by M. J. Hearle
‘What now?’
‘I have a shovel in my car. You can wait here if you —’
Winter was already moving towards him. ‘I’m not waiting by myself. ’ As conflicted as she felt around Sam, his company was preferable to that of a headless corpse.
‘Okay then. Follow me.’
An uneasy silence enveloped them as they passed through the forest. There was so much Winter wanted to say. Should she scream at him for the part he’d played in Blake’s death, or thank him for rescuing her? In the end, she decided it was safer to let him talk until she got a handle on her own confusing emotions. If nothing else it would satisfy her curiosity about where he’d been for the past three months.
‘You were saying about “the killings”?’
‘Right.’ He seemed eager for a chance to break the silence. ‘It wasn’t a front-page article or anything. Just a column talking about a drifter found on the outskirts of Laurieton. The paper described his body as unmarked, no knife wounds or gunshots. No signs of strangulation. I called the coroner’s office pretending to be with the Sheriff’s department to see if I could get more information. Something about the article just didn’t feel right. Sure enough, the coroner told me that the body was found desiccated, shrunken. Like all the juice had been sucked out of it. The police were baffled. I wasn’t. I drove to the town and picked up the trail of the Demori. I first came across the one back there,’ he nodded towards the spot they’d left Sidaris, ‘in the Hopeland Country Fair. He was about to take a child – a small girl – but I stopped him. I’ve been tracking him and his partner ever since.’
‘Benedict. His name’s Benedict.’
Winter shuddered at the image of the Demori staring at her, his eyes burning with hate. She couldn’t help but shoot a nervous glance behind them, half expecting to see Benedict creeping up on them, his mouth gaping, teeth bared. They pushed through a tangle of waist-high bushes and stepped out on the gravel. A thick orange haze hung in the air, caused by the sea mist catching the glow from the fluorescents. The haze blurred everything more than a dozen or so feet away from her, lending an eerie, dreamlike cast to the area. She could just make out a green station wagon parked a little further up. Sam’s car.
‘I didn’t know there were others,’ Winter said as they made their way through the orange fog. ‘I thought Blake and Claudette were the only Demori.’
Sam glanced in her direction, an eyebrow raised. ‘He never told you about the others?’
‘No.’ Though the more she thought about it the more it stood to reason that there would be more. ‘How many are there?’
They reached the car and Sam opened the back, slipping off his crossbow. She saw a rolled-up sleeping bag pushed behind the spare tyre and guessed that Sam had been sleeping in the car.
‘We don’t know. Blake and Claudette weren’t Ariman’s first children.’ He took off his trenchcoat, revealing the sheathed machete strapped across his back, and bundled it inside next to the crossbow. ‘He had others over the centuries and these Demori had their own children. There could be a thousand? A million? Luckily for us they don’t play nicely with each other. They’re loners by nature. Or at least that used to be the case. Lately, there’ve been rumours of Demori gathering in large numbers. Forming some kind of army. Scary stuff, ’ he continued, rummaging around in the dark of the car for a second before pulling out a shovel.
‘Did I call them to me? Sidaris and Benedict. Was it my fault?’ she asked, already sure of the answer.
Sam shot her a quick look and then slammed the car shut. ‘It’s nobody’s fault. But, yes – I’d say you called them. Or the lodestone did.’
‘I didn’t know it could . . . I —’
There was the sound of an approaching car. Sam grabbed her, pulling her off the road into the shadows. The car materialised out of the fog, filling the night briefly with the sound of rock’n’roll before disappearing into the darkness.
When he was satisfied no more cars were following, they continued their progress, Sam talking more softly than he had before, as though worried his voice might be heard.
‘All Demori carry lodestones. Damien . . .’ She noticed his face tighten at the mention of his dead brother. ‘Damien knew more about this stuff. Apparently, it’s like a right of passage or something. The first time they Travel to the Dead Lands they’re tasked with finding a stone. They can’t return without it. Once they succeed they carry it for the rest of their lives, like a Catholic with a crucifix. They’re not mere symbols though. The lodestones allow the Demori to stay in contact with each other. So they avoid clustering together, hunting in the same areas and risking drawing attention. They have other properties as well. We don’t know all of them.’ He paused before adding, ‘In any case you should get rid of yours. Benedict will be able to use it to locate you.’
Winter briefly considered telling him what had happened tonight, the vision of Blake, but decided against it. ‘I can’t do that.’
Bemused, Sam glanced in her direction. ‘Suit yourself. I’m only trying to keep you alive.’
‘You’ll have to forgive me if I have a little trouble trusting you. What with the whole kidnapping me and trying to kill Blake thing.’
‘Fair enough.’
She wanted him to say something else, to give her the chance to fight with him and vent some of her bottled anger. Instead, he turned and started back towards where they’d left the body, leaving her standing alone with clenched fists, frustrated and confused.
It didn’t take long to dig the grave. Feeling queasy, Winter helped as much as she could, using her hands to scoop away dirt while Sam dug with the shovel. They worked silently, both seemingly enjoying the distraction the digging provided. Once they’d reached the hard clay shelf a few feet below the surface Sam told her she could rest.
She sat with her back to him, listening to the scraping of the shovel, and tried to come to terms with everything that had happened. Her body was weary but her mind still raced a million miles an hour, thinking about Blake and trying not to think about Benedict and Sidaris.
‘Finished.’
She stood up and saw Sam smoothing the dirt over the grave with the back of his shovel.
‘What do you think?’ he asked.
‘What do you want me to say? You dig a beautiful grave, Sam.’ There was still a trace of sarcasm in her voice, but it was less harsh. She was too exhausted to hold onto her anger.
‘I suppose we need to talk about what happens now,’ he said, ignoring her tone. ‘About Benedict. You saw the way he looked.’
Looked at me, Winter corrected Sam in her mind. ‘Yeah, he didn’t look happy.’
‘He’ll come for us. I doubt he’s the “forgive and forget” type.’
Winter’s heart lurched in her chest. ‘But you said he’d be too weak to try again tonight.’
Sam shrugged, swinging the shovel up onto his shoulder. ‘I said that, but I don’t know for sure. We need to form some kind of plan.’
Winter sighed miserably – when would this ordeal end? ‘Okay, but not here.’ She needed to get away from this spot. Away from the creaking trees and the darkness.
‘Where then?’ Sam frowned. ‘I’m a wanted man, remember. It’s not like I can take you out for milkshakes and burgers.’
Winter bit back the cutting remark that came to her lips and instead considered the options. There weren’t many to choose from. ‘We can go to my house. My sister’s out with her boyfriend tonight and won’t be back for a couple of hours.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah.’
Sam considered this for a moment, and then nodded. ‘Your house it is.’
They started off for Sam’s car, leaving the reserve and Sidaris’s grave behind them.
Chapter 12
There were no lights on as Sam pulled up in front of Winter’s house. The garage door was wide open, Lucy’s car gone. Sam parked on the opposite side of the street and sent Winter on ahead to make sure they would be alone. S
he didn’t bother arguing with him, figuring that after three months of living on the run, he was entitled to be a little paranoid.
She quickly crossed the driveway, feeling a little like a fugitive rushing across a prison courtyard trying to avoid the guards’ spotlight, and took the balcony steps to the front door. Using her key she stepped inside and called out, ‘Hello? Lucy?’
Predictably there was no reply. Nefertem ambled out of the shadows and meowed a ‘hello’ at her. Winter walked to the balcony railing and gave Sam the thumbs-up signal. She watched him step out of the car, retrieve a battered exercise bag, sling the crossbow over his shoulder and jog towards her.
‘Nobody’s home?’ he asked her when he reached the top of the stairs.
‘Just me and my bodyguard,’ Winter said, picking up Nefertem. The cat stiffened in her arms as Sam approached, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.
‘He doesn’t like you.’
Sam frowned at the cat as he passed. ‘I don’t like him either.’
Winter closed the door and followed him into the kitchen. Sam placed the duffle bag on the table, unzipped it, and withdrew two small clay oil burners. One was dark brown, the other a mottled blue colour. Both were bell shaped.
‘What are you going to do with those?’ Winter asked as Sam set about lighting the tea lights inside the burners.
‘Make the house safe,’ Sam answered, filling the dishes atop the burners with water from the tap. He then brought out a tiny vial of murky, purplish liquid from within his trenchcoat. ‘This oil is made from elderflower,’ Sam continued, adding a few drops to the water. ‘It should keep the Demori out.’ Almost immediately, the air became rich with the scent of the oil; the kitchen now smelt like a florist’s. Not at all unappealing, but certainly pungent.
‘Should?’ Winter said, eyeing the burners sceptically. The tea lights flickered lemon yellow behind the grates, flames heating the oil and water mixtures. Nefertem leapt up onto the table and padded cautiously over to the brown burner. Snout wrinkling, he lent in to sniff the dish before skittering away, clearly offended by the aroma.
‘Have faith,’ Sam said as he handed Winter the blue burner. ‘Carry this through the house and leave it somewhere towards the back. The idea is to fill the house with the scent of elderflower.’
Confused but willing to do anything to feel safer, Winter took the burner and followed Sam’s instructions. After depositing the burner in the laundry at the back of the house, she returned to the kitchen to find Sam sitting at the table, tightening his crossbow mechanism.
‘What do we do now?’ Winter asked, expecting him to propose another protective ritual. Perhaps get her to sit down with him and chant some kind of spell or mantra.
‘Have you got anything to eat?’ Sam asked a little hesitantly.
Winter arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re serious? You want me to feed you?’
‘Forget it —’
She sighed in exasperation. ‘Fine. I’ll heat something up.’ She walked to the fridge to see what there was. Luckily, it had been her turn to cook the previous night, and she had made enough tuna pasta to last a few more meals.
‘Don’t go to any trouble for me,’ he said, as she carried the leftovers to the microwave. However, the way his eyes kept straying to the Tupperware container in her hands made her think he was just being polite.
‘I won’t.’ Looking at him in the clear light of the kitchen, Winter was able to see just how changed Sam was. The last time she’d seen him he could have passed for a freshly recruited marine with his shaved head, broadly muscular frame and eager, confident demeanour. It wasn’t just that his hair had grown out or that he hadn’t shaved in what looked like weeks. His body shape had changed too. He was still tall and broad, but he’d lost some of his previous bulk and appeared much more wiry. Not emaciated by any stretch of the imagination, but definitely thinner. His cheeks had a faint hollow look to them. Against her better judgement, she found herself feeling sorry for him.
Placing the tuna in the microwave, she noticed the time. It was nearly eight. Lucy and Dominic would just be finishing up at the restaurant and getting ready to walk to the cinema. She and Sam had a few hours yet before he’d have to make himself scarce.
‘When you told me you weren’t going to throw the necklace away,’ Sam said, setting the crossbow on the table, ‘I started thinking we might be able use it. The Demori are arrogant. They think they’re untouchable. This Benedict won’t be expecting us to try to trap him.’ He paused as though having second thoughts about whatever it was he was about to propose.
‘Go on,’ Winter urged, curious to see where this was heading.
‘Tomorrow, once the sun sets you’ll use the stone. Use it to call Blake again. Benedict will hear the call and come for you. The difference is this time I’ll be waiting for him.’
‘That doesn’t sound like a very safe plan,’ Winter said, crossing her arms and frowning at him.
Sam sighed and picked up the crossbow again. ‘It’s not, and honestly, I wouldn’t suggest it if I thought there was another way. Unfortunately, there isn’t. Or I’m not smart enough to come up with one. Besides, going on the offensive is a smarter play than . . .’
‘Than what?’
Sam took a moment to answer. ‘Waiting for him to kill us.’
‘Oh,’ Winter said, swallowing nervously.
‘We just need to pick a location,’ Sam continued, clearly not wanting to dwell on this possibility. ‘Somewhere isolated . . . somewhere that won’t tip Benedict off that he’s being tricked. A place it would seem natural for you to call to Blake. Maybe here in the house?’
An idea occurred to her. A fitting location to spring Sam’s trap that wouldn’t arouse Benedict’s suspicion. She told him, and he jumped on the option immediately.
‘That’s brilliant! We’ll meet there tomorrow. Six-thirty, just before sunset.’
‘Six-thirty it is.’ Winter nodded, feeling her stomach twist at the prospect of facing Benedict again. Sam was right though. If the only other alternative was to sit and wait for the Demori to pick them off then she’d rather act. Even if the idea terrified her.
As a vaguely uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen, Winter debated whether or not to break it by telling Sam about Blake. Because of his occult background, he was probably the only person who might know what the lodestone’s vision meant. It wasn’t something she could look up on Wikipedia. The problem was she still couldn’t bring herself to trust Sam. Not yet, anyway. Caleb had raised his children to hate Blake – would Sam even care if somehow Blake had cheated death?
‘You can take that off if you like,’ she said, nodding towards his trenchcoat. Sam glanced down at the coat as though he’d forgotten he was even wearing it.
‘Right,’ he said, and somewhat reluctantly took it off, draping the coat over the back of the kitchen table chair nearest him. Winter wasn’t shocked to see how thin he was, she’d guessed that he’d lost weight already. She was shocked at the blood staining the grey t-shirt he was wearing underneath.
Chapter 13
It must have been too dark and her concentration too scattered while they were digging the grave for her to notice. His forearms and neck were also splashed with dried blood the colour of brown paint.
‘Oh my God, Sam! That’s not your blood is it?’ Winter asked, appalled at the grisly sight. He looked like a butcher fresh from the slaughterhouse.
‘No, I’m pretty sure it’s not.’ He glanced down at himself with a slightly embarrassed expression, as though he was covered in dried tomato sauce and not a creature’s viscera.
‘You need to have a shower.’
Sam began to protest. ‘It’s fine . . . I’ll just wash up at the sink.’
The last thing Winter wanted was for him to wash off the Demori’s blood in the kitchen. ‘No you won’t. Follow me, I’ll get you a towel and find you some clothes.’
His face still pink, Sam followed her into the hallway. She
took one of the towels from the cupboard and gestured to the bathroom. ‘You can get changed in there.’
Sam took the towel, and she was momentarily unnerved by the depth of gratitude she read in his grey-blue eyes. ‘Thanks, Winter.’
‘No problem.’ She left him to strip off and went into Lucy’s room, fishing around in the bottom of her drawers for something Sam could wear. Winter was pretty sure Lucy had an ex-boyfriend’s sweater in here somewhere . . . Found it! It was striped black and white, with a gold thirty-three on the back inscribed over the word ‘Beanpole’.
Casey ‘Beanpole’ Tompkins and Lucy had dated throughout most of her first year of college. He’d been to Hagan’s Bluff only once and Winter hadn’t liked him much. He was too loud, too cocky, and she was glad Lucy had dumped him. Taking the sweater back into the hallway, she knocked on the bathroom door and waited for Sam to answer.
‘Come in.’
Keeping her eyes on the tiles, Winter opened the door. She still managed to glimpse Sam in her periphery wearing nothing but the towel, and it was long enough to register his tanned, muscular torso in cheek-reddening detail.
‘This should fit,’ she said, holding out the sweater and trying not to look at him. This was nearly an impossible task.
‘Thanks again, Winter, this is . . .’ he paused, searching for the words to express himself ‘. . . more than I expected from you. I mean, I-I don’t —’ he stammered, clearly worried she’d mistake his gratitude for condescension.
‘Don’t mention it,’ Winter said, flashing him an awkward smile. He seemed unbothered, standing in her bathroom naked. Unfortunately, she was less comfortable. Feeling herself grow more flushed by the second, Winter backed out of the room. ‘I’ll go check on the food.’
Sam nodded, and she saw again that expression of sincere gratitude. Walking to the kitchen, she understood why he was so touched by her compassion. The last time they’d seen each other they’d been on opposite sides – Winter with Blake, Sam with the Bane. Enemies. Despite this, she couldn’t find any anger in her heart. Conflict and confusion, yes, but no anger. It was hard to hate someone who had just saved your life. The Sam who was standing naked in her bathroom wasn’t the same boy who had pursued her to Pilgrim’s Lament. He was sadder, lonelier – an orphan. Just like her.