by Sean Stone
The front door to number 42 opened and Michael stepped out. As he reached the road the snakes began slithering towards him, hissing furiously. He bent his knees slightly and then leapt the entire distance landing neatly on the car next to his brother. The sunlight shone on his pale skin but didn’t seem to burn him in the slightest. With one hand he snapped the chains binding Ramsay to the car, swung his brother over his shoulder and then sped off down the street. Victor looked back to the house but Cain and Lydia were gone.
Victor turned to Richie, his jaw almost on the floor. “You lived with them for two years and never once noticed that they could walk in the sun?” he asked incredulously. He wasn’t even trying to hide his anger.
Richie looked at Victor with equal shock and then shook his head. Apparently too shocked for words.
“Boys,” Lydia said disappointedly as she entered the room. She had a large square box in her hands. Victor tensed up ready for a fight but she waved one hand dismissively. “Stand down tiger.”
“How did you get in here?” Victor demanded.
“My family need no invitation to go where we want,” she replied smugly.
“Lydia?’ Richie said, still in shock.
“Yes we can walk in the sun,” she said. “I practically gift wrapped my brother for you and what do you do? You rewrap him and send him right back.”
“We didn’t mean to,” Victor replied curtly.
“You might have told us about the whole sun walking thing before,” Richie almost shouted.
“What’s done is done. And you guys are done,” she said and then handed the box to Victor.
He removed the lid carefully and his heart nearly stopped when he looked inside. Dwayne’s decapitated head was staring back at him. The eyes had been left in to ensure he recognised his former driver and more recently his daughter’s protector. Victor slid silently down the wall onto the dusty old floor, cradling the box in his lap. All fight in him vanished. He was beaten.
“What is it?” Richie asked.
“They have Isabella,” Victor whispered.
The room was silent for a minute before Richie nodded and spoke again. “Alright. I’ll hand myself over,” Richie said, and although he didn’t want to Victor argued.
“No. You can’t do that,” he said. He didn’t want to lose his daughter, but he couldn’t lose his best friend either. If he let Richie hand himself in he’d have to live with the knowledge that he let his friend walk to his death. No, Victor would go to the castle and take his daughters place. If Cain would allow the trade.
“Yes he can,” Lydia said before Victor could speak. “I meant you two are done planning, not living. Michael and I are handling the intelligence side of things now.”
“Why would you help us?” Victor demanded. He placed the box to his side but did not get up.
“For thousands of years, we’ve had to follow our father around, obeying his every command. And Ramsay has been insufferable. Faking our deaths would never have worked for us.” She shot Richie a look and he shrugged. “Our family has a bond. We can feel where we are and find one another easily. We need our father gone. Then we can be free.”
“So what is your plan?” Richie asked.
“And how does my daughter factor into it?”
“Your daughter will be released when Richie goes to the castle. And I’ll make a deal that will save Richie’s life,” she said.
“How?” Richie said.
“I know what you’ve got.”
“No,” Richie said firmly.
“What?” Victor asked. He didn’t like being the only one in the dark.
“It’s the only way Rich, and I’m not asking,” Lydia said and her face dared him to argue.
“You can’t make a deal with your father,” Richie grumbled.
“I’m not going to make a deal with my father.”
“Then who?”
“One of the many other deplorable people that seem to reside in this town,” she said with a crafty smile. Then left too quickly for either of them to ask any more questions.
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Clara arrived at the station on Wednesday morning ready to tear into Jamal for what he’d done the night before. If he hadn’t drugged her and Bianca, leaving himself seriously handicapped when two of the disciples turned up then maybe things would have gone differently. Maybe William would still be alive. It was difficult to accept William being dead, Clara had always thought of him as untouchable. He was the man in the middle, the go-between. She always thought of him as having diplomatic immunity; you might not like him, but you couldn’t harm him. But then the disciples weren’t known for playing by the rules.
Bianca had taken William’s death particularly badly. She hadn’t been very close to their boss but knowing he was dead had made it abundantly clear that none of them were safe. It had shown her how precarious their position in town really was. Being the people in the middle, the people trying to establish order between rival factions put them at greater risk than anyone else. It was a fact they’d all known but never wanted to admit. Now there was no denying it. Bianca had hardly spoken since she’d woken up from the drug induced sleep they’d both been put into. Once she’d learned of William’s death she became even more introverted. Clara had never seen her like this before and she didn’t know how to pull her back. It was quite clear that Bianca would not be part of the team for much longer. She still followed Clara into work, though, which Clara had to give her credit for; she’d expected her friend to remain under her bed sheets for a couple of days at least. The drive in had been silent. Bianca was pale faced and terrified, whereas Clara was red-faced and livid. When Clara stormed into the office she had to pull herself back because Bradley Carter was with Jamal in the midst of a rant of his own.
“How the fuck am I supposed to explain this?” he demanded. His face was a deep shade of red and he was pacing furiously whilst Jamal sat calmly at one of the desks letting the mayor’s words wash over him and showing not a touch of emotion.
“The way I see it you don’t need to explain anything to anybody. Jeremy Devlin is dead and there is nobody to report back to MI5,” Jamal said in his usual casual voice. Bradley stared at him as if he had just said something horrible about his mother.
“Do you really think they only have one person keeping an eye on us? Do you really think that?” Spit flew from his mouth as he spoke.
“This isn’t your concern. You agreed to leave all supernatural matters to us,” Jamal said. He was getting annoyed now.
“That was an arrangement I made with William under the pretext that he could handle things. He is dead and quite clearly cannot.”
Bianca slipped quietly into her seat at the dispatch desk and placed her headset on. She immediately started tapping away on her computer, blocking out the argument taking place on the other side of the office. Clara coughed loudly to make sure they knew they were no longer alone and then walked over to join Jamal and the mayor. Bradley gave her a half glance before turning back to Jamal. Jamal didn’t even acknowledge her. Anger bristled within her but she swallowed it down and listened.
“You have two options,” Jamal told Bradley. “Option one, you take control of things yourself which will inevitably lead to the pack, the coven and the clan killing you before you turn into the next Jonathan Langford.” Bradley winced at Jamal’s remark.
“What’s option two?” he said sourly.
“You appoint somebody to take charge of this team and let us deal with it. Yes, we’ve had some casualties, but we are making progress. The coven, the pack and the clan are at peace with one another and the coven is helping us find a way to get the Thirteen out of town,” Jamal explained.
“Alright,” Bradley said reluctantly. “How’s Sergeant Gatling doing?”
“The doctor says he is on the mend. Won’t be back with us for a while, though,” said Jamal.
“Well in the meantime you’re acting commander. Sort this mess
out,” Bradley said and then he stormed out of the room giving Clara a brief nod on his way.
As soon as he was gone Jamal stood up and went into William’s office.
“Hey!” Clara yelled and stormed after him. “Are you just going to ignore me now?” she demanded.
He turned round and looked at her. His face remained neutral, impossible to read. He flicked his eyes to the office door and it swung shut. Then he glanced at the blinds and they too flipped shut, giving them complete privacy.
He opened his mouth but didn’t seem to know what to say. He shook his head and then shrugged. “William’s dead,” he said.
“I know. I found out this morning when I woke up in the medical wing at the research labs. The doctor there told me. He also told me that the disciples set the lab on fire,” said Clara. All that time spent searching for the weapons and they’d lost them instantly.
“They did set the lab on fire, as it happens the lab has a defence mechanism for instances like that. The fire was extinguished before it did any damage. All we lost was a couple of desks. The weapons are fine,” he said plainly. Whatever he was feeling he was doing a good job at masking it.
“Won’t they come back and try again?” Clara demanded. They should be guarding the lab.
“The lab protects itself. Every inch of it is enchanted. I checked.” He looked at her and then his eyes changed and showed just a glimmer of sorrow. “I’m sorry I left it to Doctor Winfred to tell you about William. I should have been there when you woke up. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t bring myself to face you knowing that it was my fault.”
If he thought that self-pity was going got win her over then he was sorely mistaken. “It is your fault. William’s death is your fault. You should never have had me drugged. If I was there to fight with you then things would’ve been different. Maybe, just maybe—”
“The only difference it would have made would be your death as well,” snapped Jamal and Clara fell silent. “Do you really think that you could have made any impact? You’ve had your powers all of five minutes and you think that you could have done what an experienced sorcerer and a veteran vampire could not? Don’t be so bloody naive. William was my friend. I worked with him for eight years so don’t you dare blame me for his death.”
“I… I didn’t mean…” Clara couldn’t speak. She’d never seen Jamal angry before. She wasn’t frightened but she knew she’d done wrong. She hadn’t thought about how he might be reacting to everything that had happened. She hadn’t thought about his feelings. She’d been selfish and only thought about herself.
“And just who do you think you’re talking to. I am your superior officer and you actually think you can come into this office and shout at me, tell me off? I give the orders and you follow them. If you did that once in a while then I wouldn’t have to resort to drugging you,” he said.
He was right. She had been a difficult person to manage and if she thought about it properly she had to admit that she’d given him little choice. She was so focused on getting revenge that she never considered anything else.
“I’m sorry,” she said in whisper.
“No, I am,” he said, once again calm. “This isn’t your fault. I just… I just feel…” he looked at her with real frustration on his face. Then out of nowhere he moved forward and kissed her. It wasn’t soft or gentle, but rough. Her first instinct was to push him away, but then she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him back, locking her lips onto his. His hands took her by the side of her head as and he pushed his whole body against hers, the weight of him forcing her against the wall. She wrapped her own arms around his waist and held him tight. Refusing to let go. He let go of her head and his hands moved down to her chest where they found her shirt buttons and got to work undoing them. A feeble voice in her head told her to stop him, that it wasn’t appropriate, but she brushed it aside and starting fumbling with Jamal’s belt.
Twenty minutes later they were pulling their clothes back on, both avoiding eye contact out of embarrassment and shame. Giving into their instincts like animals was not very professional. But it had felt good. Very good.
“What now?” Clara asked, still not looking at him.
“Now we get back to work. We’ll return to the lab and see exactly what is down there that we can use,” said Jamal.
“Okay. I’ll get Bianca,” Clara replied. She straightened out her shirt and left the office, wondering what was going to happen between her and Jamal now. Was it just a one-time thing, or were more incidents like that one going to occur? She wasn’t sure what she wanted right now, all she knew for certain was that she was in a very good mood.
*
Montford Manor had the look of a stereotypical haunted house. It sat at the top of a hill overlooking the town. An ugly reminder of the massacres that took place there. The bricks were dark and filthy. The windows that hadn’t been smashed by errant school children were coated with grime and impossible to see through. The grass was an overgrown mess of brown tangles inside which anything could be living. The tall iron gates were brown with rust and squealed loudly when Adam pushed them open. He walked slowly up the cracked cobble path, marvelling at the sight of the foreboding house. He’d done a lot of research on Henry Montford over the last few months, preparing for the Montford exhibition. He’d often thought about visiting the house but hadn’t dared. In 1897 Henry had slaughtered fifteen sorcerers from the coven which Adam now led, he’d also sacrificed several sorcerers from outside of the coven. The death count was estimated to be over 100, although there was no evidence for that number. Henry himself had been killed inside the house when the coven had learned what he was up to. So many sorcerers dying in one spot made the area a very unstable place. All that power now belonged to the house and Adam had no idea what might happen if it was disturbed. He no longer had a choice, though. Nickolas Blackwood had forced his hand. He had to disturb the power and risk the worst in order to fight the Thirteen.
The double doors to the house weren’t locked but they weren’t easy to open either. Adam had to push against them with all his strength and even then he could only move them just enough to squeeze through. Inside the house, a small amount of light shone through the filthy windows, just enough from him to see what he was doing. The lobby was a vast room with rotten wood flooring and old moth-eaten curtains. The house was still furnished and everything had a thick layer of dust covering it. On the floor Adam could see dust covered footprints where people had entered the house before; they were small and must belong to children. He knew that some of the local children often dared each other to stay a night in the house. He also knew that the children were always found dead by the gates. Adam didn’t know how they’d died; his guess was that the power had killed them, either that or the spirits. William Marshall and visited the house once investigating the murders but found nothing. He said he’d felt a presence in the house and he’d not been back again.
Adam was only in the lobby and he too felt a presence. It wasn’t very strong but it was there. It was… heavy. And dark. It was the power. Cautiously he began walking through the house. Genevieve hadn’t managed to create anything with which to harness the power so Adam had resorted to bringing Henry Montford’s athame. It had held the power before and should be able to hold it again. He’d left a note at home so that if the plan did go wrong then Nicole would know what happened to him and when he was old enough she could explain it to Tommy. Of course, then she would know she had been right and getting involved in coven matters was not a good idea. But Adam hoped that she was not right.
He entered what looked like the lounge and marvelled at the extravagance of the furnishings. Each item in the room looked like it would cost over a month of Adam’s salary. Age had seen to it that nothing had any value anymore, but in its day, someone could have made a fortune selling it all. Once Nickolas was dealt with maybe he could come back and take some of the furniture for the exhibition. The house would be safe once the power had been extracted. If it
worked.
Adam walked into what looked like a ballroom and he knew he’d hit the jackpot. He could feel the room pulsing with power. He could almost hear a buzzing sound. Henry must have used this room for his sacrifices. He was probably murdered there too. In the centre of the room was a round wooden table; like everything else it was covered with dust. The table had nothing on it but Adam guessed that it was Henry’s altar. The items which once stood on top of it were now in Adam’s office at the museum. Except for the athame which was in Adam’s inside pocket. He took out his phone and called Genevieve. She answered on the second ring.
“It’s me,” Adam said. “I’ve walked the house. There is power here and plenty of it.” Despite his fear he couldn’t help being excited.
“Enough for our purposes?” Genevieve asked coolly.
“Should be. If all this can’t—” A sudden jolt of electricity shot down Adam’s spine and was accompanied by the most alien feeling Adam had ever experienced. His phone slipped from his hand and thudded to the floor sending a cloud of dust up that made him cough furiously. Something had taken hold of him from the inside. It felt as though a hand was actually gripping his brain stem. It was tightening its grip. Bit by bit, starting from his toes, his body started to go numb. Something was pushing against him. Pushing him out of his own head. He pushed back but whatever it was it was too strong. The numbness reached his waist; he could no longer feel his legs. He tried to move, to run from the house, but he couldn’t. His legs were no longer under his control. The thing pushing him wasn’t the power, it was an actual entity, a spirit. Dark and loathsome, it was invading his mind, oozing through his limbs, conquering his body. His fingers and arms started to tingle and go numb. Adam pushed as hard as he could but he was growing weaker with every second.
“What are you?” he screamed in his head.
“Who.” The thing corrected, it’s voice felt like spiders running beneath the skin. Adam had never felt a voice before but he felt this one.