Gingerly Corrival touched the lump on the back of his head and winced when it throbbed. "I'm too old for this," he muttered under his breath, levering himself upright using the handrail and waiting for the dizziness to fade before trying to lift his head. "Bespoke. Shudder. Report!"
"Tanith and I are fine," Ghastly said instantly from somewhere behind Corrival's shoulder. "Banged around, but fine."
"Jack is out cold," Anton reported from where he was crouched over the man sprawled on the floor. He looked across the hall and smiled, slow and almost vicious, at the vampire there. "Dusk is concious, but incapacitated. I wasn't aware that was possible, General."
"Don't call me General," Corrival grumbled as he tested his head and sight again and decided he didn't have a concussion. Just another headache from getting thrown across the corridor. Not that he refused the hand on his elbow which belonged to Ghastly, because Corrival was getting old enough now for things like arthritis to start rearing their ugly heads. Not too badly, but enough. He should, Corrival thought ruefully, probably spend more time making sure he was fitter than he was if he wanted to stay as spry as Kenspeckle.
Still. There was satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at Dusk. The vampire was collapsed boneless against the wall, his breathing laboured and limbs twitching minutely even as he glared. Corrival had been careful not to use too much salt in the water he'd generated. Not enough to kill him.
Withholding a groan, Corrival stooped to pick up the stake. Dusk had laughed when he'd seen it. He wasn't laughing now. There was a reason they were in common folklore; best way to stop a vampire cold without killing it was to use a stake dipped in salt-water. It wasn't ingested so didn't kill them instantly, but it acted like a slow poison. "You young people these days," he said good-naturedly, "you know nothing about vampire hunting. Ghastly, call Skulduggery. Or that girl, Valkyrie. Let's see what's going on downstairs."
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"Tanith and I are fine," Ghastly said instantly from somewhere behind Corrival's shoulder. "Banged around, but fine."
"Jack is out cold," Anton reported from where he was crouched over the man sprawled on the floor. He looked across the hall and smiled, slow and almost vicious, at the vampire there. "Dusk is concious, but incapacitated. I wasn't aware that was possible, General."
"Don't call me General," Corrival grumbled as he tested his head and sight again and decided he didn't have a concussion. Just another headache from getting thrown across the corridor. Not that he refused the hand on his elbow which belonged to Ghastly, because Corrival was getting old enough now for things like arthritis to start rearing their ugly heads. Not too badly, but enough. He should, Corrival thought ruefully, probably spend more time making sure he was fitter than he was if he wanted to stay as spry as Kenspeckle.
Still. There was satisfaction in his eyes as he looked at Dusk. The vampire was collapsed boneless against the wall, his breathing laboured and limbs twitching minutely even as he glared. Corrival had been careful not to use too much salt in the water he'd generated. Not enough to kill him.
Withholding a groan, Corrival stooped to pick up the stake. Dusk had laughed when he'd seen it. He wasn't laughing now. There was a reason they were in common folklore; best way to stop a vampire cold without killing it was to use a stake dipped in salt-water. It wasn't ingested so didn't kill them instantly, but it acted like a slow poison. "You young people these days," he said good-naturedly, "you know nothing about vampire hunting. Ghastly, call Skulduggery. Or that girl, Valkyrie. Let's see what's going on downstairs."