Theo had saved him then too.
Lorenzo beckoned to Fenrir. ‘Use that nose, buddy. Find us a way in.’ They scouted the perimeter, Fenrir’s ears tweaked on high alert. Lorenzo crouched down as several vans thundered past, turning away from the road’s coastal exit, only to be ushered through the gates. Could he wave down a van, Enthral the driver, and hide in the back? What was the point, really?
‘Fenrir, let’s just wait.’ He reached out to stroke the elkhound’s head but his fingers ruffled air. ‘Fenrir?’
He zipped along the high walls, hunting Fenrir, but the scents he picked up were coming from the inside of the Praetoriani’s grounds. He searched for a breach, some way that the dog could slip through, but found none. Fenrir had arrived so suddenly at the Old Vicarage, and now he was gone. Hours passed, but the mystery remained. As the sun weakened, Lorenzo moseyed back to the front gates, spotting Michele’s limousine as it glided away from the coast, aiming for Hellingshead’s heart. He didn’t flag it down.
I can’t believe I’ve lost Theo’s dog. Lorenzo swore, and giving up the search, began the walk home.
Malachi was waiting in the shadows at the entrance to St. Michael’s Church. Lorenzo turned and sprinted away, but despite Raphael’s blood, he couldn’t escape his Pater Sanguinem’s demands. His stomach tumbled like a washing machine as Malachi’s velvety-voice projected over the distance, using their blood-bond as a stepping stone to reach him. ‘Lorenzo, be a good boy.’
He halted so hard he lurched, his limbs betraying his last frantic appeals. Magic, oh, what magic was this? His personality melted into clay, ready to be shaped to Malachi’s will. Lorenzo swivelled and plodded back, vestiges of reason rebelling with futile effort. Obey. Obey. Obey.
Kill.
Malachi shifted, and Lorenzo joined him on the church’s porch. Nothing beyond them existed anymore. ‘Yes?’
‘The trouble with that stupid warlock,’ Malachi said, ‘is that after all the lies he’s ingested, he still latches on to the promise of honour, even when it doesn’t exist.’
‘Yes.’
‘He thinks he can have her. He thinks he has you. She’s mine, and you’re an instrument of my will.’
‘Yes.’
‘Come, Lorenzo. I have my own deal with the Black Widow. It’s time we make good on it.’
‘They have Isis.’
Menelaus filled the last cubicle in the men’s room, after checking the first four were empty. ‘What?’
‘Isis. Belle’s wife.’
‘Belle Clary, the one on the jury?’ The one he’d recognised from Crystal Clear, the one who’d helped him find Toby. ‘How? When?’
‘While we were in court,’ growled Theo, though the anger was directed elsewhere. ‘They almost got Ava.’
The phone chilled in his hand. Menelaus blinked; the tiles on the wall sharpened, and he traced the faint cracks and variance in the paint. ‘Shit,’ he said, clearing the burning sensation from his throat. He spat into the toilet. ‘Who?’
‘Who? Who? Menelaus, who else would want Isis but…’
‘My employers.’
A narrative formed in his mind. ‘If they have Isis, they can leverage Belle.’
‘Against me.’ Disgust soured Theo’s voice.
‘They won’t bring her here, not after the others escaped. Can’t you find her, you know, with that teleporting thing you do?’
‘I tried. Something is blocking me. What kind of magic can disorientate a spirit?’
‘Huh, so it’s based on astral projection.’
Theo huffed down the phone. ‘Pretend you never heard that, Menelaus,’ he said. ‘I can’t penetrate whatever wards are shielding her without a location in mind, either.’
‘Okay. What about Lorenzo? He might be able to track her, or at least narrow down the search area.’
‘He’s not answering his phone. Raphael said he came to meet me at the courthouse but I didn’t see him. He hasn’t gone back to the tower.’
The cubicle felt suffocating. ‘Well, the place is pinned down. He wouldn’t have been allowed in.’ Outside, someone pushed open the restroom door. ‘I’ll find him,’ he whispered. The door next to his banged shut. Menelaus flushed the toilet and washed his hands at the sink. In the mirror, two dark irises stared back, not sapien, not Pneuma, something in between.
Unnatural, he thought. He rushed out of the restroom but stopped before charging into the entrance hall. Best not to be seen. Cloaking himself, he avoided his colleagues, who were standing around in tense clumps, chattering. The guards at the front doors stared straight ahead as he strode past, taking the steps two at a time onto the driveway. He fished out his car keys and as soon as it was safe, lowered the barrier. Visible again, he climbed into his 4x4, and sped down to the front gates.
Once released through the checkpoint, he opened the window, his vision sharpening still further as he drew in a deep breath. Salt, earth, animal, dog, yes, dog. Vampire. Now he knew what he was, it came so easily, like a river breaching a dam. The evening sun warmed his skin as Menelaus drove out of Hellingstead, following the scent.
Back to Cheddar, back into the Mendips, through the villages and towns. Yes, Malachi was with Lorenzo; he tasted it on his tongue, heard the roar of shared blood coursing through his thumping heart. Where was it leading him?
The hills surged and dropped, fir trees casting their spikey shadows. Foreboding crept up his neck as the scent strengthened near the village of Priddy. Menelaus hunched over the wheel, scanning for a place to pull over. He slowed as he passed woodland, pulling into Stockhill Wood carpark.
He parked right behind Malachi’s Alfa Romeo, facing outwards.
Looking around, Menelaus spotted a footpath at the north end. He changed at the boot, swapping his suit for his leather and mail jacket, hiking boots, and flashlight.
He opened the hidden compartment and retrieved the knife he’d stashed there, slipping it into the slit in his boot. This time, no one else was going to die.
This time, Lorenzo was coming home with him. This time, he would protect his ward. ‘I’m coming for you,’ Menelaus whispered, excitement erupting from his gut.
He jogged to the path, leaning away from the road, and followed its right curve. Pausing at a crossroads, he took the muddier track, where fresh footprints were indented in the slime. Another road, a pond, right at the dam. He squeezed through a stile, watched by jittery birds singing from a nearby conifer. Skylarks beckoned from the distance, and Menelaus came to a dilapidated wall. He leapt over another stile and soon arrived in a place he recognised from a long-ago school field trip.
Priddy Nine Barrows, he thought, assaulted by the winds that rolled through the Mendips. This hill was a bronze-age burial ground, the mounds popping spine-like out of the landscape. Priddy Circles – ancient henges that furrowed the land – were farther on. The scent led him in that direction, and he relived the memories of his schooldays, carrying his clipboard with the other children, listening in as Mr Marshall frightened his students with tales of vicious adders lurking in the gorse.
The Circles lay across another road, on private land, so Menelaus focused on melting away. Satisfied no one would spot him, he crossed into the field, avoiding the nearby houses. Clouds brooded overhead but the sun still reigned, and the Priddy Circles expanded diagonally across the land. He crossed the ditch that ran around the second circle, onto the monument. Where were they hiding? Menelaus headed closer to the trees that intersected the circle, the pull strengthening with each step.
He tumbled.
The ground smacked hard into his body.
‘What the…’ He rolled over and clambered onto his feet, supporting his forearm, which had absorbed most of the impact. A second ago he’d been standing in the henge, but the ground was at least twelve feet above him now.
The moon was out, full and red, an angry sphere. He checked his head for injury but found none. He hadn’t lost consciousness; no time had passed. His pupils dilated rapidl
y, fighting against the shadows, but as the dark curtain pulled back, they revealed something worse.
Corpses, built into the bank. Not bones, no, these monstrosities were fresh, their twisted expressions frozen mid-death, eyes wide with horror. Menelaus spun, desperate to escape. He clawed at the earthen walls, but the dirt fell away, allowing no grip, revealing another grim horror staring out at eye-level. No choice – he had to explore.
They’re perfectly preserved. Menelaus picked through the dead, expecting stench, smelling nothing but dried blood. He inspected a few bodies, two of which had the bruised necks of strangulation.
Compact soil steps surged up ahead. Menelaus ran to them, his boot lodging on an outstretched arm. Instead of landing on the steps, he crashed down them, soft thumps as he rolled. He blinked, his vision swimming. Twenty feet.
‘Quite something, isn’t it?’
Menelaus sat up and twisted to face Malachi, who was crouched on a rocky ledge, his head protector pushed back. ‘You can—’
‘See you, yes. Welcome to Hel’s land, the domain of the dead and invisible. There’s no hiding here.’
‘How—’
‘The ancients respected the power of the gods. Their mystics built sites of worship where the branches of Yggdrasil bowed close together. The Underworld,’ he said, tapping his foot against the earth, ‘is in places, literally underfoot.’
Menelaus stood up. ‘Priddy Circles.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Did you kill all these people?’
Malachi laughed. ‘That’s the beauty of it. The Praefecti use places like this to store their victims. We just piggybacked. The Hordes need bodies to inhabit and the Praefecti provide us with the means of payment. Of course, we recently sealed this storage facility off from them. You only passed the wards because of your corrupted De Laurentis blood.’
He fought the sickness stewing in his stomach. His organisation, responsible for this? Menelaus swallowed down his revulsion. ‘And you’re not surprised I came. Why?’
‘Vampires, even Halflings, can’t refuse the allure of their prey. They can’t let go.’ He picked his nails, almost black with dirt.
Menelaus frowned. ‘I’m not here for you.’
Malachi leapt off the ledge, landing an inch from a corpse, the man’s head at an unnatural angle. Puncture wounds in the neck. It was hard to tell how fresh the death was – maybe Malachi had fed before his arrival.
‘Ah, little Lorenzo.’ He cupped a hand to his ear. ‘I think he’s coming.’
Lorenzo appeared, dragging a body around the corner with him. His slate eyes reflected the bloody moon, his mouth slack and smeared red. He jerked, throwing the dead man on top of the other, without so much as a glance. As Menelaus approached, Lorenzo looked from him to Malachi, as if for instruction.
‘Lorenzo, are you okay?’ The vampire stood motionless, unblinking. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I’d worry about your own health, Halfling.’ When Malachi smiled, his fangs protruded their full length. ‘Have you ever wondered why I turned Lorenzo? Sure, Julian asked me too, so he had a legitimate reason to involve you in this mess. Lorenzo was your student, wasn’t he?’
Menelaus gaped, scrambling for words. Julian? No…
‘But that’s not the reason. I needed a day-walker to sacrifice to Hel, and in return she would grant me that ability, and allow me access to the Underworld as and when I wished. Trouble is, he’s such an obedient little lapdog. Shame to give him up.’ Malachi rested his hand on Lorenzo’s shoulder. ‘Especially when he passes on Theo’s secrets – without knowing! I had no idea Theo returned your powers. Then it all clicked into place.’
Menelaus toyed with running, but where? This pit of death defied reason. Lorenzo had warned him, back in that tunnel with Toby, not to go near any ditches. And Theo had—
Too late.
‘What clicked into place?’
‘A way out of my predicament, of course. Your existence is an inconvenience. Poor Elspeth, she loathed what she’d created so much she killed herself. Her dear sister, ouch, you killed her too. Do you really believe Theo has forgiven you? Quite convenient, isn’t it, that he has you at his beck and call now. Let me guess, it was him who sent you after me.’
Menelaus started.
‘I thought so. Yet Michele longs for your love in a way he never sought mine. I am his heir.’ Malachi circled his finger in the air. ‘This plan was mine. I refuse to share the glory.’
‘I crave no glory,’ Menelaus said, refusing to admit how that taunt about Theo unnerved him. He pulled up, muscles tensed.
‘Irrelevant. We rarely get what we want. One must be patient, and hope one doesn’t die waiting.’ Malachi pulled a long blade from his coat and handed it to Lorenzo. ‘Fortunately, your blood is a good substitute for Lorenzo – after all, we share the same father.’
‘Michele will kill you! Theo will—’
‘Never know. The harder anyone tries to tear apart Hel’s web, the quicker they are ensnared. Once the trial is over and Theo performs the spell to raise the Hordes, there’s no need for him to live. Besides, Lorenzo volunteered.’ He shoved his prodigy forward. ‘Slit his throat.’
‘No!’ Menelaus jumped to the side as the vampire came at him in a blur. ‘Lorenzo, it’s Menelaus! You don’t want to kill me!’ He wrenched the hidden knife from his boot.
It melted away in his hand.
‘Sorry, can’t get that through security.’ Malachi grinned. ‘Not without the relevant paperwork. Blood and vellum, that sort of thing.’ He clicked his fingers at Lorenzo.
His ward said nothing, only a flicker of something –moonlight probably – crossed his eyes. Menelaus trampled over corpses, trying to circle back to the steps. Once again, they took him farther into the earth. He swore as Lorenzo landed with an eagle’s grace. It would be easy for the vampires to escape with their strength.
I am half-vampire. Menelaus turned and ran for the bank, building up speed. He threw his weight into the jump, rising seven or eight feet into the air. He crashed into the wall but managed to hold on, his hands curling into claws. I can do it. I can do it, he thought, hope powering his climb. So what if his fingernails buried into dead flesh. He could survive this. He would—
A hand clamped round his chin.
‘I’m sorry.’ An alien rasp.
The blade sliced open his throat before they even hit the ground.
Menelaus choked, clutching his gushing neck. Slumped in the corner beside him, the petrified faces of Guillaume and his wife, Sarah. Their dead eyes witnessed his last breath.
42
Serpent Slayer
Lolita and Ava were huddled over steaming mugs of tea in their cottage kitchen. Jeremiah had taken Belle to safety back through the tunnels under her shop – after swearing so vehemently I almost understood the language he raved in.
‘Why are your arms bloody?’ Ava asked, sliding a mug across the table. I chucked back the hot liquid, more sugar than tea, and was grateful for it.
‘Blood wards will buy time in case my other magic fails. The wounds have healed already.’
Ava cocked her head, lips parted. She seemed incredulous. Glancing at her mother, she said, ‘Is that possible. Won’t…well…won’t the tree fall, if, you know?’
Yggdrasil. ‘On the bright side, it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe everyone is wrong.’
‘Including the gods?’
I walked over to the sink and washed out the mug – and rinsed the blood away – unwilling to answer. ‘Insurance, okay? I should’ve warded the house earlier.’ Holding out hope had granted nothing but greater trouble. ‘I better go, before anyone notices I’m missing.’
Ava hugged me goodbye, but Lolita remained in her chair, shoulders hunched and eyes narrowed. ‘Those men almost got my daughter,’ she said, far too quietly. ‘Because of you.’
‘Mum—’
‘Don’t mum me! This boy’s trouble.’ She stood up and jabbed her finger at me. ‘My dream
s have been very interesting recently, young man. You tell your father if he ever invades my brain like that again, he will rue the day Isobel befriended me!’
‘He already does.’
Great, Theo, that really helped.
She stalked around the table and stepped toe-to-toe with me. ‘If any harm comes to Ava, I’ll hold you responsible, no matter who commits the crime.’
Levity always tempts from the periphery of tension. I scooped Lolita up in my arms – she was twig thin and light as willow – kissing her on the forehead. ‘Love you too, Mummy Wallace.’
I dropped her into the chair and vanished from the kitchen.
Penny was waiting in the sitting room back at the Old Vicarage, at least, I think she was waiting. She jumped up as soon as she saw me and grinned stupidly, then clamped her hands over her mouth and spun away.
‘Hey,’ I said, and the words came out far too soft and gooey. The time wasn’t right. We couldn’t kiss again, not unless we had too.
Jörð, I hated this spell. It had been the only one that would work on time and in the right way. I hadn’t told Ava about the risk, that I prayed Penny would betray us, because if she didn’t…
‘Hello,’ she squeaked.
What if I can’t do it?
If I can’t do it, I’ll be in love with her forever.
Just as she turned to face me again, I scurried away, almost bouldering into Arabella and Carlotta on their way in. ‘Wait, Theo,’ they said, but I ran upstairs, not even knocking before barging into Michele’s room.
He let go of Ricarda, and she flopped onto his narrow cot-bed. His room, I realised, was like a monastery: austere, barely furnished, a thin rug not even cushioning the floorboards. A cross, which belonged to the house, hung above a disused fireplace.
Ricarda was conscious, just about. She smiled at me awkwardly as Michele healed the gash in her neck. ‘Thank you, child,’ he said, licking her blood from his thumb. ‘Mr Clemensen, you insult me by intruding on my privacy.’
Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two) Page 33