Then he remembered the twenty years of nothing but his hands and a rough blanket, and realized he was merely making up for lost time.
The agony finally came to a halt and the ride stopped spinning. His brain didn’t. The operator flipped up the bar and she hopped off first.
“Thanks. That was fun,” she said.
He watched her go, surprised he’d let her walk away, but then things hard to get were usually the sweeter for it. As Gabriel stepped off the ride and staggered, he saw Pete coming toward him.
“That looks great,” Pete said, nodding toward the stomach churner.
Gabriel shuddered. “One of us thought so.”
Pete furrowed his brow. “One of you?”
“The woman riding with me.”
“I didn’t see you with anyone.”
Gabriel frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Gabriel, are you going to listen now?” Dava yanked at his arm. “I’ve found Turner.”
She had his full attention. “Where?”
“Come with me.”
Gabriel followed Dava through the crowds to a large white marquee.
“He’s in here, judging cakes.” She smirked.
“He hasn’t seen you?”
“No.”
Gabriel headed toward the entrance only to have a squat woman dressed as a bat bar his way.
“No entry until the judging has finished,” she snapped, her furry ears flapping.
“But I’m sure you’d like us to come in,” Dava said.
“The judge has to be left undisturbed to make his decisions once the judging’s started.” The rotund bat crossed her arms.
Gabriel restrained his snigger. Dava had always been less successful with women. He could have taken over and used his thrall, but it was amusing to see Dava frustrated. Even more amusing to think of Turner judging a cake competition. Gabriel’s smile slipped when he saw Matty walk out of the marquee.
“How come she got in?” Dava snapped.
“Who?” the bat asked.
One smile from Matty in his direction and Gabriel turned from the marquee and followed her, a moth drawn to her light. Her own thrall, how delicious.
“You again?” Matty said when they reached the Ghost Train.
There was the hint of a smile on her face and Gabriel relaxed.
“I need you to fight off the parasite,” he said.
She laughed.
“Want to go on this?” he asked.
It looked a damn sight more sedate than the other nightmare. A series of open carts on a track facing a dark tunnel. No doubt a few scary monsters waiting to jump out, though Matty couldn’t know she had one right next to her. He smiled.
“Okay.”
They stepped into an empty carriage at the end of the track, waiting their turn to move forward.
“What was happening in the marquee?” Gabriel asked.
“Turner judging a mountain of cakes.”
Questions flooded Gabriel’s head and he settled on one. “You know Turner?”
Matty turned to look at him as the carriage slid forward. “Yes, do you?”
She probably lived in Milford. Maybe worked at the hall. Gabriel wondered why he was so desperate it was nothing more than that.
“We’re old friends,” he said. “How about you?”
“I live here.”
“At Milford Hall?”
Her answer was a loud shriek as a blast of cold air greeted their entry into the tunnel.
“You live with Turner?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Another squeal as a phantom sprang out of a door on their right. Gabriel sighed. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have her, but she might be more use to him in another way. He jumped when she grabbed for his hand and hit his crotch.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Had she noticed his erection? How could she not? The ride was an escalating series of surprises that affected all senses—sudden appearances of grotesques, loud bangs and screams, cold and hot blasts of air. Gabriel sat stonelike through them all until the sensation of something pressing behind his knees made him lurch forward so hard he bent the restraining bar. Matty jumped too and she looked at him and laughed as they turned a corner.
“You like to be scared?” he asked.
“Sort of.”
Gabriel smiled. “Good.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Matty still pondered Gabriel’s remark as they stepped off the ride. Why was he pleased she liked to be scared? He grabbed her arm.
“Ouch. Let me go,” she said.
“There’s something I’d like you to see.”
“No thanks.”
He wrapped his arm around her, tucking her inside his coat, and dragged her away from the crowds and the rides. The harder Matty struggled, the tighter he held her and the louder she screamed.
“Keep screaming and I’ll rip out your tongue,” Gabriel said in a calm voice.
Oh God. No point screaming when the only people who might hear were Turner and Catch, and she suspected they’d still be in the marquee. Gabriel bustled her past the generators and mobile homes toward the car park.
Guys, I need you. In the marquee, she’d said sorry for running off and forgiven the bastards for not telling her what they’d talked about while she slept but had seen they had a lot of cakes still to get through. They’d promised to take her skating and on all the rides and win her an ugly cuddly toy. Only now it wasn’t going to happen. Matty fought harder, but he was so strong he even managed to use his phone without loosening his grip.
“Pete, get back to the motor home now.”
Matty tried going stiff, going limp but it was hopeless. Fear roared through her. She’d changed her mind. She didn’t like to be scared at all. Gabriel carried her farther from Winterval, through the parked cars and on toward the end of the field. He opened the door of a motor home and thrust her inside. Matty fell to her knees and scrambled away from him. Not hard to guess what he wanted. One well-placed kick in his balls would make him think again. When she pushed up on shaky legs and swiveled round, the bastard stood with his back to the only exit.
“How long have you been with Turner?” he asked.
Ah, that was why he wanted her. “Ages.”
A knock on the door and Gabriel opened it to let in a youth with greasy hair. Pete presumably.
“Tie her up. Don’t let her get away,” Gabriel said, and slipped out, closing the door behind him.
“What? But—” Pete opened the door, opened his mouth and then slammed both shut with a groan. He leaned back against the door and looked around in despair.
Matty grinned. He couldn’t see her.
* * * * *
“Nice chocolaty flavor, good texture, slightly overcooked.” Catch put the fork down.
Turner scribbled down his comments. “Score?”
“Fifteen out of twenty.”
Catch had started off eating a whole slice but quickly realized he’d make himself sick. Now he took a forkful.
“Not enough sugar, nice presentation, twelve out of twenty. Christ, how many more?”
Turner lifted his head from the score sheet. “Thirteen. Hurry up. I want to go and win Matty this huge soft toy she’s so desperate for.”
“What, so you can hold it while I take her on the scary rides?”
“Damn, am I that obvious?” Turner grinned.
Catch almost spat out the next mouthful. “Yeuch. Too dry, bitter and burnt. Four out of twenty. When we’ve finished in here, we’ll meet her at the ghost train and then take her on every ride, saving the best until last.” Catch winked.
Turner rolled his eyes. “I saw what you bought in town. You had Matty intrigued.”
Catch laughed and took a forkful of another cake. “Ooh, this tastes good. Light, fluffy, perfect. Full marks.” Catch thought about eating more of it but looked at the cakes still to taste and sighed. “What’s your plan to deal with Gabriel?” He stared straigh
t at Turner. “You’ve had twenty years to think of something.”
“Give him the copies I made of the books but make him work for them,” Turner said in a quiet voice.
“And you’re expecting him to say thanks very much and disappear from your life again?”
“Why wouldn’t he? What use is a discredited historian? He’ll find someone else to support his theories.”
“Alternatively, he holds you responsible for his arrest and you get to see the sun for the first time since you were turned.” Catch shivered as an icy finger ran down his spine.
“You really think that?” Turner asked.
“I don’t have a clue what’s going through Gabriel’s head.” He took a forkful of cake. “Too much flour, poor taste, nice presentation. Twelve out of twenty.” Catch turned to look at him. “What’s wrong with the copies you made?”
“Apart from the fact I can’t find them? Nothing.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
Turner met his gaze and Catch believed him, though he still had the feeling something else was going on. “What have you been doing for the last twenty years?”
“Don’t you know? You said you’d been keeping an eye on me.”
“Only to check you were okay.” Which was mostly the truth. “What have you been up to?”
Turner sucked in his cheeks. “Working for the Council.”
Catch’s jaw dropped and he snapped his mouth shut so hard he broke the fork still between his teeth. He spat out the slivers of plastic. “Doing what?”
“Seeing how much truth the diaries held.”
“And have you come to any conclusions?”
“All the pieces of the puzzle aren’t in place.”
“After two decades?” Catch gaped at him. “What exactly have you been doing?”
Turner dropped his voice. “Research on plants. Experiments.”
“Who on the Council are you working for?”
“Nathanial Golding.”
The head of the SBI. Shit. This felt wrong to Catch, though he wasn’t sure he could explain why. “The diaries weren’t fakes?”
Turner shook his head.
“Then why the fuck was I told they were?” Catch snapped. He rushed through the next few cakes, trying to think. “Does Golding know about the copies you’ve made?”
“Yes.”
“And about the experiments?”
Turner nodded. “He also knows I’ve made no progress.”
“Why hasn’t he provided backup for you? If I thought Gabriel would come here, then why wouldn’t he think the same? There’s something here that we’re not getting.”
“All the more reason for you to take Matty somewhere safe.”
“I need to make some calls. You can manage the last few cakes. Just chop the slice around a bit with your fork. I’ll find Matty and meet you at the ice rink. Okay?”
Catch stalked out of the marquee.
“Has Turner finished?” asked the bat.
“More or less.”
He moved aside as the woman went into the marquee. Catch turned, took two steps and slammed to a halt. He smiled, but as he felt the blow at the back of his head, he had a split second to realize he’d been played before he lost consciousness.
* * * * *
Turner had spent the last ten minutes feeling anxious. He wasn’t sure if his concern came from something specific or just the overall situation. At least Catch had gone to find Matty, except something— Oh shit. Catch is in trouble.
As Turner headed for the exit, he saw bat-woman walking toward him.
“Done?” she asked.
“Yes.” Turner pushed all the paperwork into her arms.
“Who’s won?” she called as Turner hurried past.
“The one who scored highest,” he said. Idiot. He threw back the canvas flap at the exit.
“Hello, Turner.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“You look surprised to see me,” Gabriel said.
Turner opened his mouth and nothing came out. He wanted to ask what he’d done to Catch but didn’t dare, though Gabriel had to be responsible, didn’t he? Catch was nowhere in sight. Turner’s stomach churned. Gabriel looked exactly the same as he had twenty years ago. A charismatic white devil. Not hard to see how many could be taken in.
“Somewhere we can talk?” Gabriel asked. “Your home?”
Turner nodded, reminding himself that he’d anticipated this meeting. The sensation of Catch being in trouble had gone. Turner hoped that meant the trouble had gone too, but with Gabriel at his side, he feared not. He took out his keys, opened his front door and went in. God, it hurt to do this. “Come in,” Turner muttered through gritted teeth and Gabriel walked into his house. He gestured to the drawing room.
Gabriel’s eyes flickered over ceiling, walls and floor. “What made you decide to move?”
“A hankering for a bygone era when life was clearer cut.”
“Large house. Four bedrooms? Pool area?” Gabriel asked.
“Five bedrooms.”
“Well, isn’t this cozy,” Gabriel said, and dropped onto the couch.
Turner sat opposite.
Gabriel pinned Turner with his gaze. “Lovely, In fact I like your home so much I think it should be Purelight Calling’s new headquarters.”
Oh fuck. That was something Turner hadn’t anticipated. He made sure his voice remained calm. “Except there is no more Calling and I don’t want you in my house let alone a group of your followers.”
Gabriel shrugged. “You invited me in.”
“To talk, not to live.”
Gabriel sat up. “Do you still believe?”
Turner hoped Gabriel couldn’t detect the sudden rise in his heart beat. “What do you want me to say?”
The smile on Gabriel’s face was beatific. “I’m only interested in the truth.”
“I don’t know what the truth is anymore. I thought I did, but by the end of the trial it appeared I was wrong.” Turner felt as though he were walking a tightrope across a deep canyon. One tiny slip and he’d have no future.
“I find that hard to believe,” Gabriel said. “You always seemed so sure.”
“Who did you really acquire the diaries from?” Turner asked.
Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Benjamin Lombard.”
Turner gasped. “The Keeper?”
Lombard had been the historian in charge of the Vampire Archives. Turner hadn’t been impressed. His organizational skills were terrible, but he’d died before Turner had even heard of Purelight. Turner had been offered Lombard’s job and declined.
Oh God, died how?
Gabriel shrugged. “He needed money. I needed something to prove a legend. The diaries were supposed to be fakes, but I’ve had time to work out what happened. Lombard became desperate as his illicit little nest of females he’d turned grew demanding. If he didn’t give them money, they threatened to go public that he’d made them. He sold me something that was never intended to leave the vaults.” Gabriel grinned. “When you almost came in your pants at the sight of the books, I figured they’d been worth every penny. Though of course I had envisaged some J.K. Rowling wannabe slaving over their creation.”
Thank fuck I’m sitting down. “And if I hadn’t been convinced of their authenticity?”
“You’d have had an unfortunate accident and I’d have found someone easier to work with. But you couldn’t have been more perfect. The books fascinated you. You believed in them. You gave integrity to Purelight.”
“And you laughed behind my back.”
Gabriel shrugged. “Well, yes, because I thought the bloody things were fakes. Though for a while your fervor was so infectious I wondered if the joke was on me. Everything changed when the Council declared them not just a forgery but seditious.” He spat out the last word.
Turner had wondered about that too. Gabriel was a greedy fraudster but Turner hadn’t seen him as more ambitious than that.
“
It’s not like I was planning to take over the world.” Gabriel glared.
Except that’s exactly what he could have done, if he’d found a way for their kind to walk in the sun.
Gabriel huffed. “I could hardly keep track of whether the books were fake or real. Not you though. All through the trial you insisted the books were authentic. Why, when you made yourself look even more foolish?”
Because Catch had told him to and because Turner wanted to believe in the books. “Because if I’d said they were fakes, I’d have been condoning what you’d done. I’d have been imprisoned as well.”
Turner waited as Gabriel considered that. “Possibly,” he said eventually. Gabriel stood and walked over to the fireplace. He leaned against the mantelpiece and stared at Turner. “I still don’t quite know what upset the Council so much. Why would they want to keep us in the dark if there was a chance of walking in the sun?”
Turner opened his mouth to point out that Gabriel would hardly have offered sunlight for free and neither would the Council, but then closed it. Placate, don’t aggravate.
“Back to my earlier question. Do you still believe?” Gabriel stared straight at him.
“In you or in the books?”
Gabriel’s mouth twitched in a smile. “I never had you, did I? You’re immune to my charms. It was always the books. Where are they?”
And so it begins. “They were destroyed.”
“Ah. What was it you told the Court?” Gabriel tapped his chin. “In the confusion when the SBI thundered in and my staff rushed to burn records, the diaries were accidentally burned too. William, wasn’t it, who did the deed? Sadly, he’s not with us anymore to confirm or deny his culpability.”
“The Court accepted the books were destroyed.”
“Maybe they were. Everything else was except perhaps the copies you made?”
Turner thought he could almost have written the script. Except this part was where things went wrong because he had no clue where the diaries had gone. Catch didn’t have them, nor it seemed did Gabriel.
“What copies?” Turner asked.
“The ones you made as you worked on the originals.”
“Ah those.”
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