“You know him, you carried him to me.”
“I spoke only to angels, my lady,” I said, with less certainty than ever.
“You created a revenant, a vessel, for a creature that squats inside it. Saraquel haunts my thoughts, demands that I feed him and our mutual body. He commands I feed on fresh human blood.”
I was stunned that she spoke thus to me, the possibilities terrifying. Had I invited a demon to possess the countess? Had I helped create a monstrous parasite that haunted her?
“Saraquel.” My mind ran feverishly upon my knowledge—extensive, from my studies—of cases of demonic possession and exorcism. But Saraquel had spoken in my mind and to Dee, and had never seemed anything but angelic. But then, my mind argued, he led you straight to the countess, the bottle for the wine that was the creature, be it good or evil. And, contained within a base, mortal body, what other instincts might it release? I longed for Dee’s knowledge, for his magnificent library and his clarity.
“I need your help.” Her voice was rich and soft, no longer that of a countess, but a supplicant. “I need to know the nature of this spirit within me.”
“You take life for the most selfish of reasons.” I was suddenly aware of her long fingers, stretched over the carved arm of her chair, as they clenched briefly, whitening the knuckles. I knew of her tremendous strength, and moderated my words. “Like a wild animal, you take the lives of children. That is the nature of a demon.”
She shrugged. “I have learned to harvest the blood of my people, also. My servants know that to keep me alive, and to keep the monster inside me asleep, it is better to feed me small amounts of blood. Even, on occasions of great hardship, the blood of animals.”
I stood before her. “If you will pledge to take no more lives, I will do all I can to help you.”
She smiled, not a pleasant smile, but with the contempt of princes. “You, to offer me terms like a merchant? I could snap your neck between my fingers, or drain you to a husk.”
I bowed, my stomach churning, my legs shaky beneath me. “You could. But I am well placed to study this—‘sleeping monster’—and perhaps find a way to release you from his governance.”
She touched her hand to her throat, where hung a pendant, the head of a dragon, the mark of the Báthory clan. “We shall return to Venice, and you will consult the most learned men. Then you will find a cure, an exorcism to remove this thing, this demon.”
I bowed deeper, my mind racing on the words while my memory brought forward the picture of a slaughtered child, all the slaughtered children.
Chapter 41
PRESENT DAY: KNOWLE CASTLE, LAKE DISTRICT
The garden reaches out for the witch and finds her, miles away. With one web of threaded fungi entangled with the next the distance is nothing, the knowledge carried without emotion or judgment. Here is the witch. Here we draw upon her energy, and she upon ours.
Sadie leaned against the tree, feeling less tired, less exhausted. She tried to calm down, relax as Maggie had suggested, let the tree’s energy flow into her. Her heart felt like it was looping in her chest, and she felt chilled, as if she were immersed in cold water. Plant cold, she realized, letting her senses reach out for impressions from the forest, a strange shivery feeling. It was silent; in fact, it was so quiet it reminded her of someone trying to hold his or her breath.
Then it started. A slow tendril of an idea seemed to reach into her mind. She looked up at the smooth bark of the tree, no features standing out in the low light. Some speckles of moonlight fell onto the ground below, but the trunk stood over her like a statue. She reached her hands onto the bark, feeling the roughness, feeling the energy flowing powerfully through the tree, like a stream of cool air. Her fingers tingled with it, then found a shallow hole just above her head. She put her hand in it and pulled herself up. Her feet scrabbled against the tree, but the toe of one trainer caught a tiny bump. Her other hand found the stump of an old branch. She heaved at it, fighting to stay up, her feet shuffling their way a few inches at a time. A ridge, a rough bit of bark, and, finally, she was able to reach the first big branch. She hung there a moment, exhausted, but the tree itself seemed to be pouring energy into her, pulling her onto a fork in the tree. She curled against the trunk, one hand steadying her on the limb above, and looked up.
There was no more light here, yet somehow her hands knew where the branches were, allowing her to weave her way up three more levels. She clung to the trunk of the tree in a hug, the wind swishing through the branches. She could feel some tension in her fingertips, not hers, she thought, but the tree’s pressure, as the buds swelled before leaf break or whatever they called it.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and had the strangest sensation that the canopy of the tree bent down to listen.
She concentrated her gaze on the bare grass below, spotted with light from the rising moon. She could see it shimmering in her mind, as if it formed a barrier beneath her. A scent quickly developed, almost like a moldy, mushroom smell.
She closed her eyes and waited. She could hear them shouting in weird cries, like animal noises mixed in with words. “Hunt! Kill! Meat!” She thought about her mother back in Exeter, who had somehow adapted to Sadie’s magical survival. She was still fragile, drinking too much, sleeping badly. Sadie knew how she would struggle with her death. She wished she’d been able to phone today, maybe say good-bye. She shook herself, and let her sadness flow into the tenuous connection she had with the tree, and in turn with the forest.
A crunching over the gravel warned her they were advancing faster than she had expected. She could no longer hear Jack moving away. They smashed through the bushes on either side of the gate, as if they couldn’t wait to file in singly. She could hear them snuffling, like dogs trying to pick up a scent, then they howled, the noise making her ears ache, as she realized they were almost directly under the tree. They moved, as if searching around the trunk.
The first smell was like the moldy newspapers back at the house, then some metallic fungi odor, then the stink of rotten rubbish, rising through the branches of the tree. The creatures—when she moved a few inches and slitted her eyes she could see them loping about on all fours beneath the tree—were naked, milling around beneath the tree as if confused. It seemed the stink of the fungi was putting them off. Then one of them lifted its head, and sniffed the trunk of the tree where she had scrambled up.
He threw back his head and screamed. Sadie almost screamed too, the sound was so shocking, so loud. She looked through the branches, and it seemed he was looking straight back. Help me, she thought with as much concentration as she could summon with the thing snuffling its way up the trunk. It swung its weight effortlessly as he clambered to the first branch. She felt the tree shudder. What did Maggie say? Intent, gather intent. She concentrated.
The forest shifted, or rippled, or something. Maybe it didn’t move physically, Sadie couldn’t tell, but something huge shifted in her brain. The whole forest flooded her senses with growing and swaying and pulling water and scuttling in the dark. It was in the soil and flying in the dark air. First she fluttered in her mind because her hands gripped the trunk more tightly, but she imagined flapping so intensely she could almost feel the air moving between her fingers. The sound of wings beating made her sneak another look at the creature just two branches below her. It was enveloped in insects, moths, bees, anything that was awake in the spring as if it were food for all of them. It swatted, and Sadie felt needle pricks of death as it crushed tiny winged bugs. Owls swept in like ghosts, small birds appeared in a cloud, even a dozen rooks flew in. They flapped in the face of the man, cawing and hooting and piping even in the dark. He leaped along the branch, waving and now howling his distress, the others yelling in answer. As he inched farther along the branch toward the next one, Sadie could almost feel the fibers stretching under his weight, as if a miniature wolf-man were perched upon her own clenched fingers. His shoulders and head were covered with the rooks, just a bundle of blac
k movement in the dark. She lifted the hand, feeling it vibrate as he moved upon it, still flailing at his tormentors. She opened her fingers, splaying them out and then curling them back into a fist. It seemed like the whole forest responded; she was half surprised that her hand didn’t snap off.
The bough broke under the creature with a sound like a gunshot, and it hit the ground with a thud and an animal whimper. Sadie could see him hunched on the ground, speckled with more light now, and see the slow movement around it. The others were crawling around him, sniffing and whining, and closing in. For a moment Sadie thought they meant to help their fallen pack member, but when the injured one reacted by snarling defiance she realized they were growling back. A tall blond naked creature, one of the women, Sadie thought, uttered the first shriek, and fell upon the fallen one. He fought back, several fell away yelping, but his cries seemed to turn from defiance to agony, and, with a horrible crunch, his last yowl was cut short.
Sadie looked down in fascinated horror, and a face turned up to the sky, and howled. It was Callum, his voice lighter than the others, his body thin and tall. Sadie closed her eyes and clung to the tree, praying to God, the forest, anyone who would listen, that Jack could find help before another of the monsters decided to climb the tree.
Chapter 42
PRESENT DAY: LAKE DISTRICT
Jack flew over the ground where the light was good, using her senses to navigate the wooded edges, trying to orient herself. The Dannick land ran along the edge of Grizedale forest, and at the back was the wolf enclosure. She wasn’t sure they were still there, she hadn’t heard them howling, and she had no idea how they would react if she turned up. She suspected they would have been spooked by attacking Powell as they were probably fed slaughterhouse meat rather than living prey.
She vaulted over a fallen tree and hit one of the main rides, wide paths through the forest. The other side of the woodland was more dense, less cleared, and she could hear the movement of large animals ahead. She stopped in the shadows, her heart suddenly racing. Could the Dannicks have got ahead of her already? How fast were they? Three deer raced across the ride, the relief making her knees sag.
She heard the first human howl. They screeched as if they had caught something. She sank onto her haunches and covered her face for a moment. God, Sadie, please let it not be Sadie. The scream sounded male—she staggered back to her feet, starting away from the sound, fighting the instinct to go back. Make it quick—there, a scream cut off. Was it Sadie? Grief filled her up for a moment, freezing her. But it was Felix’s face that came into her mind, and the promise of that relationship that made her stagger on, rub tears off her face with the sleeve of her jacket, and run across the ride into the undergrowth. She could see the silhouettes of more deer, this time farther off, stamping nervously in reaction to the howling. Finally she found the fence. She started to feel her way along the wire over the cleared ground, probably trampled and kept short by the animals whose scut scented the air.
The six-foot-high stock fence was probably to keep the deer in for hunting. They had said they hunted animal prey. She speeded up as she heard them howl again, this time closer, as if one had picked up her scent. She pounded along, breathing in short gasps, and the incline caught her by surprise, her feet sliding from under her. She skidded down the grass onto a gravel track, the breath knocked out of her by the impact. It was the footpath to the wolf project.
She limped up the path toward the hut, which sat in darkness, but the security light was activated by her stumbling forward. She didn’t hesitate, but looked around for a tool, a spade, and crashed it through the main window.
They heard that, the screeches behind her closer. She switched the inside light on and looked for the keys. None, but a large pair of bolt cutters. Close enough, she thought, looking around for the gun cabinet. She quickly hacked through the lock. No tranquilizer gun, which was fine because Jack wasn’t sure how to use it, but the Taser was there. She snatched it up, and as an afterthought grabbed a length of chain.
She could hear the breaking twigs and footfalls from the hunters as she raced along the muddy path, slipping on the grass, catching herself on the heavy-duty chain-link fence. She felt along the edge of the gate to the padlock and set the teeth of the bolt cutters on it. It took all the strength in her wrists and shoulders to hack through it. All the time, the panting and baying of the pack was getting closer and closer. They would be able to see her soon.
She slipped inside the compound, listening out for the wolves, and shut the gate behind her. Reaching through the bolt space in the gate, she was able to secure it from the inside and hang the mutilated lock on it, enough for a cursory glance in the dark to see it was still locked. Maybe it would buy her time. Nightmare visions of half men, half wolves from her reading crossed her mind. Maybe they had transformed in some way, maybe they wouldn’t be able to manipulate the bolt.
The first pale shadow slinking along the fence, sniffing loudly, dispelled the illusion. It was a man, naked, and clearly still capable of managing a lock. She slid into the shadows of the bushes, hoping her dark clothing would reduce her visibility, and shaded her face with her coat. Every sound seemed amplified in the cold air. Creeping back through the undergrowth made her more aware of the wolves loose in the compound. They had several acres, but in reality that was only the size of a field. The wolves must know someone was in the enclosure and they had had painful experiences of people intruding into their territory. She squashed her instinct to flee from the snuffling, whining humans now gathering at the gate, and hunkered down, calling to the wolves. Half thought, half puppy whine, she hoped the wolves understood it.
A shriek, almost a scream of triumph, and a clang as the gate swung open. The hunters paused to howl, a cacophony of cries that left the night air vibrating when it stopped.
Help me, I’m under attack, I’m one of you— Jack concentrated on projecting her connection with the pack, the few nonverbal cues that had protected her before. She stuffed the Taser in her pocket, and crouched in the grasses at the base of a scrubby tree.
Help me. Nothing. She ran through all the spells she knew, wondering where she could cast a bolt from. She needed to draw the sigils, or at least scratch them in the soil—but the ground was grassy.
A hunter attacked, the weight of his body knocking Jack to the ground. The air was forced out of her with a grunt, and she rolled the smooth hunter off in one movement, scrambling back to her feet. It held out hands, as if in supplication.
“Wait!”
She recognized the voice despite a rasping growl in the back of the words. “Callum?” she hissed, stepping back. “You gave in to them?”
“I had to.” His voice was strained, as if he were battling the animal the ritual had invoked. “They forced me to take the potion, then it just happened. It wasn’t until I realized they had Sadie’s scent that I could even start to think clearly. I keep losing it—” He growled to himself, as if in pain. “I think I helped kill someone.” His voice was anguished.
“Not Sadie. Tell me—”
“No! I just realized it could have been her, I wouldn’t have been able to stop. It’s like—insane, I couldn’t stop it.”
Jack could remember the heady blast of energy from drinking blood, and knew a little of what he was going through.
“Stay with me, Callum. Remember who you are. We gave you Amyas’s potion, not the Dannick one. You can fight this.”
A howl from a few yards away made her spin around, back to the tree. The group of hunters gathered around a tall woman—Callum’s mother—her hair whitened by the moonlight and her body smeared with what Jack recognized as blood—a lot of blood by the metallic stink of it.
For a moment there was a standoff, the boy cowering between them. Jack recognized the rumble building up around her. It wasn’t coming from the now silent hunters, but from the wolves. Jack joined the growl, putting a foot forward to tip the wolves off that she was growling at the human hunters, not the canin
e ones. Callum squatted at her feet, his face turned toward his mother, his features distorted as he joined the general snarling.
The bushes beside them gave way to an arc of wolves, placed so close to Jack she could bury her fingers in the coats of the lead animals each side, trying to communicate the situation to them. She let the sting of the cold air in her nostrils, the monochrome edges of the hunters before her feed her body language. She started the yipping and the wolves joined in, the heavyset darker male leading the howl. When the first human attacked, the wolves moved as one unit and blocked the strike.
The hunters fell back, yelping and crying out as the wolves snapped and snarled, making leaps toward the humans, then falling back. Callum staggered to his feet and stood in front of Jack.
“Leave her alone! Hunt something else; this isn’t going to work.”
Jack could feel the energy of the wolf pack coiling around her, drawing her in to join the pack. It sharpened her senses, made her more aware of every muscle as it flexed and tensed. She reached down for the Taser.
She grabbed Callum, and dragged him behind her, hoping the wolves would continue to ignore him. Then she felt something inside her shift, as if some inhibition shrugged and let go. She aimed at the tall blonde, lashing out with her fist, and simultaneously fired the Taser at the heavyset man on her right. The man shrieked and fell to the ground. The woman staggered back and the wolves hit the human pack in a ragged V, taking down three of the men in a block. Jack grabbed the boy and pulled him behind the tree.
“Run, you hear me?” she snapped, into his ear. “Run and get help. Dial 999, anything, say there’s a fire at the house. There might be a phone at the cabin.”
“I can’t,” he panted, his voice rough. He was taller than she had expected standing up. “That’s my mother—” He leaped at a dark-haired woman, trying to reach him around the tree, and knocked her back. “And I can’t stop it, the ritual is too strong.” He bared his teeth and howled as if he were in pain.
The Secrets of Blood and Bone Page 29