Occasional glances at the soul-meter reassured Will that his dad’s progress was slow but steady and by the last week in October, the needle was only a short distance away from the green. It looked as though Dad’s access to heaven was assured and, for the first time in ages, life was sweet and full of promise.
At weekends he took the opportunity to meet up with Sophie whenever he could. As usual, Spot provided an excuse for them to spend time on their own. They would meet up at the bridge and climb down the steps to the river. From there they would walk along the river bank for miles, talking, laughing and just enjoying being together, while Spot simply enjoyed being out of the house.
The Saturday before the Halloween Ball, Will and Sophie met up for just such a walk.
‘I’ve got my costume all sorted out,’ Sophie told him gleefully as they walked along, hand-in-hand.
‘Yeah? What is it?’ he asked her.
‘It’s a surprise,’ she told him. ‘But it’s well cool. What about you?’
‘Er, yeah, I’m ok. I’m going to be a zombie.’
It had seemed like the easiest option. His outfit was going to be an Oxfam shop suit, ripped at the knees and elbows, and a bloodstained T-shirt. Mum had promised to help him with the makeup. When the Watchers had heard about it, they’d wanted to get involved, and had come up with all kinds of elaborate suggestions, but Will had opted to keep things simple. He had enough to worry about.
‘I went round to Asha’s place, last night,’ said Sophie. ‘She’s got this really scary witch mask, and she’s made herself a dress and a hat and everything. I wish I was good at dressmaking. I had to hire my outfit.’ They walked along in silence for a while. ‘So . . .’ she said. ‘When are you moving in to Neston Hall?’
Will frowned.
‘Sometime next month,’ he said. ‘It seems weird to be even saying it. We’re supposed to be moving in right after Mum gets married.’
Sophie made a face.
‘Ewww, what’s that going to be like?’
Will thought about it for a moment. ‘It’s ok,’ he said. ‘I want her to be happy. She wasn’t happy for a long time and now she is. So . . . yeah, I’m cool with it. And Jake’s a genuinely nice guy.’
Sophie looked at him and smiled.
‘You’re a strange one,’ she said. ‘I haven’t quite got you figured out yet.’ She stopped walking and he turned to face her. She didn’t say anything but he could tell from the expression on her face that she was waiting for him to kiss her. As he took her in his arms and did just that, she pulled away from him with a worried expression on her face.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked her.
‘There’s somebody watching us,’ she said. ‘Over there.’ She pointed and Will turned to look. He found himself gazing at the old pillbox where he’d met Ari that time. A bearded face was peering sullenly out of the envelope-shaped opening in the side of it. For a moment, he felt a chill move within him, because he thought it was Lou; but when he looked again, he recognised the face. It was Wormy. He breathed a soft sigh of relief.
‘It’s ok,’ he told Sophie. ‘I think I know him. You wait here, I won’t be a minute.’
He walked quickly away before she had a chance to protest. He stepped up to the window and looked in.
‘Hello, Wormy, what are you doing here?’
‘That’s Wormwood, if you don’t mind! And I’m waiting for you, obviously.’ Wormy was keeping his voice down, not wanting to be overheard. He nodded his head in Sophie’s direction. ‘Who’s the chick?’
‘That’s my friend, Sophie.’
Wormy nodded in approval.
‘Nice,’ he said. ‘Good bone-structure.’ He seemed to remember what he was there for. ‘Listen, have you looked at the soul-meter recently?’
‘Not since this morning,’ admitted Will. He pulled it from his pocket and gave it a cursory glance then gasped as he registered that the needle had dropped right back to the midway point. ‘No! How did that happen? Everything was fine this morning. And nothing’s changed has it?’ He handed the gadget to Wormy who took it in his nicotine-stained fingers and peered at it.
He shrugged. ‘Clearly something’s not right,’ he said. ‘We’ve been picking up these signals from the other side.’
‘The other side?’
‘Yes, you know, from where your dad is. Bad vibes. He’s becoming troubled again and the only thing we can think is that Lou is planning something and your dad has somehow found out about it.’
Will was trying not to panic.
‘We’ve got to do something,’ he said. ‘Isn’t there any way we can find out?’
‘We’re trying,’ said Wormy. ‘The others are all back at camp doing a mind-meld, trying to see if they can detect anything. But I’d say Lou and his crowd are doing a bit of cloaking of their own, it wouldn’t be the first time.’ He shrugged, handed the soul-meter back. ‘Anyway, Ari asked me to have a quick word and warn you to be on the lookout.’
‘On the lookout for what?’ Will asked him.
‘I wish I knew. Look for anything that seems different. Chances are, whatever it is, Lou will try it on Tuesday night.’
Will looked at him blankly. ‘Why then?’
Wormy gave him a scornful look. ‘Halloween!’ he said. ‘I thought Ari told you, that’s when he’s strongest, the night that his Master rides out.’
‘Er . . . yeah, he did say something about that. But look, I’m supposed to be going out that night. Maybe I should stay at home?’
‘Don’t change anything,’ said Wormy. ‘Do exactly as you were going to . . . and leave us to protect you . . .’ His expression changed suddenly and he lifted his voice a few decibels. ‘So er . . . if you should see my dog, just give me a call, ok?’
‘What?’ Will stared at him a moment, then realised that Sophie had wandered within hearing range. He did his best to play along.
‘Oh, yeah, sure,’ he said. ‘I’ll keep an eye out for him. A . . . black Labrador, you said.’
‘That’s right.’ Wormy directed a gap-toothed smile at Sophie. ‘You too, miss. He’s quite gentle. Answers to the name of . . .’ Wormy’s expression went blank for a while. ‘Robert,’ he said, at last.
‘A dog called Robert?’ muttered Sophie.
‘We call him Bob for short,’ added Wormy. ‘Well, must get back to my searching.’ He raised a pair of antique binoculars to his eyes and started sweeping the horizon. Will took Sophie’s hand and led her away.
‘Who was that weirdo?’ asked Sophie, once they were a good distance away from the pillbox.’
‘Oh, just somebody who lives on the estate,’ said Will. ‘His mum dropped him on his head when he was a baby. Harmless, though.’ He felt terribly unsettled now and he kept looking around as he walked, half expecting to see somebody approaching.
‘Is something wrong?’ Sophie asked him. ‘You seem . . . worried.’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘It’s just . . .’
He broke off at the distant sound of a motorbike. He turned, scanned the riverbank in all directions but couldn’t see anything.
‘Maybe we should go back,’ he said.
‘Why? We only just got here.’
‘Yes, but . . . there’s something . . .’ He listened. The bike sounded like a huge, angry mosquito buzzing. He began to panic, turning around and around, craning his neck to try and see what was going on.
‘Wormy!’ he said. ‘Can you hear that? I might need some help here!’
Sophie stared at him. ‘Who are you talking to?’ she cried.
He ignored her. He could hear the motorbike was close now, getting closer by the second. Will dragged Sophie up to the top of a small hill where he could get a better view of his surroundings.
‘Wormy, where are you?’ he yelled.
‘Who the hell is Wormy?’ asked Sophie.
Two motorbikes burst suddenly into view from behind another hill, engines roaring and Will, acting from pure instinct, turned to run. He sl
ipped on the wet grass and he and Sophie went tumbling down the hill with Spot racing madly behind them, barking his head off. They hit the bottom of the incline in an untidy heap and Will snapped around into a sitting position. He finally got a proper look at the two motorbikes. The riders were scramblers, dressed in helmets and muddy leather coveralls. The bikes raced on along the riverbank, flinging up trails of mud in their wake.
Will stared after them in relief and then realised what had just happened. He looked at Sophie lying beside him, her clothes stained with mud, her hair full of bits of grass. She was looking at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
‘Oh!’ he said. ‘Oh . . . sorry. I thought . . .’ He gestured vaguely after the bikes. ‘I thought they were after us.’
Sophie laughed at that. ‘Why would you think that?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know, I just . . . I just . . .’
But now she was laughing. ‘You’re barmy, Will Booth,’ she said. She flung her arms around him. ‘And I’m crazy about you!’
She kissed him and this time Wormy wasn’t there to interrupt them and everything was good, except that he couldn’t really settle because he knew that good as it seemed now, something bad was coming, soon, and there was probably nothing he could do to stop it.
TWENTY TWO
‘I don’t much like the look of that,’ said Mum, peering out of the kitchen window. It was just getting dark and the sky above the neighbours’ houses were full of bruised black clouds, tumbling and boiling like the contents of a witch’s cauldron. Somewhere in the dark depths, electric light flickered. ‘Looks like we’re in for a storm,’ concluded Mum.
‘It’s Halloween,’ observed Jake, who was busy studying wallpaper samples. ‘What else can you expect?’
Will frowned. He’d felt weird all day, on edge, nervous in his stomach. Over the past few days, the Watchers hadn’t been able to come up with any information about why Dad’s soul-reading was suddenly so low, but Will knew that tonight was the night when his father was at his most vulnerable.
‘Sit down again,’ said Mum, pointing to the kitchen chair. ‘I need to make those scars more realistic.’
Will was dressed in his torn zombie suit and was uncomfortably aware of the sweet smell of fake blood, drifting up from his T-shirt. He asked himself, not for the first time, if this was any way to behave on such a dangerous night.
‘I feel stupid,’ he muttered. ‘Maybe I should just go in my normal clothes.’
‘No way, José,’ said Mum. ‘Not after all the trouble I’ve gone to with your outfit. Now, come on, Igor, let’s see if we can win you the prize for best costume.’
‘There’s a prize?’ said Jake, looking up from his samples. ‘What kind of prize?’
Will made a face. ‘A poxy meal for two in a restaurant,’ he said.
Mum gave him a shrewd look. ‘That would be lovely,’ she said. ‘A romantic candlelit dinner for two. I’m sure Sophie would love it.’
‘Ha ha,’ said Will. Mum had been ribbing him ever since she had found out about the two of them meeting up for walks. He sat down in the chair and Mum went back to her face-paints. She started doing something to Will’s right cheek.
‘Seriously,’ she said, ‘when do I get to meet her?’
Will did his Mr Reece impression. ‘In the fullness of time,’ he droned.
‘That’s very good,’ said Mum. ‘Maybe you should consider a career as an impressionist.’
Will’s mobile rang and he pulled it from his pocket and flipped it open, automatically shielding the display with his free hand so that Mum couldn’t see who was calling. A sensible precaution these days, you never know who might be ringing. It was only Sophie.
‘Hi Will.’
‘Hi Sophie.’
‘Talk of the devil . . .’ said Mum, quietly and Will gave her a quizzical look. The devil? What was she on about?
‘I’m just getting into my costume,’ Sophie told him. ‘You are going to freak when you see it!’
‘Yeah? You going to tell me what it is?’
‘Nope. I already said, it’s a surprise.’
He frowned. He’d had enough surprises lately to last him a lifetime. But he knew there was no point in pleading with her, she could be as stubborn as a mule when she wanted to be.
‘Well, do you want us to pick you up?’ he asked her. ‘Mum and Jake are going out tonight. They’re giving me a lift to the school.’
‘No, I’m sorted for a lift. I’ll see you there.’
‘Ok, bye.’ Will heard the sound of her blowing kisses down the phone, so he snapped the phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. ‘Haven’t you finished yet?’ he asked Mum, irritably.
‘Not quite. Jake, what do you think?’
Jake studied Will for a moment.
‘I don’t think the big scab on his forehead is bloody enough,’ he said.
‘Hmmm. You’re right.’ Mum went to work with her paintbrush again.
‘I think I missed my vocation,’ she said brightly. ‘I could have been a right little Michelangelo, if I’d put my mind to it.’
Jake chuckled.
‘Well, I can’t offer you the Sistine Chapel ceiling, but if you’re in the mood, there’s a load of woodwork down at The Hall that could do with a coat of emulsion.’
Mum snorted. ‘You are kidding, I hope! With all your dosh, I think you can afford to get professionals in!’
Jake smiled. ‘You know me, Mr Stingy-Pants.’ He gazed at Mum adoringly. ‘Have I told you I love you, today?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, please!’ protested Will. ‘Could you just hold back on the goo, at least until I’m out of the room?’
Mum gave him a look. ‘That’s good coming from you,’ she said. ‘You’re the one having kisses blown down the phone at you.’ She handed him her makeup mirror. ‘There you go, Mr Grumpy, see what you make of that little lot.’
Will glowered at his reflection. He looked an absolute fright. The flesh of his face had been whitened; there were dark hollows under his cheeks and eyes while his forehead and the corner of his mouth sported lesions that made him look like he’d just crawled out of a head-on car crash. As if to heighten the effect, the kitchen window lit up in a brilliant flash of lightning and a few seconds later there was a rumble of thunder that seemed to shake the ground beneath them.
‘Whoa!’ said Jake. ‘That sounds serious.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We really should get going.’
Mum looked suddenly nervous.
‘I’m not sure about this,’ she said. ‘These people are old friends of yours, suppose they don’t like me?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Jake got up from his chair and came over to her. He stroked her face. ‘They’ll be mad about you,’ he said. ‘Either that, or they’ll no longer be my friends.’
Will groaned. ‘Time out,’ he said despairingly. ‘Please! Once you’ve dropped me off, you can be as loved-up as you like.’
‘Will Booth, you’ve no romance in your soul,’ Mum told him. ‘I hope you’re not like this with Sophie.’
‘Mum!’
‘Ok, give me five minutes, I just need to put on some lippy.’ She hurried out of the room.
Jake turned his attention to Will. ‘You ok, sport?’
Will shrugged. ‘Yeah, I guess so,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’m just a bit jumpy tonight.’
‘Oh? Something wrong?’
Understatement of the year, thought Will. Aloud he said, ‘It’s complicated.’
Jake nodded. ‘Will, I know I’ll never be your dad. I couldn’t expect that and I don’t. But I’d like to think . . . well, if at any time you’re unhappy about something . . . that you’d be able to talk to me about it.’
Will sat there looking at him, not sure what to say and then Jake suddenly laughed.
‘What?’ protested Will.
‘I’m sorry. I’m just thinking, maybe we should have this conversation another time, when you don’t look like something that’s been dug up in the garden.’
Will laughed too. There was another flash of lightning outside and this time the thunder didn’t take quite so long to follow.
‘Getting closer,’ observed Jake.
Mum appeared in the doorway wearing her best coat.
‘All set.’ she announced. ‘Do I look ok?’
‘Better than ok,’ said Will, for once beating Jake to it. ‘You look fantastic.’
She beamed. ‘Will Booth, I’d give you a great big sloppy kiss, but I’d probably end up covered in fake blood and greasepaint.’
‘Come on,’ said Jake. He lifted his leather jacket from the back of a chair and slipped it on. ‘Let’s get in the car before the rain starts.’
They only just made it. As Will pulled the car door shut, a flash of forked lightning cut the sky in two, the heavens opened and the rain came down in an absolute deluge.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Jake. He was obliged to flick the windscreen wipers on to full power in order to have any chance of seeing the way ahead. As the car pulled slowly away from the garages, Will craned his head to try and check if anybody was hanging around, but as far as he could tell the place was deserted. Jake drove off the estate and turned left onto the main road.
‘So, we don’t need to give anyone a lift?’
‘No, I’m meeting them all there,’ said Will. He was peering apprehensively through the gap in the front seats, staring at the road ahead, but he could make out little more than a series of blurred lights looming out of dissolving darkness. As they drove onto the narrow bridge, a blaze of oncoming headlights seemed to fill the interior of the car. There was the deep roar of an engine and the long blare of a horn as a massive articulated lorry thundered past them with inches to spare.
‘Great big brute,’ muttered Jake. ‘They should stick to the motorways.’
They drove across the bridge and the road widened a little.
‘What time does this shindig finish?’ asked Mum, glancing over her shoulder.
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