by M. J. Hearle
‘Leave us alone!’ she yelled after him, her voice shrill.
Winter didn’t say anything. Benedict was here for blood. Nothing less would satisfy him.
‘Clever, clever, little girl,’ came the voice right next to Winter’s ear and it was her turn to gasp in fright. She whipped around, instinctively placing herself protectively in front of Jasmine, careful to keep within the circumference of the Dust. Her eyes had adjusted to the absence of light but she still couldn’t see very far. Only to where the cemetery began, the border of tombstones jutting out of the darkness like a mouthful of crooked teeth.
‘Who is it, Win? Who’s out there?’ Jasmine asked as they continued to wheel in a slow circle, fearfully keeping watch.
‘His name’s Benedict,’ she replied in low tones. ‘He’s a Demori.’
Jasmine took a moment to process this information. ‘Like Blake?’
‘Like Claudette.’
They both jumped as another black shape suddenly came flying out of the darkness. Instead of darting past, this one landed clumsily in a crumpled heap not far from where the two girls stood – a thrown body.
‘Is that Sam?’ Jasmine asked, looking around Winter’s shoulder.
Winter stared worriedly at the figure. She couldn’t see his face but recognised the grey trenchcoat wrapped around him like a death shroud.
‘Yes.’
‘Is he —?’ Jasmine couldn’t finish her question.
Winter shrugged helplessly, not wanting to hear the fear voiced aloud. The two girls squinted through the gloom, desperately studying the quiet form for any sign of movement. A sign that he was still breathing, still alive. The figure stirred, moaning softly and Winter released the breath she’d been holding, hearing Jasmine do the same beside her.
He was alive! Any relief she experienced was short-lived though.
‘What are we going to do now?’
‘I don’t know, Jas,’ Winter said. Panic was stalking her just as surely as Benedict was, and her attempts at keeping it at bay were failing.
Mercifully, the Dust seemed to be working as Sam had said it would. If it hadn’t Benedict would have surely attacked them before now. Taking small comfort in this, Winter tried to catalogue their options, limited as they were.
She and Jasmine could conceivably stay in the safety of the circle all night. It wouldn’t be easy or comfortable but they could manage it. At least until the sun rose, weakening Benedict’s power and perhaps bringing with it the arrival of a caretaker or gardener.
Sam moaned softly again. Miserably, Winter realised she couldn’t just wait till morning. From her vantage point it was impossible to guess the extent of Sam’s injuries but his screams had been descriptive enough. He was badly hurt. Possibly even dying. If Sam needed medical attention then every minute counted, otherwise, he might not last until morning.
Winter glanced anxiously at the phone in Jasmine’s hand. Feeling a glimmer of hope, she realised she could do as Jasmine originally suggested and call the police. As long as she stayed right where she was Benedict wouldn’t be able to stop her. But Sam had nothing to protect him. Who was to say Benedict wouldn’t finish the job he’d started once he heard the sound of approaching sirens? It was all too easy for Winter to imagine the Demori, furious at being denied his prey, taking out his rage and frustration on Sam.
No, she couldn’t let that happen.
Sam moaned again, sending her frantic thoughts into an even faster spin. What could she do? If she stayed where she was, she and Jasmine lived while Sam died. If she left the circle it was suicide.
‘Winter?’ Jasmine asked tentatively.
‘I’m thinking,’ she replied, tying herself into mental knots.
It was obvious what the Demori was trying to do – use Sam as bait. Lure Winter from the safe confines of the circle so she was vulnerable. Chewing her bottom lip, Winter suddenly had an idea – what if she didn’t have to leave the circle?
Winter weighed the leather satchel in her hand, feeling the powder shift within. Sam was easily ten feet away. She tried to estimate whether or not she had enough Dust to complete her plan. It was questionable, but what choice did she have?
Loosening the drawstring again, Winter gingerly lent forward and poured a second protective circle, joining onto the one she and Jasmine stood within.
‘Are you doing what I think you’re doing?’
‘I have to try,’ Winter said, squeezing her eyes shut as she stepped into the new circle she’d made. Her body tensed in preparation of feeling Benedict’s hot breath on the back of her neck. Seconds passed and she remained unharmed. Opening her eyes she saw Jasmine watching her with an expression of intense concern.
‘Please be careful!’ she said, her frightened gaze skittering from Winter to the cemetery and back again.
Winter turned towards Sam and made a third small circle with the Dust. Her heart in her mouth, she jumped, landing within the ring safely. So far so good. She was nearly halfway to Sam now.
Her plan was to pour a protective circle around him as soon as she was close enough. Hopefully she could reach him before Benedict figured out what she was trying to do. Once Sam was safe she could call an ambulance. Winter wasn’t sure what she’d tell the paramedics when they arrived, but she wasn’t too worried about coming up with an excuse at this moment.
The weight in the satchel lessened as she slowly poured out more of the powder, forming her fourth circle. Every grain counted so she was extra careful not to use too much. She hopped into this fourth circle, closer to Sam still. If only he would roll over so she could see his face. The way the trenchcoat was pulled up over his head made it impossible to see his features. And he’d stopped moaning, making her worry even more. She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing anymore.
Moving faster now, Winter finished the fifth circle, this one much thinner than the others, the sparkling Dust line only a trickle. Stepping into it, a memory flashed through Winter’s mind: she and Lucy as children, leaping from cushion to cushion in the living room, pretending the carpet was lava. It was a similar game she played now, though honestly Winter would have preferred it if hot lava coursed around her, rather than this awfully restless darkness.
Creating the sixth circle, Winter was now but an arm’s length away from Sam’s slumped form. Unfortunately, she faced a dire problem – there was not enough Dust to create a circle around him. There was hardly enough for a small seventh circle.
‘What’s the matter? Why have you stopped?’ Jasmine whispered behind her.
‘Nothing.’ Frowning down at the powder surrounding her feet, Winter realised she could widen this circle and maybe pull Sam into it. It would be tight but the two of them would just fit within the circumference.
Making one last nervous check to see if it was safe to move, Winter executed her plan, casting the edge of powder mere inches from Sam’s back. Now she’d easily be able to reach out and drag him over the line, but she’d have to lean out of the protective circle to do so. Not far, but enough for it to be dangerous.
‘Sam?’ Winter whispered. If he could just move himself closer to her she wouldn’t have to put herself at risk.
Sam remained still. Winter wiped her damp palms on her jeans and slowly crept forward. She was sweating profusely, her top sticking to her like an icy second skin.
‘Sam?’ She tried one last time. No response. Steeling herself, Winter moved out of the circle and bent over Sam, gently pulling the trenchcoat down from his face.
She didn’t have time to scream.
Chapter 21
It wasn’t Sam’s face grinning up at her as the trenchcoat fell away – it was Benedict, his eyes glittering with cruel mirth at the prank he’d played.
‘Clever girl!’ he said, giving the words he’d whispered earlier a sarcastic spin. Winter tried to scramble back into the safety of the Dust, but one pale hand shot up, grabbing her by the throat. She heard Jasmine scream behind her and the sound of rushing footsteps, but s
he couldn’t turn her head in Benedict’s vice-like grip or shout a warning.
‘Let her go you bast—’ Jasmine cried out, just as Benedict casually lashed out with his free hand, the blow sending her flying backwards like a ragdoll. Winter’s stomach lurched at the sound of Jasmine’s body thumping to the ground. She clawed at the arm holding her, but it might as well have been made of stone for all the good it did. Benedict’s emerald eyes bored into hers, a faint sneer curling his upper lip.
‘And so here we are. Another night, another drama. I saw that little trap you and the boy cooked up. Most impressive. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a holding circle. Quite an enterprising chap you’ve found yourself with. It might have actually worked too if you hadn’t gone running off through the graveyard like a madwoman.’ His sharp features softened into a falsely sincere expression of concern. ‘Oh I know,’ he said, the sickly sweetness of his breath making bile rise in her throat. ‘You wanted to warn your friend. You needn’t worry about her. Once I’m finished with you I’ll see she’s properly cared for.’ His lips curled evilly. ‘After all, I’m not a monster.’
Benedict’s threat provoked a burst of anger in Winter eclipsing her terror. She tried to speak but the pressure on her windpipe was too intense to form the words.
Benedict’s eyebrows arched. ‘What’s that, my sweet?’ His grip eased, but he still held her firmly.
‘Touch her . . . and I’ll kill you,’ she whispered hoarsely, glaring at him with the full force of her building rage. First Sam, now Jasmine. If she could have raked his eyes out she would have. ‘Just like Sidaris,’ she finished, taking immense pleasure in the effect the words had on him. Benedict’s smirk faded, his mouth tightened and his eyes narrowed dangerously.
‘Quite the wrong thing to say, my sweet.’
Winter’s mouth was dry but she managed to generate enough saliva to spit in Benedict’s face. A tremor of fury rolled through his body and Winter braced herself for the reprisal. Instead, he smiled, wiping her spit away with his free hand.
‘You are a treat!’ He pulled her closer. Winter tried to jerk her head away, squirming in his grasp, but he was too strong. She was struggling to breathe.
‘First a kiss,’ Benedict said softly, his lips almost brushing hers, ‘and then the pain.’ He lunged forward, pressing his mouth onto hers. Winter sealed her lips shut but they were forced open by Benedict’s snake-like tongue. His breath pumped into her lungs, carrying with it a paralysing agent that weakened her struggles. Numbness spread through her body, radiating out from her chest and stealing over her limbs. Winter’s vision swam as she felt her life essence being drawn into Benedict’s gaping maw. She thought of Sam, of Jasmine, of Lucy, and finally of Blake. Holding his face in her mind, she told him, I’m sorry, and hoped that wherever she was going she’d see him again.
Suddenly, brilliant white light exploded all around her, as though day had sprung unexpectedly upon the night. Benedict’s mouth left hers, but his grip was still tight.
Through her watery gaze she saw Benedict’s expression shift from irritation to anger and – she prayed this wasn’t just wishful thinking – fear.
‘No,’ he hissed through clenched teeth, his gaze flicking momentarily to Winter and then back to whatever was approaching from behind her. ‘No,’ he repeated, more loudly this time, the frustration clear. His fingers relaxed around her throat and he drew back, letting her go.
Winter crumpled to her knees, unable to support her own weight. She was so weakened she could hardly raise her head to watch Benedict retreat further, driven backwards by the white glare. Red and purple spots danced in front of her eyes. All she wanted to do was close them, but she wouldn’t allow herself to give in to the wave of exhaustion sweeping over her until she was sure Benedict was gone.
His form shadowed by the light, Winter watched Benedict a few feet away from her hesitate, torn between fighting and retreating. His face was a mask of fury and yes, fear as well. Eventually, he snarled at whoever stood behind her, turned and ran into the dark cemetery. Winter saw a burst of green fire in the distance and that was all. He was gone.
She allowed herself to fall to the ground now, rolling onto her side towards the light. Her vision dimmed but not before she saw two figures approaching, the taller one holding what looked like a flare, the other brandishing a crossbow. Just like Sam’s. But it wasn’t Sam. This figure was slighter . . . a woman.
The couple approached Winter, the light grew brighter, but not bright enough to stop her slipping into unconsciousness.
Chapter 22
Winter dreamt, but her dreams were dark. There was nothing to see, only vague sensations (being lifted and carried), smells (aftershave at first, then later car leather) and sounds (voices speaking in another language – Russian? A car engine starting, tyres crunching on gravel). In her dream there was no Benedict, no Sam, no Jasmine. No Blake. She was alone, but this didn’t alarm her. Instead, it was a relief. She had only herself to worry about and no-one to fear.
It was with some reluctance that she groggily awoke an hour or so later, leaving the comforting nothingness of the void and returning to a wakeful state of confusion and uncertainty. Opening her eyes in a dimly lit room, her first thought was that everything that had happened in the cemetery had been part of her dream, that the jumbled collection of smells and sounds she remembered experiencing had only been the epilogue. It didn’t take her very long to realise she was mistaken. Seconds really. For one thing, she’d never seen this room before.
She was lying on a pale blue, lumpy couch. A red-shaded lamp glowed dully on a small table next to her head. In the back of her mind a memory ignited: waking up in a similar disorientated state in the Velasco Place three months ago. This room, however, was much more welcoming than that chamber of shadows; very similar to her own living room in fact with its two couches, tall bookcase and television in the corner.
Winter slowly sat up. Her head was pounding and her body felt bruised and battered, like she’d just been thrown down a flight of stairs. Tentatively she touched her throat, wincing at the tenderness of it. Slowly her mind reconstructed the events that had led her here – Sam, Morningside, Jasmine and Benedict, his burning lips pressed against hers. She shuddered at that part of the memory, still tasting his tongue in her mouth. At the last moment, she’d been saved from Benedict’s fatal kiss by a blinding white light. The people wielding this heavenly blaze were probably the ones who’d brought her here.
Where were they now?
A familiar smell pricked her nostrils – elderflower. She spotted a small clay oil burner standing on the coffee table, very similar to the ones Sam had deposited in her house. Grey smoke slowly drifted from it carrying the pungent scent of the oil. Whoever had brought her here clearly knew a thing or two about the Demori and how to keep them away.
Sam!
Winter’s heart jolted anxiously at the thought of him lying somewhere in the cemetery. Benedict or no Benedict she needed to get back there and help him. Standing too quickly, Winter felt the ground lurch dangerously beneath her. She gripped the armrest of the couch for support until the dizzy spell passed.
There were two doors leading out of the room. She went to the first one and tried the handle. Dismayed to find it locked, she tried the other one. It too was locked. Frowning, she stepped back and considered the problem. Why would her saviours feel the need to lock up an unconscious girl? She now heard footsteps on the other side of the door coming towards her.
Taking a few cautious steps backwards, Winter glanced around quickly for anything that might serve as a weapon. Just in case the situation called for it. The lamp would do. Moving to her left, she positioned herself within arm’s reach just as the door opened.
Winter was momentarily too stunned to speak. Dominic was standing there in the doorway. Lucy’s meek boyfriend, though there was something decidedly changed about him. He seemed to be standing taller, his shoulders back and chest pushed forward. Gone were the
thick horn-rimmed glasses and buttoned down white shirt, replaced with a clear-eyed stare and slim-fitting dark brown jumper that clung to his muscular physique.
‘Good. You’re awake,’ he said, as though their meeting in this strange house had been prearranged.
‘Dominic? What are you —’
‘My name is Yuri Protevich, Winter. Not Dominic.’
Still struggling to accept the change in his appearance, Winter’s confused thoughts were sent into a deeper spin by this revelation.
‘Yuri? I don’t —?’
‘You have lots of questions,’ he said, calmly cutting her off. ‘Come with me and I’ll try my best to answer them.’ He stepped aside and gestured for her to enter the hallway with him.
Winter hesitated a moment, unsure whether or not she could trust this man who was clearly much more than he’d seemed. He even sounded different now, his accent falling away, revealing some kind of European lilt. Russian, she guessed from his name.
Yuri smiled encouragingly at her and while she was still very muddled about the situation, the smile was enough for her to follow him. He closed the door behind her and gently led her into the hallway with its incongruous floral wallpaper, and down to another door which he pushed open, revealing a small kitchen.
Stepping into the room, Winter was incredibly relieved to see Jasmine sitting at the round kitchen table, nursing what looked like a mug of hot chocolate.
‘Win!’ She rushed towards Winter and threw her arms around her, nearly knocking her to the ground. Grinning weakly, Winter gently pried Jasmine off her. ‘Hey, Jas.’
Jasmine’s face crinkled with concern. ‘Are you okay? I was out cold so I didn’t see what happened. Did that creep hurt you?’
Winter’s relieved expression faltered as the image of Benedict’s demonic smile momentarily flashed before her eyes.