Demon Storm

by Justin Richards

  Praise for The Parliament of Blood:

  ‘A spine-tingling read – I loved it.’ Julia Golding

  ‘A rollicking ghoulish horror story written with great pace and historical detail. Children will love it.’ Daily Mail

  ‘Impressive … a rollicking historical yarn about streetwise boys foiling a dastardly conspiracy.’ Daily Telegraph

  ‘You can always trust Justin Richards to provide a rip-roaring story that will keep you on the edge of your seat from start to finish, and this follow-up to The Death Collector is no exception … This is the kind of book for reading late at night under the covers. A perfect Halloween read for anyone who prefers an adventure over gore.’ Waterstone’s Books Quarterly

  Praise for The Death Collector:

  ‘This is a real page-turner. The book starts with a dead man walking back into his kitchen and then dragging his terrified dog out for a walk! … Once you’ve finished it, you’ll want to find another book just as exciting.’ CBBC Newsround

  ‘A very exciting novel, reminiscent in some ways of Philip Pullman’s Victorian novels … a real page-turner – and the ending is quite spectacular.’ Books for Keeps

  ‘A thoroughly enjoyable romp full of chases, high drama and a hint of romance in great old-fashioned style. Simply smashing.’ Kirkus Reviews

  Praise for The Chaos Code:

  ‘The Chaos Code is a globetrotting tour de force in the mould of The Da Vinci Code, but better written.’ Write Away

  ‘Exciting … thought-provoking.’ Daily Mail

  JUSTIN RICHARDS

  Contents

  Praise

  Title Page

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  1

  A WOMAN WHO DROWNED HERSELF OVER sixty years ago stood by the lake watching Sam. The dead woman’s hair was matted with pondweed, and her plain white dress was stained and torn. Her eyes were sunken black in her pale face. Water dripped from her outstretched, pleading arms – dripped and fell and never landed on the muddy ground …

  ‘What are you looking at?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Sam said. ‘Nothing and no one. It’s not important.’

  The woman slowly lowered her arms. She gave the faintest shake of her head, then turned and walked sadly away. Back into the lake. There were no ripples as the water closed over her head – just as it had sixty-three years ago.

  ‘You’re always looking at nothing,’ Ben grumbled. ‘Why can’t I see it too?’

  ‘Be quiet, Ben,’ Sam told her brother, though she spoke gently. ‘We’re here to make a promise, remember?’

  She took her young brother’s hand, hoping he would think she was trembling from the cold. Together they walked down to the side of the lake. There was a narrow path – barely more than a muddy track – running along the shore. When they last came here, exactly a year ago on Ben’s twelfth birthday, the track had been hard and dry. Now it was damp and slippery, mud squelching and oozing beneath their shoes.

  They could see the house from the corner where the path bent almost back on itself to follow the water. A dark silhouette against the gathering clouds and the grey of the evening. The broken windows were empty sockets, the boarded-up door a gaping mouth.

  ‘We really used to live there?’ Ben wasn’t impressed.

  ‘A long time ago.’

  ‘With our mum and dad?’

  Sam looked away, pulling Ben after her as they left the house behind. ‘With our mum and dad.’

  ‘I don’t remember Mum and Dad. I remember the MacPhersons. Mr MacPherson was in the army. We had to leave. They were nice.’

  ‘Yes. And before the MacPhersons we were with the Bakers. And before that the Neales.’

  ‘Did we have to leave them too?’

  Sam didn’t answer. The MacPhersons had been understanding, the first few times. But Sam had screamed at the ghosts too often. She’d refused to go in the room where the old man rocked himself to sleep in a chair that wasn’t there. She saw the men Captain MacPherson had killed in the Gulf, following him everywhere he went …

  The Bakers hadn’t even tried. The first time she went pale and started to shake at the sight of what hung from the gibbet on Gallows Hill they’d sent Sam and Ben back. And as for the Neales …

  A wooden jetty stuck out into the lake. The planks were rotted and broken. A frayed rope hung from a splintered mooring post. The faintest impression of young James Anguin, who’d fallen out of his fishing boat and never been seen again, nodded to Sam. She nodded back. He was always there. Always would be.

  ‘Here we are,’ Sam said.

  ‘Let’s go out on the jetty.’

  ‘Best not. The wood’s pretty rotten. It’s not safe.’

  ‘I did last year.’

  ‘It was the year before. You’re much bigger and heavier now, and the wood’s even more rotten and weak.’

  ‘We’ll do it here, then,’ Ben decided, standing stiffly on the path at the edge of the jetty.

  ‘Here,’ Sam agreed.

  She took her brother’s hands between her own and looked down at him. Ben’s dark hair was blowing round his face in the breeze. Her own long, dark hair was whipped into a frenzy, but she kept hold of Ben’s hands as they promised.

  They made the same promise every year. Even now, neither of them could be sure they wouldn’t be separated from each other. When they were younger, it was a constant worry. Every year they were able to stay together was a bonus. The only constant in their lives was each other. Every year they were thankful for that. Every year they promised each other they’d stay together. They’d never be split up.

  ‘You first,’ Ben said.

  ‘I, Samantha Foundling – or whatever my real name is – do promise here at the lake, close to the house that was our last proper home, to look after my brother, Ben Foundling.’

  ‘Or whatever his name is,’ Ben said, giggling.

  They’d had so many names, so many different families. Neither of them really remembered their own surname any more. Maybe it really was Foundling.

  ‘I promise I’ll always be there for you, no matter what,’ Sam went on. ‘I promise that nothing will ever take me away from you. Not ever.’ She forced a smile. ‘There. Now it’s your turn.’

  Ben nodded. ‘I promise too. All that stuff. Together forever, no matter what. And we’ll come here every year, like we always have, to make our promise, won’t we?’

  ‘We will. Every year. Without fail.’

  Ben pulled his hands away and enfolded his big sister in a hug. ‘I love you, Sam.’

  ‘I love you too, Ben.’

  They stood silent and still, holding on tight, for several minutes. The darkness closed in around them, and the late James Anguin faded with the last of the October light.

  Finally, Sam gently pulled away. ‘We’d better be getting back.’

  *

  The MacPhersons had tried, Sam knew that. Just as she knew how difficult she must be to live with. Better now, but two years ago, when she was not much older than Ben was now … She didn’t blame them. Over a year of a thirteen-year-old’s screaming and temper and panic and tears …

  She could control it better these days. She could ignore the things she saw – make a point of not looking at them. Some, like James Anguin, just watched her. They just were. But
others, she knew, meant her harm.

  Only Ben knew that she could see things – or ‘nothing’, as they pretended. But even he didn’t really understand. He was just thirteen – how could he understand? She couldn’t when she was that age. She was nearly fifteen now and she still couldn’t understand it. Why was she different? Was it because of something that had happened? Something at the house by the lake when they had parents and names of their own? There was something on the very edge of her memory … Perhaps that was why she was drawn back to this exact same place every year to make her promise to her brother.

  ‘Will we be in trouble for going out?’ Ben asked.

  They were sitting on the bus. Sam stared straight ahead, not looking at the woman opposite who clutched a new bag from a shop that had closed a decade ago.

  ‘I doubt anyone has even noticed we’ve gone,’ she told him. ‘We’ll be back before bedtime.’

  The boys and the girls had separate dormitories. Ben’s was divided into cubicles with a curtain across the front of each. The older girls were in shared rooms, two or three in each. Except Sam – she had a bedroom to herself. No one would share with her. They all knew she had such nightmares.

  The bus turned sharply at a T-junction. Sam glanced out of the window. The grey lady was leaning out of the window of the old house on the corner of Renfrew Avenue. She was screaming. Sam looked away.

  The closest bus stop to the home was a good ten minutes’ walk away. It was dark now. The street lights cast a sickly orange glow through the evening. The iron gates were dark silhouettes behind which the driveway led up to the Victorian building. There was a newer block stuck on the side, which housed the girls’ rooms. It had been built in the 1960s, with no thought that it should complement the main house – pale, square, flat-roofed.

  They all called it the home, though as it provided not just somewhere to live but also their education it was more like a small boarding school. Except that there were never any school holidays, never any real homes to go back to when term ended …

  At least Sam’s room was in the new block, where there were fewer ghosts. The old house was full of them – ghosts and memories and a gargoyle at the top of a downpipe round the back that watched Sam through sightless stone eyes.

  They walked up the drive, hand in hand. The lights in the new block shone bright, but the shuttered windows of the old house were dark and empty.

  ‘What happens when you’re sixteen?’ Ben asked, his voice trembling. It was something he’d thought about a lot, but he hadn’t dared to ask before. ‘People can leave the home when they’re sixteen.’

  ‘I won’t leave you,’ she repeated. ‘I just promised, didn’t I? And when I’m old enough – maybe when I’m sixteen or eighteen, or whenever I’m allowed – then I’ll take you with me. We’ll find somewhere else, just the two of us.’

  ‘Will we be a family?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sam told him, squeezing his hand. ‘We’ll be a family. Nothing will stop that. Things will be so different just a year from now.’

  2

  JUST A YEAR,’ SAM HAD SAID. BUT TO BEN A YEAR seemed a very long time.

  Even so, the days became weeks and the weeks became months. Ben saw less of Sam. She was studying for her GCSEs. Whenever she could, though, she spent time with Ben. They would walk in the grounds or, better still, go down into the town.

  But they never went to the lake. That was a special place, reserved for the promise meeting. Waiting for them to return on Ben’s birthday.

  And because a year had seemed such a long time, Ben was surprised how soon it passed. How soon his birthday approached again …

  ‘It’s only two weeks until your birthday,’ Sam said as they returned late from a stolen walk.

  They weren’t supposed to be out together and already it was getting dark. Ben was going slowly, taking as long as he could to walk back to the home.

  The lights of a car swung across the gravel drive as it turned in at the gate behind them. Sam pulled Ben to one side to let the car go by. It gave a brief toot of acknowledgement as it passed. It looked like an old car – classic rather than vintage. It parked outside the home. By the time they reached the front door, there was no sign of the driver.

  Two of the bulbs in the main chandelier had gone. The entrance hall was a criss-cross of shadows and light. A figure stood in the darkness by the stairs to the boys’ dormitory. His face was in darkness.

  ‘Samantha?’

  He stepped into the light and Ben saw that it was Mr Magill. Ben liked Mr Magill – he was friendly and fair. He always wore a tie, and he made jokes while he was teaching the younger boys maths. On Fridays he gave them lollipops.

  ‘We just went for a walk,’ Sam said quickly. ‘Round the grounds, that’s all. Didn’t notice the time.’

  Mr Magill raised his eyebrows. ‘Or that it had got dark? You’re a senior, so you’re allowed out. But Ben’s only a junior.’

  ‘I’m thirteen,’ Ben told him. ‘And it’s my birthday in two weeks.’

  ‘Really?’ He smiled at them – a real smile. ‘But even so … As long as it was just round the grounds,’ he said, in a voice that made it clear he knew it wasn’t. ‘Now, be quick and hang your coats up. There’s a special assembly in the main hall in ten minutes, so it’s lucky you got back in time.’

  ‘What’s the assembly for?’ Ben wondered.

  ‘If you wait ten minutes I expect you’ll find out. Make sure you’re there.’ He was looking at Sam as he spoke.

  There was a large walk-in cupboard under the main stairs where the children kept their coats and outdoor shoes. By the time Ben and Sam had hung their coats up and put on their indoor slippers, some of the other boys were coming down the main staircase from their dormitory or the social room.

  Miss Haining was with them. She was a sour-faced middle-aged woman who taught literacy, as thin as a street lamp. Her long fingers were like gnarled sticks and she pointed one of them crookedly at Sam.

  ‘You, girl!’ She called everyone either ‘boy’ or ‘girl’ despite knowing all their names. ‘What are you doing here, girl?’

  ‘I’m going to the assembly, like everyone else.’

  ‘And where have you been? You know you’re not allowed in the boys’ dormitories and social rooms.’

  ‘This is the hall,’ Sam said coldly. ‘I haven’t been anywhere. Certainly not up in the boys’ dormitories or social rooms.’

  ‘Then what are you doing here? Your room’s in the new block.’

  ‘She came to meet me,’ Ben said. ‘So we can go to the assembly together.’

  Miss Haining stared at Ben through flint-cold eyes. ‘I didn’t ask you, boy.’ She turned back to Sam. ‘I haven’t seen you since lunch.’

  ‘I haven’t seen you either,’ Sam said.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I was reading. Where were you?’

  Miss Haining seemed to swell up as she drew a deep breath. Finally she said, ‘Don’t let me catch you somewhere you shouldn’t be again.’

  ‘You didn’t catch me this time,’ Sam muttered, making Ben grin.

  His sister’s irritation didn’t last. ‘Come on. Let’s go or we’ll be late.’ She smiled and took Ben’s hand. He was tempted to pull it away. He was too old to hold hands. But he knew it wasn’t really that Sam wanted to hold his hand. She wanted him to hold her hand. To keep her safe from the ‘nothing’ she saw all around them.

  They followed the other children along the corridor to the main hall. Sam looked neither left nor right. She gripped Ben’s hand so hard it made his eyes water. But he didn’t tell her. It was bad here in the old Victorian mansion. Steeped in memories and echoes of the past, it had been a house, a school, even a mental hospital. They all left their impression – impressions that you could almost feel.

  Impressions that Ben knew his sister could see.

  *

  The main hall had once been the dining room. It was a large, rectangular room, its ceiling c
risscrossed with dark wooden beams. The windows were set high in the walls – arched and framed with pale stone. Double doors opened into one end of the room and at the other end there was a small gallery looking down into the hall. There was another, smaller doorway beneath the gallery.

  A narrow staircase led up to the gallery from the corridor that ran behind the hall. The door was kept bolted and the children were forbidden to go up there, because the floor wasn’t safe. But of course they did.

  Ben and Sam were among the last of the children to arrive. There weren’t that many children at the home, but the hall was crowded when they were all together. Mr Magill had everyone lining up between the long, narrow tables where they ate their meals.

  ‘Any order, it doesn’t matter. And it won’t take long, so let’s keep it quiet and sensible, shall we?’

  Miss Haining was watching through narrowed eyes. Mr Casswell, the history teacher, was talking quietly with her. Ben picked up some of their conversation as he and Sam walked past to join the line-up.

  ‘I don’t recall such a thing happening before,’ Mr Casswell was saying.

  ‘Mental aptitude inspection,’ she muttered back. ‘As if you can tell just by looking at them if the children are in sound mind or need special treatment.’

  ‘Well, he is an expert, apparently …’

  Ben glanced at Sam, but she was still looking straight ahead. They stood between little Chris Summers and Jaz Amrij.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Jaz asked Sam. ‘Identity parade, is it – someone been shoplifting again?’

  Sam shrugged. ‘Dunno. Some sort of inspection.’

  ‘They going to look in our ears or check for nits or something?’ Chris wondered.

  There was silence as the door under the gallery opened and a man stepped into the room. He was tall and broad, dressed in a dark suit and a plain white shirt with a navy-blue tie. His black hair was cut short, so he looked like a businessman. Or an off-duty soldier. He was carrying a wooden box.