Not too far away they could see the house of the previous night’s victim. The curtains were tightly drawn. They thought it best not to trouble the recently bereaved mother and instead concentrated on the neigbours of Oldfield and the other two people who had died.
There was little to distinguish those who had been taken. Oldfield might have been an alcoholic, but he was fondly regarded by those who lived in the small pocket of sixties housing. Of the other two, a young milkman who had been laid off by the local dairy just before the troubles and a middle-aged cleaning woman who worked at some of the more well-to-do houses, there was little to suggest they would have been foolish enough to allow access to their houses after dark.
Ruth and Tom pored over the information they had gathered on a bench overlooking the village green. “It’s too much of a coincidence to think all these people could have mistakenly let those things in,” Ruth said. “And that poor woman last night … She’d seen at first hand what could happen with her neighbours-“
“Unless the child opened the door,” Tom ventured.
“Maybe these things are some sort of sirens,” Ruth mused. “Something about them hypnotises people into letting them in.”
“Possibly. But Ryan said the door he inspected last night had been broken open.”
Ruth chewed on her knuckle, watching the ducks waddle down to the pond in the centre of the green. It was quiet and lazy in the late-morning sun and there was no sign anywhere across the picture-postcard village of any of the suffering that descended on it with nightfall. “Then everyone niust be mistaken,” she said. “These creatures have to be able to get in when they want.” Even as she said it something didn’t seem quite right, but whatever it was stayed hidden in her subconscious.
“No, I cannot stress strongly enough that these creatures cannot get into any property that is shut off. Even a closed but not locked door seems to deter them.” Sir Richard stood erect and still, as if he were on parade outside the sprawling, detached house of Mrs. Ransom at the far end of the High Street. The residence was cool beneath the shade of several mature trees around the lowwalled front garden, while the building itself was covered in a sweet-smelling mass of clematis.
Shavi nodded politely. “I hope you do not mind me going over this again-“
“No, no, old chap, not at all.” Sir Richard adjusted the Panama hat that shaded his eyes. “I know you’re only trying to help. But, really, we have got a very efficient defence force here. We’ve done everything in our power to protect the village. As to those creatures, well, I’ve watched them with my own eyes, and I am a very well-trained observer. I am in no doubt of their limitations.”
“Then how can-“
“No idea at all. People make mistakes, leave a door ajar at twilight. It’s easily done.” There was a note of sadness in his voice.
Shavi looked up at the dark face of the large, old house. “A lovely property.”
“It certainly is. Been in the Ransom family for generations. Sadly Alma was the last of the line. I come down here every now and again to keep an eye on the old place, make sure the local yobs don’t start tearing it apart. It’s a very, very sad situation.”
“She was the first?”
He nodded. “An awful wake-up call to all of us.” He motioned to the rambling, well-heeled properties that lay all around. “You think you’re impregnable here, in this beautiful countryside, and this historic village. It was such a safe haven away from the rigours of modern society. I retired here after I lost my seat at the last election. Somewhere to tend the roses, enjoy a relaxing life for a change. And now …” His words dried up.
“Everyone has suffered,” Shavi agreed, “all across the country, but people are finding ways to survive.”
“True. Very true. It has been an extraordinarily testing time, but I cannot stress enough how much my faith in human nature has been restored. The way everyone in the village pulled together once we understood the nature of the threat facing us. It’s been the Blitz spirit all over again.” His eyes grew moist as he looked around the quiet street. “I fear for the future, though. If things carry on as they are, all of this could be swept away. It’s not fair at all, is it? What’s to become of us?”
After the surprising kiss in Callander, Church had been wary of having any further contact with Niamh, but he couldn’t see any alternative. Shavi was the backbone of the team: resilient, dependable in every circumstance, fully aware of all his obligations; they couldn’t afford to lose him. The real problem was how he should contact her. He had no idea how the system of transfer worked between Otherworld and what he laughingly called the real world, nor what the abilities of the Tuatha De Danann were in hearing communication between the two places. Were they as omnipotent as some of them sometimes appeared? Would it be enough just to call her name? She had, after all, stressed the bond between them; perhaps that was enough.
In the end he decided at least to make things a little easier. He asked around the village for any site that carried folk tales of fairies or supernatural activity. An old woman directed him to a small, overgrown mound on the outskirts where she had seen “the wee folk” playing one night when she was a girl.
He sat on the summit and closed his eyes, feeling the sun hot on the back of his neck. His instinct told him he needed to be in tune with the spiritual power of the blue fire, although he was unsure of attempting it without Tom around to guide him. But after a few minutes trying to clear his mind, he found it surprisingly easy. Perhaps it was a skill that grew commonplace with repetition, or perhaps it was simply that the blue fire was stronger in the land since his success at Edinburgh, but as soon as he could concentrate he was aware of the tracings of power shimmering across the countryside, casting a sapphire tinge across the golden corn, adding new depth to the rich, green grass. When he finally felt he had tapped into it, he whispered her name. At first there was nothing; and not for the first twenty minutes. But just when he was about to give up, a strange vibration hummed in the air, like the sound around an electricity sub-station. An instant later she was standing before him, her smile as mysterious and deep as the ocean.
“You called, Jack. I came.”
Before her, he was suddenly aware he felt awkward and faintly embarrassed, his emotions and thoughts stumbling over each other like a schoolboy before his secret sweetheart. “I need help.”
She nodded, her eyes heavy-lidded. She took his hand and led him down to the warm grass. As he sat, she leaned near to him, not quite touching, but close enough so that he was constantly aware of her presence; close enough for him easily to breathe in that pleasing aroma of lime and mint. “Why are you interested in me?” He hadn’t meant to ask the question, but it had appeared on his lips almost magically.
She gave a soothing, melodious laugh, as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. He enjoyed the way her eyes crinkled, her face innocently lit up. In that moment it was hard to see her as one of a race so alien they treated people with oblique contempt. “I have seen you grow, Jack. I was there, in the half-light, the moment you were born. I saw your potential take shape, your good heart grow stronger. I stood a whisper away the first time you cried from hurt emotion. I saw you develop decency and honesty and love for your fellow man. I saw you suffer broken hearts, and persevere even at that terrible point when you felt your world was coming to an end. And you came through, Jack. You became the best you could be. So few Fragile Creatures can say that. And I was there in every moment, so much a part of your life in the highs and the lows that I knew every secret thought, every half-wish and barely remembered dream. I was a part of you, Jack. No one knows you better. No one.” There was almost a pleading quality to her voice.
“But I don’t know you.”
“No. No, you do not.” And now sadness, so fragilely potent he almost felt it. She looked away briefly, too much going on behind her eyes for him to see.
“What is it you are saying, Niamh?”
“There is nothin
g I can say. I merely reveal to you the slightest fragment of the minutest strand of my feelings. Our races are as far apart as Otherworld and here. And as close. No good has ever come of any bond forged between the two. One passes so quickly, the other goes on forever, both are bound in tears.”
Her voice filled him with a deep melancholy. For the first time, in her eyes, in her body language, the way she held her mouth, he could see how deeply she felt for him and it was monumentally shocking. To be loved so much and not know it was astounding, and truly moving, to such a degree he felt he should seek deep within him to see if there was any way he could repay such a profound investment. But all he found inside was confusion. He thought of Laura and the desperate scramble of emotions he felt around her. And, oddly, Ruth, whom he thought he considered a friend, but when he attempted to examine his emotional response he found it was too complex and deep-seated. And now this woman, who was so open and honest, she was like a cool desert oasis he wanted to dive into and slough off all the corruption that had mired him over the weeks and years.
“I don’t know how I feel,” he said honestly.
“You are fortunate.” More sadness. “To know and not to have is the hardest thing.”
He tried to find something comforting to say, but nothing came.
She looked around, at the rolling summer fields, and some of the sadness eked away. “This world is changing. Soon it will be a land of myth once more, where magic lives in every turn.” She turned back to him, her smile sweet once again. “A land where anything can happen.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t seem such a bad thing.”
“How can I help you, Jack?”
He felt almost guilty asking for something when she had bared her soul to him. But once he had told her about Maponus, and seen her face register surprise, then darken, all other thoughts were wiped away.
“The search for the Good Son has never ended,” she explained. “The Golden Ones were riven by despair when he was lost, the brightest of all our bright stars, our very hope for the future. There was no knowledge of his disappearance-he was simply there, then not. Of course we must bring him back to us. There will be much rejoicing, scenes of wonder not witnessed since the victory celebrations after the second battle of Magh Tuireadh.” The notion excited her greatly, but gradually her face darkened as the implications of Church’s information wormed their way through. “If he has been so severely damaged by the Night Walkers, there may be little even the Golden Ones can do to restore the Good Son to his former glory. The Night Walkers’ revenge is swift, cruel and usually irreversible.”
“But you will attempt to get him back to Otherworld?”
“Of course. He is the jewel of the Golden Ones.” She was positive, yet Church could see she was troubled. “Yet he is so powerful.” Her voice faded into the wind.
“You’re saying even your people might not be able to restrain him?”
“He could cause great destruction to this world. Your people will fall before him like-” she looked around “-like the ripe corn.” She turned to Church with fleeting panic in her eyes. “You must not go anywhere near the Good Son. Do you understand?”
“At the moment I’m going where I’m called. We have an obligation-“
“You have an obligation to defend this world. You cannot do that if you are no more.”
“I’m asking you for help.” He looked her directly in the eye; her irises seemed to swirl with golden fire.
“Then I will help. But I ask something of you in return.”
“All right.”
“A chance to show you my heart, to prove that universes can be crossed. To show that the love of a Golden One and a Frail Creature can surmount all obstacles.”
Church searched her face; suddenly events seemed to be running away from him.
“I know you have a dalliance with another Frail Creature. You must end it. You must give your love solely to me for a period. A chance, that is all I ask. And if our romance does not rise up to the heavens, then we will go our separate ways.”
Dismally, Church thought of Laura, how much it would hurt her. Could he do that when there was still a chance they were right for each other? Could he hurt her, knowing how much she would suffer? And once more he thought of Ruth, and wondered what she would think of him. Niamh was watching the play of his thoughts with innocent, sensitive eyes.
He wondered why he was even bothering to deliberate; there was no real choice. He couldn’t afford to let Shavi leave. And if he could do anything to stop Maponus’s rampage, he had to try. He had learned through bitter experience over the last three months that he couldn’t put his own feelings first; that was the burden of his leadership. Sacrifices had to be made. Always. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do what you say.”
The sudden swell of emotion in her face surprised him, and in that instant he wondered if he really could feel something for her. She took his hand, an act that to her was obviously filled with meaning; it was as if she was some Victorian heroine whose every gesture was infused with import to make up for her stifled emotion. “Much deliberation will need to take place if we are to bring Maponus back with us,” she said. “I will need to devote myself to the planning and to attending my brethren in this. You will not see me for a while. But then …” Her cool fingers grew tighter around his hand and her smile deepened. She nodded politely, stood up and walked slowly away. Briefly she turned and flashed him a smile weighted with emotion, and then she was gone in the blink of an eye, as if the sky had folded around her.
Laura and Veitch didn’t quite know how they ended up interviewing villagers together, but they managed to do it with as little communication between the two of them as they could manage. If anything, Veitch seemed to Laura a little contrite in his body language and whatever gruff comments he made, but after his rage in the gorge, she wasn’t taking any chances. She was thankful for her sunglasses which hid the fear she knew was flickering in her eyes.
Eventually, though, they found themselves walking alone down the sundrenched High Street and there was nothing for it but to make conversation. “Nothing new there, then.” Laura broke the silence, stating the obvious because she couldn’t think of anything else to say that wasn’t heavy with all sorts of difficulties. “Another morning of my life wasted.”
Veitch grunted. His own cheap sunglasses gave nothing away.
Laura was suddenly struck by the absurdity of the image. “Look at us. It’s like Tarantino meets Enanerdale.” That brought a smile to him. It was only a chink, but she felt she had to give it a shot. “About the other day-“
“I’m sorry, all right.” It was as if someone had pulled the blinds down on his face. “I’ve got a bleedin’ awful temper and half the time I can’t control it. I don’t know where it came from. I never used to have it.”
“Stress, probably. But that wasn’t what I wanted to say. You’re right for worrying about one of us selling the others down the river. Nobody else seems to worry about it too much, but it’s there-can’t ignore it. But it’s not me, all right? That’s what I wanted to say. It’s not me. I don’t care if you believe me or not, but I’ve got to say it out loud. I’m a big fuck-up-and I’ll deny I said that if you ever bring it up-but I wouldn’t screw over any of us in this group.”
Her normal reticence made the honesty in her words palpable. Veitch was taken aback for a moment, but he didn’t show it. “Who do you think it is, then?”
She paused, unsure whether to continue, but it wasn’t worth turning back at that point. “Are you going to bite my head off?”
“No.”
“Okay. I know you’ve got the hots for Ruth, I know she’s been through the worst fucking shit imaginable, but I think it’s her.”
“Bollocks.”
“Thank you for that measured response.” She bit her tongue; she could feel the power in his hard body at her side. “I’m not just being a jealous bitch, which I am, but not right now. Here’s wh
at I think. She’s been waking up with nightmares about what those bastards did to her-“
“Wouldn’t you?” He was already starting to bristle. She had to get to the point.
“I think those nightmares are caused by something real. You remember what the Bastards did to Tom under Dartmoor? They stuck one of those creepy little bugs in his head so he’d do everything they wanted.”
Veitch’s head snapped round. For a second Laura’s blood ran cold until she saw the troubled expression on his face. “You think they did that to her?”
“Makes sense.”
He considered it for a moment, then shook his head vehemently. “Bollocks.”
“Just think about it, that’s all. It could’ve happened. Someone needs to keep an eye on her, and seeing as you’ve appointed yourself official judge, jury and executioner-” She caught herself. She’d done enough. She could tell from Witch’s expression that the notion was already burrowing its way into his head.
“Come on, I need you.” Ruth caught Veitch’s arm when they all met up outside the pub. She pulled him over to one side where the others couldn’t hear them, oblivious to the odd way he was looking at her.
“What’s wrong?”
“I want us to have sex.”
Witch’s expression was so comical she had to stifle a giggle and that wouldn’t have helped at all; he was sensitive enough as it was. His mouth moved, no words came out; his whole, stumbling thought process was played out fleetingly on his face. “You’re taking the piss now.”
That was the first response she expected. “No, I’m not. I’m deadly serious.”
Veitch shook his head. There was a pink flush to his cheeks. He was eyeing her askance, still trying to read her motives.
“When we started out on this whole nightmare I was just a normal girl, but I’ve changed, like we’ve all changed. I’ve learned some things. Powerful things. How to change the world around us, things … things I don’t want to talk about because I can hardly believe it myself. You know the owl that followed me around?”
Darkest Hour (Age of Misrule, Book 2) Page 38