I can’t leave it here.
Torn, I rock back on my heels, leaning my back against the stone, which immediately soaks through the thin cotton of my t-shirt to chill my skin.
“Screw it,” I mutter and turn, fumbling my way in the darkness deeper into the cave. If I fail in my mission, it won’t matter whether I keep the stele hidden here or carry it with me back into the belly of the beast. Thing is, the way I look at it, they won’t expect me to bring it with me when I pay them a visit.
They’re banking on my return: Marlise was always intended as bait. They never meant to kill her. At least not yet. Knowing them, they’d find a way to corrupt her, to use her against me somehow in the future should I choose the coward’s way out. No matter what I do, I’m being played. Ashton would punch a wall to vent his frustrations. Instead, I flex my muscles, work some of the kinks out of my system.
No torch illuminates my descent into Boomslang this time, and it’s purely by feel that I inch my way back to the cavern. Each time I reach out, I worry about touching something that moves; that slithers out of my hand when I make contact. The air is frigid and soon this cold seeps right into my bones. The only accompaniment to my journey is my ragged breathing and the occasional drip-drip of moisture. Round about now I could do with powers of illumination, but that’s not a daimonic effect House Adamastor is known to cultivate.
When I arrive in what I assume to be the small space that is the chamber where the lateral shaft segues off, I worry for a few minutes when I don’t immediately find that side passage. Is my own compulsion working against me in this situation?
The worst part is pulling myself along the lateral tunnel and not knowing exactly what I’ll find. Dust makes me sneeze repeatedly and shards stick into my chest, arms and hands as I drag myself forward.
When I’ve gone far enough I begin to chant the words to resonate with the compulsion. At first I feel the fool, worrying that this thing isn’t going to work, but soft blue-green motes dance a metre or so in front of me and I drag myself closer.
My hand meets resistance when I begin groping among the stones, much like when the same magnetic poles are brought together. The covered stele comes away in a shower of dirt and I can begin my retreat, conscious of the warmth emanating through the covering protecting the artefact from the elements.
The wash of light from outside forms a white-blue patina on the stones, drawing me ever out to the aquamarine sky. I don’t look at Cynthia’s sprawled form. The stench of blood and now—shit—hangs heavy in the air. Let House Montu come care for their dead. I’m too broken to give a flying fuck.
We can’t leave this place quickly enough. I lean heavily on Ashton’s presence, drawing strength through him from the environment to bolster the burning in my knees and ankles as we all but run down the mountain.
It’s better to pick my way carefully—I certainly can’t afford a sprained ankle or worse—but a terrible sense of urgency grips me, driving me to get to the bottom of the mountain as soon as possible. The only blessing is that I encounter no other hikers here this day. I’m sure I’ll give them the fright of their lives if they were to see me in this condition, my clothing ripped, smeared with blood and grime. In many ways the journey down takes more of a toll than its opposite. I’m fighting the compulsion of gravity every step of the way.
Of course, in my mad rush to get off the mountain, the last thing I’d thought of was the obvious. How the hell am I going to get from Kalk Bay back to Constantia? No one in their right minds would pick me up looking like this. I can’t drive.
Although the sun is shining and the last of the mist pulled away, I shiver nonetheless, exhaustion drawing at me, making me yearn for the comforting oblivion offered by sleep.
I eye the car we arrived in. The Mercedes—very modern, sleek—most likely electrified. It shouldn’t provide a problem, if Ashton were to play along.
“Feel like driving?” I ask Ashton.
“That? Hell yeah!”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath then tug at my surroundings, feeling the stone beneath my feet, the electricity humming in cables beneath the ground. I borrow this energy, take it into myself then extend my daimonic awareness. The thrum of power feels good, superimposing itself over my nervous system so the small hairs on my arms rise.
The car’s immobiliser system beeps back at me when I send a query, the doors unlocking.
“We should go into business,” Ashton says. “I can think of a dozen benefits to this arrangement.”
“Well, let’s first get the hell out of trouble first. We have to get near that place in Constantia, find some clothes and food then get in and save Marlise.” I consciously pull back my control of the Kha while maintaining some semblance of a grip. I can never stop being vigilant with my ghost.
It’s almost like walking a very big, powerful dog on a leash—and right now the leash is slack—but I keep a firm hand on Ashton as a reminder that if he were to try to jerk completely free I can and I will, bring him to heel.
I catch a sight of him grinning like a fool in the rear-view mirror, his features rendered all the more ghoulish for the smears of blood. If the cops stop us now, we’re going straight to lock-up with a hell of a lot of explaining along the way. There’s no way either of us would be able to bullshit our way out of this sorry mess.
The leather is smooth beneath fingers, the interior of the vehicle a warm comfort after the ordeal up on the mountain. It takes Ashton about a minute to absorb the car’s layout before I lend him the rush of daimonic energy to start the engine. We nose into the midday traffic quickly, the Kompressor’s engine almost inaudible.
“Where to?” he asks.
“Just get us to Constantia. Find a quiet side road nearby the estate to park the car, somewhere where we can make a quick getaway if need be. Then some breaking and entering, get supplies, then complete this sorry mission.” It feels strange to be the one who is remote, the body no longer under my control but all its sensations mine.
While he drives, I tug at the energy around us, siphoning it into the Kha in an attempt to promote healing of some of the damage. Ideally I’d need to rest so this process can take its time to work its magic, but we simply don’t have that kind of luxury. Even now they could be subjecting Marlise to some form of torture. The wrapped stele rests on the passenger seat. Impossibly heavy in its presence.
Ashton finds us a quiet lane, a panhandle, where four or five hidden driveways are tucked away from one of the main thoroughfares. If we’re in luck, the home owners will think our stolen vehicle belongs to someone visiting one of their neighbours.
What must it be like to live here in splendid isolation? The gardens are big, lush, filled with a profusion of vegetation. Tall beefwoods create a susurration when the wind stirs their boughs, an almost sleepy sound. I reel Ashton in gradually so all he does is give the slightest whimper of disappointment when he’s pushed into the background.
I sit back in the car, exhausted, my body leaden. Every muscle burns, and it would be so easy to succumb to the need for sleep.
“Ashton?”
“What?”
“I need you to go do your thing again.”
A faint flush of his annoyance washes over me.
“We need food, clothing. I need you to go find out which of these houses have no people in them, whether there are dogs or household staff. Pick the one that’s got the least amount of people. I’m sure you’d like to enjoy food and a shower as much as I do.”
This suggestion is all motivation he needs, and he pushes from me so hard my ears pop with the slight decompression. How much is he learning from me, from sharing my thoughts? Certainly during the drive, with him at the fore, I was privy to some of his past. I sort through some of the memories: of him at school, his favourite music, movies and times he’d performed on stage. The ghost of that exhilaration is foreign to me, someone who has always preferred to live a quiet life.
Would he have succeeded in his dreams i
f he’d not suffered that near-fatal accident?
No, it had been a fatal accident. One way or another his arrogance would have resulted in some misfortune. The man was only twenty-one and he’d already made himself some mighty fine enemies.
I must have snoozed a little, but Ashton returns and the interior of the car drops by a few degrees.
“The house right at the end. No one’s home. Think you can handle two Labradors?”
“They’ll be more prone to licking me to death than biting once they’re done barking. Besides, dogs have always loved Inkarna. Something to do with them walking between worlds to a degree themselves.”
Ashton’s doubt is obvious, but I shrug it aside and get out of the car. This road has been deserted since I’ve pulled up here, and I pray no one comes by.
“I need you to keep checking whether the owners come back.” I can’t wait to get these running shoes off. It is my fondest hope the owners will have something more appropriate in the footwear department.
The front gate is a big black wrought-iron barrier trimmed with a stylised leaf motif. These people must have money. The house is set back quite a way from the road, along a dirt track overgrown with weeds. On one side is a paddock where a sleepy-looking palomino grazes. The horse lifts its head when I get the gate to slide open a fraction then continues with its grazing, its tail swishing while it lips at the grass.
Richard had told me a few tales about times when he’d had to leave places in a hurry, with the utmost secrecy. Once or twice these had involved his amorous conquests, which he’d known annoyed me, but he’d shared nonetheless, just to wind me up. If he could see me now, sneaking into someone’s property. The laugh would be on me. I could almost imagine his face crinkling in amusement.
I don’t go far before the pair of black Labradors detect the intrusion and storm the gate. Two males, their glossy fur catches bright highlights. They rush down the driveway, fair barking their faces off as they bound toward me.
I stand still and wait for them to reach me, their hackles settling the moment they’ve had a good sniff of my hands, which I hold relaxed by my sides. Their wet noses press into my jeans and they sniff at my feet, the smaller of the two sneezing when he gets a whiff of something on the running shoe that is not to his liking.
“Hey boys…” I speak in a low voice, reaching out with a tentative hand to pat each of them.
Expectant eyes gaze up at me and my canine entourage follows me to the house, tails wagging. The place itself isn’t as big as I’d have expected. Although it has a thatched roof, it appears to have been constructed out of previously existing outbuildings. This whole area used to be farmland, of course, and this must have originally been the stables.
A rusty Land Rover that looks as though it’s seen better days stands under a shadeport. An assortment of succulents and cacti grows in profusion out of old wine barrels cut in half to create planters. The brickwork of the front porch is greened with moss.
“They may have a security system inside,” Ashton comments as I put my hand on the front door’s handle.
I nod then reach out with my daimonic senses, feeling the buzz from the electrical current in the place. One frequency jumps out at me, linked to a telephone line. It’s quite easy finding its complementary signal. Something beeps twice, loudly inside the empty house.
“You never cease to be fucking amazing,” Ashton remarks.
“Flattery won’t get you far with me, ghost,” I reply.
The people who live here are definitely the old-school over-the-top horsey types. Old prints of the animals adorn the walls, with more equine statues littering the area than should be legal. Apart from that, the dogs’ heavy scent is imbued in the rooms. Ugh. Animal lovers. No doubt they cuddle with their pooches in bed.
“You keep a good watch, Ashton. I don’t want people to walk in on me here.”
He doesn’t reply, but I feel his awareness spread out, away from me.
I hit the kitchen. Flies drone from the piles of dirty dishes and crockery in the sink, at least two days of washing up here, by my estimation. Although I don’t see sign of the cat, crusty old fish still spills out of one of the food bowls. No way I’d live like this.
The fridge—one of those big double-doored, family-sized numbers from the late 1980s—reveals a cornucopia of edibles. These folks do all their shopping at Woolworths and I stuff myself with cooked chicken strips coated in a honey-mustard sauce, cheese and some pasta salad. There’s so much food here it’s doubtful they’ll even notice any of it missing.
Family photos are stuck to the fridge door with a variety of magnets. I study the portraits while I munch—a mother and father, both blond and in their mid- to late-forties, and two daughters, equally blond. Happy faces, sun-browned skin, they are the epitome of a family that functions as a unit. Most of the photographs show them riding, some show-jumping. Rosettes adorn nearly every available surface.
No doubt they’d be talking horses from breakfast to bedtime. I suppress a shudder then make my way to the master bedroom. Fortune smiles on me. The father of the family is pretty much the same size as me. Another bonus is the pair of hiking boots I find at the back of his cupboard. They fit with two pairs of socks, which help with the nasty blisters already formed on my toes and heels.
Feeling much more human after donning a fresh long-sleeved t-shirt and a dark corduroy jacket lined with sheepskin, I pause in the bathroom to clean myself as best I can with the limited time available. The shower would have been bliss, but I’m too on edge, imagining a daughter walking in on a strange thug using the family bathroom. A little bit of searching reveals a gun safe in the study. The combination lock offers up the contents after only five minutes’ concentration.
I could grow used to a life of crime. Most burglars would give their right hand for Inkarna abilities. All the while I move about to leave as little sign as possible in my passage. With luck the family won’t even notice they’ve been robbed until they think of looking for these specific items.
Ashton will most likely know how to use the pistol and ammunition I help myself to. I couldn’t bring myself to search for the gun that was lost when I took out Cynthia. Gods, I don’t know enough about these weapons but I figure anything that will give me an advantage at this stage will be better than going into trouble without any preparation. The gun is heavy in my hand, its weight filled with portent. It seems strange somehow to consider how one little bullet can cause so much damage.
Richard had guns. He knew how to use them. I should have paid more attention back then but I hadn’t considered that one day I’d have to look out for myself.
The Book of Ammit presents another problem entirely. I stow it in a small daypack I find in the same cupboard as the gun safe. Not knowing when I’ll have food again, I filch muesli bars from the kitchen, as well as chocolate. No news is good news, as far as Ashton is concerned, but the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I need to get out of this house before I push my luck further than it should go.
Ashton reconnects with me as I walk down the driveway. The shadows are growing long and the air has a definite bite to it.
“I assume you know how to use guns?” I ask him when his presence settles on me like a chill mist.
“You got a gun? Oh.”
I touch the thing I’ve strapped to the holster I wear beneath the jacket, more so he can feel the slick metal. His wordless approval is apparent.
We leave the car where it’s parked. Even if we don’t use it as a getaway vehicle, I couldn’t care what happens to it. It takes half an hour to get near Jonathan’s compound, as I’m beginning to think of the place. The Book of Ammit burns a figurative hole in my back. It’s really foolish to stride into House Montu’s territory with this thing. By now they should be well aware that something has gone wrong with Cynthia and Paul’s mission; that I’m now at large. But by the gods, I can’t hide the damned stele anywhere, especially if I have to make a run for it in a hurry. Any human stumbling
upon it wouldn’t know the worth of what he or she had found. Or the danger.
In the dimming light I view my enemies’ stronghold from the relative safety of a low-spreading wild olive, which provides a modicum of cover should a vehicle approach along the road. Six-foot palisade fencing surrounds the property—topped with electric wiring no doubt linked to some sort of alarm system should I short the current.
It would be best to wait for nightfall, to gain some small advantage offered by the darkness. There’s nothing for me to do but wait and I hunker down, resting my back against the wall, the pack containing The Book of Ammit cradled in my arms as though it were some malignant offspring.
Though I don’t intend to, I nod off, my dreams an unsettling welter of nameless faces, voices accusing me. Someone shoves me hard against the wall and I lurch into a half-crouch only to be thrown down to the ground by an invisible force, soil and leaf litter filling my mouth.
“Someone’s leaving the property, fool!”
For a moment I’m unable to place where I am, then it all shifts into stunning focus: I’m outside the House Montu headquarters; it’s fully dark, I’m fucking freezing and a large vehicle is exiting the property, its headlights all but blinding me while Ashton’s angry ghost keeps me pressed into the dirt.
The large car shifts gears and the sudden fear takes hold they’ve seen something that they’ll stop, but it continues on its way, rumbling down the road, and Ashton lets go of his death grip.
“That was close. Thanks.”
“The way you were sitting there with my mouth hanging open like you were passed out from smoking too much zol… How could anyone miss that?”
“How many people still in the compound?”
He departs in that unnerving way that makes me feel as though part of my essence peels off like a second skin, leaving me hunched behind the wild olive. It’s best to fuel my body, so I eat one of the muesli bars, this sad substitute for a meal sticking in the back of my throat when I try to swallow.
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