Sam hurried over to Liberty, freeing her from her shackles. She could barely open her eyes, and she was mumbling quietly to herself. Her wrists were bloodied, scraped raw from where the chains had dug into her flesh – no doubt she’d made it worse by struggling against them.
A yell sounded behind Sam and another Harvester flew at him. The old man lashed out with the chains and his attacker went down. With growing dismay, Sam watched as yet more of the vile things emerged from the shadows and made their way between the pillars toward them. There were at least a dozen of them, each one more cruel–looking than the last.
“Come on!” he urged Liberty, looping an arm around her and helping her to her feet. “Help me, we need to get to the door.”
Liberty leaned against him, barely able to lift her head, but she found her feet and together they staggered between the pillars. With the rifle still in his free hand, Sam prepared to fire at anything that moved.
A female Harvester with broken teeth blocked their path, and Sam pulled the trigger.
Blood spurted across one of the stone columns.
“Come on, come on…”
Sam pulled Liberty with him, his arm wrapped around her waist. They reached the door that led to the steps, and Sam helped Liberty lean against the wall. Quickly, he reloaded the rifle – just in time to shoot dead two more Harvesters who had emerged from the shadows. He loaded the rifle again, and then rushed to Liberty, who was clinging to the wall.
“Steps,” he told her. “Come on, climb.”
Somewhere deep in the woman’s mind, the words seemed to reach her, and slowly they began to ascend.
Something whistled through the air and a curved blade embedded itself in the wall next to Sam’s head. The old man turned to see another female Harvester charging up the steps behind them. Sam struck out with his foot, kicking the monster in the jaw, and she tumbled back down into the darkness with an angry cry.
At last, they were at the top of the steps.
“Grab the edge,” Sam told Liberty. “Pull yourself over.”
Liberty reached up and seized the lip of the sarcophagus, heaving herself onto the edge. Sam pushed her up by the legs, and Liberty went over the top. The old man threw his rifle over and then pulled himself up, his ribs screaming at the exertion. He dropped down into the mausoleum and rushed over to the coffin’s huge, stone lid. Grinding his teeth with the effort, he put all of his weight behind it, but his ribs were too painful and the lid refused to move.
There came the sound of footsteps ringing against the stairs below, and Sam braced himself for the worst.
Then, inexplicably, the great slab shifted. Astounded, Sam saw that Liberty had come to his aid, despite her sorry state. Together they heaved the lid round and with a crunch it shut. Liberty collapsed to the floor, exhausted.
Muted, angry thuds resounded from inside the sarcophagus as the trapped Harvesters attempted to beat their way out. It was no use, though. They were trapped.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Sam said to Liberty, helping her to her feet again.
“My hero,” she murmured, wrapping an arm around his waist.
They emerged into the night and Sam drew in a grateful breath of fresh air, welcoming it after the stuffy underground crypt. That had been too close. He tried not to think about the smoking ruin of Jack’s burnt face, but the image clung to him unforgivingly.
Sam paused, suddenly aware that somebody – or something – was watching them.
Then he saw it. Perched on a nearby gravestone was a raven. It observed the old man with dark, interested eyes.
“Fly!” Sam yelled, waving his free arm at the bird. “Go!”
The raven emitted a terse caww! and took to the air.
CHAPTER TWENTY–ONE
Old Enemies
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” NICHOLAS DEMANDED, HIS back pressed up against the wall. His mind reeled as he attempted to make sense of what had just happened. It felt like the floor of the house was tipping underneath him, and he was sliding helplessly toward the squat man by the front door.
Reynolds. The monster Garm had obeyed him like a puppy, like it knew him, and now Reynolds was sneering maliciously at him with viper–like lips.
He’d called himself Snelling.
“Reynolds–” the boy began, but the other man cut him off.
“Snelling,” he corrected coarsely, slinging his jacket to the floor and rolling his sleeves up. “Do you believe that the name makes the man?” he continued pensively. “I must admit, I quite enjoyed being Melvin Reynolds. He seemed like a good egg. And I was rather pleased to find I hadn’t lost my touch with a rifle.” He paused and looked almost wistful. “I was Snelling for so long, though, I became quite used to it. Rather missed him when Melvin was around.”
Nicholas was chilled by the aloof stranger that he found himself with.
“Who are you?” he pressed anxiously.
“Ah, the idiocy of youth,” Snelling spat in a voice that sounded nothing like Reynolds. He dabbed at the fake blood on his face with a handkerchief, cleaning it away. “How remarkably naïve you are. And how quickly you fell for Melvin. Not that I can blame you – he was rather likeable, wasn’t he? With his crystals and his curious little potions and his fairytale theories.” He appraised the boy. “They say the future of the world rests on your shoulders, boy. Ha! What a world that will be.”
“I–I don’t understand,” Nicholas stammered, still baffled by the man’s transformation. There wasn’t a shred of the man he’d known as Reynolds left – the vile brute in front of him had swallowed him up, destroyed him from the inside out. Had it all been a trick? Nicholas couldn’t believe that somebody could so convincingly play a role like that, so easily conceal the boiling revulsion that Snelling was directing at him with those squinting, pig–like eyes.
The other man stood blocking the front door. The injuries that he’d faked in the village were forgotten, and he clutched his fleshy hands together, cracking his knuckles with excitement.
“Where are my manners?” he drawled with false civility. “I should be thanking you for inviting me into this most hallowed of abodes. I must admit, I wasn’t entirely certain it would work, but that was a risk we were willing to take.” The podgy figure puffed himself up, talking more to himself than the boy. He drank in the entrance hall, as if quenching a lifetime of thirsty curiosity. “The house protects itself from the likes of us. But in you, we discovered an exception to the rule. You invited me in of your own volition. Quite astonishing, really.”
“But,” Nicholas continued in disbelief, “you’re a Sentinel. You’ve got the tattoo, you knew things. Your uncle…”
Snelling’s chubby cheeks glowed scarlet and he let loose a wicked cackle.
“You mean this?”
He tugged at his shirt sleeve to expose the raven inked on his forearm. With a leer he licked the tip of his thumb and then smeared the black ink across his skin. “Just a little something I picked up along the way.” He winked. “Of course, it was lucky for me that you came to the village at all. That was a worry to begin with. Then I realised that all teenage boys are the same – lock them up in a secluded ruin like this and they’ll soon be foraging for ways out. It’d be like trying to cage a baboon. And then all it took was an attack by Garm and you were mine. He’s quite tame, really. Docile as a dog if you feed him the right thing.”
The Garm was Snelling’s pet?
As the feelings of surprise began to wane, Nicholas felt foolish. Used. He shouldn’t have been so stupid. Jessica had warned him against leaving the house, now he knew why. The evil she’d talked about hadn’t just referred to monsters like the Garm. It was everywhere, hiding in plain sight, corrupting and persuading. He’d brought it right to her and let it into her home. The fear and guilt mingled inside of him and, with alarm, Nicholas realised there was nobody to rescue him as Sam had done before.
“Get out!” the boy shouted. “Get out of here!”
Snelling moved his
head slowly from side–to–side.
“Oh no,” he said softly, his eyes shining balefully at Nicholas. “We’re going to go for a little tour of the house, and you’re going to be the guide.”
“We’re not going anywhere!” Nicholas said firmly. Though Snelling could conventionally be regarded as a comical figure – a podgy ball of flesh with stocky legs and a thinning crop of hair – those eyes contained real danger. His mere presence was intimidating, and Nicholas felt young and stupid. He cursed how quickly he had taken to Melvin Reynolds. How was he to know? Could anybody blame him for latching onto the first sane thing that had presented itself since his parents’ deaths? Bitterly, he realised even that had been a lie, a grand ruse, and he’d fallen for it like a needy child. Now he was the only thing standing in the way of this deceitful wretch and whatever he was planning. That thought alone spurred him on.
“You’re going to get out of here or–”
“Or what?” snapped Snelling.
Adrenaline flooding through him, Nicholas shrugged out of his jacket. His heart thrashed against his ribs and he couldn’t form a single clear thought. He was a ball of tensed muscle and instinct, his skin clammy in anticipation as he waited for the other man to make the first move.
Snelling grinned sadistically at the challenge.
“Let’s see you try, boy,” he smirked, raising his right hand.
Nicholas faltered. There, the other man had fitted a shiny metallic device. Nicholas didn’t know what it was – it looked like a futuristic glove inset with tiny amber jewels. It gleamed in the shallow lamplight. Disregarding the strange device, the boy flew at the flabby man, ready to seize hold of him and force him out of the front door.
There came a concussive pulse of blinding light and something pummelled into Nicholas’s chest, knocking the wind out of him.
He flew backwards, colliding with the wall and sliding to the floor.
Gasping like a fish, Nicholas sprawled where he had landed. Before he had a chance to get to his feet, Snelling was on him, his free hand clenched around the boy’s throat. He was surprisingly strong.
“Come on, boy,” Snelling spat, grabbing Nicholas by the collar, “you’re taking me to the five-walled room – you know the one I mean. We’re going to have some fun, you and I.”
The boy was wrenched to his feet and shoved through the double doors into the lobby.
*
Isabel shivered and shrank into the shadows. Darkness had fallen and still the unclean beast was on her trail. She cursed her lot – in her time, she’d have made short work of such an abomination. Still, she had been pleasantly surprised at just how swiftly this nimble new body moved, and the speed with which she’d sprung out into the frostbitten countryside must have surprised even Garm.
Crouching under a bush, gathering her breath, Isabel contemplated her fate. They’d been fools to trust the Reynolds man. She’d watched from outside the house as the shopkeeper’s demeanour changed the second he’d stepped over the threshold. He’d spoken to the Garm beast like one does a household pet, and the monstrous brute had actually obeyed his command.
The cat’s hackles quivered at the memory.
Now he was in the house with Nicholas. That had been his plan all along, no doubt – to breach the boundaries of Hallow House. Isabel wondered what the Reynolds man really was. He could be anything. There were plenty of things desperate to infiltrate the Hallow residence, to get their filthy claws on its many wonders. None had succeeded before. None save one, and that monster was long gone.
Isabel tensed. Heavy footsteps vibrated through the freezing ground, and she heard exhausted lungs gulping in massive breaths.
The cat peered out through the leaves, grateful for her newfound night vision – how sharp everything looked even at this late hour.
Garm had returned. Its scaly, trunk-like tail swayed through the air and its misshapen snout shovelled through the dirt in search of its prey’s scent. Those blood red eyes pierced the dark, and Isabel cringed back in fear. The creature was easily ten times her size. What chance had she against it?
The Garm stopped suddenly and lifted its monstrous head. Its great nostrils expanded and contracted. The fringes of fur along its back shivered with delight and it emitted an elated screech as those scarlet eyes burned in Isabel’s direction.
Not giving the brute a chance to corner her, Isabel sprang from her hiding place.
“Come, then, fetid hellbeast!” she shrieked. “Let us dance!”
In a blur of black and silver fur, she whisked through the night, leaping over stones and bounding through bushes.
The beast thrashed after her and its hot breath blasted against the cat’s tail. Isabel spurred herself on, dashing from side to side. Together, the bizarre pair tore through the countryside, and the monster’s gleeful screams echoed through the dark.
Finally, Isabel caught sight of the house as it reared up out of the night. Its windows radiated warm light and once again she cursed her lack of opposable digits. How on Earth was she to get inside? She didn’t have time to think, as at that moment the Garm swiped out a huge, razor-clawed paw and nearly lopped off the top of her tail.
Isabel flew at the house and seized her only option – the trellis that hugged the brick wall. She sank her claws into the mesh of wood and plant, hauling herself up as fast as she could. Below, Garm attempted to do the same, but the monster’s great bulk made it impossible. It collapsed onto the ground, scrabbling angrily around in the dirt, then prowled back and forth in irritation. Its disappointed, hungry whimpers made Isabel’s fur bristle.
“No cat for you this eve, swine!” Isabel taunted, leaping onto a windowsill three storeys up. The cat stalked along the ledge and peered into the room beyond the glass. It was too dark to make out more than the shapes of a few chairs and a table, but the door was open a crack, letting in some light from the landing.
Dejected, Isabel perched there and did the only thing she could – she mewed as loudly as possible, praying that somebody would hear.
*
A hand shoved Nicholas in the back and the boy spun to face Snelling.
“Do that once more and I’ll break your nose,” he yelled, clenching his fists at his side.
Snelling was in too good a mood to take the boy’s threat seriously, merely snorting in response. “The room,” he urged ravenously. “Is it close?”
Nicholas eyed the gleaming metallic gauntlet, which Snelling was holding in front of him threateningly, and nodded dejectedly. He turned to lead him down the dusty old corridor. His chest still throbbed painfully where the crackling light had struck him and he moved sluggishly, woozily leading Snelling through Hallow House. He’d lost the Drujblade in the scuffle in the entrance hall, and he felt useless without it.
Where was Jessica? Surely she’d heard the commotion? Nicholas had considered yelling out her name, or even escaping into the confusing warren of the house. Something about Snelling convinced him not to – the piggish wretch was dangerous; no doubt he’d find a way to make things a lot worse if Nicholas didn’t co-operate.
At last the boy stopped outside an old, dark wood door that was peeling with age.
“This is it,” he said miserably.
Snelling looked at the door, unable to hide his excitement. “Yes, yes,” he hissed, licking his lips. “Open it.”
“I can’t, it’s locked.”
Snelling shot the boy an irritated look. He shoved Nicholas out of the way to try the handle himself. Finding it locked, he spat in annoyance. After a moment’s thought, he seized the handle with the gauntlet and squeezed.
Nicholas’s eyes widened as a sizzling sound filled the darkened hallway, and the door handle blushed a violent red. Snelling began to sweat, great drops sliding down his forehead, and then he wrenched the melted door handle clean away. Eagerly, the flabby man dropped the hunk of twisted metal to the floor and opened the door.
The smell of decay and dust was overpowering. Snelling seized Nich
olas by the arm and shoved him into the pentagon room, then drew the door to behind them.
In the gloom, Nicholas eyed the dusty corpse still grinning in the chair. He gave a start when he remembered it was Isabel’s withered form, and averted his eyes. She wouldn’t want him to see her like this. Now he came to think of it, what kind of person left a corpse rotting in a chair like that? Nicholas’s unease about Jessica deepened and he hoped he’d get the chance to ask her about it.
Snelling was muttering animatedly to himself, fishing around in his pockets. He wiped at his sweaty face and the sheer elation pinched into his chubby, crowded features was terrifying. Nicholas pushed himself up into one of the room’s many corners, watching nervously.
The parlour was still in ruins after Jessica’s earlier summoning spell. Above, the ceiling sagged sorrowfully and the wooden chandelier dangled precariously, three of its chains broken. Nicholas wondered what would happen should it suddenly fall on Snelling’s head.
The other man barely noticed Nicholas as he went about his work. He lit the candles already in the room, then placed three objects on the circular table at the room’s centre. A knife, a strange velvet pouch, and a stout bottle made of green glass. All were set down reverently.
Snelling wiped at his sweaty forehead once more and peered at his watch.
“Five minutes,” he said to himself. “We made it just in time. Diltraa will be pleased.”
Filled with feelings of doom, Nicholas knew nobody was going to stop Snelling. Loneliness welled up inside of him, that familiar hollow feeling that had overwhelmed him in the wake of his parents’ deaths, and Nicholas almost surrendered to it.
Then something struck him. What would Sam do? The boy knew the answer without even thinking – he’d fight with every scrap of energy he had in him, just as he had on the bus. Sam wouldn’t sit back while somebody like Snelling seized control, and neither would Nicholas. The boy eyed the knife on the tabletop. If he could just get close enough to snatch it away before Snelling saw him. This time he’d catch him off guard – and he’d have to kill him with it. Somehow, he had to distract the despicable man.
Sentinel: Book One of The Sentinel Trilogy Page 25