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A Passionate Spirit

Page 22

by S. C. Skillman


  Zoe’s voice shook as she continued the prayer.

  “Your kingdom come, your will be done…”

  Natasha smiled.

  “That’s right, Zoe,” she said. “Keep praying. But while you do, please come back down here, away from the chancel steps, and stand next to Sonya and James. I’ll start with Poppy, and need you well away from her.”

  Zoe broke off from the prayer. “I stay right here, Natasha,” she said. “You’ll have to fight me if you want me to move. I won’t let you touch this child.”

  Sonya moved forward, to stand beside Natasha. Zoe remained steady.

  “If you defy Natasha,” said Sonya, “you’ll suffer for it. You can’t stop this initiation. We start with Poppy then move on to you.”

  The pain in Zoe’s ribs stung her fiercely. She gasped. Sonya sprang forward and tried to seize her. Zoe slipped aside just in time, away from Poppy, past the candle-stand and behind the choir stall.

  “Thank you, Zoe,” said Sonya. “Now stay where you are. Let Natasha get on with this.”

  Natasha moved forward and knelt down on the second chancel step in front of Poppy. Zoe seized a bible from the choir stall shelf and hurled it out into the chancel. As the book hit the floor Natasha looked up sharply. Sonya started to inch down the choir stall, reaching out for her. Zoe slid out the other end and went across to the altar.

  “Move away from there, Zoe,” commanded Natasha. “I want you behind me. Go and sit in the front pew until it’s your turn.”

  Sonya had halted. The silence surged back from Natasha’s voice, spreading out in waves around her. It pounded against Zoe’s eardrums. Beyond the stone walls and the stained glass windows, the night was still. Everything seemed to be holding its breath, ready for Zoe’s next move.

  Despite the chill of the church, Zoe was now sweating profusely. The moisture stung her palms and she rubbed her hands down the side of her thighs. Her fingers slithered against the smooth surface of the silk. She felt the hard wooden edge of the altar pressing into her spine. Natasha rose to her feet and stepped past Poppy, up into the chancel.

  “I will have you obey me, Zoe, without duress.”

  Zoe kept Natasha and Poppy in her direct line of vision. But to her right, she sensed Sonya biding her time, waiting her moment to spring. She couldn’t stop her body from shivering.

  Natasha stopped in the middle of the chancel.

  “Zoe, come to me.” Natasha’s voice echoed up to the rafters and reverberated around the space.

  Zoe fought an almost unbearable urge to rush forward into Natasha’s arms. She felt the healer’s power pulling her, reaching out to her like something tangible. With all her strength, she wrestled this impulse, forcing herself back against the altar, wishing she could reach behind her and grab the cross that stood there.

  Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, she repeated to herself, as Theo had taught her.

  Natasha gave a shriek. Zoe extended herself, arching her back, lifting her chin and thrusting her head back. She felt the sweat slither down her throat and breast, soaking the low neckline of her dress. Her teeth were chattering. She tried to clamp her lips together.

  “I assure you, Zoe,” said Natasha, “this night won’t end until you obey me.” The soft folds of her cloak swirled with her sudden movement towards Zoe, the candlelight transmitting the pale glimmer of the satin. “You’ve no idea how weak you are, Zoe,” she went on. “I can stay as long as this takes; I can hold the night back, I can prevent the sun from rising, I can stop the day from breaking. But you can’t. You’re limited by your flesh. You’re subject to time, to death and decay.”

  Zoe battled the tide of nausea that gripped her stomach. Tears continued to roll down her face.

  “I am the Divine Master,” said Natasha. “You cannot resist me.”

  Zoe drew a deep breath and forced herself to speak again, though she knew her quivering voice would give away her terror.

  “Jesus is ‘the Divine Master’, not you,” she cried. “And He’s all about love. You are nothing but cruelty and wickedness.”

  “Not so,” retorted Natasha. “You may see it like that right now, Zoe, because you’re blind. But, in order to break that stubborn ego of yours, I must compel you to come in.”

  Sonya broke in. “Natasha, please. Let’s get on with the initiation, right now.”

  Zoe’s body ached, the chill in her bones and dryness of her mouth continued unabated, and her sore ribs throbbed painfully. She knew she could not hold out against Natasha much longer. Her strength was failing fast. She and Poppy must surely die.

  Natasha turned and walked back to where Poppy slept. Then she faced Zoe again.

  “I’ll give you one last chance,” she said. “Come down into the nave and sit in the front pew and await your turn, well away from Poppy.”

  Zoe shook her head desperately. James snapped. “She won’t do it,” he cried. “Sonya, grab her and force her to obey.”

  Sonya acted at once, and flew at Zoe, hands outstretched. As she grasped Zoe’s shoulders, Zoe lunged forwards and bit her neck: something she’d never done before in her life to anybody, even as a small child; but desperate circumstances called for desperate measures.

  Sonya screamed and sprang back, as if she was on a riverboat and a crocodile had leapt from the water and snapped its jaws in her face. Zoe hoped her tooth-marks were now reddening ferociously on Sonya’s white neck, though she couldn’t see that by the candlelight.

  But despite her agony, Sonya renewed her attack, fastened onto Zoe’s arm, and held it tight.

  “You’re a fierce little bitch, aren’t you, Zoe? Now we see what you’re really like! We’ll soon bend that hard will of yours.”

  She clasped Zoe’s arm while Zoe struggled and twisted. Close by, at the entrance to the chancel, Poppy began to stir.

  “Leave the child alone,” cried Zoe. “Do what you like to me, but set her free.”

  “No,” snapped Sonya. “I’ll have the child for myself.”

  Natasha stared at Sonya. “You’ve got that wrong,” she said in a calm, authoritative voice. “This child will not be yours.”

  “What do you mean?” gasped Sonya.

  “This is a sacrifice I’m asking of you,” replied Natasha. “I’m more important than your dreams. You must leave all your earthly desires to follow me.”

  Zoe shuddered. A deep chill flowed towards her. Sonya tightened the grip on her arm, and she felt as if the blood was being drained out of it.

  “Let go, Sonya,” she begged.

  Sonya ignored her. “You promised, Natasha!” she cried. “Give me the child!” Dragging Zoe behind her, she rushed towards Natasha and thrust her face close to her sister’s.

  “No,” said Natasha, “you’ve already forfeited Poppy. Instead, you must show that you trust and believe in me.”

  James, who all this time had been standing at the top of the aisle, watching events between the three women, now sprang forward, panic on his face.

  “Stop this, Sonya. Leave Natasha alone.”

  “No,” screamed Sonya, letting go of Zoe and fastening onto Natasha’s arm instead. “I’ve believed in you, Natasha. I’ve given my life to you. You cannot betray me now.”

  James reached for Sonya, about to speak; but was interrupted by a mobile ringtone.

  Zoe froze.

  It came from within his robe.

  James stood transfixed.

  Then he reacted quickly, fumbling for the phone.

  In a flash Zoe snatched the phone from him. Before she could speak, James grabbed it back, then lost his grip. It slipped from his hand and slid under the choir stall.

  “They’ll never get Natasha! She’ll fly!” he cried.

  Sonya reached into a fold of her gown and drew out a knife. “If I can’t have the child, no-one will.”

  “No, Sonya!” screamed Zoe. She dived forward, and fell on top of the child’s body, beneath the descending knife.r />
  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Heavy blows fell upon the church door. The wood began to splinter, and gave way as a section of it crashed to the floor.

  Zoe rolled off Poppy’s body, expecting to be drenched by a fountain of blood. Raising her hand and reaching behind her, she explored her back with her fingers. No slippery wetness. She waited for the burning pain to kick in. Poppy was now trying to sit up. Zoe seized her in her arms.

  A new voice shouted from the west end of the church.

  “Taser! Taser! Taser!”

  Zoe raised her head once again and peered down the aisle. She saw flashlights, then armed police officers converging on them.

  Her mind went blank; her senses were dulled; and she felt emotionally numb. An uneasy calm possessed her; she felt no surprise or relief that rescue was near.

  A female police officer was bending over her. “Are you both all right?” she asked in a warm, deeply concerned voice.

  “Yes, thank you,” said Zoe in an expressionless tone, as the police officer took Poppy from her; then another came forward and wrapped a blanket round her, helped her to her feet, and guided her across to the front pew.

  “Get back. All of you.”

  Sonya’s voice had rung out, harsh and shrill.

  Suddenly, all capacity to feel emotion slammed back into Zoe’s body with full force. Her heart began hammering again and she broke out into a cold sweat once more.

  Covered by the armed officers in the aisle, Sonya and James were locked together in the chancel, at the foot of the altar steps. With one arm Sonya held James fast around the waist, and with her free hand she pressed the edge of the knife blade against his throat.

  A hush fell upon the officers behind Zoe and Poppy.

  “Sonya, what are you doing?” cried Zoe.

  “Move one step forward, any of you, and James here dies,” said Sonya.

  James was clearly resisting Sonya with all his strength, yet failing to break free. He gagged, and his eyes began to bulge. Zoe felt sick.

  “You’re a lying bastard, James!” snarled Sonya.

  Then a low, calm voice interceded: the police negotiator.

  “Listen to me, Sonya. Take it easy. Let go of the knife.”

  She didn’t reply. Instead, she began to tighten the blade against James’s throat. He strained against her, his head thrust back, making harsh guttural sounds that froze Zoe’s blood. The negotiator moved slowly towards Sonya and James. Sonya kept her grip upon the knife handle, and James gave a thin high animal sound of terror.

  “Give me the knife, Sonya,” said the negotiator.

  Then Zoe saw Natasha at the south side of the church. She had somehow escaped and stood poised upon the front pew, seeming to grow luminous; next, oblivious to the armed officers who were covering her, she began to spring across the backs of the pews. She swooped through to the west end of the church. Zoe expected one of the armed officers to taser her; but none did. As she passed burning candles, their light snapped out, then re-ignited again, and again. Yet neither gown nor cloak caught alight.

  Zoe jumped to her feet and darted into the aisle, desperately trying to see what was going on at the west end of the church, which Natasha had now reached.

  The sound of beating wings filled the space above their heads: the frantic flight of a trapped bird, batting itself against the walls in a panic. It alighted on a candle-stand, and Zoe glimpsed its black, glossy feathers and its long wedge-shaped tail. It launched itself at the vaulted roof, then lost height, and flew up the aisle above the heads of the rescue party. When it reached the chancel, it dive-bombed the police negotiator. He dodged, just before it could strike his shoulder. The bird wheeled, and soared back up into the roof-space, doing a somersault in mid-flight. Its deep reverberating croak echoed through the church. It perched on the tie beam, where it sat, watching and waiting.

  “Keep your eyes on that bird,” yelled one of the police officers. “It’s dangerous. It’s going to attack again.”

  At this, the raven took off once more, its wings stretched wide, head protruding forward, thick, pointed beak scything through the air. Without warning, and at lightning speed, it lost height, lunged at Zoe and made a low, raking strike to the back of her head. She screamed in agony as she felt blood gush from the wound. The bird struck her again and again, targeting her head and neck, as she threw her arms up, frantically trying to protect herself in a fruitless effort to beat the raven off, while three police officers swung batons at it with little effect.

  The bird pecked and jabbed relentlessly, until, without warning, Zoe was free. She looked up in bewilderment, her heart thundering against her ribs, in time to see the bird make its retreat. It flew back down the length of the church, over the pews, straight to the south doorway and disappeared out into the night.

  Meanwhile, the female police officer was pressing a pad against the back of Zoe’s head in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Stunned, Zoe looked around for Sonya and James.

  During the bird’s attack the situation had changed dramatically. Sonya was now handcuffed to two police officers. A third officer was sealing her blood-stained knife into an evidence bag. A fourth was addressing Sonya: “You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  Zoe looked for James. Another officer was wrapping a bandage round his throat. Despite the trauma of the last few minutes, he was making every effort to gasp out some kind of a statement.

  “Take me if you like,” he wheezed. “Lock up Sonya. You’ll never get Natasha; never. She’s flown. Only we, her true disciples, will ever know where she is.”

  His words drained away into choking, gurgling sounds. But his eyes still held a fanatical gleam. Gone was the charming persona of his occasional film roles – along with the role he’d played during his first few days at the Celtic Knot. Now Zoe could add two more roles to his gallery of characters: one, the vagrant who’d behaved so threateningly to her; and two, a demented cult follower, swearing allegiance to his master. She shuddered as the police officer continued tending her own wounds.

  Since her capture, Sonya had, for her part, gone very quiet. The arresting party made their way up the aisle, taking James and Sonya out into the night. Zoe had no idea whether Natasha had yet been captured.

  The female police officer finished bandaging her head. “Come on. Let’s get you into a warm car and straight off to hospital. And don’t worry about Poppy. She’s safe and on her way to the hospital too.”

  “Thank you,” said Zoe, as they left the church. “But… how did you find us? You arrived only just in time. It was a miracle.”

  “A miracle? Maybe,” said the police officer. “How did we find the church? I think we must say that was a joint effort between your husband Theo and your friend Alice.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  On the way to the hospital, though Zoe no longer felt emotionally numb, everything seemed strangely unreal to her.

  Later that night, at the hospital, after her injuries had been treated and freshly dressed, and she’d been fed with painkillers and antibiotics and received a tetanus shot, she looked up as the door flew open and Theo ran in. He swept Zoe into a warm embrace, as she struggled to her feet.

  “Thank God you’re safe, Zoe,” he said.

  It was several minutes before she was able to ask, “And Alice? Where is she?”

  “In another room nearby, with Leila. You’ll see her very soon now. Zoe, I can’t tell you how much we owe Alice. If not for her… what might have happened doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “And Poppy? Have they found her mother? Is she here?”

  “No,” said the female police officer. “We’ve had no chance to get to the bottom of that. We don’t know who Poppy belongs to, or anything about her situation.”

  Zoe bit her lip as she gazed at her.

  “But you certainly saved P
oppy’s life, Zoe. Your bravery was amazing. Like you and Alice she’s had a thorough medical check and is getting the best possible care. By now you must feel very close to her, and we’ll keep you fully informed.”

  “Thank you,” said Zoe. Then Theo indicated the slim figure in leather jacket and jeans who’d appeared in the doorway, her brown eyes glowing.

  “Alice,” cried Zoe, as the two girls hugged. When they fell back, words spilled from Zoe. “If it hadn’t been for you, God alone knows how this would all have ended up.”

  “Stop right there,” said Alice. “It wasn’t just me. It was Theo. He held the key to this.”

  Zoe swung round to Theo. “How…? When…? Please tell me. I must know right now.”

  Theo nodded at Alice. “Over to you, Alice.”

  “Long story,” said Alice, coming to sit down in the chair next to Zoe. “But since you asked, I’ll tell you. Several days ago – at the centre, before James abducted me – I had a creepy conversation with Natasha.”

  “Ah,” said Zoe. “Was it that time you told me you’d spoken to her but refused to go into details?”

  “Yeah, that’s the one,” said Alice. “Well, it was about ‘The Scottish Play’. Sorry, I know I can say the name, because I’m not in a theatre, but still… Those Weird Sisters, I don’t think they had anything on Natasha. Still. Let me get with the story. The subject came up because I mentioned the raven to her. I suppose I was feeling a bit provocative. I quoted that speech of the Lady’s, from Act 1 Scene 5. The raven himself is hoarse that croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan under my battlements. Come you spirits that tend on mortal thoughts,… fill me… top-full of direst cruelty. Make thick my blood, stop up… access… to remorse. Shakespeare used the raven, of course, because in folklore it’s an omen of death.”

  Zoe clasped her fingers together, and opened her eyes wide, desperate to concentrate, for the powerful painkillers had started kicking in; and she still couldn’t banish from her mind the sound of flapping wings and that harsh, echoing croak, nor the repeated heavy blows to the back of her head and the sticky sensation of blood clogged in her hair.

 

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