P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4)

by Silk, Avril

  She marched to the window and pulled back the curtains. The unrelenting rain still poured down. The sky was an ominous indigo blue and the room was as gloomy as before. Jo walked to the door, turned on the lights, said, ‘Fifteen minutes, Dad,’ and marched out.

  When she saw who was standing at the nursing station, she wanted to march right back in. ‘Why, Jocasta!’ purred Lethe. ‘How thoughtful of you to welcome me back to work after my ordeal! And after all you have been through – your father’s terrible fall; you getting trapped below ground in that frightful place, and your poor mother… such a tragedy. You are a very brave girl. We must catch up properly later. Meanwhile, I have a patient to see. Someone you know, in fact.’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh! Why not come with me? A familiar voice might be just what he needs. Come.’

  She walked imperiously to the far end of the ward. Jo’s curiosity overcame her reluctance, and she followed her aunt. Together they entered the cubicle and looked down at the spindly, pale patient with the unusually large head.

  Jo was astonished. ‘Sebastian? But I heard he was dead!’

  ‘I’m sure that is what Madame Mirabel intended,’ answered Lethe. ‘But Sebastian is made of sterner stuff. Only the best ingredients.’ She smiled at a private joke. ‘He is in a deep coma, but I am confident I can help and when he recovers, I will be very interested in what he has to tell me about that raddled old harridan Mirabel. Not to mention Lucy’s baby.’

  Jo tried to arrange her features into a semblance of surprise and shield her thoughts, but Lethe was too quick for her. ‘Well, well. So you know about Lucy’s baby, then. Did you know that Titus thinks she might be the Child of Glory? For some ridiculous reason he is hiding her from me.’ She pounced like a cat. ‘Do you happen to know where the baby is now, Jocasta?’

  ‘My name is Jo,’ she said automatically. ‘And I have no idea. Is Lucy here as well?’

  ‘She is in the next cubicle. So many different roads, all leading to this place. Fascinating.’ Lethe paused, looking quizzically at Jo. ‘I would very much like to see your father, Jocasta…’

  Jo interrupted. ‘I don’t think he wants any visitors,’ she said evenly.

  ‘I am sure he would make an exception for his doting sister-in-law,’ smiled Lethe. After writing some detailed notes on the clipboard at the foot of Sebastian’s bed, she walked towards the red door.

  Jo lingered for a moment, wondering if the healing lotus might appear for Sebastian. Tentatively she touched his hand. For the briefest of moments she felt something akin to an electric shock, and saw a flash of green light but then there was nothing. She wondered if it was just imagination on her part. She touched Sebastian’s hand again but nothing happened. She gave up and followed her aunt.

  Chapter Three - Wortacha

  ‘Wish it would stop bleedin’ well raining,’ grumbled Mirabel to herself, as she carefully picked her way from the taxi, through the puddles, towards the biggest of the half dozen trailers on the bleak, wind-swept site. A woman of Mirabel’s age, arms folded, stood in the doorway, waiting. Curious children peered at her out of the steamed-up windows of the other trailers.

  Three silent men and two teenage boys stood in the rain, watching her progress. They kept a tight rein on their dogs. Mirabel held her head high, not meeting their eyes, not giving them the slightest reason to set the lurchers on her.

  It seemed like forever, but at last Mirabel reached the step. ‘Sastipe, Mrs Loveridge,’ she said, hauling herself up and into the front door.

  ‘Nais tuke, Mrs Lee,’ said the dignified, dark-haired woman.

  ‘Call me Mabel,’ wheezed Mirabel.

  Mrs Loveridge inclined her head. ‘The child, Mrs Lee?’ she said.

  ‘Straight to the point,’ acknowledged Mirabel. ‘I like that.’ She reached into her voluminous knitting bag and lifted out a blue-eyed, blonde baby girl. ‘Here she is. My beautiful Bella. Our cousin told you the background?’

  ‘Our cousin told me what you told her. A young girl got into trouble and didn’t tell anyone until it was too late to do anything about it.’

  Something in her tone gave Mirabel pause for thought. ‘Even if she’d said she was pregnant at the start, I wager the result would have been the same,’ observed Mirabel. ‘A little one what needs raising properly. And safely.’

  ‘So why can’t she raise the child?’

  ‘Because she’s thirteen. And ill.’

  ‘Then her mother?’

  ‘Her mother’s dead.’

  ‘And how about you, Mrs Lee?’

  ‘Well, I would. But I love this little girl, and if she stays with me there’s someone who will find her and do her harm. I don’t never want them to find her.’

  ‘Who wishes to harm a child?’ Mrs Loveridge’s eyes flashed.

  ‘Better you never know, Mrs Loveridge. Will you do it? I know your family’s reared gorgio children before.’

  Mrs Loveridge was lost in thought. ‘When I was a girl, hop-picking with my mother, I had a gorgio friend. Mind you, she always told me she had some Gypsy blood. Same age as me. Funny thing is, she was called Mabel as well.’

  ‘A very common name, back then,’ observed Mirabel. Her face gave nothing away.

  ‘Indeed. And an all too common story. When she fell pregnant the boy legged it.’

  ‘Probably joined up.’

  ‘Quite probably. War was brewing then. Her parents kicked her out when they found out about the baby.’

  ‘A lot of parents couldn’t stand the disgrace,’ said Mirabel.

  ‘Then they should do what we do,’ replied Mrs Loveridge acerbically. ‘Watch their girls like hawks, bring them up to be respectable, and marry them off young.’

  ‘You’ve got a point, Mrs Loveridge. Work with nature, not against it.’

  ‘They left her to go through the birth on her own. Poor lass. My mother found her trying to stuff the baby down a rabbit hole. She stepped in. That baby boy was brought up like a brother to me.’

  ‘Your friend must have been very grateful,’ said Mirabel. ‘It’s a terrible loss, to give up a baby.’ Her eyes never left the other woman’s face.

  ‘We moved on the next day. She never knew that Billy grew up a fine man. He was a hard worker.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘He died two years back. Bronchitis. It was a hard winter and he would keep working. I’ve got a photograph – hold on.’

  Mirabel crooned softly to Bella as Mrs Loveridge looked through a large photograph album. When she found what she was looking for she sighed deeply, then carefully removed one of the photographs and handed it to Mirabel.

  ‘Here he is. Our Billy. Same colouring as your little Bella.’

  Mirabel studied the picture for a long, long time before handing it back. When she spoke again, her tone was brisk.

  ‘I can pay you well,’ she said, ‘but I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve got a plan, if you’re agreeable. After today, I shouldn’t never come back here again. But I can’t bear not to see Bella from time to time. Well, I runs a little market stall at Camden Lock once a month – bric-à-brac and antiques and knick-knacks. If you was to come shopping, from time to time, with Bella, you could have the pick of the stall. I’ve got some handsome Royal Doulton what would go nicely with what you’ve already got. And some Ainslie. Or you could start a Royal Crown Derby collection.’

  ‘Any Old Imari?’ Mrs Loveridge was trying to conceal her interest but Mirabel knew she was intrigued.

  ‘Oh yes. Pattern number 1128. There’s a kettle, for a kick-off and I know where to lay my hands on the caravan…’

  ‘The vardo,’ corrected Mrs Loveridge.

  ‘Beg pardon. The vardo. I’ve got some Bohemian cut glass – ruby red, sapphire blue, and cranberry. There’s gorgeous green and some rare amethyst. And if none of that takes your fancy, there’s always gold.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ agreed Mrs Loveridge. ‘There’s always gold.’

  ‘Beautiful earrings – hoops and crescents;
and there’s signet rings and sovereigns. And in case anything happens to me, it’s in my will that the stock goes to you.’

  ‘Not Bella?’

  Mirabel shook her head. ‘Don’t want a trail connecting her to me. So do we have an arrangement? A wortacha or whatever you calls it?’

  For the first time Mrs Loveridge smiled. ‘Yes. A wortacha. She will be safe with us.’

  Mirabel stood up to take her leave. She held Bella closely, and kissed her over and over again.

  A thought struck her. ‘All this talk about Billy has set me thinking,’ she said slowly. ‘It might be a good idea if Bella becomes Billy, at least for the foreseeable future. Could you do that?’

  Mrs Loveridge nodded. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do.’ She reached for the baby. ‘I see good things for this child,’ she said slowly.

  ‘I do now.’ Mirabel sounded relieved, but looked exhausted.

  ‘You have the Sight?’

  ‘Perhaps. I have me moments. Well, best not to hang about. Time I was off. Goodbye, Mrs Loveridge.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mabel.’

  Mirabel took her leave and walked back to the waiting car. She looked straight ahead, the rain and the tears falling down her tired old face. It was only when she reached for a handkerchief that she found the photograph of Billy that Mrs Loveridge had slipped in her pocket.

  Chapter Four - The Blood-bond

  Lethe knocked on the red door, then marched in, Jo close on her heels. Paul turned his wheelchair to face them.

  The transformation was remarkable. The awful beard was neatly trimmed and the scruffy dressing gown swapped for an elegant paisley silk robe. Air freshener and soap had been assiduously applied.

  Jo felt uncomfortable. Paul glared at Lethe with loathing, but a far more complicated thread of desire and shared history glittered in the cloud of his anger.

  Lethe planted a chaste kiss on Paul’s cheek, then her emerald eyes swept the room. She moved towards the curtained bed.

  Paul tried to rise from his wheelchair. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he gasped, but the effort was too much. ‘Jo – don’t let her…’

  Jo wasn’t quick enough. Lethe opened the curtains, and stood there in silence for a long time. She sighed heavily.

  ‘My poor, dear sister,’ she said eventually. ‘Such a tragic accident.’

  Jo could contain herself no longer. ‘It wasn’t a bloody accident! You deliberately shot her,’ she cried.

  ‘Manners, Jocasta,’ reproached Lethe. ‘Why would I harm my beloved sister? I was trying to protect you and Alithea, lost my footing in the dark, and tragically my pistol discharged, wounding your poor mother. I was beside myself with worry. Have you tried summoning the healing lotus?’

  ‘Of course I have!’

  ‘And did it manifest?’

  ‘Does it look like it sodding well manifested?’ Jo’s voice was bitter. She had tried so hard to help her mother.

  ‘There is no need to be surly, Jocasta, or resort to vulgar language. Perhaps we should join forces. You and I already have a blood-bond, as do Alithea and I. You look surprised. Did you not know that?’

  Jo shook her head. She did not trust Lethe, but despite that, a seed of hope had been planted. She watched as Lethe unfastened the diamond brooch at her throat, and pricked her thumb, then Ali’s. Paul protested, but he was ignored. Jo took the brooch and pierced her skin. As they pressed their thumbs together, their blood mingled.

  Jo longed for a response from Ali – anything at all after the months of stillness and silence. She focused all her energy on visualising the lotus, the magical, healing flower formed of pure white light, with delicate, shimmering petals, illuminated from within by flashes of diamond light and rainbows. As so many times before, the miraculous vision eluded her.

  Just for a second she thought her mother stirred softly, but the moment passed and Ali lay as still as the grave.

  Lethe looked disappointed. ‘I wonder if she has any awareness. If only she were able to ask me to erase her awful memories, I could at least ease any burden on her troubled mind.’

  ’A burden you caused,’ pointed out Jo acidly.

  Lethe continued unperturbed. ‘Her notes reveal no evidence of dream activity… no rapid eye movement. A deep coma, indeed. Our healing powers are clearly inadequate. Well, if magic fails us, we must apply science. Rest assured, I will do all I can for my beloved family. For now, I have to continue my rounds. Until next time.’

  Once outside the room, Lethe leaned on the red door until the latch clicked. She quickly looked around before unbuttoning her blouse and checking. Sure enough, the heart-shaped surgical scar had faded completely.

  On the other side of the door, the room seemed to shrink and lose light and colour. ‘Your aunt is a piece of work,’ declared Paul. He sounded bemused, but Jo could not help but notice that for the first time in months he looked handsome, strong and focussed.

  As she wondered what to say, there was a knock at the door. Jo opened it. Reg, Mary and Matthew were standing there.

  Jo gasped. ‘I’m so sorry! I completely forgot we’d arranged to meet! Do we have time for a coffee before you go?’

  ‘No-one’s going anywhere, girlie,’ said Reg gloomily. ‘The river’s burst its banks, there’s been a landslide and the road out of here is closed. We’re all staying the night, by kind invitation of Titus ‘Twister’ Stigmurus.’

  Mary glanced at Paul, taking in his improved demeanour. ‘You look more yourself,’ she observed approvingly. ‘There’s food laid on in the Conference Room – how about we wheel you down and we have a party and catch up on the gossip? Not to mention the trillions of wedding photographs we want to show you.’

  Paul hesitated. He hadn’t left Ali’s side since their admission to the hospital.

  ‘She’ll be OK, Dad,’ whispered Jo. ‘She’d want you to be with your friends.’

  Paul nodded. ‘I’ll just tell the nurse on duty that she is not to be disturbed while we are gone. By anyone. Including her twin sister. Especially her twin sister. Then I’ll race you to the lift!’

  Chapter Five - The Dreaming

  Hospitals are rarely completely silent places, but on the night of the floods, there was a moment when all was still and the dreaming took over.

  Jo had fallen asleep in the armchair, reading about the Cuban Missile Crisis before getting ready for bed. She dreamt of Everard Burnley, trapped in a castle beneath the sea. The water sparkled with points of green light. Beauty and danger were hidden beneath the waves and shadows swam through the walls. She shivered and moaned softly.

  Mary dreamt of a velvet-draped room in a disused Underground station, with a battered old green and gold Lloyd Loom chair. Outside the wolves were howling and she called to them, joining their moonlit symphony, yearning to run wild beneath the silver moon and the ancient dark trees.

  ‘Be happy, my dearest husband,’ said the tawny-haired woman of shadows and starlight to Matthew. Rosie’s blessing banished the burden he had been shouldering for so long. He breathed deeply and his heart opened like a flower.

  Reg could not sleep. He had a lot on his mind. On the one hand he knew that Brenda was the only person who could have betrayed his plans to Titus Stigmurus, but on the other he knew only of her dedication, loyalty and integrity. He stared out at the rain and wondered what to do.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Paul in anguish of the masked woman with the copper curls and jade eyes as she softly kissed his parched mouth. Her musical laugh beguiled and tormented him, then she was gone and the echo of the question hung on the air.

  Lethe woke in terror, with the sound of distorted fairground music ringing in her ears and the memory of shards of silver glass and ruby beads of shining blood cascading down like the rain at the end of the world. Jonathon Mallory, ever vigilant, crossed the room to her bedside and reached for her hand. For once she did not push him away.

  Titus was half asleep as he knelt by his bed praying for forgiveness of his sins. He had done
so every night since being rescued from the gunpowder factory where he had been cruelly imprisoned and humiliated. As he worked through decades steeped in wickedness, betrayal and destruction, he wept. He remembered everything. Tonight he dreamed of 1957.

  It was supposed to be a perfectly routine demonstration. Instead, there was a terrible explosion, tall buildings turned to dust, people died, and a deadly rain poisoned the land.

  Ali, like Lucy, did not dream. In their worlds, all was darkness and silence.

  Sebastian stirred imperceptibly, imprisoned in his thin cage of glass. A pin-point of green light danced above him, penetrating the gloom. The dreams swirling all around called out to him, creating connections to events long forgotten, and with a sudden wash of green light he was freed, with his power to invade dreams restored to him.

  There was something he had to find, and while his body lay inert and comatose, his mind went dancing into the night, stealing his shadow, stitching an invisible cat’s cradle of lost recollections into a vast, glittering net.

  He crept into Jo’s dream, searching furtively. As he raked through her memories the images of a shimmering underwater world were replaced by those of a forget-me-not blue car, sleek as a panther, stalking its prey – padding stealthily and silently just behind a frightened girl on a bicycle; tracking a terrified tortoiseshell cat by the light of an ominous moon. As the old memories engulfed her, Jo was caught in the net. She struggled to escape, but to no avail. As Sebastian stole her dream, merging her thoughts with his, she began to share his senses; seeing what he saw, hearing what he heard.

  Together they swooped into the aftermath of Lethe’s nightmare, icicles of glass still tumbling down. As Sebastian probed her memories, clusters of coloured sparks were caught in his net. Lethe stirred and sighed and trapped in her breath was a whisper. ‘I’m sorry, Sebastian.’