He stopped and listened intently to his invisible ally. Morven couldn’t see his face but she had a notion that she was the subject of the conversation. Stealthily, silently, she slipped back out the door and shut it to. Sweat trickled down her forehead as she waited,convinced she’d given herself away. But she worried unnecessarily. Calix’s voice carried clearly through the door. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘we’ll continue this later. She’ll be back any minute.’
Morven didn’t wait any longer. Before he could hang up, she kicked the door violently and rushed in. ‘Oops!’ she said, ‘I guess I don’t know my own strength.’
Calix dropped the phone into the receiver and lifted a black eyebrow. ‘Had a good evening?’
Morven nodded. ‘Pretty awesome.’ She plucked the board from beneath her armpit and waved it at him. ‘Just bought this board. It’s hardcore.’
Maybe it was imagination, or perhaps paranoia, but Morven was almost sure that for a nano-second his polished, perfect poise slipped.
‘Hardcore?’
Morven nodded. ‘Pretty sick.’
‘Sick?’
Morven gave up. How old was he, anyway? Really, he was a bit…uncool. Zest would have got it. Absolutely. And then curiosity set in. It was no good, she’d have to ask. ‘Calix, how old are you?’
He withdrew his gaze from the skateboard and looked up at her. ‘I am 36, Celeste is 30 and The Mater is 304. At least, that’s what she publicly admits to. Mind you, it’s not really old for Vampyre. My grandmother is at least double that. Our numbers had diminished to dangerous levels, but then we discovered IVF. Just in the nick of time, you might say. Not only saved the race but made a fortune in the process.’
Morven was silent as she turned the numbers over in her mind. If the grandmother was double, she was into her seventh century. Morven couldn’t help but feel a bit squeamish. What did someone that old look like? Eew. But then she thought about The Mater (didn’t the woman have a name?) who looked pretty slick still. Luckily. So, her race had discovered IVF. And made a fortune. Her eyes slid around the sumptuous office. Money did not seem to be an issue. ‘Are we all rich?’
Calix grinned. ‘Disgustingly so.’
Morven couldn’t help but smile back. But then she realised something. Her cousin had a very fine, very white set of human teeth. She frowned. ‘Your teeth,’ she said, ‘they’re…’ She stopped; it seemed rude to make such a personal remark, cousin or no cousin.
Calix picked up a fountain pen and tapped his front teeth, apparently unfazed. ‘Oh yes. These are not real. Prosthesis. False. Very handy when one is slumming it with the mortals. Remind me tomorrow, and we’ll book you in for a fitting.’
Morven nodded, but to be honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted to wear false teeth. She ran a tongue around her fangs. They were seriously fabulous. She didn’t want to hide them. Not yet, anyway. For a second though, she remembered the terrorised werewolf child. Here, in the heart of the city, amidst the trappings of the Campbell empire, the incident seemed unreal. Like a dream. And she realised that it would be very easy to be seduced by this new life. By the promise of wealth and — logically — power. By the lure of life eternal and endless opportunity. It was going to take a fair bit of self-control to keep on track.
Calix shut down his computer and picked up a black leather attaché case. ‘You ready?’
Morven slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up the board. The wolf’s eyes seemed to watch her. ‘I’m ready,’ she said.
They retraced their steps to the lift, the foyer and out onto the street. The sky was heavy with cloud. Fat flakes of snow filled the atmosphere. They drifted and settled on Morven’s sleeve. To her delight she could see each flake and its microscopic pattern quite clearly. And it was true what they said — each flake was different. Unique. Exquisite.
Snug inside the car, Morven fell silent. Calix seemed preoccupied. As they climbed up and over the range the snow seemed to get heavier. ‘Will we still go hunting tonight?’ said Morven.
‘Sure. The snow’s dead handy. All those little footprints. Better than breadcrumbs.’ He glanced at her. ‘Hungry?’
She laughed. ‘I’m always hungry!’
He smiled. ‘Well, there should be plenty to satisfy you tonight.’
Suddenly Morven was mad with longing. The car seemed too slow, the kilometres stretching out like a piece of elastic. She sincerely hoped everyone would be ready and waiting when they finally got back to the castle. It was funny; already the thought of the castle seemed quite natural. Not outrageous at all. Shame it was at the end of the universe.
Maybe Calix sensed her impatience. ‘You’ll have to choose a weapon,’ he said.
That got her full attention. The next hour flew by as they discussed the armoury that was situated in the dungeons below the castle. Her cousin was an absolute cornucopia of knowledge. There didn’t seem to be a single weapon in which he wasn’t well versed. Apparently she could take her pick of guns, rifles, slingshots (cool), spears, bows (cooler still) and swords. Utterly awesome.
She was almost disappointed when they pulled onto the long lakeside road and she saw the castle. They scrunched up the drive, snow compacting beneath the wide tyres. A large four-wheel drive was parked outside the entry. ‘Ah,’ said Calix, ‘looks like your second cousin is here already.’
Morven wasn’t sure that she was ready to meet another strange member of her family. But then the huge timber door swung open and spilled light onto the path. A young man sauntered out and gazed down at them. He smiled. And Morven stared in amazement. This, she had not expected.
Chapter 42
Morven was stunned. It seemed incredible, but the renowned hard rock musician, Eddie Macabre, was her cousin. Of course, she didn’t really dig his style, but his rock band, First Bite, were bigger than reality TV. He was practically royalty.
Eddie Macabre descended the steps and managed to make a performance of it. He looked exactly the same off stage as he did on. Hot. Long black hair carelessly restrained by a velvet bow, ripped jeans, thigh-length black boots, and a loose linen shirt, open to the navel, its lacy neckline emphasising a rippling mass of muscle. A veritable sabre-toothed tiger.
Close up, Morven was able to appreciate the wide black eyes, ringed with kohl, the hawk-like nose and the chiselled perfection of his cheekbones. The only thing that didn’t fit with Morven’s memory were his teeth. Eddie and his band had massive pointed fangs. Their trademark. Up close, Macabre’s teeth were definitely Vampyre, but smaller. Morven felt a wave of admiration. Here was a vampyre who didn’t hide behind a pair of false teeth. On the contrary, he exaggerated his assets. Mad-doggish!
At the bottom of the steps he stopped and enveloped Morven in a hug of mammoth proportions. Pressed hard against his chest Morven felt most uncomfortable. Thankfully he soon released her and stepped back, throwing up his hands theatrically. He turned to his other cousin. ‘Calix, she’s a stunner. Why wasn’t I warned?’
Morven could feel the blood racing up her neck to her face. Fabulous.
Eddie shivered like a sapling in a storm. ‘It’s fucking freezing here. Why can’t you move to the North Pole or somewhere civilized?’ He turned and raced back up the steps.
With each step it seemed to Morven that the world seemed to empty, little by little. Perhaps the rock star had this effect on everyone around him, for everyone scrambled after him. Maybe, Morven reasoned, this was why he was a rock star. As she followed the Campbells she happened to glance upward at a figure silhouetted in an upper window. Celeste stared down, her features soft with love. When she noticed Morven’s gaze upon her she jerked away, as if stung by a bluebottle. There was no doubt about it. Cousin Celeste had the hots for her rock star cousin. Morven couldn’t help but wonder if the feelings were reciprocated.
The last one in, Morven shut the door. The great hall was abuzz with chatter and laughter. Eddie seemed to loosen everyone’s cogs a notch. Even The Mater seemed pleased to bask in his body heat. The at
mosphere was jovial and warm and the close-knit family seemed to fuse before the firelight. Morven felt lonely. And she longed for home. She was grateful when Caractacus arrived and singled her out.
‘Are you hunting?’
Morven said she was. Caractacus turned to the gathering huddled near the fire, gossiping like an unkindness of ravens. ‘Hey Calix, you’d better get Morven sorted.’
Calix turned and nodded. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘I’ll take you to the armoury.’
Morven left the room with the two brothers. They headed into the southern turret and down a steep flight of steps. The air cooled considerably and the atmosphere felt musty. Finally they ducked beneath a low archway. Calix flicked a switch and white light lit up a long, wide corridor that seemed to have been carved out of stone by dwarves in the days of the middle years. It was damp and green lichen grew like mermen’s beards in nooks and crannies. Somewhere a soft drip, drip, drip of water reminded Morven of the lake and she had to swallow down a spasm of claustrophobia.
Caractacus clapped his hands together making Morven flinch. ‘Morven, these are the castle dungeons. If you go down there,’ he pointed to a narrow niche hewn in one stone wall, ‘you get to the torture chambers. Do you want a quick look?’
Morven couldn’t help it. She did. ‘Sure,’ she said, ‘if there’s time.’
Caractacus looked enquiringly at his brother who was opening a gun cabinet that spread along the entire back wall.
Calix glanced at his watch. ‘If you’re quick.’
Caractacus picked up a huge black torch and headed for the niche. He squeezed through, and Morven followed. The passage way was narrow and low. Caractacus stopped beside one of two old oak doors, studded with rusting iron bolts. ‘These are the lockups.’ He pushed a door ajar and Morven peered around his shoulder. The empty cell was tiny. Damp and cold. Morven shivered. What a horrid place it was. There was a strange atmosphere. As if all the pains and sorrows of centuries clung like cobwebs to the walls.
Maybe her cousin felt the same way, or maybe time was just pressing, for he let the door slam abruptly shut, and without a word continued on. Soon the corridor emptied into a large cavernous space. She blinked as the lights went on. ‘Holy crap,’ she said softly. She did not need to be told what the place was. It was the torture chamber. The rack she recognised, and the thumb screws, even the iron boot. But some of the implements defied imagination. Probably as well. Chains still dangled limply from the walls. And in one corner was a deep, dark well. Tentatively Morven peered down. Several metres below she could just make out the top of what appeared to be a primitive cage. She felt slightly sick.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
Morven looked sharply at Caractacus, but his face was as green as pea soup. Words weren’t necessary. Silently they left and hurried back to the relative comfort of the armoury. Calix turned and beckoned to Morven as she re-emerged. ‘Have a look at these,’ he said.
With a determined effort Morven shook off the heebie-jeebies and hurried over to the gun cabinet. Her eyes wandered over the dizzying display of guns and rifles. She picked up a big gun and weighed it in her hand. It felt good. Familiar. She swapped it for a shiny semi-automatic. Tempting. But she wanted to see what else there was. She wasn’t in the mood for bullets. She turned to Calix. ‘What else have you got?’
Calix frowned, closed the cabinet and wandered over to a large chest. The lid lifted with a groan of protest. ‘Have a gander at these.’
Morven moved closer and had a look. And her mouth went dry. The chest was full of throwing nets. Pain flared in her chest as she remembered Zest’s recent entanglement. She backed away in distaste. ‘No.’ She looked around the room and had a revelation. Suddenly she knew exactly what she wanted. ‘What about the bow?’
Calix looked blank.
Morven pressed on. ‘You know, the crossbow up in the great hall. The little black one.’
His expression lightened. ‘Sure, let’s give it a go.’ So saying, he shut up the guns and the chest.
Morven followed. She knew it was silly, but she was glad to have Caractacus behind her; the place creeped her out. As they burst back out into the hall Morven felt her spirits lift. As she stood before the flickering flames and listened to the logs crackle and sigh, she decided that she wouldn’t go back down there again. Not if she could help it.
Caractacus lifted down the bow and handed it to her. The other Campbell’s hushed and watched with apparent interest. So engrossed was she that Morven barely noticed. It was the second time she’d held it and it still felt good. She took a deep breath and then lifted the weapon to eye height. And relaxed. Her hands shifted and nimbly loaded the setting. Her finger hovered over the trigger. Just as quickly and easily she disarmed the weapon. ‘This will be fine.’
Calix looked pleased. He turned slightly to address everyone. ‘Okay, listen up. Everyone go get ready, and we’ll meet back here in 10 minutes.’
The party split up and headed off. Morven found herself alone. She put the bow carefully onto a chest of drawers and wondered what ‘getting ready’ entailed. For want of anything better to do she picked up her backpack and headed to the main stairs. Back in her room, she sat on her bed, pulled out her phone and contemplated it. Should she or shouldn’t she? But finally she decided that she had no choice. She didn’t know when she’d get another quiet moment. With shaking hands she dialled Zest’s number. She glued her ear to the plastic and held her breath. For a moment her hopes flopped as the connection remained stubbornly silent. Damn it. Maybe the sim wasn’t set up for overseas calls. Relief rippled through her as the phone began to ring. ‘Come on, come on,’ she whispered. ‘Zest. Answer the goddamned phone.’
Chapter 43
It was a hot day. A January scorcher. Even the cicadas were listless, their bush telegraph reduced to a somnolent buzz. Dog panted in the shade of the trees. All was quiet. Zest jumped violently when the phone in his hand began to ring. He looked at the number. Morven! His fingers clumsy with haste, he scrolled the window open and held it to his ear.
‘Zest? It’s Morven. Are you okay? Are Mum and Dad alright?’
Zest closed his eyes and leant back against the peeling bark of a gum tree. Too weak to support himself. A rush of emotion seemed to embalm him. There were no words in the whole wide world that could have expressed the depth of his relief. Morven. Alive and kicking.
‘Zest?’
The anxious essence of Morven’s tone prodded his tongue into action. ‘Hey, Morven. I’m good. So are your parents. Not a whisper of trouble.’ he said.
‘Shit, Zest, that’s a relief. Give them my love. Anyway, I don’t know where to start. I’m in Carrick Castle in Argyll. It’s ultra cool. It belongs to my relatives, the Campbells. They’re alright I suppose. Would you believe it, that freak Eddie Macabre is my second cousin.’
Zest grinned, the irony of calling her cousin a freak seemed to have escaped Morven.
Morven raced on, words tumbling out like a waterfall. ‘I haven’t got much time. We’re going out hunting for deer in a minute. I’ve got this cool crossbow. Can’t wait to use it.’ She stopped. Probably to take a breath. ‘Zest, I gotta ask you something. Are you a MacGregor?’
Zest blinked. ‘No, I’m a Wallace. But my mother, she was a MacGregor. Why?’
‘Zest, you’re never going to believe this, but there are werewolves here. Well, in Edinburgh anyway. I met one. A little girl called Meg MacGregor. But she was scared shitless of me. And the Campbells are kinda screwed up about the MacGregors. It’s really weird.’ She paused again. ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I gotta keep an ear out Anyway, I’m going to hang out here for a while, see what else I can dig up. There’s a lot of stuff on the internet about the two clans. Have a look. See what you think. Course it’s all carefully censored. Nothing about our kind. I guess I’ll have to look closer to home. Hang on…’
Another silence. It seemed to Zest that Morven was not exactly relaxed around her relatives. His anxiety level
s ratcheted up another notch. Something wasn’t right.
‘Zest — ‘
He pressed the phone closer to his ear. But the line went dead. ‘Morven!’ he said, although he knew it was futile. And again. ‘Morven!’ Inside his chest his heart raced faster than Pharlap. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he snarled and threw the phone down in frustration. Dog sat up, his eyes questioning. Zest picked up the phone and put it back in his pocket and hunkered down to pat Dog. ‘I think she’s in trouble, Dog.’
Dog didn’t speak, but rested his muzzle on Zest’s shoulder. After a moment Zest stood up and looked up at the Smith’s unit. The glass sliding doors were shut. But he knew they were home. He always knew where they were. It was time for a talk.
Minutes later he and Dog stepped out of the lift, into the cool air-conditioned room. Shelley and Clifford were in the kitchen. They looked over as he and Dog padded across toward them.
‘Is everything alright, Zest?’ said Shelley.
Morven’s mum, Zest reflected, didn’t miss much. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
Clifford glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘It’s midday. Pub’s open.’ He reached over, flicked the fridge open and extracted a couple of bottles of beer. One of which he handed to Zest. Without consulting his wife, he then took out a bottle of red and poured her a glass. ‘Let’s sit,’ he said.
In silent but tacit agreement they all filed out onto the small outdoor deck. The unit probably wasn’t bugged, but why take a risk? Morven’s parents settled down into their respective seats and looked at Zest expectantly.
He took a sip of beer as he tried to calm himself. ‘Morven phoned.’
It was like poking a large stick into a hornets’ nest. Shelley shot out of her seat, red wine splattering everyone. Clifford gripped his bottle until it threatened to explode.
The Children Of The Mist Page 21