“Then he convinced her to steal the Blade from the Ptolemy using my ID. But she had no intention of giving him the real blade.”
“What makes you think that?”
The question hung in the air.
I pursed my lips. I’d already told him too much. The whereabouts of the obsidian blade had to be his overriding concern because of the threat it posed to the Seelie Court. I knew that even though Macrory had cut himself off from that world he couldn’t deny his true nature. He would be honour bound to pass on any information regarding its whereabouts.
“I think she must have switched it for a replica,” I demurred. “Lindqvist must have tailed her to the meeting,”
Macrory said. “Probably couldn’t believe his luck when Brodsky turned up. He would have followed them down to the Tube: confronted them, wrestled the replica off your friend before stabbing the pair of them.”
“Which seems extreme.”
“He couldn’t forgive Brodsky’s betrayal, not to mention the death of his assistant.”
I thought about the implications of that for a moment.
“So, why are you telling me all this?”
“I’m scared,” he made a face. “The Iron is nothing but trouble. I thought that if you could get your hands on it … well, you’re a witch. I thought you’d know what to do with it before anyone else gets killed.”
His confidence was misplaced. “So, are you saying that it’s real? The Iron of Fortitude.”
Macrory raised his hands. “I’m not saying anything but if Brodsky and Lindqvist were convinced…”
But I wasn’t listening. I was too busy wiping the rain from my face and trying to focus on what was happening further down the park.
Three beautiful white horses had broken through the trees lower down, charging across the grass heading in our direction. They were ridden by three women dressed in green who were seemingly unaffected by the weather.
“Do I have you to thank for this?” I asked.
Macrory came to stand alongside me. “I’m not an expert but if those aren’t witches then I’m an elf.”
I used a hand to cover my eyes and watched as the grey clouds streaming overhead exposed thin shards of light which picked out the riders as they came up the hill. As they drew closer, the middle horse surged forward, the other two falling back.
The first horse pulled up at the edge of the car park, eschewing the tarmac for the softer grass. I started forward to meet them.
The other two women pulled their mounts up a good ten metres back making it quite clear who was in charge. Their leader was a striking red-head dressed in green and gold robes. The colours signified the function of their order but I failed to remember what that was. It had been a while.
“Good evening sisters,” I said, keeping my expression fixed whilst making the sign of the harp.
The women in the background looked at one another, clearly discomfited by the gesture. I thought perhaps I’d made a mistake.
The red-head curved her lips into a smile and returned the sign. The others followed suit.
“I am Roisin Cusack,” she said in a soft Irish brogue, pronouncing her first name Ro-sheen. “I take it that you are Bronte Fellows?”
“That’s right.”
“These are my sisters Aileen and Niamh. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Her eyes were fixed on some point over my shoulder and it took a moment before I understood the cause for her irritation.
“This is Macrory Montefiore,” I explained. “He is …”
“He is a member of the Fae,” Cusack said. “He is not to be trusted.”
Her hand rose off the saddle, an under-stated threat but a threat nonetheless.
“He is under my protection and I would take it ill if he were to be harmed in any way.”
“Very kind of you,” Macrory murmured.
No wonder he was frightened: he had probably assumed that they’d come for him.
“Strange company you keep,” Cusack said avoiding looking directly at him. “Will you quieten him or should I?” Her horse stepped forward as if it understood and she had to work hard to restrain it.
I indicated for Macrory to stay silent. These women would take a huge amount of pleasure tackling a member of the Fae. It’s not often that you manage to get one on their own. They’d see it as an unexpected treat.
“We are concerned about your safety,” Cusack said but her words were at odds with her calculating gaze.
“That’s re-assuring to hear,” I said. “But why has it taken you ‘til now to act?”
“We are aware of a number of issues which may pose a threat to your on-going safety.”
“Could you be more specific?”
Cusack turned to her sisters for help. This wasn’t the response they’d expected.
“There have been three attempts on your life in the last several days. We are concerned that you might be putting yourself in harm’s way unnecessarily. That is why we were despatched.”
Three attempts? It was a shock to hear it openly acknowledged like that. How dangerous was my job when I could go around blithely unaware of how many times people had tried to kill me?
“What are you proposing?”
“Your mother: The Exalted Bearer of the Ankh, Guardian of Hecate’s Knot, first daughter of the House Aratheon begs your indulgence and requests that you join her before daybreak tomorrow.”
I could hear the blood pumping in my head but struggled to stay calm.
“And if I refuse your invitation?” the chances of me besting even one of these women in dark combat were slim at best. The idea of me taking on all of them didn’t bear thinking about.
“We have been advised that you might be …” she chose her words carefully, “Resistant to your mother’s request, in which case we are here to offer you our services as Wraith Maidens.”
A chill went down my back.
Green and gold – now I remembered.
I’d never met one before and here I was with three of them. Wraith Maidens operate a very specialised area of expertise in our closed order. They are trained from a young age to speak the language of the dead. This is a very real part of some of the rituals which are still performed today in some parts of the world. They have the ability to commune with the spirits of the dead, hearing their petitions and grievances in an attempt to ease their passage into the next realm. But this also gives them the ability to command certain unquiet spirits to do their bidding. In expert hands this represents very real power.
My only comfort was that there were no signs of their traditional wraithlights. The lights which draw the spirits to them. If I’d needed a reminder of the gravity of my situation then it was right there in front of me.
“I am deeply honoured by your service but I must respectfully decline your offer.”
I looked into the distance at London’s skyline. The DLR, Canary Wharf, The Royal Naval College and, over in the distance, the Millennium Dome. It was all starting to come to life as we moved towards dusk and the lights started to come on picking out the buildings in the business section, illuminating the domes of the college, the lazy curve of the Thames. There was a vibrancy to the scene as the city slipped into night mode revelling in the endless possibilities of the early 21st century. And there I was, standing on a slice of rain wet tarmac communing with women whose skills had not diminished in over two thousand years.
We were at an impasse.
For all that these women were there to protect me I knew that that protection would come at a price. Once I accepted their help there was no going back. I would be theirs. And I couldn’t live with that.
“I’m afraid that I cannot accept your generous offer.”
Macrory gave a sort of sob.
Despite the rain my throat was dry.
Roisin Cusack lifted her leg out of the saddle and slipped to the ground. She stood a good head taller than me. I could feel her readying herself, drawing on her energies as surel
y as you or I might draw breath. The pull of it was so great that she could easily split the earth. There was nothing that I could do to oppose her if she chose to claim me. And yet still she held her hand.
“We find ourselves in curious times,” her eyes bored into me. “When the daughter of our Mensch turns her back on the old ways and trusts her safety to this quizzling and his ilk.”
Her contempt was aimed squarely at Macrory who these women despised as much as they revered my mother. He stood his ground.
Cusack grasped the horse’s bridle and started leading it down the hill. One of the other women addressed her in an obscure language I didn’t recognise. Cusack didn’t even look at her.
Although she didn’t openly invite me, it became apparent that she expected me to follow. It was only once we were out of earshot that she saw fit to continue.
“You shame your mother by resisting her invitation.”
“I never wanted any of this.”
“And yet you are drawn to the Iron. You cannot help yourself.”
“I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands, that’s all.”
“Neither do we.”
It was quickly growing dark. We walked side by side, the only sound being the horse’s whickering.
“But why are you so frightened of The Iron itself? “I said.
She looked at me. “I’m surprised you have to ask. This is one of the Seven Testaments of Witchcraft.”
“One of them. But weren’t the others all destroyed by the Inquisition?”
She regarded me coolly.
“According to our teachings the Inquisition was successful in destroying only three of the Testaments. The other four survived but are lost to us. It is the over-riding aim of our sisterhood to unite them.”
“With a long-term view of subjugating all humans to your will. You see yourselves as superior.”
Cusack looked skywards and smiled. Her teeth were perfectly white. When she spoke again her voice was calm with no trace of emotion.
“Our superiority is not in doubt. We do not seek to destroy humankind, merely to re-assert a natural order which has been in abeyance since the time of the Pharaohs.”
“You intend to enslave humankind.”
“There has always been slavery, you can’t eradicate that. Your concern, of course, is for the people of the privileged West. Those least deserving of your misplaced compassion. You wish to maintain that which is unsustainable. Perhaps you should start to question some of the absolute truths you were taught at Newton. The Sisterhood will persist and we will prevail. It is merely a matter of time.”
“So why is the Iron so important?”
“The Iron of Fortitude is a holy relic which the Church of Rome initially used against us. The Inquisition, suspicious of its growing power, attempted to have it destroyed. They failed. It didn’t re-surface again until the middle of the nineteenth century. At that point someone in the Vatican decided that it would be a good idea to have The Iron exorcised.”
That stopped me dead in my tracks. I couldn’t believe that anyone could be so reckless. So stupid.
“And what happened?”
“The Papacy is very guarded on that matter. What they attempted was not dissimilar to flying a kite in a thunderstorm. You only need to be fortunate once. Suffice it to say that none of the prelates involved were ever heard from again. The few unfortunates who survived were hidden away from public view in various monasteries spread across Europe. The Church is very adept at covering its tracks, it’s had years of practice.”
“Was the exorcism ever completed?”
“No. They never finished what they’d started. They only succeeded in opening a door which they then failed to close, awakening the tormented souls trapped within the Iron.”
“What are you saying?” I needed to hear the whole story.
“The souls imprisoned within the Iron are in a kind of limbo, denied the sanctity of divine peace they are trapped in an eternal torment. Given the opportunity they will attempt to claw their way back into our world by any means necessary. And we are here to stop them.”
“Why would anyone even consider something like that?”
“These witches had access to a great deal of arcane magic: spells and wards which are lost to us now.”
“But how would they go about achieving it?”
“All they would need to do would be to repeat the branding process – only on someone else. Their spirits would be drawn back to their new host.”
Who would willingly subject themselves to such a process? Two spirits in the same body. It might work for a short time but then one of the spirits would naturally start to assert itself over the other.
I said, “How would you ensure that only one spirit passed into the host?”
“We simply don’t know. It’s never been attempted before. The death of the host is the least of our worries. They’d be endangering their own immortal soul. It’s an abomination.”
“But you still think someone is going to try and do it?”
“That’s our greatest fear, yes.”
Cusack mounted her horse and waited impassively whilst the others rode down to join us. I could just make out Macrory’s figure on the brow of the hill. It looked like he hadn’t moved an inch since I’d left him.
I turned to Cusack. “What happens now?”
“That is up to you.”
The other two horses started into a canter.
“I appreciate your kind offer,” I came off sounding insincere. I stroked her horse’s flank. “Really, I do. But I can’t allow myself to be manipulated by my mother’s whims.”
“There are many others who would wish to manipulate you.”
Horse and rider pounded over the grass, quickly closing on her companions. They barrelled past a couple walking up from the park. The woman turned, tugging at her partner’s sleeve but the man seemed not to notice that anything was amiss.
*
When I got back to the top of the hill Macrory still hadn’t moved.
“I can’t say I’m not disappointed,” I said.
“Why’s that?”
“I trusted you.”
“What! You don’t think that I had anything to do with this. They wanted to kill me.”
“You must get used to that.” I walked behind him, the smell of the poultice was still strong.
“How much did they pay you?”
He started to concoct a lie but I shut him down.
“How much?”
He let out a beleaguered sigh. “Enough for a new van.”
Kinsella had been right. I couldn’t trust anyone. But I had been starting to like Macrory. He was fun.
Macrory pulled his scarf tight round his neck, and sloped off back to his van.
*
My coat was wet, my jeans were wet, my feet were soaked. Worst of all, my hair was plastered to my face.
I was cold and miserable and briefly considered walking back through the park and catching a bus at the bottom. I couldn’t afford another taxi. I was sure I’d be able to link up with the tube at some point. But the park was wreathed in darkness so that wasn’t a very clever idea.
I’d have to go up the hill and try and find a bus there though I didn’t know the area at all. I’d been to a house party in Charlton once and knew that there was a tube station there but I had no idea how long that would take on foot.
Macrory was having trouble getting the van started. Eventually, the engine started but I was taken by surprise when his reversing lights came on and he went to back into me.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t say anything. He just thrust his phone out of the window.
“I don’t want to speak to anyone,” I said haughtily.
He jiggled the phone.
Annoyed, I took it from him. It was Silas.
“Get in the van.”
“I’m not going anywhere with him. He double-crossed me.”
“Get in the van. I’v
e got something you need to see.”
He hung up. I got in the van.
*
The van’s heater didn’t work and cold air blasted out through the dashboard vents regardless of whatever I did to try and stop it. As a result, I was frozen to the bone by the time we arrived at our destination nearly an hour later.
Macrory slowed the van to a crawl as I tried to work out where we were. We’d crossed the river at some point but, other than that, I had no inkling where we might be. When he turned down a poorly lit side street I was starting to get anxious.
“Where are we?”
Macrory said nothing, just kept his eyes on the road.
As soon as I had gotten out he drove off. The tarmac was wet and shiny but at least it had stopped raining. I stood opposite, a tall wire gate illuminated by a harsh security floodlight. The gate was half open.
There were two skips immediately to my left, one must have been for general waste whilst the other was marked for recycling. And that was what gave me my first inkling of where I was.
The back of Brodsky’s gallery. My suspicions were confirmed as I moved further into the yard. Struggling to see anything beyond the pool of light I nearly walked into the back of Brodsky’s BMW. Over on my left lights from the warehouse re-assured me that I wasn’t alone.
“Silas?
There was movement away to my left and I stepped back, fumbling for my hand-bag. Helena’s gun was still inside and it was a relief just to get a hold of it. Dropping my bag, I steadied the gun. I wasn’t sure exactly how many bullets I had left but there had to be at least three. I would have liked to have had more but where do you go to buy silver bullets these days?
I stood stock still, my heart working double time.
More movement in the shadows before me which I tracked with the gun. Why did I keep putting myself in these situations? I had to develop some kind of strategy if I wanted to be around for much longer. Had Silas set me up? As re-assuring as it was to have the gun I had to remind myself that it would all count for nothing if I failed to hit the target.
There was a sound of rustling from the darkness and I moved back behind the BMW hoping to use the car’s mass as a kind of shield. I raised the gun to head height and sighted along the barrel.
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