Felix turned to smile at her. “Yes, what happened to Callum is different. But remember, he took the potion and he joined the hunt. I don’t know if it’s the hunt or the kill that activates the ‘hunter’ gene they told Jack they have.”
Jack thought back to the time in the house, before they set Jack and Sadie up for the chase. “The potion got him out of that chair by itself. I think they wanted Callum to kill something to be part of the pack. You saw him this evening, Sadie. He was mad, wild, like a feral animal.”
Sadie leaned forward, her eyes bright even as her teeth chattered. “But he didn’t kill anyone, did he? Not by himself, anyway. And he came with us. Please, Jack—”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to harm him. I’m just not sure exactly what we can do with him to keep him away from the Dannicks. He’s just a kid.”
“He’s seventeen,” Felix interrupted. “He can decide for himself.”
“Like me.” Sadie’s voice was unexpectedly strong. “I can decide for myself, too. I need to do something. I can’t expect someone to be here all the time. Maybe blood would be good for me, too.”
Jack turned to Felix, her mind conflicted. “It made such a difference to me, just one mouthful—think what it could do for Sadie.”
Felix shook his head. “We don’t know enough yet.”
“There has to be a better way for Sadie to live.” Jack took a deep breath. “Maybe if we found out more about the effects of taking blood by talking to people who do we can work out how to safely improve Sadie’s health.”
Felix sighed. “There’s someone I need to meet first in London. I suspect being a borrowed timer makes you less connected to your body. Think what Dee said, or rather Kelley. A soul trapped in its dying body. You put blood into that body, and it might attract other—influences.”
“You’re talking in riddles.” Angry though Jack’s voice came out, there was something compelling about Felix’s expression.
“That’s because I don’t have all the information. Take Elizabeth Báthory.”
“Sadistic serial killer.”
“One of several women with no real history of sadism or murder in their early lives. Then at some point they became revenants, yes? And then cruelty and lust get out of control.”
“Which hasn’t happened to me.” Jack fidgeted, doubt creeping in.
“You have been behaving out of character. With Powell. With me, even. You have been more reckless, more aggressive.”
“I’ve got more energy, that’s why!” Jack’s answer burst out of her even as part of her mind recalled some of the impulses she hadn’t given in to. “I have lived like an invalid a lot of my life, and now I’m feeling better. Can you really blame me for wanting to try new things?”
“And your body is maturing, I understand that. But it’s more than that.” He took a deep breath, looking at his hands. “I think Báthory was influenced by another entity. There are hints in the folklore of revenants that say they are corpses, animated by demons and spirits.”
Jack stared at Sadie, watching her eyes widen.
The girl managed a nervous laugh. “Well, that’s crap. Isn’t it?”
Jack let the dog slather her hand with his tongue. “Let’s go to London and meet this contact of yours. Then I can prove to you that I’m not haunted by evil spirits.”
Chapter 47
It has been said of me that I am a loyal friend. I am grieved that this is not so, for it has been given to me to betray not only my friends, my wife and my mentor but even the Lord. I can only pray that God will understand the dangers I have faced and will look upon me with forgiveness.
—LETTER FROM EDWARD KELLEY TO ELIZA JANE WESTON, Prague, 1596, from Constantinople
His Highness Cardinal Prince Malipiero did not like me, nor appreciate that I should be kept in a chamber as if a guest. A closely confined guest, to be sure, and observed at all times by two of Konrad’s Inquisition troops, but not chained in some storeroom as he seemed to think more appropriate. My bruised head was bathed and my shoulder rebandaged. I was lent fresh clothes by some nameless servant, and my own were cleaned. I spent one day and night gathering my strength in my captivity, wondering how I could get word to Marinello. The sketch, a little creased and blood-stained from my adventures, was tucked within the edge of the linen bandage I let none but myself touch, and I was soon restored, though bored by my confinement. Konrad came to me the next morning and sat beside me on my bench.
“Now, my friend, we must talk about the countess.”
I spread my hands out. “She has sought me out, my lord, and I have avoided her. There can be no profit in getting close to her.” I shuddered. “If you knew what she did.”
He brushed my horror aside. “I have seen with my own eyes what she can do. And she will keep torturing and killing children if we do not stop her.”
“If I can help—” I could think of little I could do.
“Tell me everything that has happened in Venice since you first set foot upon the pier.”
I told him in brief, but he interrupted many times, and made me go over it in more detail. Bezio’s robbery, Marinello’s kindness, the countess meeting me at a dance. I left out Marinello’s relationship with the countess, out of the gratitude and friendship I had for the man, but Konrad’s questions grew more searching. I told him of the Contarinis, and their strange rituals.
“It makes a strange tale.” He was sitting beside me on a kind of rough settle, which I had found uncomfortable to the hindquarters of a man who has ridden many miles in just a few days. “But I need to know what she will do next. She resides at the palace of the doge as his special guest. I cannot act within the palace; relations between the Pope and the council are already poor.” He rested one hand on his sword hilt. “I am here as a soldier more than a priest, Master Kelley. As a soldier I need information that will tell me where she will go, and with whom.”
I held my tongue.
“You must tell me, Edward; you must tell the truth. Or we shall be enemies and to Rome you shall go as a sinner and a heretic.”
I stammered in my distress. “It seems you know what I shall say already,” I said.
“Well? Friend or foe, my little Englishman?”
There was a part of me that would sell my friend for mine own safety, but another part that could not betray him. They fought. “I cannot say, my lord.”
I looked down at my feet, at the stained boots that had traveled me so many leagues and seemed like to see my end.
His voice was soft. “I applaud your courage, my friend, and your loyalty.”
I shivered like a hart before the hunt at the tales I had heard of the tortures, of the executions. I sat miserably, my hands clenched before me.
“Would you like to confess?” I did not expect the offer, and looked up in confusion. I had not worshipped as a Catholic since I was a boy. He half smiled. “Come, Edward, we both know you to have been baptized a Catholic. It will give you comfort. I can send for a priest, or I can hear your confession and bless you myself.”
There was the priest I knew, the stately soldier of Rome. I almost broke into tears, such was the kindness of the offer, but I shook my head. Sixteen years a Protestant had left me neither one nor the other, like a cat suckled by a hound.
“Then tell me. Where will the creature be tonight? For I know she sleeps not in her own bed.”
I shut my eyes, remembering all I had heard of the Inquisition. I could not deny my own needs, nor did I want to save the countess. I decided to place my fate in the hands of the soldier-priest. “I can tell you where she will be but, I beg you, spare her paramour. He is a good man and innocent in all this. He does not know—”
He leaned his sword tip against the spur on one of his boots with a tiny clink. “Your friend Marinello. Of course. I should have known it.”
I clutched his arm. “Wait! I tell you he is innocent in this.”
“Then you must help trap her at his house. And if he
defends his lady, then you will reason with him.”
I let go of his arm, and resolved to do what I could to save my benefactor. “But what can you do with her? She is under the protection of the doge and brings her own guards—”
“What any Christian man should do,” he said sternly, standing up before me. “Smite off the monster’s head.”
Chapter 48
PRESENT DAY: BEE COTTAGE, LAKE DISTRICT
The garden buzzes with life. Flowers flirt with bees and flies, nests are fought over and renewed and filled with eggs. The light greens the cleared areas as the witches restore and prune and water. The season has advanced, the moon turning almost full circle. Everywhere, life.
Jack grimaced as a drop of paint splattered the new window glass. Callum was playing with some electronic device in the garden; since he would be easily recognized in the village, Jack was keeping him out of sight. She had no idea what to do with him despite three weeks of research.
Sadie was putting herb plants into pots and Maggie had been cleaning out the hives. Charley was helping, completely obscured by a beekeeper’s suit. Maggie had just gone for a hat and veil and gloves, but so far the bees were quiet. Jack had thought Felix back in Exeter, so it was a shock when he walked out of the kitchen door onto the grass.
Sadie saw him and raced with new energy—courtesy of giant circles in the grass—to hug him. He said something, then put her aside gently and looked up at the scaffolding to where Jack was sitting.
“Are you coming down?”
Jack was seething inside with things she wanted and needed to say, but a part of her was so pleased to see his familiar face she couldn’t say anything. The cool expression wasn’t so familiar.
He called across the garden. “Maggie, Callum, this affects you as well. I have been to see Mrs. Dannick, Callum’s mother.”
“You had no right—” Maggie started to say but Felix held up a hand.
“I had every right, as much as any of you. Callum, I’ve found a family in Italy who have the same tradition as the Dannicks but have given up the ‘wild hunt,’ as they called it.” He handed the boy a rucksack. “Your mother has given you money, tickets and passport, and I have arranged for this new family to look after you there until the scandal dies down here.”
The news that several members of the Dannick family had been killed in a freak car accident had kept the locals speculating for weeks. Gossip had added the rumor that Callum was going away for a special treatment for his illness.
“But I don’t know anybody there—”
Felix laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I know it will be tough, but they understand the hunt better than anyone. The head of the family says there are three other kids around your age in the family, all with this hunter gene. They work on keeping the aggression under control. Her name is Laura Contarini; she’s a kind woman. She can even get you into an English-speaking school out there if you want.”
Callum’s smile was lopsided. “And maybe come back home one day?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Sadie leaned against Felix. “Have you found a magic cure for me, yet?”
This time sadness was written all over his face, and he kissed the top of her head. “Not yet. But I’m working on it. Because I’m not giving up.”
Jack climbed down the ladder to the grass, jumping the last few steps. As she knew he would be, he was there to steady her.
“How did you get on with this other borrowed timer? The old one?”
He grimaced. “We—well, you, really—have an invitation tomorrow to meet her in London. I’m not sure it’s a good idea—there’s something strange there. Gina is with her—they seem to have bonded.”
The sound of the other woman’s name sent a chill through Jack, like a wisp of a breeze. “Oh.”
He looked into her eyes for a moment. “Gina told me she was seriously ill. Maybe she believes she would be able to become a borrowed timer and save her life.”
Jack nodded slowly. “Maggie?”
Maggie pulled her gardening gloves off. “Very few people can be saved—that’s all I know. We consulted a seer to find likely candidates to save when Charley was a baby, but even then…” Her words tailed off, and she swallowed. “They died before they could help Charley, one in a matter of minutes. We managed to get her back to her family before they knew she had been taken. But the second one—she lived for a few hours.” She looked away, at the fell behind the garden. “Jack was the rare exception, like Sadie. This Gina has almost no chance. I could ask the seer to look into it, if you like.”
Felix nodded. “Thank you. I want to make sure she’s not just being exploited for her blood.” He smiled at Sadie. “Maybe this Ivanova will point us in the direction of something that will help.”
Something changed in Jack, some strange numbing. It made the words around her muffled and far away, the world around her become fuzzy and unclear. Jack took a breath, feeling it rather than hearing it surge into her lungs. She wondered if she was about to faint—the world went black.
She floated back up from the darkness to find herself standing, not collapsed on the ground. Felix was laughing, the way he laughed when they were alone. She shook her head to clear it, and the garden came into focus. “Sorry, I’m a bit wobbly…” She looked around. “Where’s Maggie?”
The smile on Felix’s face faded into a look of concern. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I felt a bit dizzy, that’s all.” But, inside, she knew there was something very strange going on. “I thought…” She looked up at him. “What were you saying?”
“I was just agreeing with you.”
Jack turned away, suddenly frightened. How much time had passed? Something felt very wrong.
Chapter 49
My daughter, that I write to from exile, blessings upon you and your brother and for your patient mother. I cannot explain all that has befallen me but only that I miss you all and hope to find my way back into our beloved benefactor’s house. Now I am under the shadow of so many threats I dare not return home, lest I lead them back to you, my beloved child.
—LETTER FROM EDWARD KELLEY TO ELIZA JANE WESTON, 1586
We set out at dusk, a time of servants and merchants, as the rich were preparing for a night of debauchery or family duty ahead. We were all, even myself, dressed in dark clothing and wore black masks. Another party had departed before us in fine dress and bright disguises, the better to distract spies and informants, of which Venice was filled. The cardinal had left with his retinue, and when none appeared to be looking at the darkened windows of his palace, we left by the servants’ door into two boats. There was myself and Konrad, and two of his guards in our boat, and four more in the boat behind. Each man but I carried a sword and a dagger.
The shape of my betrayal had been taught to me. I was to gain access to Marinello’s house leaving the door unlatched, if necessary by killing the servant. My heart grieved for that servant, for he had no part in this. Then Konrad’s men would search the house, take Marinello alive, if possible, and take the countess, dead. Konrad was specific. The countess was to be cut into pieces to avoid identification, the parts taken far out into the lagoon and spread over the waters.
The plan went easily at first. I knocked upon the door, and a serving man I did not recognize let me in. Before he could bar the door, two of Konrad’s men overpowered him with a knock to the head. They tied him up, as I had begged, and gagged his unconscious mouth. But when we allowed the rest of Konrad’s men and their captain in, servants set up a cry and guards poured from the hall and raised their weapons. We had expected a couple of the countess’s own bodyguards but underestimated their ferocity and their numbers. The dark room, lit only by two branches of candles upon the walls, became a heaving mass of men, each fighting for his life. I ducked low, crouching by the restrained servant, and prayed for deliverance. The men grunted and shouted out in pain, their shadows grotesquely huge and distorted in the flickering light. The stink
of fear and sweat, butchered bowels and spilled blood filled the cavernous hall. The cries became louder until the sound of boots clattering on the marble stairs caused some, at least, to pause and look up at the master. Marinello.
I could not but admire him, his great legs in his sea boots, his chest covered in but a loose shirt, a curved sword in his hand. He looked like a corsair, and behind him stood several of his servants, two with crossbows. Finally, the woman we sought, wrapped about in a robe. Her hair rippled down her back to her waist and she smiled, not afraid at all, sure of her lover.
The battle surged to the steps and the countess’s remaining men, much savaged, gained the higher ground. Konrad’s soldiers staggered back, out of range of the long swords, slipping in the blood. Five men lay butchered or mortally injured upon the marble floor.
“What! Master Kelley? You betray me?” Marinello’s voice was more sorrowful than angry, and, with a sound like a whip crack, a crossbow bolt hit one of Konrad’s soldiers. One of Marinello’s servants knelt to reload as the other took aim at me.
Marinello knocked up his hand. “We have the advantage, my lord,” he called over the heads of the men to Konrad. “Be gone, and we will spare your last soldiers.”
“We will take the woman.” Konrad stood, his face polite, set hard against the misfortunes of the attack. “By decree of His Holiness, and by warrant of Cardinal Malipiero. For she is possessed by a demon that feeds on the blood of innocents.”
Marinello frowned in the face of such certainty. “What proof?” he scoffed, but I noticed he glanced over his shoulder at the countess.
Konrad turned to look at me. I staggered forward, lurching over the slain man at my feet.
“My lord, upon the road we did rest at a farmhouse, where a man and woman gave us shelter from the Contarinis. But in the morning, I found them slaughtered.”
Marinello shrugged. The fate of peasants meant little to him.
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