Wolfsbane: 3 (Rebel Angels)

by Gillian Philip

  HANNAH

  ‘Are you still sulking about the horse?’

  In front of me Rory snorted a laugh. ‘Nah. That was clever. Also sneaky.’

  I smirked to myself and snuggled closer against him. That was mostly for warmth, of course. We were high up now, high enough to have left the thickest of the trees behind, and wind funnelled through the pass straight into our faces. Above us icy patches of snow still lay in the gullies, waiting out the summer, and I could feel exactly why it hadn’t melted. For all the singing birds, for all the golden light, it felt like spring had never arrived up here.

  Our route was hardly what you’d call direct. We’d given houses and farms a wide bodyswerve, we’d followed half-dried-up riverbeds and belts of larches and pines where we could. As for the clotted patches of yellow whin, some of them were so dense and gnarled even the horse wouldn’t try to get through. When I got off the beast once, growling with frustration and insisting I could find a path, I was forced to retreat almost in tears, my arms pincushioned with spikes and brambles.

  I certainly wanted this journey to be as short as possible. ‘Couldn’t I try to contact your dad?’

  ‘No, I told you. Don’t let your block down. He’ll track us if you do.’

  I reckoned he wasn’t talking about Seth. ‘So all we can do is go to that house?’

  ‘Tornashee. Yeah. My father’s bound to go there.’

  ‘Doesn’t everybody else know that too, then?’

  He didn’t answer. I should really stop asking awkward questions, since they never made me feel any better.

  ‘So anyway, why would I sulk about the horse? I’ve got my own.’ Rory was back on the more comfortable subject of his kelpie obsession. ‘I’ll be back to get that filly one day. Properly this time.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Sorry about that. Again.’

  ‘You didn’t know. Anyway, taking the kelpie mare was a good idea, I think.’

  ‘It wasn’t my idea, it was Eili’s.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I’m still going to try it.’

  I liked it when he talked positive. I liked it when his every word didn’t seem to assume we were going to die horribly and quite soon. Unfortunately, those moments never lasted long.

  ‘Sh.’ He halted the horse. It stood there with its ears pricked forward and its lip curled back from its teeth.

  ‘Oh God,’ I muttered.

  He reached back and pinched my thigh quite hard. ‘Sh.’

  Now I could hear it too: the throaty rumble of a diesel engine. Hard to tell which direction it was coming from; the air was so thin and clear up here, and there were plenty of scree slopes and granite escarpments to make sounds bounce and echo. ‘Bugger,’ I said.

  ‘Would you shut up?’

  ‘No.’ I pointed to a narrow defile where a trickle of water was funnelled into something resembling an actual river. ‘Down there. Hide.’

  At least he didn’t argue with that. The horse could be amazingly quiet when it felt like it, and it sidled into the feeble cover, placing its hooves delicately on moss patches and soft tussocks of mountain grass. Still pressed close to Rory, I could feel his heart hammering. Or maybe that was mine.

  In mid-stream, the horse stood dead still. All I could hear was the wind, and the whisper of water round the creature’s fetlocks, and smooth stones rattling like phlegm in the gullet of the burn.

  Then it was on us out of nowhere, the roar of its engines sudden and loud. Rory sucked in a breath and the horse spun on its hindquarters and I might have let out a smallish squeal.

  God, the way the mountain could distort sounds and make them vanish. The quad bike was right there, and the man riding it was squinting at us with a sharp callous interest.

  ‘You want to hide from a Watcher,’ he said, pushing hair out of his silver-pricked eyes, ‘you don’t do it in water.’

  ‘Well, you don’t smell like Lammyr to me,’ said Suil, plugging a kettle into the wall, ‘so I suppose you’ll want a cup of tea instead of a quick death.’

  A very good-looking osprey, that was what he reminded me of. The irises of his eyes were amber-yellow and his nose was aquiline and his tawny hair was flicked back above his ears, but it wasn’t so much any of that as his hungry predatory look, as if he was dying to dive for a nice bit of fish.

  Sure enough, as he swung open the fridge, illuminating his doubtful face, he said, ‘Smoked trout? On toast? It’s all I’ve got in.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Oh please. Thank God Almighty you haven’t got any rabbit.’

  Suil made a dry noise that might have been a laugh and shoved two slices of bread into the toaster. I liked his cottage, small and slightly messy but definitely this side of civilisation. I especially liked the loud hum of the generator out the back. Home comforts.

  The only thing that unsettled me was the faint odour of decay and death. I glanced nervously over my shoulder again at the curtained box-bed along the back wall.

  ‘My lover,’ he’d said when we arrived, and the curiosity was killing me.

  ‘How long has she been...’ sick, I was going to say, but he shook his head.

  ‘Like this? A month or so.’

  ‘What’s her n–’

  ‘Teallach,’ he said. ‘It was Teallach.’

  He rose and pulled back the curtain, sat down on the edge of the bed. Gently he stroked her hair out of her eyes. It was half-blonde half-grey, a messy filthy wild shock of it, and I can’t explain it but she looked ninety and nineteen all at once.

  I got up and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. The woman stared at me and then she stared at Suil. Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t recognise either of us. I took her hand; it was withered skin over bone but it wasn’t twisted like an old person’s hand. Same with her face: it was a young person’s face, except that the skin was yellow and shrivelled tight across her skull and her eyes had sunk into the sockets. Her teeth were loose and she smelt of death.

  ‘Is she dying?’ I whispered.

  ‘She didn’t want to go to the Selkyr,’ he said, kissing her forehead. ‘Fair enough. Her choice.’

  I didn’t say anything because I had no idea what he was on about, and anyway I thought I might cry. The dying woman gave an incoherent cry of petulant anger.

  ‘I think I will, though,’ he murmured, distantly. ‘When it’s my turn. I think I’ll take the Selkyr.’

  Rory had come over to stand and look down at her. There was a superstitious look of fright on his face. ‘She was all right till a month ago?’

  ‘It’s taking so much longer than I thought,’ said Suil. ‘I think it’s taking far longer than she thought, too.’ Almost absently, he massaged her bony fingers and kissed each knuckle. She watched him do it, uncomprehending.

  He stood, abruptly. ‘Toast’s ready.’

  ‘Hannah.’ The whisper was insistent, and I knew fuzzily that it had been said more than once. ‘You awake?’

  I pulled the lumpy pillow off my head and sighed loudly. ‘I am now. What?’

  The night wasn’t black at all. I doubted it ever had been. Sometimes I thought there would never be a proper night again, the kind you could hide in. Through the thin curtains the light was pearl grey; it could have been dusk or dawn. I had no idea what time it was. I felt as if I’d been asleep for all of three minutes.

  Rory, having yanked me out of sleep, had suddenly gone silent. To make sure of that, I held my breath, but there wasn’t so much as a grunt from him now. I got the sense he was having trouble speaking. I wondered if my block had slipped while I was asleep, because something hung in the air like the dissolving tatters of a dream: blaeberry scrub and oily black smoke and blood: an awful lot of blood. I blinked it all away.

  ‘I don’t know what consangwhatever is,’ hissed Rory at last, ‘and I don’t care. I’m cold and I just wondered if…’

  I sat up on my mattress and looked thoughtfully at him. ‘It’s a hot night.’

  ‘Well, I’m cold.’

 
; My fingers curled tightly into the musty bedclothes. I shouldn’t get up. I knew that Suil wasn’t here; I knew he was watching the still deep pool below the escarpment, a sword on his back, like he said he did every night. But his lover was here in the room next door, whether or not she had a mind left.

  It was remembering the dying woman that made me sit up and swing my legs off the bed. I thought about that long decay, and the look in Suil’s yellow eyes when he stroked her hair and spooned mashed trout into her slack mouth, and the sound of the spoon rattling on loose teeth.

  I stood up quickly. Rory’s bed was against the opposite wall; I sat down beside him and took his hand.

  ‘Did you have a bad dream?’

  ‘Yes.’ His voice was muffled by the pillow.

  The bed was saggy and narrow but I managed to wriggle under the sheets between him and the wall. The bad springs tipped me towards him, so I put my arms round his body. His back was to me and I could see the angular jut of his shoulder blades and the line of his spine. His arms found mine and clutched them more tightly round him.

  I pressed my cheek to his shoulder. I was not going to let on that I could feel the dampness of the pillow beneath his face.

  ‘I wouldn’t even know if he was dead,’ he said. His throat sounded as if it was full of ground glass.

  ‘I think you would,’ I said into his neck. ‘I think you would anyway. And he isn’t. Anyway.’

  His fingertip stroked the back of my hand. An owl called, somewhere out in the night, and I heard the kelpie stir outside the window, stamping and snorting. Rory’s body was so tense I thought every muscle in it might snap under the strain. I mustn’t clutch him too tightly, I thought. I mustn’t.

  He rolled round to face me and said, ‘Thanks.’

  I stroked his cheekbone, feeling my innards clench. ‘It’ll be okay,’ I said. ‘He’ll be okay.’

  ‘Of course.’

  He’s my cousin. He’s my cousin.

  My fingers drifted into Rory’s hair all by themselves, combing it back from his ear. ‘No, it really will. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks,’ he said again, and kissed me.

  And who was I to shove him away at such a moment? His mouth lingered on mine, and it was like a puzzle fitting together. After a bit I stopped being surprised, and kissed him back. He tasted familiar. My arm round his waist, his hand on my neck, his leg hooked over mine: it was all exactly the right fit, like we’d been sculpted as one by some very talented artist.

  Outside, beside a dark pool, a man sat hunched in the half-light and watched for monsters; and beyond the wall at my back a woman lay dreaming of a life she’d forgotten. Death seeped in everywhere, through the cracks in the loose window frames, down the sooty chimney, in the breath of breeze that stirred the cheap curtains. It touched the nape of my neck and crept across my skin on spider-feet.

  We’d neither of us lived very long, Rory and me. The night was brief and it wasn’t any kind of a hiding-place, but it was all we were getting, and we took it.

  SETH

  ‘Clunk click,’ said the Wolf as he plugged in Seth’s seatbelt.

  ‘Gosh, that dates you,’ said Seth. ‘But thanks for your concern.’

  ‘Well.’ The Wolf patted his knee. ‘I wouldn’t want you hurting yourself. That’s my job.’

  Seth gave him a twisted smile.

  The Wolf ejected the disc and threw it onto the back seat, then flicked through the ones he’d stolen from the house. ‘The Stranglers! Murlainn, you old punk.’

  ‘Are you more of a boy-band man?’

  ‘Hold that.’ The Wolf gave him a dark look and thrust a disc at his mouth while he examined the next in the stack. Seth held The Stranglers carefully between his teeth till the Wolf took it back, stuffed the others into the rack, and slotted it into the player.

  ‘If you scratch my favourite CDs I’ll kill you,’ said Seth.

  The Wolf sighed. ‘Look, Murlainn, I know it’s only a figure of speech, but that is not an option for you any more. Okay?’ He gunned the car out through the raven gateposts.

  The journey was a blur for a long time, partly because Seth’s head still throbbed distractingly and partly because he didn’t want to speculate on what came next. They drove for a long time in mutually hostile silence, Seth fidgeting and tapping his fingernails against his palms to keep the blood circulating, and half-singing along under his breath to annoy the driver.

  When he thought they’d driven far enough, he squinted sideways at the Wolf.

  ‘I need to go.’

  The Wolf rolled his eyes and swore.

  ‘Well, I do.’ Seth moved his shoulders in an approximation of a shrug.

  Swerving the Audi abruptly into a layby and stepping hard on the brakes, the Wolf turned and glared at him as a huge articulated lorry blared its horn. He’d only overtaken it thirty seconds before, after a long frustrating time staring at its tailgate. ‘No tricks.’

  ‘I mean, would I.’ Seth gave him a sweet smile. ‘I like to breathe.’

  ‘Good. You’re getting the message.’ The Wolf unplugged the seatbelt and leaned across to swing the door open, then looked at him expectantly.

  Seth rattled the handcuffs. ‘Um. What am I supposed to do here?’

  With an exaggerated sigh the Wolf grabbed his hair and yanked him forward. Seth felt the key click and the handcuffs give, and he stretched his arms. His muscles and joints protested at the sudden release, a combination of agony and sheer relief.

  ‘Make the most of it.’ The Wolf gave him a dark look. ‘They’re going back on. And by the way, I’ll be right behind you. If you try anything I’ll take out your kidneys, one at a time.’ He returned Seth’s innocent smile. ‘That’ll solve the problem, won’t it?’

  ‘Okay. Nice.’ Seth flexed his aching arms again and got out of the car, then turned to the verge as the Wolf opened the driver’s door. Where were those giant lorries, Seth wondered, when you really needed one to knock someone flying? He heard a footstep behind him, then the sibilant hiss of a knife coming out of its sheath.

  ‘I believe you, okay?’ he said over his shoulder.

  ‘Just making sure.’ There was a smile in the voice. ‘You’re a bundle of nerves, Murlainn.’

  Seth shut his eyes. If you only knew, he thought dryly, the fingers of his right hand tugging surreptitiously at his carved belt buckle. He hoped fervently that he had enough in his bladder to keep him going. His muscles were clumsy, his fingers slippery with sweat, but at last he managed to get his thumb and fingernail round the slightly hooked tip of the bronze merlin’s pinion feather.

  ‘Come on.’ The Wolf’s voice was a threatening growl.

  ‘Give us a chance. Haven’t been for ages.’ Frantically he jerked his fingertips and the pinion feather slipped loose, a needle of bronze alloy about two inches long. Suddenly he regretted his penchant for t-shirts; he could have used a sleeve right now.

  ‘Now.’ The point of a knife jabbed the small of his back as the Wolf’s patience ran out.

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Seth pressed the pin between his third and fourth fingers, then zipped himself up and put his hands helpfully behind his back. They still weren’t functioning too well and he could only pray desperately that he wouldn’t drop the pin. He doubted the Wolf needed him alive so much that he’d forgive any skulduggery. Besides, the pin was probably his only chance. Not that he had a clue what to do with it, but it was two sharp inches of feverish hope.

  The handcuffs clicked on, and the Wolf pushed him back into his seat. Seth let himself feel a brief shudder of despair, then let it go. As the Wolf slammed the passenger door he leaned forward, just enough to relieve the pressure on his hands and slide the pin into a tiny gap in the stitching of his belt. By the time the Wolf was in the driving seat, Seth was leaning back again. Smiling.

  His arm muscles protested at being restrained again, and they punished him for it, but inwardly he was happier than he’d been in hours. He was used to lost causes. And a
small rebellion always made him feel a hundred times better.

  RORY

  ‘Wake up.’ The hand that gripped my shoulder was like steel.

  For a dragging moment I dreamed it was Finn leaning over me, and I was swamped with relief. It had all been a dream. Everything was fine, Finn was waking me because my father wanted me… but there was something wrong, and I realised with embarrassed panic that there was a girl in my arms. My cousin.

  I felt a sharp ache in my wrist, and I clutched the green stone on the silver bangle. Icy coldness cleared my brain, letting in a deadening knowledge that made my stomach turn over: the yellow eyes weren’t Finn’s. Suil was staring down at me with urgency and more than a little fear.

  Hannah’s palm tensed on my chest, and reflexively my arm tightened round her. My stone had been nagging me painfully for a while, only I’d been too fast asleep, too exhausted and content to feel it. Fear lifted the hairs on my scalp.

  ‘Suil?’

  ‘Get up. Go.’

  I went cold. I couldn’t bear the thought of moving on, leaving warmth and safety for the gods knew what. ‘Suil, if we could just stay till morning, please, just till morning, I promise I…’

  ‘Laochan, shut up. Listen.’ Suil touched his thumb to my forehead. ‘I know I can’t talk to you properly, I know you can’t let me in, but I’m telling you the truth. You have to go, now.’

  I sat up, so abruptly I felt a lurch of nausea. ‘What, is…’

  ‘The Wolf is coming, Laochan. You haven’t long.’

  I dragged my grubby t-shirt over my head. Hannah was already sitting on the edge of the bed, wriggling into her jeans, her eyes sharp and scared. Suil took a couple of paces to the window, pulling the curtain open a slit and peering out.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said.

  ‘The man’s a tracker. Always was.’

  ‘But my block’s up. Hannah–’