Wickedness

by Deborah White

  “No way.” Her dad was shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be safe.”

  “But as you said, the police will look after us. And it will be over quicker. He’ll come looking for me and then the police will get him. Simple. He won’t be able to hurt us, not with police all over the place.” Claire had to smile as she said that. She didn’t believe it for one second. But at least this way there was a chance he’d be caught. The alternative was that he’d be on the loose and she would never know when he would resurface. When he would come for her. Her life wouldn’t be worth living.

  “Come on Dad,” she said, “let’s do it. But Micky has to stay out of it. She has to stay here, in your house, with Lindsay.” Her mum would be furious at the thought of Micky with her dad’s girlfriend. But she didn’t have to know until afterwards, did she?

  “Okay, if that’s what you want. I’ll ring the police and we’ll set it up.”

  * * *

  The minute she could, she went to her room and she rang Zacharie.

  “He’s escaped.”

  “Merde. That was quick. Powerful spells, huh? Are the police there now?”

  “They’re coming to get us. I’m going to stay at Grandma’s house. My idea, because he’ll know how to find me there. Thank God you’ve got the spells safe.”

  “Jacalyn would be so angry if she knew I had them. That the prophecy she was so obsessed with is coming true! But I think I should have the casket too, Claire. It would be safe with me. And then you would be safe too. He could never hurt you.”

  “Don’t tell Jacalyn about the spells or the casket. Promise you won’t! No one must know about them. Only us.”

  “Hey! I’m not stupide. I know how dangerous he is. I’d never risk anything happening to you. Not now.”

  * * *

  There was what they called a ‘discreet police presence’ in and around the house. They hadn’t wanted her there at all… said he’d probably turn up anyway without her having to act as bait. But she knew he wouldn’t. She was sure he could feel when she was close… just as she felt his presence.

  The house had been searched before Claire and her dad were let back in… just in case he was already in there. Post had been collected from the mat, scrutinised and then left in a pile on the hall table. It was junk mail mostly, but there was a big brown envelope with Claire’s writing on it. Someone had opened it and looked inside.

  “Hey,” said her dad, sounding unnaturally bright and cheerful. “Something for you. That manuscript, I think. That’ll cheer you up… Claire, are you okay?”

  She must have gone a funny colour. She had to sit down quickly on the stairs. She put her head in between her knees, just like her mum always made her do when she felt sick.

  “Look, you go up and lie down. It’s late. I’ll bring you some tea and something to eat then you can sleep. Your blood sugar’s low. And this weather doesn’t help.”

  It didn’t. The air was heavy with static. And it was getting dark as if a storm was brewing. Claire could feel the pressure building up inside her head. And the ring was tight and hot on her finger.

  “Go on. Take the envelope with you.” He was hunkered down in front of her and tilted her face up, landing a sloppy great kiss on the end of her nose.

  “Dad!”

  He grinned, “Go on. Hop it. I’ll be up in a bit.”

  She drew back the lace curtains in Grandma’s bedroom and sat on the bed, in the half light, propped against the pillows and with the envelope on her lap. She looked out at the darkening sky. It felt as if the air around her was cracking and fizzing. Then she watched as a flash of lightning ripped through the blanket of rolling black clouds. She counted. One. Two. Three. The thunder was overhead now and so loud it rattled the windows and made her teeth buzz. Another flash. The line of houses across the street were in stark relief, as if everything around them was on fire. One. Two. Three. The thunder was rolling away and now the rain was starting. Hailstones first, peppering the windows so hard Claire thought the glass would crack. Then great, fat raindrops, first a few and then so many they ran in great torrents down the window.

  Poor policemen outside, she thought. They would be soaked to the skin. She reached across and turned on the bedside light. Then she took out the translation from the envelope and started to read. Hardly noticed when her dad brought up a cup of tea and a sandwich. The tea grew cold and the sandwich was left uneaten on the bedside chair. And when she had finished Margrat’s story, Claire knew exactly what Grandma had been trying to do, with her collection of newspaper cuttings, accounts of plagues and the family tree. It all made perfect sense now. She had been trying to work out the pattern. See if she could trace him, Nicholas Robert Benedict, alias Robert Benoit, her grandfather eight times removed (and Claire’s blood, too – how shocking was that?) down through the centuries. But she had never even come close. Could only ever pinpoint, by tracing the outbreaks of plague, a city or a country where he had been. As for the man himself, it had been like looking for a needle in a haystack. But then I was born, thought Claire, with my red hair. And Grandma must have hoped that once I was old enough to wear the ring, somehow I’d act like a magnet and he’d come for me, believing that at last all the spells were within his reach. And who knows what she thought would happen then. But she must have believed that I, with her help, was destined to take the spells from him and give them back to their guardian, a rope-walker. Then he, Nicholas Robert, would be destroyed. And once he was dead, his power would be gone and no more baby boys would need to die. There would be no more wickedness. No more unnecessary grief.

  Then she’d had her heart attack and there was only me, Claire.

  “I’ve found him, Grandma. He’s still alive!” she whispered in the darkness. “And I’ve found the rope-walker too and his name’s Zacharie and I’ve given him Robert’s scrolls now, so they are safe. But… the casket, I’ve kept it and I promise I’ll never let Robert have it. And I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll save my brother. I won’t let him die. Cross my heart.”

  * * *

  Days passed and there had been no visible sign of him anywhere near the house. Though someone had been in to his house on the Strand. Drawers turned out and cupboards emptied. His study had been ransacked.

  There’d been sightings in Brighton, Edinburgh, New York and as far away as Buenos Aires, but Claire knew that he wasn’t in any of those places. He was somewhere close by, she could feel him. Almost smell the cinnamon and flowers, hear his voice saying her name. And he’d know she had taken the spells and the casket.

  “I wish he would come,” she whispered to Zacharie, talking to him on her phone, late at night, in the darkness. “Then, whatever happens, it would be over and done with.”

  “Let me come and get the casket. All this waiting is driving me insane. I just need to see you. Shall I come over? I could come now!” Zacharie sounding so intense, so desperate.

  “All this waiting is driving me mad too. But you mustn’t come. He knows you’re the Guardian. He might not risk coming if you’re here. And I’m sure he’s watching the house. He’ll make a move soon. He will. He’s going to have to. And when he does…”

  But the police and her dad had started to believe the threat had receded and were beginning to relax. She could feel the tension slipping away. They thought he’d probably left the country, or was in hiding somewhere and wouldn’t risk being caught. She heard her dad on the phone, making plans to get back to work. She heard him talking to Micky. Mum rang from the hospital and said they were letting her out just as soon as they were sure the baby was safe. Where there had been four policemen on duty in and around the house, now there was only one.

  But she couldn’t rest. This couldn’t go on. The waiting. Something had to happen. But she didn’t know what. Margrat’s rope-walker would have known. She felt sure of it. But when she rang Zacharie he didn’t seem to. He was as much in the dark as she was.

  “You could ask Jacalyn, Maybe she’ll be able to help
.” Though Claire didn’t believe she would. Was relieved when Zacharie said, “She stays out of it. The ring’s mine. I must deal with HIM. And I will. Je promis. But you have to trust me. I don’t think you do, Claire… or you would give me the box.”

  “Of course I trust you. You saved me from Robert AND you saved me from being crushed by all those tumbling acrobats!”

  “Don’t joke, Claire. You must prove that you do…”

  “Zacharie… Zac…”

  But he’d gone. And when she tried to ring him again, it went straight to voicemail.

  * * *

  Dad had made pasta with tomato sauce for tea. They were balancing their plates on their knees in front of the television, watching the local London news and, because it was pretty boring stuff, Claire was only half listening. She was checking her texts obsessively. She’d heard nothing from Zacharie and it was eating her up.

  Then her heart leaped. A text from him! ‘Nothing is going to happen while you’re safe in the house. Be at the Jubilee Gardens for the highwire walk at 8 o’clock. We need to flush Robert out into the open so we can deal with him… and bring the box with you. We might need it.’

  Maybe Zac was right after all. It was risky, scary, but nothing would come of doing nothing. She had to do something. So she texted straight back. ‘I’ll be there.’

  “Jeez! Look at this Claire.” Her dad was pointing at the TV screen with his fork. “Isn’t that Zacharie? The one who saved you. He says he’s going to wirewalk the Thames tonight! Bloody hell… maybe he’s delusional too. Do you think he’ll make it?”

  She sat up so suddenly the pasta nearly slipped off her plate. Her dad reached across and took it from her. “Careful!”

  But she wasn’t listening. She was leaning forward, looking at Zacharie’s face, animated, talking to camera and telling everyone what he was planning to do. “Turn it up! Turn it up!”

  “Yeah, OK. Hold your horses!”

  And then the presenter asked him the question “Why are you doing this now? Is it for charity or is it just a massive publicity stunt to advertise the circus?”

  “Circus?! You never said he was with a circus…”

  And this made her catch her breath… Zacharie turned to the camera and said very clearly, “A publicity stunt, of course. Planned for a long time… but I do it also for Claire. So that she knows I risk my life for her…”

  “Does he know,” said Dad, incredulously, “that you’re only 14? If I ever see him again I’ll break every bone in his body. You stay clear of him Claire. Do you understand?”

  Eight o’clock. Eight o’clock. He wants me to be there in just over an hour. She had to get out of the house. Right this minute. But how was she going to do that? Her dad was still fuming about Zacharie. Couldn’t stop going on and on about him.

  But in the event it was easy. She found the single policeman still on duty and she asked him if he would like a cup of tea! And, not suspecting a thing, he said he would. He followed her into the kitchen where her dad was clearing up the dishes and stood around talking to him about computers and all the problems he’d been having sorting his out. And her dad was distracted and Claire was able to slip away, pick up her backpack, nip out of the French doors in the dining room, through a gap in the hedge and into next door’s garden. She scrabbled over their wall and dropped down into the street beyond. Then she’d run as fast as she could to the tube station. Rummaging in the outer pocket of her backpack she found her travel card and was soon through the barrier and pushing past people down the stairs and onto the platform. She was so agitated and out of breath that people were staring at her. When the sign said that the next train via Waterloo and Charing Cross was going to be in four minutes, she swore loudly. She wanted Waterloo. Four minutes! Four minutes! An eternity. And when it did come, it was crowded and she had to push her way on. There were no seats. She had to stand and straphang, her backpack wedged between her feet. When the tube started to move, she calmed a little. She looked up at the map and counted the stops. She tried to send Zacharie a text. ‘Five stops from Waterloo.’ But the message sending failed. Oh well, only five stops. Not long. It wouldn’t take long. Her eyes scanned the faces around her. It was hot. There was a smell of too many bodies squeezed into too small a space. Then her heart missed a beat. There it was again. The unmistakable smell of cinnamon and flowers. He must have followed her from the house. Been waiting outside. She’d known it. Heat and fear made patches of sweat appear between her shoulder blades and under her arms. Her T-shirt was sticking to her body. He was here, in the carriage. Close by. But she still couldn’t see him. She couldn’t move. There was nowhere to go. At every station more people got on. The train swayed and rattled, hurtling on towards Waterloo. Then there was a squeal and shriek of brakes and the train was slowing down. Last stop now. Which side was the platform? People had turned to face the door opposite her, so she pushed and edged her way closer to those doors. She was first out. Then she ran through the crowds of people on the platform, up the escalator, banging people with her backpack. “Sorry! Sorry!”

  Up and out into the open air and she was threading her way fast through the river of people heading towards the Jubilee Gardens. She looked at her watch. Eight o’clock. Was she too late? She looked back anxiously over her shoulder, knowing he was following her. She twisted the ring round and round on her finger… Please let me get there before he catches me…

  Now she was in the gardens and, looking up, she could see the wire, tensioned between two cranes, one on either side of the river. People had stopped and were pointing. Claire looked up. She saw someone dressed in white, balancing on the wire, walking towards her, 45 metres above the Thames. Her hand felt for the ring again. She focused her thoughts.

  Then, making her start, a text appeared on her phone. Zacharie. Not him up on the wire then… even he wasn’t mad enough to be texting from up there, was he? ‘Allez vite! You must climb up as quick as you can, before Jacalyn gets all the way across.’

  What!? Climb up? And why did she have to get there before Jacalyn? There was no sense in it. Much safer to be on the ground. She was going to text ‘No way!’

  But then she could feel Robert closing in behind her. The ring was tight and hot. She took some deep breaths. Tried to still the panic rising up inside her. She was going to have to do what Zac asked. She had to trust that he knew what he was doing… because sure as hell, she didn’t. So she pushed on through the crowds until she was at the base of the crane. A circle of crash barriers kept people back and security guards were stationed inside. She looked up again. Jacalyn was halfway across. Well Zacharie had been right so far. Robert HAD followed her. He must believe she had the casket and the scrolls in her backpack and was going to give them to Zacharie… or else why would she be here? He didn’t know that Zac already had the scrolls. And Claire hoped that Robert’s desperation to recover the spells would blind him to the fact she was leading him into danger. That if he climbed up the crane after her, he would fall into whatever trap Zac had set. Claire knew Robert had to die or she would never be free of him. But she didn’t know yet how that would happen. She could see a struggle, but not who’s hand would push him to his death.

  As the wind off the river swirled and eddied about the crane, there it was again, the barest suspicion of a smell. Cinnamon and flowers. She started to really panic now and was afraid she wouldn’t be able control it. Jacalyn still had a long way to go, but Claire had to be up there before she finished. She didn’t know why that was so important, but Zacharie said she must be. “He knows what he’s doing. He knows what he’s doing.” She repeated it over and over like a good luck mantra as she pushed forward, watching the security guards, trying to judge where they would move to next, where they would be looking. Then, as the one nearest to her was distracted by a small boy climbing over the barrier, she slipped through the bars and ran round to the base of the crane, only pausing to make sure her arms were threaded through both the straps of her backpack. Then sh
e was hoisting herself up and onto the first rung of the metal ladder that ran up, 45 metres, to where the crane’s arm swung out over the river. She started to climb, very quickly at first, expecting any minute that she’d be spotted and a cry would go up and she’d be brought down. But everyone’s eyes seemed to be fixed on the wire-walker. A wind had started to blow and she could see Jacalyn was struggling to balance against the power of it, though the long pole she carried was still keeping her steady.

  Up and up Claire climbed. She was having to force her legs to keep moving and the muscles in her arms were screaming with the effort of pulling her body up. And the wind as she climbed higher was catching on her backpack and buffeting her about. She was terrified that she wouldn’t be able to make it. That she would be stuck, clinging to the ladder, unable to move, until her grip on the ladder failed and she fell into the sea of people below. What on earth had possessed her? Why was it she hadn’t stayed on the ground and made Zacharie come to her? She knew why. She looked down. A small black shape was climbing inexorably up towards her. Robert wouldn’t reach her before she got to the top, would he? He was tired and his powers must be ebbing away, because he no longer had the spells that would renew them. But her arms and legs, as she pushed herself to climb on up, were starting to tremble. They were weakening with the effort, too. The ring on her finger was so tight and hot she could hardly bear it. 20 more rungs up on the ladder and Robert was starting to close the gap.

  Claire was nearly at the top. Only ten more rungs to go, though Robert was so close now, she swore she could feel the heat of his body, hear the rasping of his breath above the wind. But Zacharie was there waiting for her, looking down, and holding out his hand, ready to help her with the last few steps. He pulled her to safety. As he straightened up, sweat glistening on his forehead and darkening his hair, they were face to face and she saw his eyes widen and a smile of relief flicker across his face. “You did it!”