by Sharon Jones
The policeman’s radio buzzed. He took a step back and spoke quietly into the receiver.
‘Have you seen him?’ the other cop asked.
‘Not today,’ Poppy said.
Tariq shook his head. ‘I’ve seen him around, but don’t think I’ve seen him today.’
The tall policeman turned back to them. ‘Did you say your name is Poppy?’
‘Yeah.’
He smiled. ‘Your mum’s looking for you. And Mr Nasheed, we have a couple of questions for you.’
‘I’ve spoken to Sergeant Grant and he thinks it would be best if we went home.’ Mum was stuffing the contents of the tipi into bags like they’d just been told a hurricane was coming.
‘What?’
Mum glanced up, a worried frown creasing her forehead. ‘Poppy, he’s gone missing. He’ll know it was you who put the police onto him. We can’t stay.’
‘But...’
Mum stopped shoving cushions into bin bags and turned to her. ‘What?’
‘I just...’ Poppy sighed. ‘Nothing. You’re right. It’s time to go home.’ Except it didn’t feel like time to go home. It felt like everything had been stirred up and now she was leaving before getting to understand what had actually happened here. ‘I should go and say goodbye to Bob.’
‘Can’t you wait until Jonathan comes back and I’ll come with you?’
‘Oh, come on. I’m only going to Bob’s caravan. Have you seen how many police there are around here? If Kane’s got any sense he’ll be halfway to London by now.’
‘Jonathan’s talking to them now, to see if he can help find him. Kane’s got a record, y’know?’
Poppy swallowed a groan. ‘I’ll go straight there and straight back.’
‘Hmm...’
‘I’ll be ten minutes.’
Poppy gave her mum a quick hug before she could reply, and slipped out of the tipi. The light had begun to fade because of some whacking great clouds that were crowding the sky. She could taste the rain like a threat from above. As she started out across the festival ground towards Bob’s caravan, she reached into her pocket for her mobile. She had to tell Michael what was going on. She was pulling up his number when it hit her: she couldn’t phone him. She couldn’t text him.
Michael didn’t want to talk to her. Her best friend – no, she had to stop calling him that – the guy she was in love with was at his girlfriend’s eighteenth and wouldn’t want to talk to her. Tears clouded her vision.
In an hour or so she’d be back in her room at home. If she opened her window she’d probably be able to hear the sounds of the party coming from Julia’s.
She sniffed back the tears and tried to get herself together. She didn’t want Bob to see what a pathetic mess she was. She’d say a quick goodbye to him, and go back to the tipi via the burger van. She at least needed to find out what had happened to Tariq. It wasn’t as though she could ask the police if they’d arrested the festival dealer.
Bob was standing outside the multicoloured caravan talking to a policewoman and Pete from the farm. Bob was gnawing his bottom lip like he was chewing a wasp and Pete didn’t look too happy either. Bob spotted Poppy and motioned for her to join them.
‘Your mum found you, then?’ he asked, putting an arm around her. She smiled up at him.
‘Hello, Poppy,’ Pete said. It looked like his mouth was trying to smile but the farmer didn’t really look at her, as if he was still mulling over what they’d been talking about before she arrived.
‘Anyway, thanks for your help,’ the policewoman said brightly. ‘I’ll get back to you when we have more details of the press release.’
Poppy thought she felt a growl rumble in the old druid’s chest.
The policewoman smiled, seemingly oblivious to the waves of hostility rolling off Bob. ‘Er, could I have a quick word with you?’ she asked Pete.
‘What?’ A sullen, wary look crossed Pete’s face. He seemed as fed up as Bob. ‘Oh, yeah, OK.’ He shrugged and followed the policewoman over to one of the marquees the force had commandeered.
‘Press release?’ Poppy asked, squeezing Bob.
Bob nodded and his arm dropped from around her shoulders. ‘They can’t wait to tell the world that a ritual murder happened at a Pagan festival. By morning there’ll be television crews and protesters. After everything we’ve worked for – all that time trying to educate folk that Pagans are just normal people. Once the tabloids get hold of this they’ll turn us into a freak show. We’ll have to move the festival next year...and that’ll hurt Pete. That family relies on the money we gives ’em.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’ Bob cupped her face with his big paw of a hand and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. ‘So you’re going home, then?’
‘I feel like we’re abandoning you.’
‘Don’t be daft. I don’t want you here while Kane’s...’ He sighed. ‘I should never have sent you to see that lad.’
‘I’d have found him myself, Bob. You know me – dog with a bone.’
He smiled down at her fondly. ‘In’t that the truth.’
Dog with a bone, except she was about to walk away from it all. She was leaving Bob to deal with the media backlash, she was leaving Tariq to God knows what fate, and Beth – she was leaving Beth. And there were still so many questions to be answered.
‘Bob? There was something he said – Kane – he said that Maya was looking for her dad. Do you know who her dad was?’
‘Ye gods, Poppy!’ Bob exclaimed, shaking his head. ‘It’s a good thing you’re going home.’
‘She’s not found any more bodies, has she?’ a voice asked. It was Pete, stood behind her with his hands shoved in his jeans pockets. He was smiling, but Poppy could see he was making an effort. Losing the income from the festival had to be pretty bad news.
‘Not through lack of trying.’ Bob hugged her. ‘Thinks she’s a sleuth from an Agatha Christie novel.’
‘I do not! And I’ve got to go. I promised Mum I wouldn’t be long.’ She kissed Bob on his scratchy whiskered cheek. ‘Will you call in on your way home?’
‘Aye, reckon I might.’
She turned to Pete. ‘Thanks for everything.’
Pete shrugged. ‘You too – I mean, take care.’
She felt bad for him. It was rotten news, especially with a baby on the way. ‘Say goodbye to Sally for me.’
She set off in the direction of the tipi. As soon as she was out of sight of Bob, she switched directions and headed towards the food vans. The market stalls were nearly empty, everything sold or packed up. The tarpaulin roofs sagged with rainwater and filled black bin bags lay in piles. A sharp-toothed creature had mauled one of them, and the contents had spilled out over the sodden grass. Without fairy lights and the bustle of people, the stalls looked like nothing but piles of rusting bones. The magic was gone.
A cold gust of wind shuddered through the stalls setting metal poles clanging and ruffling the tarps. Poppy pulled her hoodie tighter around her. Her gaze was drawn to the tops of the fir trees on the fringe of the festival ground. They were all leaning to the left, bowing down as if to appease the storm that was brewing. The wind was really getting up. Mum would freak if it started raining when she was halfway through packing up.
Poppy picked up speed as she worked her way between the abandoned stalls. She was just about to step over a dropped veggie burger and fries when her eyes caught a movement between the stalls.
She turned, expecting to see another festival-goer, but there was no one there. Must have been a bird or something. As she turned to go, there was a flash of brown, so fast she didn’t have time to make out what it was. She whipped around.
She was alone in the metal forest of poles. The only people she could see were a couple of distant figures walking betwe
en the tents and caravans on the opposite side of the market. A little voice in the back of her head told her to turn back – go and help Mum dismantle the tipi. But that would mean not saying goodbye to Tariq, not knowing what the police wanted from him.
She took a deep breath and carried on walking, absently fingering the smooth black stone hanging around at her throat.
‘Poppy!’
She stopped. She didn’t breathe.
‘POPPY!’ a voice half whispered, half shouted.
She whirled around, searching for the person – if it was a person – who was haunting the empty market. Her gaze skipped from one market stall to the next, from shadow to tree to...movement!
Someone was there. Coming towards her.
Poppy edged away, thinking hard, trying not to panic. She was midway between Bob and Tariq, but what if Tariq wasn’t there? If the food vans had closed down like the market she’d be stuffed.
‘Poppyyyyyyy!’ the voice hissed.
Her feet made the decision for her. She sprinted for the food vans. A figure lunged out from behind a sagging tarp right in front of her and she crashed into it.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and held her in place.
‘Shhhh!’ Kane whispered, pressing a finger to her lips.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The music pounded through the house.
Michael held the same can of Red Stripe he’d been clutching since mates from school began flooding the house.
Julia was loving every minute of the attention. At that second she was dancing with a group of her friends – one of those slinky kinds of dances, totally out of time with the heavy beat of the music. Her long arms were in the air, her blonde hair swishing around her bare shoulders, and her silver sequinned dress clung tightly to her jiggling hips.
As if sensing him watching her, she turned and, with a seductive finger, beckoned him over.
He smiled, but shook his head.
Her pale pink lips puckered into a pout that made him laugh. Realising that the mountain wasn’t going to go to Mohammed, she danced her way across the room. At that moment, a few of the other guys from school showed up with bottles of what looked like vodka. Julia waved excitedly at them, but didn’t stop her journey towards him.
She stopped in front of him. Her big blue eyes were shining with mischief. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and Michael couldn’t help glancing down at her shimmering form.
Without a word, she pressed her lips to his.
She tasted of the sweet white wine she’d been drinking since about five that evening, and of something else...perhaps a promise of something more to come? Her parents had cleared out for the night so they pretty much had the house to themselves.
She pulled away, linked her hands behind her back and swayed from side to side, looking pleased with herself.
Michael was aware that the whole room was staring at them. Every guy was wishing himself in his place, and all the girls in school wanted to be Julia, not because she was kissing him, but because she could have whoever the hell she wanted. All the girls he knew were locked between being jealous of Julia and being in awe of her. Except for Poppy.
He wondered what Poppy was doing. He wanted to call her, but he had no idea what to say. He’d bottled it again. He should have stayed and talked to her – tried to work out if she really knew what she wanted and maybe even work out what he wanted.
Julia cleared her throat. ‘Hello? Earth to Michael?’
He blinked.
‘What’s wrong?’ Julia asked, raising her voice over the music.
‘Nothing.’
She ran her hand over his chest. ‘Dance with me?’
He shook his head. No matter what she said or did, he wasn’t dancing with her or anyone else. He couldn’t dance – couldn’t seem to get his legs and his arms to do what they were supposed to do. Poppy always said he looked like a creature from one of those build-a-monster flip books – the wrong legs on the wrong body.
A finger poking his ribs brought him back to the party. Julia was frowning.
He shrugged and smiled. ‘Sorry, it’s the beer,’ he said, holding up the can.
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Don’t drink too much. You have to be sober enough to give me my birthday present.’
‘But I’ve given you...your...’
Julia grinned and her cheeks glowed red. She leaned forward and whispered. ‘You have brought you-know-whats, haven’t you?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Poppy tried to shove Kane away but the hands gripping her shoulders felt like they were made of iron. Panic flooded through her and she hit out, punching and kicking. He loomed over her, his green eyes staring into hers from his skull-like face. He pulled her back to his chest and two arms wrapped around her, fixing her in place.
‘Let me go!’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘No!’ she screamed.
His hand clapped over her mouth, trapping the sound inside her. The arm around her chest tightened its grip. Shit! Her gaze darted from stall to stall, hoping someone was close enough to realise what was going on, but tears blurred her vision until she could see nothing but watery shadows in the fading light.
Kane leaned his head into hers. Hot breath grazed her cheek.
‘I won’t hurt you. You just need to listen to me.’
She didn’t believe him. He was going to kill her. Like he’d killed Maya...and Beth.
He started moving, dragging her backwards. He was taking her to the woods. Shit-shit-shit! Once he got her in the woods it was game over. She was dead. In the shock of realisation her entire body sagged. Kane swore as he lost his grip on her. He yanked her to her feet and for just a second, his hands loosened.
She kicked back as hard as she could, heard a satisfying thunk as her heel made contact with his shin. Kane gasped in pain. She shoved him away and ran.
Heavy footsteps thundered after her. Despair flooded through Poppy as she realised she wasn’t fast enough; she wouldn’t have been fast enough even if her legs hadn’t turned to shaky rubber.
A hand grabbed her arm and she screamed.
As his grip tightened, she swung her elbow into his chest. Kicked, scratched, anything she could do to hurt him before he hurt her.
‘She wants you dead, Poppy!’ he shouted. ‘I’m trying to help you!’
What? Suddenly, Kane’s hands on her shoulders were the only things keeping her on her feet.
He stared at her, his eyes pleading. ‘You have to listen to me! She’ll kill you. This place – it was in her blood. You have to leave. Here she can get to you. You need to get away, Poppy. She’ll kill you like she’s going to kill me. I’ve seen it in the cards. Death. Always Death.’
He let her go; she stumbled, nearly fell, then backed away, her heart thudding painfully. Had she got it wrong? Was he really trying to help her?
His eyes were so wide they looked like the eyes of a corpse, as if he was dead already.
A voice called out. Someone was running in their direction. She turned and saw Tariq and another guy. Kane heard them too. His head swung one way and then the other, like an animal being baited.
He stumbled back and pointed a finger at her. ‘Get out of here. Go and never come back.’ Then he turned and ran.
‘It’s him!’ someone shouted.
Poppy watched Kane escape through the metal bones of the market stall, towards the centre of the festival ground. Out of nowhere, three or four figures gave chase.
A hand grabbed her arm and she gasped.
‘It’s OK, it’s me,’ Tariq said, his face scrunched with concern. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Umm—’
‘—Poppy, did he hurt you?’ Tariq asked, urgently.
Poppy shook
her head. ‘Something’s not right.’ Something bad was going to happen to Kane.
The sun hung low over the hillside, bleeding red light through the black spikes of the fir trees up on the bluff. Before she knew what she was doing, she was running too, joining the hunt. Her legs kept pumping the ground, but Kane had disappeared into the canvas village.
Police were shouting directions to each other, like they were trying to flush out an animal. And then he appeared again, his shaved head pale against the dark of the landscape, running up the steep bank that led up to the farm. Black shadows swarmed after him, spreading out, creating a net in which to catch him.
Adrenaline finally kicked in and Poppy picked up speed, ignoring Tariq’s calls. She attacked the hill, using the solid rocks that stuck out of the gravelly earth to propel herself up. When she eventually reached the top she skidded to a stop, almost crashing into a stationary policewoman.
The policewoman turned and frowned. ‘You need to get back down the hill, now!’ she said.
But Poppy’s eyes sought out Kane as she struggled to catch her breath.
Kane had taken a wrong turn and ended up trapped, thirty feet away, on the rocky outcrop of the bluff that hung over the lake. Or maybe he hadn’t taken a wrong turn. Maybe this was where he’d wanted to lead them.
The police were standing, spread out in an arc, their arms outstretched like they were playing a game, and behind Kane, thirty feet below, the lake shone red with the sunset. Kane seemed to have shrunk in size, or maybe it was just that he was hunched over, cowering like a wounded fox faced with a pack of hounds.
‘Poppy, are you OK?’ a breathless voice asked behind her. It was Tariq.
‘Yeah. But Kane—’
‘—Don’t worry, they’ll get him,’ he whispered.
That’s what she was afraid of.
Death. Always Death.
Kane had come here to die.
Just then, the police officer who was talking gently to Kane took a step forward. Kane edged further towards the edge. His foot slipped and he only just managed to stop himself from falling.