The Reformed Vampire Support Group Read Online Free PDF

him a visit before Dave was strong enough to do anything regrettable. I suppose they were pretty quick off the mark, really. I just wish they’d been a fraction quicker. Because if they had been, I wouldn’t be writing this now.
    Sanford was living with Casimir at the time, and was therefore well placed to monitor his guest’s state of health. What’s more, as a physician, Sanford had a keen eye for physical changes. It’s normally impossible to disguise the symptoms of fresh human blood; a single mouthful can triple your strength, boosting your energy levels like a drug (or so I’m told). Dave’s blood might have been adulterated by alcohol, but its effect on Casimir’s metabolism was still noticeable. When Casimir returned home from his meeting with Dave, Sanford took one look at that two-faced louse and knew damn well what he’d been up to. But there was nothing to be done – not with daylight fast approaching. Forced into bed, Sanford wasn’t able to lift a finger until he woke up again, by which time Casimir was raring to go. Still invigorated by the residual effects of Dave’s blood, Casimir bolted. And Sanford couldn’t stop him; it takes more than one reformed vampire to restrain another vampire who happens to be in Casimir’s condition.
    That’s why Sanford was forced to pursue Casimir. That’s also why he broke off his pursuit, very briefly, to call Horace and George from a phone box. Unfortunately, by the time reinforcements arrived, it was too late. I had already staggered out of a friend’s place, unaccompanied, to vomit up the gin I’d been drinking. And Casimir had already stuck his fangs into me.
    I’ll tell you right now, that was my last ever drink. Though I was always a bit of a party animal in my early years, I’ve been as sober as a judge since 1973.
    I haven’t really had any choice.
    So that’s my depressing story. And Dave’s. And Sanford’s. Andthe rest of the group’s. Is it any wonder that we weren’t saddened by the passing of Casimir Kucynski? Is it any wonder that our immediate and heartfelt reaction was fear, rather than sorrow?
    Because let’s face it: as a vampire, the very worst thing that you have to deal with – worse than the isolation, and the indignities, and the health problems – is the fact that a large chunk of the world’s population wants to kill you.
For no good reason
. (After all, if vampires were permanently attached to other people’s jugular veins, the entire planet would be populated by vampires. And it isn’t, is it?) Not only that, but a large chunk of the world’s population also knows
how
to kill you. Despite the vast number of stupid vampire myths floating around, most people nowadays have grasped at least one fundamental truth: to kill a vampire, you either cut off his head, plunge a stake through his heart, or stick him outside in the sun.
    Apparently, Casimir had been staked.
    ‘This is bad,’ croaked Horace, who was the first to find his voice. And he rose abruptly, backing away from the coffin. ‘This – this is a
slaying
.’
    Father Ramon crossed himself. Sanford wiped his mouth, as if battling a sudden urge to throw up. His face was drawn tight.
    ‘Keep calm,’ he quavered. ‘We have to think. We have to figure this out.’
    ‘We have to check the wardrobe,’ said Dave.
    Everyone swung around to stare at the piece of furniture in question. I remember how my gut seemed to drop through the floor. I remember thinking: Is the killer in that wardrobe? If not, where is he? In the neighbouring flat? In a car downstairs?
What if he’s outside, waiting for us?
    ‘We have to leave,’ I said, hoarse with fear. And Dave’s grip on me tightened.
    ‘Shh!’ he warned, as Father Ramon – our brave protector – advanced a few steps, his candle elevated, his eyes fixed on the wardrobe. But Horace stopped him. After briefly casting around for an alternative weapon, Horace had reached for the wooden stake.
    ‘Use this!’ he