by M. J. Hearle
Then the sounds began.
It was the engine, sputtering and choking, grasping for life like an old man on his deathbed. Elena started hitting the steering wheel, swearing at it in Russian as though her curses might intimidate it back into life. The car lost momentum, then coasted a short distance before rolling to a complete stop.
Chapter 33
Sitting in the silent car as the sky paled above, Winter waited for Benedict or the cats or both to reappear. Sam had his crossbow out and was anxiously watching the windows. Likewise arming herself, Elena had withdrawn a small blade from the inside of her jacket. Where was her weapon? She had nothing to protect herself with except harsh language and morning breath.
As the minutes ticked by and the light outside took on a stronger golden hue, Sam nervously ventured, ‘I think we’re okay.’
Winter craned her head up against the glass, squinting past a building to chart the sun’s location. It was fully visible now, just beginning its journey across the sky. The street lamps were still on, and the infrequent cars which rushed past them all had their headlights blazing. The world was waking up. The question was whether it had woken up enough to negate Benedict’s power to travel. In her periphery, she caught a glimmer of movement – it was just a plastic bag riding the slipstream of a speeding truck.
Winter began to feel as if the car was slowly shrinking around them, side panels pushing in, ceiling lowering, ready to squish them into strawberry jam. The car was a coffin and she needed to escape. ‘There’s one way to find out.’
‘Winter —’ Sam began to protest, but she was already opening the door. The cool morning breeze hit her face like a refreshing splash of water. She sucked in a lungful and held it, the chill numbing the staccato rhythm in her chest. Sam cautiously followed her out of the car, crossbow first. The dawn glow burnished his stubbly cheeks and jaw. Warily, his gaze flicked from Winter to the shadowy industrial landscape and back again. A semi-trailer barrelled past, the driver gawking at Sam’s weapon.
Winter let the air whoosh out of her and smiled at him.
Sam returned the smile, lowering the crossbow. ‘That was intense.’
It occurred to Winter that if this was a horror movie then now would be the moment for the next big scare. Nothing happened – Benedict didn’t suddenly pop up and kill them, they were not overwhelmed by a clowder of possessed cats. The only risk they seemed to face now was being run over by a sleepy driver.
‘What do we do now?’
Elena was opening the driver’s side door. ‘We get a taxi to the airport.’
‘What about the car?’ Winter looked at the battered green station wagon. It had almost delivered them to their destination safely, leaving it here by the side of the road seemed a little callous.
Elena shrugged, pulling out her mobile phone. ‘We don’t need it anymore.’
Winter looked to Sam, interested to see if he was fine with this considering it was his car. He shrugged. ‘It’ll be cheaper to get a taxi than to call roadside assistance. Besides I’d rather not draw attention to myself if I can help it.’
Winter nodded, feeling a little slow on the uptake. ‘Right, I keep forgetting about the whole wanted by the police thing.’ She looked up the stretch of freeway, towards the city in the distance. ‘Feel like stretching your legs?’ she asked him.
‘Sure.’
They left Elena with the phone pressed to her ear and strolled away from the car.
‘You must be exhausted,’ Sam said, shooting her a concerned sideways glance.
Amazingly, Winter wasn’t though she suspected the moment she saw a bed that would change. ‘I’m okay. I was hoping we could have a moment to talk alone before we leave.’
A slight crease appeared on Sam’s forehead.
‘Sure. What about?’
‘Am I doing the right thing?’
Sam squirmed at the question. ‘Look, you want to get to the Dead Lands, Yuri’s going to help you —’
‘Sam . . .’
‘What do you want me to say, Winter? He might not be of the family but Yuri’s a Bonnaire. We look after our own.’ It was a robotic answer, and she sensed he didn’t quite believe it.
‘If that’s true, then where have they been for the past three months? Where were they when you were sleeping in your car? Being chased by the police?’
Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed forcibly. ‘Aunt Magdalene doesn’t look kindly on failure. I suppose you could say I was in . . . disgrace.’
She didn’t think this sort of behaviour fell under Sam’s we look after our own response but bit her tongue. ‘What changed?’
He sighed, considering his words carefully before answering. ‘I saved your life. Brought you to them. Yuri thinks you trust me and that if I’m around you’ll feel safer. It’s the only reason I’ve been invited to return.’
Winter was momentarily lost for words, disarmed by his honesty.
‘You’re using me?’
His eyes never left hers and there was no mistaking the sincerity she saw there. ‘You’re my ticket to freedom. But if you were to tell me right now you wanted to go home, I wouldn’t stand in your way. I’d do what I could to help you.’
Again she was touched by his honesty, by his loyalty. Loyalty she wasn’t sure how she’d earned. Winter wondered if she might be Sam’s penance. He couldn’t take back what his family did to Blake, but he could help Winter. It would explain why he had translated the diary, and seemed resolute to protect her.
‘I don’t think Yuri would be too pleased if you did that.’
Sam shook his head, frowning slightly. ‘No, he wouldn’t. You’re everything to them, Winter. They’ve been looking for a Key for as long as I can remember. Father used to . . .’ At the mention of Caleb, a tremor of emotion passed through his voice. ‘There were lots of late-night phone conversations about the Mirror and the Key. He was obsessed. They all were.’
‘Wait a minute,’ Winter said, seizing on his reference to the Black Mirror. ‘You knew about this Black Mirror and didn’t tell me about it? Even after what I told you about Blake and —’
‘I don’t give a damn about Blake!’ he snapped at her, shocking her with the edge to his words. Seeing her hurt reaction, he softened his voice. ‘I’m sorry. I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him. I know you cared about him, but Blake’s dead. If his spirit or whatever is somehow being held in the Dead Lands – and I don’t necessarily believe it is – then you won’t be able to save him from the Malfaerie. Those creatures are unlike anything you can imagine.’
‘I’m not going alone,’ she began, hating the pathetic quality in her tone. The lack of conviction. ‘The Bane will be with me. Yuri said he’d organise some kind of team. Soldiers —’
Sam’s frustrated sigh cut her off. ‘You’re not a dumb girl. Think about it. He would have told you anything to get you to come along.’
Winter struggled to contain an anger she knew wasn’t entirely justified. It hurt that Sam had withheld the information about the Black Mirror, but she was more furious with him for voicing aloud his doubts. Doubts that only further undermined her security, her sense of purpose.
‘So, what am I supposed to do? Give up on Blake? Pretend I didn’t see him suffering? In pain.’
Sam lowered his gaze. ‘I can’t tell you what to do, Winter.’
No, he couldn’t, but he had made it pretty clear how foolish he thought she was acting. Just as Jasmine had before him. It seemed everyone thought trusting Yuri was a bad idea. Couldn’t they understand she would grab any opportunity, no matter how slim the chance of success or how dangerous the risks, just to see Blake again? Couldn’t they see it wasn’t even a choice? Feeling trapped and claustrophobic again, this time by her own decisions, Winter looked out to the reddening sky. Beautiful though the sunrise was, no answers were visible chasing the clouds on the morning. No solace.
‘You two!’ Elena shouted from the car. ‘Help me with the bags. Taxi’s on the
way.’
Winter started off towards Elena.
She heard Sam’s footsteps scuff the pavement as he hurried to catch up and was grateful when he remained quiet. There was nothing left to be said.
Blake’s Diary, August 17th
Ellen is dead.
I found Claudette standing over her body by the side of Palmer’s Road on the outskirts of town. The rain had set her free, flooding her room and washing away the holding circle. I was too late. My sister’s kiss had already wrought its nightmarish magic on the girl and all I could do was stare at them both as the rain beat down. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Could only watch with silent horror.
And then Claudette smiled that wicked smile of hers and I felt something snap inside of me. A black rage roared up from within, swallowing my shock and grief. I leapt at my sister, threw her violently to the ground, closed my hands around her throat and squeezed. She struggled against me but the anger had made me strong. I could have ended it there – should have ended it – but as her eyes dimmed a memory rose, unbidden and unwelcome . . .
Claudette and I as children, up to our waists in cold snow. Black twisted trees crowd over us like hands and there’s something growling nearby. Wolves! Claudette grabs my hand and pulls me towards the nearest tree. ‘Climb!’ she says, and I hear the wolves racing towards us, can feel their hot breath. Now hidden amongst the tallest branches, I look down and see the wolves below, teeth snapping at the air, their yellow eyes finding mine, pinning me with terror. Such naked hunger, such ferocity. I’m crying and Claudette slips her arm around me and softly whispers not to be afraid. She’ll protect me. She’ll always protect me . . .
I cannot murder her. Whatever monster she’s become, she’s still my sister. Gathering her into my arms, we Travelled back to the house. Claudette was barely breathing as I drew a new holding circle around her but she’ll heal soon enough. My wounds will not. I can’t write much more. I’m so tired. I want nothing more but to sleep, to escape this awful night. Yet I’m afraid. Afraid the moment I close my eyes I’ll see her face. Ellen. Those blank eyes staring up at the rain. I’ll see all their faces. Carol, Veronica, Martique, Hannah, Juliet, April, Sarah, Cate, Vanessa, Kim, Jo.
Elisabetta.
So many lives sacrificed at the altar of my weakness. So many . . .
Tomorrow, we move. The police will be here soon enough with their questions, and not far behind them the Bane. Part of me wants to stay and just accept our fate. But I’m a coward and at this stage running away feels as natural as breathing.
The map lies open on the desk beside me. A town is circled where we can make our next home. What I hope will be our final home. We can’t continue like this. The name I picked was in smaller print than the others surrounding it, yet my gaze was drawn nonetheless. All these years, decades, travelling and not once have I thought of returning to where it all began.
Hagan’s Bluff.
Chapter 34
‘Winter?’ Sam’s voice distracted her from the notebook. She’d been so lost in Blake’s words she’d momentarily forgotten where they were.
Now awake, the sounds of the airport rushed over her. A distorted voice echoed through the lounge announcing Paul Govind was to immediately make his way to gate thirty-four; a baby was screaming a few seats down from her, the mother pressing the red-faced infant to her breast, gently shushing him.
Sam was looking down at her, his face tense.
‘It’s time to go.’ In his good hand he was carrying a ticket and the forged passport. The other was hidden in a sling under his jacket. ‘They’ve just announced the gate. C’mon.’
Still feeling upset about what she’d just read, Winter nodded and slipped the notebook back into her bag. She’d wanted to pack Blake’s diary as well, worried it might get lost with her luggage somewhere en route, but it had been too bulky. Sam was already walking towards the security check and she had to run to catch up.
Reading the notebook while she waited for their gate to be called probably hadn’t been the smartest decision. She was already anxious, and each sentence made her even more distressed. Such horror and tragedy. Winter didn’t know how Blake could have endured it. Nevertheless, there was some comfort to be found in his words. At times Winter could imagine Blake was speaking directly to her, relating more of his dark history as he had done by firelight in the Velasco living room. The story was upsetting but the intimacy – the connection forged between Blake, the teller of the tale, and Winter, his captive audience – was worth it. She was thinking about this connection when a black shape in her periphery made her freeze. A man dressed in a dark suit was crossing the lounge towards them.
Her breath caught in her throat, heartbeat surging. It was Benedict! He’d found them. She was about to grab Sam when she realised her mistake. It was not Benedict – just a young guy who in profile looked a bit like him. There was no reason to panic. They were safe in the daylight.
Her attention still on the young guy, Winter nearly ran into the back of Sam, who had paused abruptly.
‘What’s up?’
She followed his worried gaze and saw the line of people waiting to pass through the security checkpoint. Guards with guns holstered to their belts were carrying out routine searches on every third or fourth person. After seeing his face splashed across every major newspaper and broadcast on all the news networks, usually with the label ‘suspected murderer’ underneath it, Sam was entitled to be a little jumpy. All it would take was one keen-eyed security officer with a good memory to look past the dyed hair and recognise his face for that thin promise of freedom to disappear.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, Sam. The police are looking for a handsome blond guy. Not a weird-looking emo cripple. You’ll be fine,’ Winter said, hoping a little humour might help him relax. Her efforts won her a nervous smile.
‘I look that different, do I?’
She nodded. ‘I barely recognise you.’ Their eyes met and she felt a strange rippling inside, as though someone had thrown a pebble down a well, disturbing the surface of the water.
‘Aren’t we missing somebody?’ she asked. Elena had left them watching the departure screens while she’d gone to buy a book.
‘I am here.’ The voice startled both of them. Winter turned and saw Elena materialise out of the bustling activity of the airport. Just alluding to Elena could apparently summon her out of the ether like a genie or spirit. Or witch.
‘Did you get your book?’ Winter asked.
‘Yes,’ Elena replied, her golden-hued cheeks reddening ever so slightly. Intrigued, Winter saw the top of the book jutting from her handbag. It was a Danielle Steel novel, the author’s gold-foil-stamped name catching the airport’s glare. Winter turned away, quickly hiding her smile. In a million years she wouldn’t have pegged Elena as a reader of steamy romance novels.
They joined the motley collection of travellers lining up for the security check. Almost every age demographic was represented, from grey-haired grannies to wide-eyed toddlers straining against their parents’ grasp.
Whenever Winter travelled by air (she’d done it four times, so she was hardly used to it), the oddest guilty thoughts occurred to her when she passed through security. It was the signs that did it. The ones plastered all over the area just before the checkpoint that listed all the various objects that were forbidden from being carried on the plane. She didn’t have so much as a nail file on her, but it didn’t stop her doing a double, then triple-check to make sure.
She glanced over at Sam and saw that her mild anxiety was nothing compared to what he was going through.
His tanned skin was flushed, beads of sweat shone on his forehead and ran down his temples. He lifted his hand to wipe at them, but it too was sweaty, so he only ended up smearing more moisture across his brow. Sam looked feverish. And guilty. His eyes wouldn’t stop moving, jumping to the security guards and then skittering nervously away. People walking through security checks, dripping with sweat and acting jittery, wer
e probably regarded more closely than others. Winter knew that she needed to do something to calm him down.
Without thinking too much about it, she reached over and took hold of his clammy hand, giving it a quick, compassionate squeeze. At the contact Sam twitched, turning to look at her with surprised puzzlement. A smile crept across his harried features.
‘It’s going to be okay,’ she told him.
He gave a brief nod and she was relieved to see the incriminating expression leave his eyes. Both of them stepped forward to the X-ray machine and loaded the small plastic tubs with their wallets and jewellery (she was reluctant to part with Blake’s necklace even for a second, but dutifully removed it). They passed through the detectors with nary a raised eyebrow from the bored-looking security guards.
Afterwards, Sam’s relief was palpable. He let out a long, sustained sigh.
‘I can’t believe I made it. It’s really over.’
‘Yep – you’re a free man. How does it feel?’ Winter said, sharing his happy relief.
‘Fantastic. Just . . . fantastic. I honestly thought I was going to spend the rest of my life in jail. I’d sort of resigned myself to it.’ He stared thoughtfully ahead into the middle distance, as though seeing a future he hadn’t dared imagine before.
‘Thanks for looking after me back there. It was . . . very cool.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said, and almost laughed in relief at the whole thing. And then she thought of Blake being cruelly tortured by the scarlet monk and experienced a stab of guilt that was profound and upsetting.
I’m coming my love.
It was a promise made not only to Blake, but to herself. A reminder of why she was about to get on the plane with Sam and Elena. The task ahead was so daunting, so fraught with uncertainty, Winter realised she’d been avoiding dwelling on it, allowing herself to get carried away with the excitement of the moment. The drama of jumping on a plane and setting off for an exotic location. This wasn’t a holiday. It was wise to be afraid. Useful even. The fear would help prepare her for the unexpected.