The Immolation of Eve (Eve MacKenzie's Demons Book 1)

by Helen Fields

  Sadly I didn’t feel half as confident as I sounded. The thought of going back to Krakow made me feel sick. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face, phoning my clerks to let them know what had happened. When I turned my phone on it beeped to tell me I had voicemail. It was Patrick, back in his office and responding to my email about the adoption agency. He had news but didn’t want to leave a message. As anxious as I was to call him back, this wasn’t the time or place. Before I could even think about getting a cup of tea the court clerk was calling us back in.

  ‘Miss MacKenzie, Mr Brandt, good news. The clerk has liaised with both your chambers and we’ve identified a date when we can all be available. In fact, it is this Friday.’

  I lost my composure. ‘Your Honour, that’s just four days, we’ll never get flights.’

  ‘Already been checked. There are plenty of flights either Thursday afternoon or early Friday morning. We’ll make the site visit at 2pm to give everyone plenty of time to get there and as the next day is a Saturday no-one will have to rush back for Court. It has the benefit for your client, Miss MacKenzie, that we can proceed to trial sooner rather than later. Agreed?’

  ‘Your Honour is most thoughtful.’ I muttered.

  ‘Bail is extended on the same conditions as before. Unless there is anything else I look forward to seeing you both in Krakow. Good day.’ The Judge bowed briefly and left the courtroom.

  ‘Know any good hotels in Krakow, Eve? Perhaps I could ask my clerks to book for you as well?’ I wanted to slap him but that doesn’t go down well in Court. I settled for bitchiness to make myself feel better.

  ‘I think you and I have different standards, Marcus. I can’t imagine we’ll end up at the same type of hotel.’ He just laughed. I picked up my papers and walked out, keeping my head up. Back to Krakow, this Friday. It didn’t bear thinking about. I couldn’t let Marcus see the effect it had on me. More important, I couldn’t let my client see how shaken up I was.

  Albert was simply pleased that matters were moving fast. He didn’t have time to pick up on my emotional state before his transport arrived to escort him back to quarters. I phoned for a taxi to the station. This wasn’t part of the plan. Everything was spiralling out of control. By the time I spoke to my clerks they had were already in the process of booking my flights.

  ‘You sure you’re ready for this, Miss? I can ask someone else to take over the case.’

  ‘Not fair on the client Tom. Anyway, I need the money! Book me a flight Thursday night would you, please? I don’t want to be worrying about delays Friday morning.’

  ‘Will do. I gather you’re being prosecuted by Mr Brandt? Rumour has it he’s applying for a judicial position this year. He’ll be after some good publicity from this one. Make sure you show him up for the idiot he is, for all our sakes.’

  ‘Tom, if I were in chambers now I’d kiss you.’ I set off for home, grinning.

  Eight

  I arrived at the Hotel Copernicus, nestled just below Wawel Castle in the centre of Krakow, at six o’clock Thursday evening. It’s a boutique hotel that makes you feel like a movie star when you walk through the door, quiet and discreet with wonderful food and architecture. There was no way the legal aid fund was going to pay for me to stay here so I had to foot most of the bill myself. It seemed a small price to pay to avoid the local chain hotels and threat of food poisoning. I hung up my suit for the next day and checked emails in case Patrick had been in touch. We’d had a long conversation yesterday and I’d sent him the scanned documents. He was doing his best to find the original adoption papers and had promised to call if he found anything. We already knew that the agency who’d handled it were in Bratislava. Patrick still had to persuade them to hand over what we needed. I’d sent him copies of both my parents’ death certificates and a written letter of authorisation; fingers crossed that would be enough. Although there was no new email from Patrick I did find one waiting from Nate.

  We’d been unable to have the planned dinner that week as a result of my sudden departure but were in the habit of sending texts morning and evening. He was busy himself and I recognised someone whose career is a compulsion, even if he hid it well. I respected him. That seems to be about the best start a relationship can get. The fact that he’s also fun and gorgeous helps.

  I decided to visit the one place I’d missed last time I’d been in Krakow; the bar where Albert and Angela met the mystery man that no-one else remembers. I wanted to see the layout of the bar and time the walk from there to the Dragon’s Cave. The New World Bar is in Krakow’s Old Town, just ten minutes from my hotel. I took a map with me in case I wandered down the wrong street and then went out to do a little detective work of my own.

  I missed the entrance to the bar twice before finding it amidst the hub of drinking establishments in Old Town. It was still early when I went in but there were already several seats taken and a steady queue of people waiting for drinks. I perched on a stool and didn’t have to wait too long before being handed a beer. There was loud music playing from multiple speakers hanging from the ceiling and everyone seemed to be shouting. In the evening the Old Town area is packed with twenty-somethings enjoying life before consequences. I felt a moment of jealousy then reminded myself why I was there. Albert Cornish was all too aware of the consequences of his night out drinking in Krakow’s hot spot.

  There were inconsistencies about the case evidence that went beyond the lack of injuries to Angela’s body. Albert’s own version of what happened that night was disjointed, and the alleged victim had notable memory lapses although there were no drugs found in either of their systems. And why go to the Dragon’s Cave at all if they had no way of knowing it would be unlocked? Unless, of course, the man accompanying them was much more influential than Albert had realised.

  ‘Fancy seeing you here.’ I jumped in my seat and whirled round to see Marcus overdressed and standing out from the crowd for all the wrong reasons.

  ‘Marcus. You startled me. I didn’t recognise you in your party clothes!’

  ‘You’re catty tonight. Not enjoying being back here so soon after all?’

  ‘If you were trying to push me out of the case it hasn’t worked, so why don’t you settle down and do your job. Prosecuting isn’t supposed to be about shifting the goal posts to make innocent men look guilty.’

  ‘Seriously, you have to get over that pious streak of yours, Eve. It’s dull. You used to be much more fun as I remember. Let me buy you a drink. You do still drink don’t you or are you too saintly even for that these days?’

  ‘I’m still half way through this one and I’ve never regarded myself as saintly, thank you. I gather you’re thinking about becoming a judge this year. I would have thought that might restrict your social life too much.’

  ‘I’m bored. Same old same old. Drug dealing, credit card fraud, sex offences. Different names but the cases don’t change. I thought I could do with some new scenery. At least life as a Judge will give me paid holidays and a pension.’

  ‘Doesn’t something about this case seem disjointed to you?’

  ‘Don’t even think about trying to charm me into dropping this one. Just because we’re sitting in a bar rather than a courtroom doesn’t mean I’ve lost my senses.’

  ‘You know what, Marcus, put the tough guy aside would you and give me some credit. Albert Cornish has an impeccable service record, there’s no tension between he and the victim and they’d both been drinking. Why walk all the way down to the Dragon’s Cave for this?’

  ‘You’re assuming he was drunk.’

  ‘I believe he can’t remember the evening clearly and there were no drugs in his body.’

  ‘Just an opportunistic rape. We’ve seen hundreds like this before.’

  ‘If it’s opportunistic why not just pull her into a side alley on the way back to the army base? Why struggle down all those steps into the cave? She doesn’t even say she was unwilling to go into the cave. Come on Marcus, this is far from opportun
istic, quite the opposite.’

  ‘Rapes never make sense, planned or unplanned. You have too much faith in your client. It’ll be your downfall. Now, I’ve had quite enough of the noise in here. I’m off to my hotel for supper. I would invite you but I know your policies on sleeping with the enemy. I don’t know what you’re looking for but I doubt you’ll find the answers here. See you tomorrow.’

  I watched him as he stuck his nose in the air and made his way through the revellers to the door. By the time I turned round a man had taken Marcus’s place on the empty bar stool beside me and was ordering a drink in a language I couldn’t understand. I picked up my beer, drained my glass and stood to go.

  ‘Do you know where you are?’ the man said. I didn’t even look up. His voice made me stop exactly where I was, trying to place him.

  ‘Centuries ago Krakow was a city in the land of the Bohemians. The King kept a little town house for his mistress so that he could stroll down from his castle on the pretence of visiting his people and see her without the Queen’s knowledge. This was that house. For years it was known as The King’s Folly.’

  ‘How could they know that, with certainty, so many hundreds of years later?’

  ‘Stories passed down from generation to generation are the building blocks of history.’

  ‘Or myths concocted to intrigue tourists.’ I replied, not sure why I was even carrying on the conversation.

  ‘A myth is the truth to the person who believes it and a lie to anyone who doesn’t.'

  'Myths are stories told to entertain children and influence the superstitious. I'm neither.' The man looked up from his drink and met my eyes.

  'Of course you are. You are afraid of fire even though you have no idea why and you make a wish when you look at the stars the way you did as a child. You close your eyes when you are scared as if not seeing something means you cannot be harmed by it. Am I wrong?'

  I said nothing in reply. I found I’d lost my voice. The man in front of me was perfect. I don’t mean that as a compliment in this context. He looked like the picture of a man you’d see on the illustrated cover of a romance novel. His skin tone was so even that it was difficult to read the expression on his face; he was unlined to the extent that he appeared ageless. His eyes were almost black but the irises caught and held the reflections of the coloured lights of the bar. His teeth were white and even, lacking the tiniest flaw. He was like an image of a human being drawn by someone who had heard descriptions but never met one. He spoke English fluently but with an accent that marked him only as foreign rather than of any particular origin. He gave me chills and at the same time I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

  ‘Who are you?’ I asked.

  ‘Who are you looking for?’ he countered.

  ‘Don’t play games with me, I don’t like it. Why did you come over here and sit next to me?’

  ‘The seat was empty and you did not seem to be enjoying the company of the last man you were with. I was only seeking to make conversation. Do you not like to have your views challenged?’ He smiled.

  ‘I asked who you were.’

  ‘And I could give you my name but what good would it be? Would my name tell you something about me? Would it give you a better reason to go or stay? Let me tell you a story about Wawel Castle.’ I sank back down onto my bar stool, more certain by the minute that his arrival was no accident. I would bide my time. If there was one thing I’d learned as a barrister it was that if you listen long enough people usually tell you what you want to know.

  ‘When King Casimir IV died in 1492 he had held the Polish throne for fifty-five years. He had six sons and seven daughters, a dynasty that would dominate Europe for centuries. He and his wife were interred in a chapel in Wawel Castle like so many Kings and Queens before them. Years later, with the consent of the Archbishop, Casimir’s tomb was opened for research. What did they expect to find, do you think? He was, after all, just a man, just another dead body rotting away. And yet his legend was so powerful that someone wanted to probe the dust of his remains and for what? The secret to the power he had accumulated so successfully? It was a Friday when they opened the tomb. The thirteenth day of the month. There were those who said the tomb should have remained untouched, that opening it was unholy and disrespectful. Some people questioned the judgment of the Archbishop who had authorised the request. There were whispers that no good would come of it.’

  I couldn’t help myself. He paused long enough to force me to ask him to continue. ‘Fine, I’ll play. What happened?’

  ‘They opened the tomb. They disturbed the King’s peace and that of his beloved Queen. Within days four of the twelve people present at the opening of the tomb were dead. A few weeks later another six had also perished. Only two men survived. Myth or truth?’

  ‘If the historical records are accurate, and these sorts of stories are always embellished over time, then it must have been bacteria or fungus that caused the problem. These days that sort of thing simply wouldn’t happen. And the whole Friday the thirteenth hocus pocus is exactly the sort of embellishment to add some mystery to an otherwise unremarkable event.’ I motioned to the bartender for another drink.

  ‘You seem so certain and yet everything you have said is coloured by your assumptions about when this took place. Let me enlighten you. The man who authorised the opening of the coffin was the then Archbishop of Krakow, who later became better known as Pope John Paul II. The year was 1973 and the day really was Friday 13th. One would have thought that even in 1973 scientists knew enough about microbes to wear face masks. It doesn’t take centuries to create a myth, Eve, just a cautionary tale.’

  ‘I didn’t tell you my name.’ I stared hard at my companion. The game was not fun anymore.

  ‘It is the name your previous companion called you. Was I wrong?’ I didn’t bother to answer. By now I was feeling angry and tense.

  ‘You are presumptuous, if nothing else.’

  ‘Then let me level the playing field. My name is Perun.’

  ‘The fact that you are here with me now is no coincidence, Perun. Be straight with me or I will leave and I suspect that if I do neither of us will have found what we came out looking for tonight.’

  He rose to his feet in one fluid motion, taller than I’d expected and stooped to whisper in my ear, his lips brushing my cheek as he did so and sending a shiver through me like an electric shock. He took hold of the cast on my arm and his voice echoed through me, low and deep.

  ‘You are right, Kukushka. But you have no idea how to run away, it is the one thing you have never been able to do. If you want answers you will not find them in Krakow. When you decide to take control of your fate, come and find me.’ He let go of my arm, took hold of my chin and kissed my forehead. I sat rigid as he kissed me but before I could get control enough to push him away, he’d gone.

  I spun round to follow him but the crowd in the bar had already filled the space he’d walked through and there was no chance of finding him in the unfamiliar streets. I wasn’t at all sure it would be safe to look.

  I waited until I’d stopped shaking, desperate to get back to my hotel. Outside the bar I looked around cautiously but felt no sense of danger, just mild vertigo. Back in my room I saw a face I wasn’t even sure I recognised. My eyes had taken on a hollow, haunted look. The world I’d inhabited a month ago was an illusion. I couldn’t pretend that everything was normal anymore. Something extraordinary was happening, creating a forward motion I was unable to stop and try as I might to pretend it was all my imagination, I knew better.

  Kukushka. Cuckoo. Was he the man on the train or had that all been a dream? He was like no other person I had met and yet his presence was familiar. I admitted to myself that I’d felt a thrill just being next to him, but it was a like a ride on a ghost train, dark and unsettling, exciting only because it’s laced with fear.

  I felt icy cold inside and knew it was the shock of a dawning realisation, something far beyond the events of that evening. I poured a
drink, flexing the muscles of my right arm as I turned the bottle cap and realised the fracture in my arm felt different. There was no sensation of movement, no discomfort at all, in fact. Perun had held his hand over the fracture site as he held me. At the time I felt nothing unusual, focused only on what he was saying. I thought back to what Naomi had said about me making her better and it seemed that a veil had been lifted. Whatever the cost, I had to find him again. I picked up my mobile, dialled Patrick’s and let it ring.

  When the answer message kicked in I left a voice mail to tell him where I was and that I wanted to talk to him the next morning. I didn’t need to say that it was urgent, I felt sure he would tell just from my tone. Unable to sleep I settled down to the task of dismantling my cast. I requested a pair of kitchen scissors from room service and it took me three hours to cut, saw and snap my way through to an arm that felt and looked absolutely perfect. It would be difficult to answer questions the next day about the disappearance of the cast and I knew I’d have to keep my arm covered. When I glanced at my watch it was nearly four in the morning. I had no idea where the night had gone.

  Nine

  My phone rang a few hours later and I wasn’t sure how much I could say without Patrick thinking I needed to be committed. In the end I didn’t have to do much of the talking. Patrick had been doing some detective work of his own and he had enough to say for both of us.

  ‘Miss MacKenzie, how are you? I hope the flight to Krakow wasn’t too tiresome?’

  ‘Patrick, given how much of a nuisance I’m being, I’d feel a lot better if you’d call me Eve from now on.’

  ‘Of course, but it’s no bother at all. I’m only sorry you’ve had such a shock since your return to England.’