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

by Silk, Avril

  She waited deliberately, smiling slightly as a second, impatient knock was heard.

  Unhurried, she counted to ten before quietly saying, ‘Enter.’ The door opened and Lethe flounced in. She looked stunning in a cream corduroy Mary Quant mini-skirt and jacket with matching patent leather knee-high boots. She seemed to light up the room with her vitality. Even her sullen scowl did not detract from her beauty.

  ‘I do not care for being kept waiting, Miss Montgomery,’ pouted Lethe, an insulting emphasis on the word ‘Miss’.

  ‘And I do not care for the direction your research is taking, Miss Lake. This is a formal warning that if you continue to plan unethical experiments to feed the megalomaniac visions of that charlatan Titus Stigmurus, I intend to report you to the Principal and recommend your expulsion from the University. The letter is already written – I have it here - and unless you convince me that you have put this dangerous nonsense behind you, it will be sent.’

  With a sharp intake of breath Jo realised why Matthew needed to be here. He had returned to the time and place where Lethe had ruined Mary’s career and he planned to stop it somehow.

  Matthew heard Jo gasp, and frowned as he registered her presence. This is private, Jo. Please leave.

  Jo dearly wanted to stay, but Matthew’s expression was stern and unbending. Reluctantly she slipped away, her mind racing as she understood what was about to happen. Matthew had told her Mary’s sad story.

  Despite Matthew’s request to work alone, Jo was desperate to help. I’ll find Ali, she thought. There must be a way to get through to her and bring her here.

  ‘I have done nothing wrong,’ retorted Lethe. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I’m talking about this,’ said Mary calmly, and she produced a notepad from her desk drawer.

  ‘That’s private property,’ protested Lethe.

  ‘University issue notepaper, Miss Lake, used in University time, making ownership rather a grey area. Let me see. On the first page we find, in your handwriting, some nonsense entitled The Wolfblood Prophecies. I understand Mr Stigmurus believes himself to be the Chosen One – the son of the wolf.’

  ‘So what? Are you suggesting I also think that?’ demanded Lethe scornfully.

  ‘I am sure that you, with your remarkable, fine and analytical mind, do not believe a word of it. But you are drawn to power. Many women find their destiny as the consort of a powerful man such as Titus Stigmurus.’

  Lethe laughed. ‘I have no intention of being his consort. I intend to be every bit as powerful as he is. In my own right.’

  ‘I am sure you do, Miss Lake. In the meanwhile he is a most useful stepping stone, and doubtless it suits your purpose to encourage his fantasies.’

  Mary read the prophecy aloud.

  ‘The son of the wolf will live for ever...

  renewed through the blood of sacrifice...

  under the sign of the hooked cross...

  rolling thunder and clouds of glory...

  steeped in sin and will seek repentance...

  a mistress of memory will tame him...

  she will bear him the Child of Glory...

  the Child will be branded with secret signs …

  the Child of Glory will lead the Rainbow Warriors

  in a time of war and destruction...’

  ‘You, Miss Lake, are indeed a mistress of memory, like your sister and your mother. Unfortunately, unlike them, you seek power for yourself. I imagine the thought of taming, then usurping, the son of the wolf would be far more exciting than merely being his consort…’

  ‘This is simply fascinating,’ drawled Lethe, ‘however you have shown me only speculation. I repeat, I have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘The notes in the margin are fascinating,’ continued Mary implacably. ‘Particularly this, next to where it says the Child will be branded with secret signs… You have written Blaschko lines? Chimera? And on the next page is the heading How to Create a Chimera. Would you like me to read your recipe?’

  Lethe looked slightly less assured. ‘I imagine you intend to whatever I say.’

  ‘Indeed. You have written:

  First, take one woman pregnant with twins.

  Second, destroy one of the foetuses.

  Third, wait for the surviving foetus to absorb the remains of its twin.

  Fourth, at birth, check for Blaschko lines!’

  Lethe had rallied. ‘And again I say, so what? I am well known for my interest in fertility and reproduction. In fact that is how I first became aware of Titus’s work, when I was not yet a teenager. This is nothing more than intellectual curiosity – a hypothesis I never intend to develop.’

  ‘Unlike Josef Mengele,’ mused Mary.

  ‘What’s Mengele got to do with me?’

  ‘Your admirer, Mr Stigmurus, is particularly interested in Mengele’s notorious medical research for the Nazi party. The Angel of Death. His experiments on twins were particularly horrific.’

  ‘Are you calling me a Nazi, Miss Montgomery?’

  ‘You are walking a dangerous path, Miss Lake. You are seduced by dreams of power and the pursuit of knowledge at any cost.’

  ‘Prove it. Anyway, as far as I am aware this university, like any other, exists precisely in order to further the pursuit of knowledge and encourage dreams of power.’

  ‘Within strict ethical boundaries, Miss Lake, which I believe you are at risk of breaching. I understand that among the group of pregnant women you are studying whilst over here there are four expecting twins and that you have placed them in a special sub-group for further research. What is the nature of that further research, Miss Lake?’

  Lethe hesitated fractionally. ‘My notes are freely available, Miss Montgomery.’

  ‘Anyone can fabricate notes, Miss Lake. I repeat, what is the nature of that further research?’

  ‘I plan nothing harmful, I assure you. If you must know, I am investigating the incidence of twins born with the special abilities my sister and I share.’

  ‘I believe Professor Jamieson has already produced the definitive paper on that subject. The University frowns on students duplicating their lecturers’ work. Obviously this is not an approved project. In which case you have no business using college time and resources for your explorations.’

  Lethe said nothing.

  Mary sighed. She waited, but Lethe remained silent. ‘Very well. I wish I could believe your assurances. In the absence of a convincing alternative explanation I can only conclude that you intend to interfere with these women’s pregnancies, killing one twin in utero in the hope that the surviving foetuses will become chimeras.’

  ‘That is an outrageous accusation!’ Lethe’s eyes flashed dangerously.

  ‘Indeed. But given this evidence, highly probable. Interesting that I do not hear a denial. Oh, it is marginally possible that you have, as you assert, done nothing wrong, but I fear it is only a matter of time before you do, and I cannot allow that to happen. I summoned you here today to seek a guarantee that you would turn aside from this work but I realise, even if you promise, I cannot trust your word. I will do what I should have done in the first place and share my concerns with the Principal. You may go.’

  Lethe was shaking with rage. ‘You foolish old crone. Even before this latest attempt to blacken my name you have constantly criticised my work and thwarted my plans. Did you think I would take that lightly? Surely you, of all people, would have expected me to use my – what did you call it? – ah, yes, remarkable, fine and analytical mind – to find your Achilles’ heel?’

  Lethe had scarcely finished speaking before realisation began to dawn on both Mary and Matthew, still watching from the shadows. Lethe laughed triumphantly as she studied Mary’s face. ‘I see my arrow has struck home, Miss Montgomery. I am sure the Principal would be fascinated to hear that one of his most respected lecturers lied about her qualifications in order to secure a job working with her beloved, so she could be on hand to comfort him after the t
ragic deaths of his family…’

  Mary was clearly shaken. With iron self-discipline she composed herself.

  ‘Meticulous research, Miss Lake. Indeed, you are right - to a point. I was an excellent student. However, I couldn’t sit my finals. My mother was dying and she needed me. But my tutor wrote a reference saying I was destined for a First…’

  ‘Nevertheless, you lied on your application form, claiming a degree you don’t actually have.’

  Mary was very pale. ‘I have a copy of the reference, but the original, as I am sure you have discovered, was destroyed in a fire.’

  ‘Anyone can fabricate a copy,’ murmured Lethe. ‘How interesting that you assume it is your petty deception that I consider to be your Achilles’ heel, when all the time you and I both know that distinction goes to Professor Jamieson.’

  Mary was silent.

  Lethe’s eyes glittered with malice as she continued. ‘I am sure you could tolerate the loss of your own reputation with that irritating, stoic fortitude you bring to bear on everything. But imagine the Principal’s horror when he discovers that one of his most esteemed professors colluded with his bit-on-the-side to wangle her a lectureship. With the emphasis on lecher.’

  ‘You know damn well Matthew had no idea what I did.’

  ‘On the contrary, I believe he did know.’

  ‘You believe nothing of the kind. And you also know damn well I was not his bit-on-the-side.’

  ‘Not then perhaps. It was just a matter of time.’

  ‘I assure you, Matthew knew nothing.’

  ‘I wish I could believe your assurances, Miss Montgomery. However, if you refrain from going to the Principal about my valuable and exciting extra-curricular research, I shall refrain from telling him that you and, more importantly, his longstanding, trusted friend and colleague, Professor Jamieson, deceived him. Do we have an agreement?’

  Mary’s reply was almost inaudible but the brief nod of her head was all Lethe needed. ‘Excellent. And I know you to be a woman of your word, so we’ll consider that done and dusted. Nevertheless, it would be prudent if I deal with your letter to the Principal.’

  She extended her hand and Mary mutely passed over the letter. Lethe lit a Bunsen burner and watched thoughtfully as the paper flamed, then turned to ashes.

  ‘Thank you. Which just leaves the other small matter.’

  Ali was just down the corridor in the Library when Jo eventually found her. Apart from Ali, the room was empty. As Jo walked in her mother went over to one of the book shelves. She looked around as if she sensed someone’s presence, but didn’t seem to notice Jo standing right by her.

  Jo hardly knew how to begin. ‘Hi! I’m your future daughter!’ just cried out for lengthy explanations. Jo cleared her throat, tapped Ali on the shoulder and said simply, ‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but…’

  She got no further as Ali, oblivious, happily humming Mr Tambourine Man moved to a different shelf.

  Jo tried again but Ali did not respond. Realisation dawned. She can’t see or hear me! Suddenly other things fell into place. The jostling in the queue; the courting couple in the gondola; the lack of a reflection in the Mirror Maze. And neither can anyone else! Maybe emping will work.

  Jo concentrated her thoughts, just as her mother had taught her when she was little. Mary Montgomery needs your help! There was no response. Seems like Matthew and I can emp each other, but not anyone from the past. So if emping’s out, I’ll have to write a note.

  Jo moved towards the table where Ali had been sitting. Her distinctive patchwork bag was hanging on the back of the chair.

  As Jo searched in her pockets for a pen and paper, her fingers closed on an old cloth-bound book. The Whale. Had stealing it brought about nuclear war? Matthew didn’t think so, but Jo was not so sure. Perhaps if she returned it to its rightful owner the future might not be so bleak.

  She slipped it into Ali’s bag. Ali would be surprised to find it after all these years, and very puzzled as to how it ended up in her bag, but that couldn’t be helped. Jo permitted herself a small smile at the thought of her mother’s face when she saw the book again, but the smile was short-lived when she remembered that somehow Lethe ended up with it anyway.

  As Jo searched wildly for something to write with, Ali came back and sat down. Open on the table in front of her was a colourful, painted tobacco tin, just like Quinn’s. Jo saw a bright red ticket from the Tunnel of Love, some locks of copper hair and an envelope. Ali took out a letter which had clearly been read many times before. Jo saw the words To my dear daughter, from her loving Dad but there was no time to read the rest of it. She tried emping again. Help Mary!

  Ali looked puzzled, as though she had heard something, but the moment passed. She folded the letter carefully and put it back in the tin. As she touched the red ticket she smiled dreamily. Jo wondered fleetingly how her mother’s tin had ended up years later in Quinn’s shop. She remembered Ali talking about being with him in the Tunnel of Love.

  Quinn and I, well, for a time, we found it totally compelling. That’s the thing about being in love. Everything seems wonderful and magical. All your senses are enchanted and enhanced. I have never experienced anything so romantic. It was no ordinary fairground ride.

  Mary’s eyes looked haunted as she realised Lethe was not going to stop. Lethe did not want to win just the battle – she intended to win the war. Mary braced herself for the next onslaught.

  ‘I have been concerned that Professor Jamieson is still mourning the terrible loss of his family, particularly here; so close to where the accident happened. Did you know I was there that day? My dear father died, protecting my stupid sister. I wish it had been the other way round. Like Professor Jamieson, I was bereaved. I share his pain. I have tried, in my way, to comfort him. I know him to be a lover of beauty, so one evening I went to his study with a bottle of wine, and I danced for him. Imagine my shock when he misunderstood my motives, and thought I was inviting his advances!’

  Mary looked as if she had been winded. Her dignity deserted her. ‘What lies are you spinning now, you evil little bitch?’ she gasped.

  ‘I’m sure the Principal is a man of the world – he would understand that a lonely, sad man would be tempted by a beautiful, innocent young woman. I would plead for clemency, because I am very fond of Professor Jamieson, but in the end the Principal would have no choice but to dismiss him. After all, attempted rape is a serious offence, and your dear Matthew – or is that Midge? - would leave with his reputation in tatters. So tragic.’

  ‘You are an unscrupulous liar, Miss Lake.’

  ‘I am also a very good one, Miss Montgomery.’

  ‘They say practice makes perfect. So cut to the chase. What is it you want?’

  ‘Probably the same thing as you – to put all this unpleasantness behind us and forget any of this ever happened. Am I right?’

  Matthew‘s heart missed a beat as he finally realised how Lethe had broken Mary by using her love for him. He clearly saw the trap Lethe was setting. Now was the moment to change things; to foil her plans. He desperately emped Mary.

  Mary! Don’t let her in! Don’t agree!

  Both Mary and Lethe looked puzzled for an instant, as if a faint, faraway noise had caught their attention. Matthew tried shouting a warning then banged on the window, no longer caring if he was discovered, but his words went unheard as Mary answered with cold anger.

  ‘You are wrong about so many things, but yes, you are right about that. Because of you and your vile research my head is filled with images and ideas I would prefer to forget completely.’

  Lethe smiled triumphantly. ‘Thank you so much!’

  Mary looked puzzled. ‘Why are you thanking me?’

  ‘For participating in another of my experiments. Just recently I discovered that I have the ability to bestow forgetfulness on those who ask. You just asked. In a very short time everything that happened here will fade into oblivion, and anything that relates to it. I imagine it will feel
rather strange, like living in a twilight zone. If only I could question you about it afterwards, but of course, you won’t remember a thing. You might feel a little faint at first… In time your academic prowess will be a laughing stock and your objections to my research will lack credibility. You will be nothing more than a vague memory. No–one will remember you.’

  There was a blackboard in the library, but no chalk. Jo pulled a piece of scrap paper from the waste-paper basket and searched wildly for something to write with. Almost weeping with gratitude she spotted an old biro under the librarian’s table, but her relief was short-lived. The pen had run out of ink. In her frustration Jo flung it across the room, but Ali, lost in thought, noticed nothing.

  Ali closed the lid of the tin and put it into her patchwork bag. Her hand strayed to the locket round her neck; the self-same one Jo was wearing. Paul had only recently given it to her and she still delighted in touching it, thinking of the women who had worn it before her. She pressed the little catch and the hearts opened. There was a picture of her laughing with Paul on one side. Ali thought for a moment, then reached for the tin again and took out one of the copper curls, kissed it, and put it in the other side of the locket. ‘Oh, Dad,’ she said softly, and her face was sad.

  ‘I was his favourite.’ Lethe’s voice was full of spite. No-one had noticed her come in. She seemed out of breath and her eyes glittered with triumph. Jo felt utterly defeated. She realised it was too late to stop Lethe destroying Mary’s life.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest, Lethe. He loved us both.’

  ‘I know that. But he loved me more.’

  Ali sounded weary. ‘Why do you always do this? You compete with me about everything. You do it with our family; our friends; even Professor Jamieson…’

  As if on cue Matthew arrived; breathless and frantic; his eyes wild with worry. Unlike his older self, who knew exactly what was happening, this Matthew was completely bewildered.