might be our group facilitator, even a priest with counselling experience cant be its