by D B Nielsen
At the speed we were flying down the motorway, the frosty evening air gushed through the open window, buffeting my body like an arctic wind. Though Gabriel was bearing the brunt of the gale, I could still feel its force, tearing through my jeans and denim jacket which offered little in the way of protection, raising goose bumps all over my body. The uncontrollable shivering began, but was not simply the product of fear.
‘Bring it to me.’ I heard the unearthly voice again, calling out to me in the howl of the wind as it penetrated the car.
With trembling fingers, I picked up the palimpsest in my hand, preparing to take aim. My ponytail thrashed about crazily, chestnut strands stinging my cheeks and whipping at my eyes, making it virtually impossible to see.
‘Saffron! Do it now!’ St. John commanded, shouting above the wail of the wind.
I leant over Gabriel, the seatbelt threatening to hold me back, and held the ancient papyrus out of the open window where it was torn from my numb fingers as the wind roughly snatched at it. One moment it was in my grasp, the next it was ripped away, tossed like a feather riding a hurricane. It flew up into the air, unfurled, and danced on currents.
The screeching of brakes behind us signalled Louis’ intent. He’d seen the papyrus. No longer interested in pursuing us – at least, not for the moment – the Range Rover lurched backwards, fishtailing out into oncoming traffic and bowled down the M40. It headed in the wrong direction along the London-bound lanes, against the flow of cars that were now staring at the Range Rover’s headlights, veering left and right in a frantic bid to avoid a head-on collision.
The other Range Rover in front of us peeled off, away from the Audi, spinning in an almost complete arc as it careened up the inclined central reservation and followed the steel guardrail back down the M40 in pursuit of the airborne papyrus.
Almost immediately, the throbbing in my brain disappeared. My gaze was locked on the sight of the papyrus as it rode the wind, in no time at all becoming merely a pale speck in the darkness until it was swallowed by the night as St. John kept his foot on the accelerator, building as much of a distance between us and our pursuers as possible.
‘You are so going to lose your licence,’ I said to St. John, as Gabriel raised the electric window, shutting out the howling wind.
‘Not if someone hacks into London Met’s database and erases the footage from the speed cameras first,’ Gabriel murmured slyly.
I gave a sharp bark, my laughter somewhat strained.
Easing off the accelerator, the Audi decreasing its speed, St. John eventually turned on the headlights and re-joined the steady flow of traffic into London; the Audi now the worse for wear but still holding together.
‘Now what?’ Sage asked quietly, an undertone of despair, as she turned round in her seat to look at me. ‘They’ve got the Scroll.’
‘Fail,’ I answered, feeling rather pleased with myself, ‘They have only a part of the Scroll. And we still have the printouts and the DVD.’
‘Fi’s right. They only have the palimpsest and not the charts. We’re lucky we have copies of the palimpsest to work with. I propose that for now we put them in the vault for safekeeping since we’re almost at ITB,’ St. John ventured.
‘Agreed,’ I said, brushing loose tendrils of hair escaping from my ponytail from my face. ‘Besides, it will take them time to have it spectral-imaged, and I don’t intend to wait that long to get it back.’
The others were so taken aback by my pronouncement that for a moment they were silent.
‘And what is it you intend to do, ma mignonne?’ Gabriel asked, arching an eyebrow as he focused upon my determined face with his direct silver-grey gaze.
‘Tonight, I’m going to Satis House.’
THE FINAL INCURSION
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It must have been after midnight.
For some time we had been travelling towards Satis House, Sage arguing ferociously with me – ‘But why do you have to go alone?’ – and St. John and Gabriel, who weren’t convinced that I would be safe, refusing to let me go on my own, arguing, berating, haranguing me, until I begged them to at least give me some time – thirty minutes, no more – that if I didn’t come out by then they could come in and get me, or call the other Anakim and prepare for battle, or whatever they felt was necessary. It didn’t sit too well with them, but I insisted that it had to be done this way.
It would have been, perhaps, safer with St. John and Gabriel accompanying me, but it also might have been interpreted as both an act of cowardice and gesture of ill will towards the one person in the enemy camp who intended me no harm – or so he had told me. And, it seemed, he was the only one of the Nephilim I could trust. And the only one I intended upon seeing. Finn. If I could catch him alone, I knew that I could convince him to somehow give me back the Scroll. Even with the Rephaim there, I knew he would protect me from them as he had done on numerous occasions.
As we stealthily approached Satis House, St. John had again turned off the Audi’s headlights and was now cruising in the dark at less than thirty kilometres, with the intention of switching off the engine when Satis House came into view and coasting silently up to it. I had never before followed the private road to Satis House and was surprised at the symmetry; the road was a thin, dark line that wove its way through the forest, dividing the oak and birch trees, seeming like Moses’ staff to miraculously hold apart the immense shady seas of encroaching woodland. There was no sign of habitation and there was no sound from within this region of the woods. It seemed daunting that something so vast could be so still and quiet.
For the first time, I felt uneasy. Was I brave enough to do this on my own? Was I able to trust Finn to help me? It didn’t matter that I was having some doubts, I’d committed myself to this course of action and knew I was the only one who might have a chance of convincing Finn to hand over the Scroll.
As we rounded the last bend in the road, the moon seemed to rise over the stone tower, an illusion created by the angle of the car’s approach, but eerie nonetheless as the only illumination provided was its unearthly glow. I was expecting the estate to be floodlit at night, but only Satis House’s ghostly lines were visible beneath the milky light of the full moon. The unnatural darkness permeating Satis House frightened me. I’d never seen it quite that dark before, not even when I’d intruded upon the grounds of the estate on New Year’s Eve, and it was surprisingly even darker tonight than the darkness within the forest itself.
St. John turned off the engine without applying the brakes. But the sedan didn’t grind to a standstill, instead coasting along under its established momentum.
As the Audi rolled down the road, St. John asked quietly, ‘Any chance if I asked you to turn back now, you would?’
I shook my head. ‘No way. I ventured into the Underworld for that Scroll, and no one is going to take it from me.’
Gabriel laughed softly in the darkness of the Audi’s interior. ‘Euf, Saffron, I think they say that “them’s fighting words!” Allez-y! Dites-le!’
I smiled gravely, not bothering to reply as I prepared to alight from the car. But before I could, Gabriel stopped me.
Taking me by the shoulders, Gabriel turned me to face him. ‘Half an hour, tu comprends?’ His grip was painfully tight. ‘The second you leave the car, the clock starts ticking.’
I nodded my understanding as I pulled away from his fierce grip and, opening the passenger door, jumped nimbly down from the slowly moving car. My feet hit the ground as Sage whispered a frantic ‘Good luck!’, before I gave them a brief salute and disappeared behind the tree line. I had insisted that they drop me off to walk the rest of the way in the dark, cutting through the woods, whilst they continued along the private road. It was safer this way.
I entered the estate as I had always done, crawling through the wire-mesh fence; the full moon as my only guide, turning the fence into a shining blade of bright white-silver in the darkness, a barrier that should have held me back. I tried to hur
ry without calling attention to myself or making much noise, afraid that time was ticking away faster than I could fulfil my purpose. Hidden amongst the twisting, gnarled brambles and thick, woody stems of the aged rose bushes, I inhaled a long, deep breath. The scent of the roses in first bud filled my nostrils, their sweetness cloying in freshly-manured soil, heralding the arrival of spring.
Wasting no time, I made a dash to the side of the house nearest me, pressing up against the cold stone. As I edged round the front of the house, my eyes scanned the property and I noted that the portico was shrouded in darkness, but that the French doors of the west wing leading out onto the terrace were thrown open, all of them, the curtains lightly billowing in the night wind, ghostly and frail. Glowing like ectoplasm, the filmy, pale fabric reached out into the night, hovering eerily in the night air.
Satis House looked to be abandoned. Or, perhaps, it was a trap. I couldn’t be certain. But I had to find the Scroll. I had to find Finn.
Crouching low, I quietly crossed the gravel driveway and found myself at the first set of open French doors. Standing upon the moonlit terrace gazing into the impenetrable gloom within, I hesitated. The last time I had been in this room, I’d observed Ellen Jacobi pregnant and prostrate whilst Finn and Louis had quarrelled over her. Now all was still and silent within the smothering cloak of night.
I crept into the room, immediately noting the sharp drop in temperature and the putrid, sour smell that made me want to retch. It was as if something was slowly decaying, decomposing within Satis House. Covering my face with my hand, I attempted to breathe through my mouth to lessen the rancid smell. It helped, but only slightly.
The few pieces of furniture left in the room were draped with dust covers, white sheets that fluttered gently in the chill draught and lent it an eerie atmosphere, furthering the impression that the house was deserted.
The gallery was bathed in creeping shadows and a flaring glow of bluish-white light, which I imagined to be witch-light, like the incandescent glow from the tip of a magician’s wand. The unwholesome, disturbing miasma of energy emanating from the gallery’s macabre collection of artefacts kept within their display cases put me further on edge. Stirring from the objects, the unnatural witch-light cast elongated shadows upon the walls and ornate plastered ceiling, as if an evil manifestation was looming over me, tracking my furtive movements through Satis House.
Something slithered within the darkness of the gallery, striking a discordant note that made me tense with apprehension. I belatedly remembered Louis’ adder, wondering in which direction the slithering sound had come from within the gallery’s gloom. Difficult to place as my senses were disturbed and everything seemed strangely skewed.
But I was wasting time. I could wait here in the darkness as the minutes ticked by, marked by the movement of the hands on the grandfather clock, afraid to take a step forward in case the adder struck at me, or I could brave it out and continue my search for Finn.
I chose the latter, recalling – hopefully with accuracy from something Jasmine had said or some nature show on television – that snakes preferred to avoid contact with humans if possible. Pressing my fear deep down, I continued moving along the hallway. Though the slithering sound continued, I saw no sign of the adder, and was able to clear the gallery without incident.
Across the great paving stones of the entrance hall, the first few steps of the dark carved staircase were dimly lit by the triangle of light emanating from the double oak doors, which were left slightly ajar.
I pressed forward, some instinct driving me on.
Cautiously, I glanced inside the Victorian-styled drawing room, expecting to see its cluttered finery competing with its proportions as before. But the room was practically emptied of its former contents, save for the burgundy leather Wing Back chair positioned just beyond the pool of light, together with a mahogany side table, and the plush velveteen chaise lounge which still stood in front of the drawing room’s massive open fire. The only light in the room was provided by the fire’s flickering flames which gave the room a hellish glow.
Finn stood to one side of the hearth, hands in his trouser pockets, staring sightlessly into the flames’ depths. He was as still as a marble statue, his lock of dark hair flopping into his eyes, shading their kingfisher blue brightness from my sight.
At first, I didn’t announce myself. I don’t really know why. Perhaps I was hoping to have a moment to myself, a moment to view him unawares. Maybe I wanted to look at him one more time before I asked for this favour, for this thing to come between us and change everything.
And perhaps I wanted to remember his kisses, kisses that I could still feel on my lips, the passion that he had awakened, as if he had branded me. He was the first guy to break through my defences. Somehow, in that moment, I thought that no matter how many other guys should kiss me in my life, I would always remember his lips upon mine.
‘Finn,’ I breathed. My voice was merely a whisper in the empty room yet it held surprise, relief, and a longing so fierce it almost pained me.
He turned and lifted his head, and I saw, in the briefest of moments, a disbelief and longing that mirrored my own, though in an instant it was gone, to be replaced by an inscrutable diffidence.
‘Finn!’ I said again, my voice stronger this time. And I rushed towards him, almost flinging myself into his arms.
Almost. But not quite. At the last moment before I touched him, I held back, disturbed by the cold remoteness that had entered his eyes, a stiffness in the way he held himself aloof and away from me. We were separated by less than the span of a hand, but it was in being so close that I noticed the unnatural pallor of his skin and the darkness within his eyes; his pupils dilated wide and so black against the midnight blue of his irises that they blurred together to hold an unearthly look.
‘Saffron,’ he said, his voice almost unrecognisable, mechanical, ‘What are you doing here?’
What was wrong with his voice? With him?
I didn’t know what to say, how to answer. Was I here for the Scroll? Or was I here for some other reason?
A frown curled down the edges of his mouth as I hesitated.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked again.
‘I need your help,’ I replied, cautiously. ‘I came here to ask for the Scroll. I thought that you might be able to help me.’
‘You came alone?’ he asked, an odd note in his voice.
‘I’m here on my own...’ My voice trailed off at the look that he gave me, which made me quiver in response.
The intensity of his look, his glittering eyes searching my face, alarmed me, as if he meant to memorise it, to imprint it into his mind. His eyes seemed to burn so brightly they engulfed everything; the blackness of his pupils against the intense midnight blue of his irises, hypnotic and unfathomable.
‘So, the others, the Anakim, are not here with you?’
I looked at him uncomprehendingly. Something didn’t feel quite right with him.
‘Finn?’ My tone was querulous, and I took a step back, anxious to put some distance between us.
‘You’re perfectly safe with me, Saffron,’ he said with a seductive smile. ‘How could I harm you? As you already know, I need you. You’re so innocent, so trusting. You need protecting from the wolves at your door.’
He stepped towards me, lifting one elegant hand to stroke my face.
‘Sweet, sweet Saffron,’ he murmured, his finger tracing the curve of my bottom lip. ‘I could never hurt you. Not you. Not when I’ve tasted these honeyed lips with my own.’
My heart seemed to flutter rapidly in my chest to the beat of a hummingbird’s wings. But not with desire. Instead, he was starting to scare me. His mention of the kisses we’d shared was spoken with an underlying spite – not as if he meant to cherish those moments, but that he wanted to hurt me with their memory.
I swallowed, feeling ill.
‘Finn, what’s going on?’ My whispered question came out on a high, too thin note, dem
onstrating my anxiety. ‘Are you all right?’
He laughed then, but without humour, mirthless.
I finally saw the cruelty carved about his mouth and eyes, which I hadn’t noticed before. How could I have never noticed it? Had I been so blind? How could I have not seen it?
‘Tell her, brother,’ an amused voice said from the open doorway, ‘Tell her what she wants to know. Tell her everything. She’ll be taking it to her grave anyway.’
I wheeled around in horror to see Louis Gravois leaning up against the doorjamb; his pose relaxed, casual. In the darkness, his platinum blond, close-cropped hair gleamed with the whiteness of an albino. His pale blue eyes were snapping, lively and vivid, with some private malice. He straightened up and crossed to the middle of the room, his smile feral, sharp white teeth bared, like a wolf sensing he’d cornered the lamb that had strayed too far from the flock.
In that moment as I stared at the Rephaim, everything I had experienced over the past months came rushing back at me. Didn’t St. John warn me this might happen? Why hadn’t I paid him any heed?
I stood, horrified, letting them wash over me as I heard the voices again, as clearly as if they were speaking in my ear. Whispers and rumours and scraps and patches of dialogue, about portals and gates, the Underworld and Tartaros, the Pleiades and the Wise One, and a mother raped, a child with superhuman powers, and fear and passion at war with each other. All these voices clamouring to be heard, voices threaded together and tangled in my mind. As much as they merged and knotted so that they became a clamorous cacophony, I heard every one of them clearly, saying the things I had not understood – until this minute.
And in that moment, the whole rotten trick was exposed. It all fell into place, and I simply knew. I’d had an epiphany. Like the creature from Frankenstein, the very book that he had lent to me, I saw it all now, as one understands that both fire and ice will burn. It was as elemental and as brutal as that, and just as sudden.
‘Ah, you know,’ Louis said, his predatory pale blue eyes sharpening, ‘Finally. I see it there in your eyes. The knowledge. Gnawing at you. But even now, you can’t imagine the reason, can you? You still don’t understand the role you played. Or the role Phoenix has played in your downfall.’