Chp. Parenting


It was the scars Agnes noticed first. The second thing she saw was that the young woman really was not wearing warm enough clothes on what was quite a chilly night for southern California. The third she felt - long nails scratching Agnes’ face as the girl held it between her two pale hands.

“You look just like my Mummy!”

Agnes flared gently into vamp face – just enough so the girl would realise she was speaking to a fellow compatriot – and back again.

She was beginning to wonder what the attraction could be that brought so many English people to Sunnydale. This girl had a definite accent. Small, thin and pale, she looked as if a good meal would do her the world of good. And, if Agnes was completely honest, she also seemed – now what was the word her grandmother used to use – oh yes, fey.

“I’m afraid I am no one’s mother, dear,” she said gently, pushing the sharpened nails away.

The girl seemed to lose interest and wandered around the station waiting-room, trailing her hand across the smeared wooden seats. It left marks. Agnes could smell blood, lots of blood. Perhaps this girl didn’t need a good meal, after all.

She peered out of the door towards the train; no one seemed to be getting on or off. Agnes had arrived at Sunnydale Railway Terminal to collect a new tea-urn. Her friend Spike had arranged for it to be sent to her from Los Angeles. He’d felt responsible when a fight between him and a pack of bright pink, furry demons, who had apparently been called The Woofters, according to Spike, had erupted around her tea-room in the dump. The lone victim had been her old urn that was smashed beyond repair.

Agnes sighed: she’d been relying on the station porter helping her to unload the package from the goods’ van. It was sure to be bulky and although Agnes had brought the super-market trolley with her that she used to carry her cakes and baked goods, she knew she would need a hand lifting the urn into it.

Sometimes being a woman who was not blessed with physical strength was extremely annoying. She wondered why, if she had to become a vampire in the great scheme of things, she couldn’t have been one with muscles.

But she had been delayed, waiting for a sponge cake to finish cooking, and the train stood there, all the passengers gone, except for this one.

Behind her the girl with the scars was singing to herself. Agnes recognised the tune and smiled.

“Rockabye baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby, cradle and all.”

“That’s very nice. It’s a long time since I heard that nursery rhyme. Did your mother sing it to you?”

The girl looked across the waiting-room, her eyes so dark Agnes couldn’t tell if they were black or brown.

“I sing it to my dollies. But I’ve lost one. She was in the cradle, being rocked, rocked, rocketty rocketty rock, rock, rock, rocketty rock.”

“Oh, you were on the train!” Really, this girl was obviously not fit to be out alone. People should take better care of those less able to protect themselves. Vampires should always have their wits about them and she rather thought this young woman’s wits had gone a long time ago.

She probably had family in Sunnydale who’d been delayed meeting her. Surely she must have a carer somewhere. In the rest-room, perhaps? Train journeys could make you ill if you weren’t used to the continual motion. Agnes recalled a very unhappy visit to London Zoo when she had been forced to get out of the Tube train at every stop because -

“Are you sure you’re not my mummy? You sound like her.”

Agnes sat down on a bench and briskly patted the seat next to her. Obviously the station porter had been delayed on business somewhere. She would just have to wait until he appeared. In the meantime, she needed to take charge of this poor innocent.
The girl drifted across the room and obediently sat down.

“There! That’s better, isn’t it?” Agnes slid her arm round the thin shoulders and gave her a brief hug. “Now, don’t you worry. I expect someone will be along quite soon to collect you. You really shouldn’t walk around town on your own. It isn’t safe for – well, for people like us.”

The girl nodded wisely. “No, even angel wants to kill us. Look!” She turned so Agnes could see her scars.

“Oh, that’s nasty! A fire, was it? A candle in the shape of an angel? You have to be so careful with candles, don’t you?”

The girl frowned, then stood up and twirled round the room, humming to herself before stopping in front of Agnes again. She raised her arms above her head, her fingers reaching, searching for something invisible to the rest of the world.

“I’ve got to find my boy and get him to come back with me. He’s been a naughty boy, but I still love him.”

Agnes looked up at her and realised, with a shiver, that this vampire was much older than she had originally thought. She wasn’t a young girl, she was a woman. And quite a frightening one, as well.

The dark eyes gazing at her suddenly looked sly. “Do you want to see a glorious mess? A wonderful, splish-splashing mess. Rocketty slash, rocketty bite, rocketty suck, rocketty scream. Oh, do come and look.”

Agnes frowned. “Certainly not! If you’ve made a mess, you should clean it up before anyone finds it. That’s only good manners.”

The girl spun round in her secret dance again, her mind drifting in skeins of scarlet, fountains of crimson, rivers of ruby goodness.

Agnes peered anxiously out of the door onto the gloomy station platform. It was deserted, silent. Very few people took the train these days; everyone had cars. She couldn’t see any rubbish. No litter, no soda cans or boxes with take-away food scattered about. The girl had probably been lying.

She hesitated. She needed the urn, but she had to be back at the dump soon to open the tea-room in order to catch the passing trade. She had made parkin today and it was nicer to eat it when it was warm. When she turned back, the girl was watching her once more.

“You’re cross with me about making the mess, aren’t you? I don’t like it when people are cross with me! My boy was cross with me about – “ she smiled and Agnes shuddered. It wasn’t a nice smile; it reminded her of Miss Potter, the biology mistress at school, and the way she had enjoyed dissecting frogs so much; the way she had forced Agnes to use a scalpel on one when –

The girl walked forward, forcing Agnes back against the wall. “He was cross about the chaos demon. Lovely slimey antlers, drip, drip, dripping. But a girl’s got to do something when her boy’s all surrounded by someone else. A girl gets bored, waiting. I don’t like waiting!”

A hand flashed out and Agnes winced in pain as a sharp nail just touched her bottom lip and she tasted blood. She felt her own fangs flash out and was annoyed. She was trying so hard to keep that side of her character under control.

She stared into eyes that were gleeful with the power of domination. Agnes had been slow to learn that the demons inside vampires could make them behave in ways they would normally not have done. But what she saw now was no more than a spiteful child having a tantrum and annoying any adult it could find.

“Now stop that at once! I’m quite certain this is not the way you were brought up to behave. I’m sorry you have been having problems with your boyfriend, but I’m sure it can all be sorted out if you have a nice long chat with him. Now sit down quietly over there, and wait for whoever is coming to meet you!”

“Sorry!”

The girl sat down, her fingers trembling across her mouth like moths round a flame, her eyes dark with tears. “Is Mummy cross?”

Agnes sighed and licked blood from her lip. It reminded her that she was hungry and that she had a nice bag of pig in the little refrigerator at home. She stared at the pathetic figure in front of her. What on earth had happened in this young woman’s life to make her like this? Well, whatever is was – and Agnes had the strong impression that it involved A Man – there was no excuse at all for behaving badly in public.

Suddenly the silence of the station was broken by voices. People were coming. Agnes picked up her handbag and eased towards the window to look out. Yes, lots of people, and what looked like a police car. She would have to leave. It was a pity about the urn, but her name would be on the parcel; she could come down and collect it tomorrow evening.

Wearily, she turned back; she felt extremely uneasy in this young woman’s company, but Agnes knew her duty. There was no way she could leave her here, especially if she had been telling the truth and had made some sort of little mess somewhere on the station. People got so worked up about vandalism these days. And quite right, too, but she didn’t think this vampire was the sort who would take kindly to being interrogated. It would be better if she went with Agnes to Willy’s; she could phone her friends from there.

But the waiting-room was empty. The door swung to and fro and the smell of fresh blood and dead roses filled the air.

tbc