Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  But that left me in a very obvious minority. Most of the people were on their feet by now, including the couple next to me.

  Finally, the applause died down and people re-took their seats.

  I didn’t recognise her at first. I was overwhelmed by how striking she looked, her hair cut into an elfin bob and wearing an elegant blue trouser suit which managed to both highlight her figure while hiding it.

  Svetlana Prozorova. Formerly Svetlana Fellows.

  My mother.

  “And so, yesterday afternoon, after a very difficult few days, I relinquished my responsibilities as head of The Coven. So I can stand before you today and say that I no longer have any affiliations with that organisation. After what has happened in the last few days, it has become abundantly clear that the supernatural community has to unite together to combat the threat posed by an increasingly belligerent Sidhe.

  I am sure that you are aware of The Coven’s stance on extending the influence of practitioners in the wider world. That stance has brought us into direct conflict with other organisations in the past, most notably the now defunct Bear Garden. But I make no apologies for that, quite the contrary in fact. I think that if we’d have taken a stronger stance in the past then elements like the Sidhe would never have dreamed of targeting us in the way that they have.”

  She turned to address the members of the Inner Council sitting behind her.

  “But be assured of this: throughout all of the difficulties faced by The Coven we have always supported the Inner Council and honoured all its rulings. The Council’s policies have stood out as a beacon of common sense in an often fractious world.

  “So I am here today to offer up my services. I have learnt a lot in my twenty three years as head of the Coven and, let me tell you, I’ve found it impossible to stay in post for that long without learning how best to respond to threats of aggression. Direct action is usually best avoided but there are instances like this when provocation of this nature cannot be ignored. When to do nothing would be to invite one’s own destruction.”

  “There are times when it is prudent to face your opponent over the negotiating table so that you can work out your differences. Be assured: this is not one of those times. The Sidhe are not to be trusted.

  “They do not recognise other nation states, seeing their queen as the ultimate authority in all matters. And if you’re still having doubts, remember this: the Sidhe don’t abide by peace agreements. Whenever they have signed them in the past they have always broken them. Without exception. Ask Dr Macmillan here if you have any doubts about that. These are a people who have so far ignored every attempt at diplomatic engagement that we have attempted, to the point where war with the Sidhe now seems inevitable. They have already made their first strike, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s not give them the opportunity for a second.”

  Macmillan leaned into the microphone as if to say something but was drowned out by the applause. In the end he turned to the minister beside him and shook his head.

  She continued, “No, we need to win back some of the self-respect we have freely given away in the last few years. We were once a great people who have allowed themselves to become ordinary. But we can be great again. We have to respond to the threat posed by the Sidhe. And to do that, we have to have the strength of our convictions. There’s no point vacillating. To do anything else would be to invite our complete subjugation. We need to go in fast and go in hard.”

  Suddenly, everyone in the theatre was on their feet. The sound of the applause overwhelming. I had to fight just to get to the end of my row. I can sit through most things, but I refused to listen to my mother rushing everyone headlong into a war we were destined to lose.

  I kept my head down as I climbed the stairs. The last thing I needed now was for someone to recognise me. I thought at first that I’d got away with it. Everyone was fixated on the stage. But as I got out through the exit door I found my way barred by a figure in gold and green. I recognised her immediately, although her first name escaped me. She was a Wraith Maiden, which meant that my mother’s ties to The Coven hadn’t been completely broken.

  “Your mother would like to see you,” her rich Irish brogue made it sound like an invitation to a dance.

  I walked around her, “I’m sure she would.”

  “Did you not hear what she was saying? About the Sidhe?”

  “I’ve heard it all before.”

  I was trying to act nonchalant but it wasn’t going well. If she wanted to apprehend me then there was very little that I could do to about it. Wraith Maidens draw their power from the dead and, as such, are not to be trifled with. I was just banking on the fact that my mother would want to avoid any adverse publicity. It wouldn’t look good having her only daughter being arrested after she’d just made her campaign speech.

  When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw a second maiden standing on the next flight down. They had me boxed in. I had no option but to keep going. I recognised this one was the red-head I’d spoken to at Greenwich Park but I struggled to recall her name.

  “You need to come with us,” she crossed to the centre of the staircase. “Your mother needs you.”

  “Well, I have no need of her. Now, step out of my way.”

  Something twitched in her face. She wasn’t used to being told ‘No’, but in the end she relented and stepped aside.

  As I made to pass her, she leaned forward and sniffed.

  “What’s that I can smell? Are you still consorting with that malodorous little sprite?”

  I did well not to flinch. “Macrory. His name’s Macrory.”

  “He is an abomination which should have stifled a long while ago.”

  “I’ll pass on your regards,” I said as I continued down the stairs.

  I was so anxious to get away that I started taking them two at a time.

  A third maiden was waiting for me at the bottom of the staircase. When she tried to approach me I didn’t even look at her. I just kept going.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “So what happens now?” Millie asked.

  She’d elected to drive so I sat in the passenger seat while Macrory was in the back. He couldn’t hear what I was saying very well and kept asking me to repeat bits of the story he’d missed. I’d told them almost everything.

  Macrory was thrilled to have been mentioned by name and revelled in the idea of being labelled as ‘malodorous.’

  “Just to re-cap,” he said. “Where these Wraith Maidens the self-same girls we met in the park?”

  “I’m pretty sure of it.”

  “And the leader. The red headed girl. Was she there?”

  “She was the one who asked after you.”

  He leaned in toward Millie. “She was a really good looking girl. Striking, some would say.”

  “She was the one who offered to have you killed,” I pointed out.

  “Yes, very spirited that one. Now, if we were to have met under slightly different circumstances. In a bar, say, away from the prying lights…”

  “There’d be no-one there to stop her from killing you.”

  Macrory laughed as if this was the funniest thing I could have said. He seemed smitten.

  I turned back to Millie. “If you could drop us off at Cardoza’s place. Then, when you leave the estate, you can go and park up somewhere. I’ll text you to let you know what’s happening.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure this is such a good idea? I know Cardoza isn’t a practitioner but still… I’m not familiar with any spells that can block a bullet.”

  “It won’t come to that,” I re-assured her. “Well, so long as Macrory sticks to the plan. If the Seelie Blade is in there, we’ll find it.”

  “And what if it’s not?”

  I scrunched up my face. “Well, there’s always Plan B.”

  “Yeah. Right! Plan B.”

  Millie slowed as we approached a round-about. She turned and regarded me seriously.

  “You say that the deadlin
e runs out at eleven o’clock. If everything works out as it’s supposed to, how are we going to get the blade to Salazar in time?”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was totally focussed on getting the blade. But I couldn’t tell her that.

  Instead, I said, “He knew all about the party when I spoke to him. My guess is that he’s keeping a close eye on everything we do. If we can manage to get the knife off the estate I’m guessing that he’ll come to us.”

  “What if he doesn’t? What if he thinks that you’ve broken the agreement and then decides to take it out on Silas?”

  “Okay! Okay! I get it! We’re up against the clock here. I have his phone number,” I produced Salazar’s card from my purse. “I’ve kept it safe. As soon as we have the knife, I’ll ring him. That’s the best I can do for now.”

  Millie thought about that, nodded, and then put the car into gear.

  Macrory startled me by slapping the back of my seat. “I’m sure everything will be fine.”

  *

  Millie dropped us in front of the house. Before she pulled away, she knocked on the windscreen to get our attention and then opened her window.

  “You nearly forgot these!” she handed us an ear bud apiece.

  I said, “We’ll sort them out when we get inside.”

  “Do it now. That way I’ll be able to monitor what’s going on.”

  Macrory rolled his eyes at me but then we both did as we were told, slipping the tiny microphones into place.

  Millie shook her head as she drove away.

  The house looked fantastic. There were huge displays of flowers around the entrance and the main house itself had been wrapped in an enormous white ribbon culminating in a huge bow tied just above the front porch.

  I took a moment to re-arrange my dress. I’d had five to pick from when I returned to the flat, courtesy of Salazar. At first, I’d wanted nothing to do with them, Salazar had been behind Silas’ kidnap after all. However, once Millie had shown me the exact same dresses on-line and how much they cost, I felt my resistance dwindle.

  The one which I thought was least likely to suit me was - of course - the one Millie liked the most. A black and white patterned dress which I would have never bought for myself, even if I could have afforded to. I was glad that I was wearing it as I approached the house. Macrory was dressed like something out of an 80s crime drama. A bright yellow t-shirt, board shorts and flip-flops.

  “You look ridiculous,” I said.

  “It’s a beach party. I’ll fit right in.”

  Beach party?

  At the front door we were met by two maids dressed in Hawaiian garb, serving up punch from an enormous crystal bowl.

  Macrory took a glass and then held it up in a mock salute.

  “To beach parties!”

  We walked through the centre of the house, drawn by the driving beat of the music. We passed a bar on our right picked out in subtle blue under-lighting. There was a group of men and women in colourful garb being served by two very attentive cocktail waiters.

  The back of the house had been specially dressed for the party with a pair of very convincing looking palm trees dominating the whole area. Off to one side of the lawn, there was a covered stage with sound decks and two DJs. Beyond this was a section of decking with an enormous hot-tub. There must have been twenty people in the tub. Over to our right was a barbecue being tended by three chefs and beyond this, steps led down to a sunken area with its own pool. The tranquil River Thames lay beyond.

  I looked down at my dress then back at Macrory.

  “Nobody mentioned that this was a Beach Party.”

  “It was on the invitation.”

  “What invitation?”

  “On the e-mail. Didn’t you read it?”

  “I’ve been busy.”

  We stopped arguing when I saw Michael walking over to us. He was dressed as Popeye.

  “Nice outfit,” I said.

  He looked surprised. “You think? These arms look stupid.”

  Part of the costume included a pair of inflatable forearms with anchors on them. The forearms were white.

  He took a moment to admire my dress. “So, what have you come as?”

  “Isn’t it obvious,” Macrory said. “She’s a sea-horse.”

  “Did you both bring your swimming costumes?”

  Macrory pulled out the waistband of his board-shorts.

  Michael turned to me, “What about you? I hope you’re wearing a bikini under there.”

  I gave him a disgruntled look. “Must have forgotten.”

  “That’s okay,” he said. “In your case we’ll make an exception. You can go skinny dipping.”

  I gave Macrory a stunned look but he was too busy showing off his t-shirt. It said ‘Baywatch’ on the back.

  Michael said, “Classic,” and the pair of them bumped fists.

  “Best show ever,” Macrory said.

  “I’d have to agree with you there.”

  We turned at the sound of Cardoza’s voice.

  He was dressed in the show’s distinctive red tracksuit top and shorts. The tracksuit gaped open at the front revealing an enviable set of abs.

  He took off his sunglasses. “No debate. Baywatch is the best.”

  “Interesting party,” I said.

  “Thank you for coming,” he called over a waiter. “Anyone need a top-up?”

  Macrory lifted his glass intending to drain it but stopped when he saw me looking at him.

  “We’re fine, thank you.”

  “In which case, I’m going to have to love you and leave you. Michael, I need a hand sorting out the teams.”

  As the pair of them went off, two technicians could be seen erecting a volleyball net on the grass.

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s our socialising duties sorted for the evening. Now, why don’t we get on with it?”

  Macrory finished his drink. “I think we should wait a bit. Work on our cover story. Perhaps take a dip in the Jacuzzi.”

  A voice buzzed in my ear.

  “Not a good idea with all the surveillance equipment you’re wearing.”

  It was Millie. Her voice echoing in my head.

  “You’re coming in a little too loud,” I said. “Can you do anything about that?”

  The sound ebbed and flowed for a second.

  When Millie spoke again, the level was a lot more manageable.

  ‘”That any better?’”

  “That’s great thanks.”

  ‘”Okay, what are you waiting for. Bronte, you’ve got work to do. Macrory try not to drink any more cocktails.’”

  After checking that Cardoza and his son were occupied with the volleyball teams, I made my way back towards the main house. I handed my glass to one of the waiters and asked for directions to the toilet.

  I knew the location of every toilet in the place – I’d spent hours going over all the blueprints for the house – but I wanted to establish my cover straight away. We’d estimated that I had six minutes to get in and out with the Seelie Blade. I just hoped that that was a realistic time-frame.

  The crowd around the downstairs bar had swelled since we’d passed. Sam Cooke was playing in the background. That was good. The music would help mask any sounds I might make.

  There were three sets of toilets on the ground floor but I felt that it would be easy to justify my decision of going upstairs. I could argue that I just wanted a little privacy.

  There were no guards visible on the first floor. I took the time to check, moving erratically about as though genuinely looking for the toilet.

  When I was satisfied, I said. “Okay, Macrory. You can start your act now.”

  The sound of the cow-bell almost deafened me. He was meant to be organising an impromptu Limbo-dancing competition. No one had mentioned cow-bells. I clawed the ear bud out and stuffed it inside my bra.

  I was standing opposite the Medieval Armour room when I had an idea.

  A white-key pad sat just over the door h
andle. I reviewed the code-number one more time in my head. Macrory had somehow managed to read the number over Cardoza’s shoulder the previous night.

  I ran through the number one more time before keying in the digits. Then I tried the handle.

  Nothing happened.

  I took a few deep breaths then fished out my ear-bud and pushed it home.

  “The code number’s not working,” I said.

  Macrory said, “You’re in the loft already?”

  “No. I’m at the armour room. I wanted to check that the code works before I got up there. You said he used the same code on all the doors, didn’t you.”

  “Yes. Are you sure you got the code right? Try it again.”

  Millie chipped in. “Is that a good idea? What if he’s changed the code? You might trigger an alarm.”

  Macrory said, “On most systems, if you get the code wrong you get two more attempts. Try it again.”

  I punched the number in again then tried the handle.

  Nothing.

  “Are you okay?” I turned to see Michael standing halfway up the stairs.

  “I’m … I’m fine.”

  He seemed amused by my dilemma. “That’s not the bathroom, you know.”

  As he drew level with me I stood in front of the key-pad. I didn’t want him to see that I’d already entered the code.

  “I… erm … left something in here yesterday. I thought I might be able to pick it up.”

  He came and stood right in front of me. He craned his neck so he could see the key-pad.

  “Dad changes the code every day. Kinda paranoid that someone’s going to nick something.”

  “I wasn’t trying to steal anything.”

  “We’re cool,” he produced his phone from his back pocket. “He’s got an app on his phone that generates random numbers. I’ve set it up so that his phone automatically sends me the code as well.”

  It looked like the son was just as cunning as his father. I stepped aside and let Michael enter the new code. He was so busy showing off that he didn’t try to hide the number on the screen.