Free The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks Page A

what?’ Mum asked, and I told her about our attempt to lure the online vampire fan into revealing something about himself. As I was doing so, George sidled into the kitchen. He was carrying a plastic bag; his expression was sheepish.
    There were blood spots on his khaki sweatshirt.
    ‘Bathroom’s free,’ he muttered, when I had finished speaking.
    We all exchanged glances.
    ‘Who’s next?’ asked Horace. Receiving no reply, he climbed down from his stool. ‘Then I’ll go,’ he announced. ‘Unless anyone’s feeling dizzy?’
    No one was. My mother reminded him that there was a roll of zip-lock bags in the vanity cupboard, where he would also find the sponges and disinfectant. At this point she was on the verge of lighting up, because she normally doesn’t worry about smoking around vampires. (It’s not as if we’ll die of lung cancer, after all.) But then she remembered about Father Ramon, and put her cigarette away.
    ‘Incidentally,’ Horace drawled, as he rearranged his black lace cravat, ‘in case you make any decisions while I’m not here, just remember: I won’t be going to Cobar. So you’ll have to look elsewhere for a volunteer.’
    Then he left the room, while the rest of us were still trying to work out what he meant.
    The penny dropped soon enough. After a moment’s reflection, it dawned on me that Cobar
would
have to be our next step. Since one of our chief suspects was living on the west coast, and the other had vanished, Barry McKinnon of Cobar was now our most accessible target.
    Cobar. As I inspected the pinched, pathetic faces encircling Mum’s kitchen table, I realised that there wasn’t a vampire in sight who had travelled more than a handful of kilometres in the past thirty years. We all looked bleached, like sightless underground fish, our pupils reduced to mere pinpricks by the meagre strength of a single overhead light bulb. There wasn’t one straight spine or well-padded contour among us. Even my mother gave the impression of being healthier than the rest of us, despite her age-spots and dowager’s hump and slightly arthritic joints.
    I tried to picture any vampire of my acquaintance making a trip tothe outback and failed. Vampires congregate in cities for good reason. It’s not just because there’s less direct sunlight in a built-up area; it’s also because of the anonymity provided by an urban existence. After all, Sydney is full of junkies and alcoholics and creative people who don’t sleep, rarely eat, and like wandering around at night. But in the dusty streets of a country town, where the shops all close at five and everyone knows everyone else’s business, a vampire is going to stand out like a polar bear on Bondi Beach.
    ‘Couldn’t we just write a letter?’ I proposed, appealing to Sanford. ‘I mean, I realise this Cobar guy doesn’t have a listed number, but surely we don’t have to travel all the way to his house? Especially since he probably isn’t even
in
Cobar. He’s probably still here in Sydney, searching for us.’
    ‘I wouldn’t count on it.’ To my surprise, Dave sounded quite authoritative. ‘He might have come and gone. That might be why he didn’t try to kill anyone today.’ A pause. ‘Unless – you know – he just wasn’t in the mood.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘It’s not
that
far, Nina. I checked. Cobar is only about a day’s drive from here.’
    ‘And I don’t know if a letter is the best way to handle this,’ Father Ramon interjected. ‘The man who bought those bullets might not be the man who killed Casimir.’ He went on to point out that if our letter should mention vampires, and was delivered to the wrong person, then we might simply be making things worse for ourselves.
    Sanford agreed.
    ‘Yes, we have to careful. Very, very careful,’ he said. ‘And fast, too. If we write a letter, it will take at least a week to get a reply.’ He pursed his lips as the sound of a high-pitched squeal filtered down from the bathroom.