Something Wicked This Way Comes

by Amy Rae Durreson

  Mac’s face came out of the shadows and was struck by moonlight. He opened his eyes, and began to scream, struggling against both the closing earth and our grip.

  Then another pair of hands joined ours, reaching around me to seize Mac’s shoulders and tug with all his blacksmith’s strength. Niall was there.

  We dragged him out of the earth’s embrace, the four of us, though he was barefoot by the time we got him out, Katie and Doug scrabbling in the mossy turf to dig his feet free with their small hands. He had stopped screaming by then and had slumped against me, breathing hard, each breath catching on a sob. I wasn’t sure if he knew where he was or what had happened to him, but I talked at him all the same, a rush of nonsense and reassurance.

  Under it all, running through me like slow fire, I felt a rush of thick, vengeful triumph. We had saved this one, stolen him back when every other vanished child had been gone forever, and the redcap had gone scuttling back into his den like a cornered rat. I turned to Niall to share my delight.

  He wasn’t looking at me. I turned to follow his gaze.

  Katie stood on the next mound, illuminated by moonlight, and for the first time she seemed to come into focus—not a determined scrap of mist, but a girl with a scruffy ponytail and a stubborn jaw. Her eyes were wide, and I fancied I could see a gleam of tears in them, although it could have just been the moonlight.

  Niall said, his voice rough and raw, “Katie girl, you’re still here?”

  She said something in that crackling, out-of-tune voice. This time Doug did not translate. He was clinging too hard to his brother, his eyes squeezed shut.

  A breeze rattled through the trees; then the air stilled again. I was suddenly aware of how quiet the night had become—nothing but the boys’ harsh breathing and the soft sounds of the horses shifting on the spot. The riders were still, standing around us in a loose circle.

  Katie tried again, her brows furrowed with concentration, and this time I caught a word of two, “Dad… not your….”

  “Katie,” Niall choked again, and I could feel him shaking beside me, great shudders rippling through him. I wanted to go to him—to offer comfort—but my arms were quite literally full with the Elliot boys.

  One of the riders spoke, and I recognised the voice of their leader, the long-dead Elliot. He sounded almost kind, a rough gentleness in the scrape of his voice. He wasn’t talking to me or Niall. It was Katie he addressed and Katie he gestured to, holding out his hand to offer her a seat in front of him.

  Katie looked at him and bit her lip, swallowing hard. Then her chin came up, and she said, clearly enough that I could hear her, “Dad, come with me.”

  I bit back a protest, but I don’t think Niall heard me. He looked from his ghostly daughter to the Elliot to the riderless horse that stood in the circle. Then he looked at me, his expression a little guilty.

  I closed my eyes. He was Katie’s father, and I was a new-come lover, one who would be leaving soon. I knew I couldn’t ask him to stay.

  But I wanted to. I wanted to so much.

  When I opened my eyes again, he was walking away. He swung himself into the saddle and held out his hand, just as he had to me a few hours ago. And Katie went flashing towards him, shining brighter than the moon. He set her on the saddle before him, gave me one last searching look, and pressed his knee against the horse’s side. The other riders were already moving, and Niall fell into place in the line as they turned and passed along the side of the graveyard, up the trail towards the castle and the road. As they went they faded, slowly vanishing into the soft moonlit distance. At last only two remained, stationed over the redcap’s lair. I wondered dimly how long they would keep watch.

  I’m not sure how long I stood there, but at last Doug pulled at my sleeve and said, “Mr Kwarteng. I want my mom.”

  Startled back into the moment, I suddenly realised how cold it was out here and how much the boys were both shaking. I squeezed Doug’s shoulder and said, “On it, mate. Hey, Mac, can you walk?”

  Mac was still shaking, but he looked up at me then and said, “I… don’t… I… where am I?”

  “Hang on there,” I said. He looked pretty shocky, and I wondered with a shudder what had happened to him down in that dark hole. “Let’s get you back to the car.”

  I had to carry him, and Doug clung so close I stepped on him a few times, so it took us longer than it should. By the time I got them into the back seat and wrapped up in the blanket I kept in the boot, I was worried. They were both pale and shaky, and Mac still wasn’t talking much. I put the heating on, and went to close the boot. I could just see the two ghostly sentinels from here, and I shivered myself.

  As I climbed back into the driver’s seat, Doug cried out. “Ow!”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked sharply.

  “Mac bit me.”

  What? I twisted round. “What happened?”

  “I was trying to take his pulse, but I put my hand in his mouth, and he bit me!” There were tears under the outrage.

  “I’m sure he didn’t mean to.” I checked my phone. No signal.

  “But why’d he’d bite me? I was just trying to help.”

  “People do strange things when they’re in shock. Let’s get you boys back to your parents, and then we can have a look at your battle scars.”

  He gave an almost amused hiccup but went quiet again as I started back down the road. I hoped his parents appreciated him—he’d been braver tonight than I had.

  I’LL NEVER forget Lyall Elliot’s face when I carried his sons back into the guesthouse, that sudden shock of relief. For the next hour everything was chaos—Doug, who had been stalwart all night, fell apart the moment we got into the warm. Then came the stammered explanations and the ambulance and the police. Mac was still too groggy to make sense, and there was talk of hypothermia and exposure. Both Elliots were tearful, and Fiona dashed in and out of the mess, plying us all with strong, sweet tea and chocolate biscuits.

  And in the back of my mind, as I tried to navigate all this, was a name like a heartbeat. Niall, Niall, Niall. Where was he? Had he come back to the lodge? Oh please, any kindly deity who was listening, let him come home safe.

  But even then I didn’t think he would.

  At last the ambulance heaved away with both boys and their parents, leaving me with the police.

  And that was when things got, well, unpleasant.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I’D BEEN so focused on the supernatural that I’d forgotten there was an everyday police investigation going on. And if you show up out of the blue with a kid who has been missing a week, especially when you’re also in charge of the place where he vanished, the police tend to get a little suspicious. I was exhausted, worried beyond belief for Niall, and still shaken from the triumph of rescuing Mac. It took a few minutes before the tenor of their questions really registered. Then I decided it was time to shut up. I was too tired to manage a plausible account, and there was no way they would believe the truth. Instead, I rose to my feet.

  “Must we do this right now, folks?”

  “We just want to know the whole story, Mr Kwarteng. Surely you don’t mind helping us clear up a few—”

  I held up my hand, summoning all the authority I could manage. “Do I need to wake my lawyer up, or can we wait until everyone’s caught up on some sleep?”

  That made them leave, and I texted Rob Ademola to phone me in the morning before it occurred to me he might not be able to practise on this side of the border. Well, he’d know of someone who could if he couldn’t help himself.

  I had something far more urgent to worry about. As soon as the police car had driven away down the road, I crept out again. Fiona had slipped away to get a few hours’ sleep, and I was the only one moving through the deserted house. It felt full of echoes after the tumult of the night, and I was glad to get outside again, into the early morning. It was dark, but the moon lit my path. I walked down the lane, exhaustion weighing heavily on my shoulders, hoping
against hope.

  But when I reached the lodge, it was still and quiet. I tiptoed inside, not sure what I was expecting to find—Niall passed out on the sofa, maybe, or Katie back from the dead and asleep in her own bed.

  But there was nobody there, and although our empty beer cans from the night before still sat on the coffee table, this house, too, felt emptier than it should, as if it had been abandoned as long as Vainguard.

  I sat down and waited for the dawn.

  But when the sun came, Niall did not return.

  The sun was barely on the horizon. The shadows were still long. Even the birds were barely stirring, the first piping of the dawn chorus thin. There was still time. The night wasn’t quite over.

  A line I’d taught countless times slid into my mind. “It was the nightingale, and not the lark.”

  And what had Romeo said in return? “I must be gone and live, or stay and die.”

  But Niall was gone, and I wasn’t sure whether his road led to life or death or some shadowy place between the two. I knew, though, knew with an old familiar grief, that he would not be coming back to me.

  I RETURNED to the guesthouse, slept until my phone woke me—Rob Ademola, concerned and reassuringly competent—then waited a while for the police to come again.

  They didn’t come, but I got a terse phone message asking me not to leave the area and to attend the station that afternoon to make a formal statement. Rob had got in contact with a friend in Hawick who was willing to act for me, so I phoned her and arranged to meet before I was due at the station.

  Just after lunch, the Elliots returned, with both their boys now released from observation. Doug had dozed off in the car and was snoring over his dad’s shoulder, but Mac was awake, though very subdued. He stared at me fixedly when his parents stopped in the hall to speak to me, until Lyall steered him upstairs, with a gruff, “You need to sleep, son.”

  Michelle whispered to me, “He doesn’t remember anything. He didn’t even know how long he was gone—he says it was dark, and he thinks he was running sometimes, then he saw you and Doug.” She frowned faintly. “And horses. He’s sure there were horses.”

  “I wish I could tell you anything,” I told her honestly. “I really didn’t think we’d find him. It’s was Doug’s idea, and I was worried he might go off on his own if I didn’t… I’m sorry I didn’t come and wake you first.”

  “You brought my boy back. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

  She still looked troubled, and I couldn’t blame her. What had happened to Mac in that darkness? It was probably a blessing he couldn’t remember.

  What was happening to Niall?

  I STOPPED by the lodge again before I drove to Hawick, but it was still empty. As I turned away from the door, Lucy from the police station pulled up. She called, “Hey, I heard you found the kid. Good work.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is Niall around?”

  “No.” I wasn’t sure what to tell her. It wasn’t as if the police could follow the ghostly riders to get Niall back. That said, I’d been reminded that morning that supernatural doings had real-world consequences. Niall had people who cared about him and a business. People needed to know if he wasn’t coming back.

  My heart clenched again at the thought.

  “You know when he’s due back?” Lucy was giving me a searching look.

  “No. Look, I might be overreacting, but I haven’t seen him since last night.”

  She climbed out of her car. “Let’s have a look. When did you last see him?”

  “Not sure of the exact time. It was dark.” I chose my words carefully, working around the impossible truth of the hunt in the middle of this story. “He’d had a bit to drink and was, um, not pleasant company. I started walking back to the guesthouse, and that’s when I met Doug and he persuaded me to go searching for Mac.”

  “Had a row, did you?”

  “Not quite. It got to him a bit, a kid vanished and probably dead.”

  The fierce look on her face softened for a bit. “Yeah, it would. Poor guy. Katie was a sweetheart.”

  “You knew her?”

  “I used to babysit sometimes.” Grief flashed across her face. She tried the door and frowned. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Yeah. It was when I walked over earlier too, but no one’s home. Didn’t want to lock up in case he didn’t have a key.”

  “There’s a spare in the safe under the kitchen windowsill,” she said absently. “Let’s have a look.”

  I followed her through her search. Having somebody else worry should have eased my panic—a trouble shared and all that—but instead it added to the cold, sick feeling in my gut which had been growing all day. Had losing Niall been the price for saving Mac? Could I get him back?

  Should I, when he had chosen to ride away?

  Once we were back outside, Lucy locked the door and said, “I’m not going to send up flares yet. Man’s got a right to some thinking time if he needs it, but I’ll start asking around in case anyone’s seen him. He’s never done this before.”

  “Thanks.”

  She nodded, but she also waited for me to drive away first, leaning against the gate and watching, her face unreadable.

  THE AFTERNOON with the police was unpleasant. They had nothing to pin me to Mac’s disappearance but insisted on treating me with a sort of general distrust which made my hackles rise. Several times I had to swallow back the sort of mouthy defiance I would have hurled at them as a stupid kid. I kept reminding myself I was an adult in a respectable job and had no reason to resent the police for doing theirs. I could hear the way my answers started coming across as too careful and was relieved when Summer, my brand-new lawyer, called a stop to it.

  Outside the police station, she gave me a level look. “Want to tell me what had you about to burst in there?”

  I grimaced. “Some very poor choices in my early teens and quite a few hours in a similar room with a social worker rather than a lawyer sitting beside me.”

  She blew out a breath that lifted her heavy fringe off her brow. “Christ. You know all your responses are a little off, right?”

  “I noticed I was overcompensating, yeah.”

  “Let’s hope they’re happy with what they got.” Her expression grew fierce. “They bloody well ought to be. You’ve done nothing wrong. They’re picking up on your discomfort, but they’ve got nothing to justify it.”

  BACK IN Blacklynefoot, I swung by the lodge again. Still no sign of Niall. I didn’t want to go back to the guesthouse and face the Elliots’ awkward gratitude, so I continued up the drive, bracing myself for what might be waiting.

  But Vainguard felt empty. I walked its corridors, braced for the next hint of evil, but there was nothing. Even the chapel seemed nothing more than an empty room.

  But as I turned to leave, I heard the faintest gust of laughter behind me—not the cruel laughter of the redcap, but a child’s laughter, bright and clear.

  It should have comforted me—reassured me that the redcap was thwarted and the local children safe again. Instead, I had to sit for a while in my car because tears blinded me too much to drive.

  It was all over, and Niall’s story had ended too.

  And I was alone again.

  THEN IT got worse.

  I’d decided that I might as well take advantage of the lack of evil spirits in Vainguard and finish up the damn job I’d been sent here to do. I wanted to go home, back to Eilbeck and my worthwhile, familiar job, back to Felix’s genial expectations and the comfort of a routine I had lived in for decades—the slow, quiet days of a school dreaming its way through the long summer before it woke back to life as term approached.

  If I couldn’t have Niall, I wanted to go back to the life I’d had before I met him, where I had been confident and powerful and content. Being alone and defined by my job had to be better than the way I was hurting now.

  But I was frightened that going back wouldn’t make this any better. Felix wasn’t quite the he
ro I’d always assumed, I wasn’t the success story I’d always claimed, and Niall….

  Niall was gone, and I couldn’t bear thinking about that too much.

  I put in a full day’s work and walked wearily back to the guesthouse, taking the river path to avoid the lodge. Nothing stalked me through the woods or laughed in my shadow.

  I hadn’t even heard horses passing last night.

  But when I got back to the guesthouse, a more earthly problem awaited me. There was a police car parked in the drive, and Fiona was on the front doorstep, looking worried.

  There were two uniformed officers waiting. They both looked my way as I approached.

  I swallowed hard and put on my most respectable accent. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “Aye,” one of the uniformed officers said. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about Niall Forster and his current whereabouts.”

  “I haven’t seen Niall since Wednesday evening,” I said, my heart catching in my throat.

  They all exchanged glances and the same man said, “Supposed to believe that, are we? From a man with your… history.”

  Oh shit. Someone must have had the bright idea of looking up my juvenile records. Contrary to popular belief, those aren’t sealed in the UK, and all my stupid teenage antics would have been exposed to these hostile eyes. I swallowed hard and said, “If you have nothing more than a file from twenty years ago, I’d like to head out and get some dinner.”

  He asked, “And what of Niall Forster? What was your relationship to him? And to Martyn Armstrong?”

  “Armstrong?” I asked, genuinely startled. “I never met the man.”

  “Yet someone was killing children here for decades. Armstrong dies, you show up, another boy goes missing.”

  I stared at him. What the fuck was going on?