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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to Louise Dixon, Lindsay Davies, Ana McLaughlin, Andrew Pinder, Collette Collins, and everyone at Michael O’Mara books.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 1

  Went to school, did my homework, drank some blood. Another typical day at our coven.

  Mr. Dashwood gave us a history lesson this morning. It was really boring, just an endless list of famous vampires, the dates they transformed, and the ways they were destroyed.

  I can still hear him droning on. “Staked, beheaded, fried. Staked, beheaded, survived . . .”

  There was no reason for the lesson to be so dull. We’ve got such an amazing array of vampires in our class, we could learn more about history just by chatting.

  Seth was transformed over three thousand years ago in Egypt, Lenora was transformed over 150 years ago, and I’ve been a vampire since the early twentieth century. Imagine all the experiences we’d be able to share.

  Instead, dull old Dashwood forces us to face the front and copy down his notes. If you so much as speak, he calls you up to the front and holy waters you. He’s so old-fashioned.

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 2

  The cleaner, Mrs. Dean, came to dust my room this morning. She poured dust on my table, my coffin, and my windowsill. It looks much better now.

  I wish she’d do it more often, but I don’t want to nag. Our castle has eight floors and there are over sixty vampires living here, so she has a lot to do.

  Our coven is situated on a secluded island off the coast of Scotland, so we have to go to the mainland to find humans to mesmerize and drain blood from. This evening Rob from the blood collection squad came back from his expedition with five barrels of type B+. Looks like he’s been completely ignoring my ethical harvesting policy again.

  When I took over as leader, I pledged to take no more than two pints from each human. This was to show that I’m a different type of coven boss, who looks on humans as friends rather than vending machines.

  Rob claims he’s following my policy, but it tastes a lot like he’s been draining entire barrels from single humans. The poor people he got it from must look like deflated balloons now.

  FRIDAY, JANUARY 3

  A couple of new vampires came to the coven today. Needless to say, it was my job to interview them. I picked up the Vampire Council guidebook and started going through all the questions:

  “Are you carrying any wooden stakes, crucifixes, or garlic bread?”

  “Do you have reason to believe you’re being hunted by a vampire slayer or paranormal romance fan?”

  “Is it possible a werewolf might have tampered with your bags?”

  Of course everyone’s going to answer no to these questions. What’s the point of asking them?

  When I was appointed leader, I thought it would mean relaxing in my coffin while hot vampire girls like Lenora brought me crystal glasses filled to the brim with fresh blood. I didn’t think it would mean writing endless reports and plowing through silly guidebooks.

  How can I be expected to cope with all this responsibility? I’m only a kid. Well, technically I’m 102 years old, but I was transformed at a young age, and I still look like a kid. I should be in my room playing computer games, not wading through endless paperwork.

  I got bored with the obvious questions and flipped to the back of the guidebook. It said I had to e-mail [email protected] with the names of the newcomers and they’d let me know if they had criminal records. So what was I bothering with the interrogation for?

  I told the new vampires they were welcome to join, pending feedback from the Vampire Council. I’ve put them in a room on the minus second floor for the time being.

  One of the new vampires is a middle-aged woman called Svetlana who was wearing a red ball gown. The other is a young boy called Viktor, who sat silently on her lap the whole time. He was wearing a purple velvet suit with a matching cape and knee-length socks. He was pale even by vampire standards and had skin as white as a freshly brushed fang.

  According to Svetlana, they’re seeking asylum because they’ve been persecuted in human society. That’s hardly surprising. When I used to live among humans, you couldn’t even get away with wearing sneakers that were a couple of years old at my school. You can’t dress two centuries out of date and expect no one to say anything.

  9:00 p.m.

  I’ve just sent an e-mail to the Vampire Council:

  SATURDAY, JANUARY 4

  School again today. On a Saturday. Unbelievable, eh? According to Mr. Dashwood, we don’t need days off, because we don’t sleep, so we get “more than enough leisure time” at night. I don’t. I’ve got all that leadership nonsense to cope with.

  Mr. Dashwood built the classroom in one of the ground-floor rooms when he joined the coven a century ago. I don’t think he’s been back to the human world since, which might explain why he thinks it’s still acceptable to punish us all the time.

  Today he called Seth up to the front for talking in class.

  “I’ve warned you over and over again,” said Mr. Dashwood, straightening his cap and flattening his gown. “You’ve left me with no choice.”

  Mr. Dashwood took out his vial of holy water. Everyone lifted the fronts of their desks up to protect against splashes. He then unscrewed the top and flung the water onto Seth. I peered around my desk, waiting for Seth to scream and collapse to the floor. He just stood in silence as the water dripped down his bare chest onto his shendyt.

  “You obviously want stronger punishment,” said Mr. Dashwood. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and took out a large black box.

  There was a low hiss from the rest of the class. Seth was about to get crucifixed!

  If a vampire so much as glimpses a religious symbol, they get a splitting headache. The punishment box is a barbaric invention that lets vampires show a crucifix to others without seeing it themselves. I’m surprised the Vampire Council allows it.

  Mr. Dashwood pointed the box at Seth and pulled down the screen on the front.

  This time I was expecting Seth to collapse to the floor in agony. But he just shrugged. It was really weird.

  “Impostor!” shouted Mr. Dashwood. He pointed to me. “Summon the Circle of Elders! I have reason to believe this child isn’t really a vampire at all!”

  SUNDAY, JANUARY 5

  The Circle of Elders consists of my mum, my dad, and an old man called Cecil who used to live with us.

  I appointed them when I was put in charge, because I couldn’t be bothered interviewing anyone else.

  Tonight we sat behind the large oak table in the discussion room on the top floor of the castle. Mr. Dashwood and Seth stood in front of us.

  “What charge do you bring before the elders?” asked Cecil. I’d already told him all about it. He was just milking it to sound important.

  “This child cannot be a vampire,” said Mr. Dashwood. “I doused him with holy water and crucifixed him, and he didn’t even flinch.”

  Dad took a blood flask out of his pocket, unscrewed it, and carried it over to Seth. A pair of sharp fangs extended down from his teeth.

  “He looks like one to me,” said Dad.

  “Appearances can be deceptive,” said Cecil. He got up and paced back and forth with his hands behind his back. “You’re lucky I’m here today. I must be one of the few vampires still
living who knows about these creatures.”

  “What creatures?” asked Seth.

  Cecil wandered over to him and prodded his forehead. “What we have here is not a vampire, but a shape-shifter. He might look like a vampire today, but tomorrow he could resemble a snake, a sparrow, or even a werewolf!”

  Mum, Dad, and Mr. Dashwood jerked their heads back and hissed. I didn’t join in because I’m not a complete and utter idiot.

  “It’s not true!” shouted Seth, his eyes widening. “I don’t even know what a shape-shifter is.”

  “Liar!” cried Mr. Dashwood. “Don’t listen to the fraud!”

  While all this was going on, I wandered out of the discussion room and down the stone stairwell to my sister’s room, which is on the minus second floor.

  She was out, so I barged in and tore down two of her posters, one featuring a fluffy kitten and another of Katy Perry. I ripped out the cat’s head and stuck it over the image of the pop star.

  By the time I got back inside the discussion room, Seth was sobbing and the others were discussing the safest way to destroy him.

  I walked up to Seth and held out my picture of the cat’s head on Katy Perry’s body. He screamed and fell to his knees.

  “What fresh devilry is this?” asked Mr. Dashwood.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I asked. “Seth was transformed at a time when everyone worshipped gods with animal heads. So those are the things that distress him, not the symbols of newer religions such as Christianity.”

  “Ah,” said Mr. Dashwood. “That does make sense when you think about it.”

  “It’s just as I suspected,” said Cecil.

  That’s right. It’s just as he suspected except that it’s the exact opposite of what he suspected.

  Everyone just wandered off after that, leaving me to put the chairs away and make a start on the meeting report.

  None of them thanked me for sorting it out. None of them apologized for being stupid. They just wandered down to the kitchen for their evening blood. Unbelievable.

  MONDAY, JANUARY 6

  The thing that annoys me most about yesterday is how easy it was for Cecil to stir up hatred against Seth. We’re always complaining that humans persecute us without attempting to understand us. Yet as soon as they thought Seth was a shapeshifter, Mum, Dad, and Mr. Dashwood were just as small-minded and vengeful as any torch-wielding villager. Much as I hate being in charge, I wouldn’t trust any of that lot to take over.

  11:00 p.m.

  I’m really tired and I can’t even lie down on my bed because I haven’t got one.

  When we moved here from our old home in Stockfield, Dad refused to let me bring my bed, as he said all the rooms would already have them. And what did we find when we got here? Smelly coffins filled with soil. Apparently it’s more “traditional” and “atmospheric.”

  Why is everyone here so obsessed with tradition? It’s not as though tourism’s a big industry for our hidden, secret community.

  Obviously, I don’t sleep, so it’s not a massive deal. But it would be nice to have somewhere to rest that made me feel like a valued, respected leader and not a smelly, malnourished zombie.

  TUESDAY, JANUARY 7

  When Mum came round today, I assumed she was going to apologize for her behavior the other night, but all she did was lecture me for ripping up my sister’s posters.

  As if those tacky posters matter. I had to act fast to save the life of an innocent vampire. I think that’s worth more than a couple of cheap pinups from a gift shop.

  I ended up having to go to my sister’s room and apologize, which was ridiculous. I’m supposed to be the leader of one of the oldest vampire covens in Europe. I don’t have time to grovel to brainless little brats.

  Instead of simply accepting my apology, my sister called me a “complete and utter human.” She should know better than to use that speciesist language, which she’s obviously picked up from her friends Amber and Ellie.

  Just a couple of years ago we lived in a town full of humans and she was happy to mix with them. Now that she hangs around with vampires, the word has suddenly become an insult. Her fickleness is astounding.

  In the end I had to promise to get Rob, Mike, and Henry to buy her a replacement Katy Perry poster next time they visit the mainland to get blood. I’m sure that’s going to go down well. At least it will put vampire hunters off their scent. They’ll never believe that any genuine supernatural creatures could be so lame.

  10:00 p.m.

  I just called a meeting with Rob, Mike, and Henry.

  The three of them work in rotation visiting the mainland in small fishing boats and harvesting blood from humans. Rob and Mike used to work as nightclub bouncers, and they both have shaved heads and wear leather jackets over shirts and ties. Henry used to work as a body snatcher and has thick sideburns and a black top hat.

  Rob and Mike refused to buy the Katy Perry poster. They said it wouldn’t be safe to visit human shops, but I think they were just ashamed. Henry was happy to do it, though. I gave him some money and showed him a picture of her on my laptop.

  I warned him to be careful when browsing the racks. I once got a splitting headache looking at the poster for ‘Appetite for Destruction’ by Guns N’ Roses because it had a massive cross in the middle. You’d think heavy metal bands of all people would be more courteous to us.

  WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 8

  Cecil came into my room this afternoon to complain about Svetlana pushing to the front of the kitchen blood line. He said that both those new vampires are very antisocial and should come out and talk to the rest of us.

  Great to know this is somehow my problem. Who cares if they stay in their room all the time? They might just be shy.

  10:00 p.m.

  I just made my way down to the new vampires’ room to pass on Cecil’s complaints.

  “Come in,” said Svetlana. She was sitting in a rocking chair in the corner of the room, cradling Viktor in her arms. He was holding a blood-filled baby bottle with both hands, while she wiped stray flecks of blood from around his mouth.

  “Who’s a messy little boy?” crooned Svetlana.

  It was pretty creepy. I know vampires are meant to be, but this was freaky even by our standards.

  “Just checking how you’re settling in,” I said.

  Viktor fixed his sunken eyes on me as he sucked from the bottle.

  “What did the Vampire Council say?” asked Svetlana. “You can’t trust them, you know.”

  I’d forgotten about that. I should probably get round to sending a follow-up e-mail.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” I said. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about. Someone has claimed that you pushed to the front in the kitchen this morning, so I was wondering if you could stick to the line from now on. We might be undead, but that doesn’t mean we have to be rude, that’s what we say here.”

  I grinned awkwardly at Svetlana, but she just scowled at me. “Viktor gets nervous if I leave him alone for too long. Especially if it’s dark.”

  “And don’t be afraid to come out for a chat,” I said. “We’re quite a friendly bunch, you know. We don’t bite!”

  Svetlana and Viktor glared at me.

  “Well, we do,” I said. “But you get the idea!”

  Not even a smile.

  “But seriously,” I said. “You’re welcome to come to our school, Viktor. We start at nine every morning.”

  “My son doesn’t want to hear the lies of a buffoon with a blackboard,” said Svetlana. “If he has any questions, he can ask me.”

  I felt like I should defend Mr. Dashwood, but she was sort of right.

  “Or you could join the soccer team,” I said. “We’re playing on the field outside the main entrance tomorrow.”

  Viktor looked over at Svetlana.

  “Very well,” she said. “But be careful not to kick the ball in his face. He’s very sensitive.”

  I used to think I was a loser, but I’ve got nothing on V
iktor. Who ever heard of a vampire who’s scared of soccer balls? Javelins, I could understand, but not soccer balls.

  THURSDAY, JANUARY 9

  I was pleased to have Viktor in the game at first. I’m so used to being the worst player it was great to have someone who got the ball even less than me.

  It’s not that Viktor was terrible. He was much better than a human, though that’s not saying much. It’s just that we have some really good players here. The scores after ninety minutes are usually things like 347 to 256, because we all dart around with full vampire speed.

  About twenty minutes in, Viktor fell to the floor, grasped his calf, and started crying. We don’t really have any rules about fouls. None of us feel physical pain, so we don’t usually bother. There have been a couple of times when players’ legs have been broken and we’ve had to stop the game while they healed, but Viktor didn’t seem badly injured.

  I thought we’d better let him take a penalty just to stop him sobbing. I called everyone to a halt and set the ball in front of the goal.

  Viktor took a run up and kicked the ball between the two capes we were using as posts. Mike was goalie, and had no problem batting it back. Viktor grabbed the ball with his hands, dumped it on the other side of the capes, and ran around cheering.

  I’m not quite sure what he was trying to do. Maybe he thought he could trick us with his vampire speed. It was all rather embarrassing.

  When we refused to let the goal stand, Viktor punctured the ball with one of his fangs, stamped on it, and stormed off.

  “Amazing the kind of idiots they let into the coven these days, isn’t it?” asked Mike.

  “I know,” I said. “Unbelievable.”