Another fact was that I could not do this alone. I needed help. I needed a plan and I needed help to make it and carry it out, and there was only one person I knew I could count on. I checked the clock on the dash. It was two-twenty a.m., and we both had school in the morning. And I had a debate—a debate that would decide whether I stayed at the Anglo-American or was kicked out. A debate for which I hadn’t even written the first words.
I buried the thought as soon as it reared its head. That was the least of my worries. Ciara’s life was in danger. She had been kidnapped along with her father—whose car I had stolen—and I had supernatural shape-shifters chasing me. I pulled my cell from my pocket, opened Whatsapp and found Sebastian.
U awake?
Twenty seconds later, I got a response.
Of course I’m not awake. It’s 2.20 in the morning, you ass!
I need ur help.
At 2.20 in the morning? Go back to sleep, Jake.
I’m not in bed. I’m in Michael Fionn’s Jag. I stole it.
He went off line and a few seconds later the phone rang. I put it on speaker.
“Are you out of your tiny, fucking mind?”
“I can’t explain now, Sebastian. This is huge. It is bigger than we thought. It’s a mess. You have to help me. I have no one else to turn to.”
“Shut up, Jake. Don’t get your bloody knickers in a twist. Of course I’m going to help you. What do you want?”
“I’ll pick you up at the corner of your street in ten minutes. We need to talk. And we need to act tonight.”
I heard him groan and he hung up. The car and the night felt suddenly desolate, empty and lonely in the immense darkness. Above my head, I saw the black silhouette pass over the moon again—circling, hunting. And as the reality of what was happening hit me, I felt a piercing terror go through my body.
I stared hard at the road, gripped the wheel and started driving.
Chapter Twelve
He was at the corner, as he’d said he would be. He had his rucksack with him and when he climbed into the car, he pulled out a flask of coffee and a couple of cold croissants. I drove to a quiet spot near the river, put up the hood and killed the lights. He passed out coffee and croissants and we sat, dunked and drank in silence for a while.
Finally, he said, licking his fingers, “Well?”
“Sebastian, I really need your help.”
He snorted. “You’re not wrong on that score, old mucker. You are right up shit creek without a paddle. You’ve got yourself into a right bloody mess, haven’t you?”
“Listen. I went to Ciara’s house and broke in.”
He stared at me like I was insane. “You broke in?”
“I didn’t break in, exactly. There was a window open and I slipped in.”
“What? Sort of by accident…on a banana skin?”
“Shut up, Sebastian! I had to see where Ciara was, but the house was empty. I scoured the place from top to bottom. Then, in her father’s study, I found he’d made arrangements to go to Little Sodbury, to the Catholic church there.”
He made a face and nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. God alone knows what Ciara told him about your jaunt on the boat, but it must have scared him half to death.”
“Well, it made sense to me, too. That’s why I borrowed his car and went over there. I was hoping to talk to them and persuade him that I had to be with Ciara. I didn’t have much hope of that, but it was already Friday and I had to do something, right?”
He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I suppose you did, Jake. Yes, I suppose so…”
“Well, I found the place locked up, but there was a small window down at ground level and I could see through it into some part of the crypt. They’d fixed it up with chairs and stuff. And they were there—the priest, Michael Fionn and Ciara.”
He nodded then frowned. “So, did you speak to them? What happened?”
“I didn’t. I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“There was somebody else there.”
He waited, staring at me. He asked, “Who, Jake?”
I felt a sick twist of anxiety in my gut that I couldn’t identify. I said, “Dicky Nixon.”
“Dicky Nixon? The new boy?”
I nodded. “He was crouching in front of her, holding her hands. I think she was smiling.”
His eyebrows shot up again. “Oh…”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll admit that just for a bit I was tempted, but I trust her, Sebastian, like I trust myself. More. But him? I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could drop kick him—and that’s a long way.”
“You’re jealous, Jake. You’re not objective.”
“I tried to read his mind, Sebastian. He detected it and looked straight at me. I felt him reaching inside my mind, trying to find out who I was. His mind is powerful. It held me like a vise and I could hardly break away.”
Sebastian rubbed his chin. He seemed worried. But he appeared worried for me, not Ciara. He said, “Jake, I hate to say this, but as you weren’t able to protect her, maybe they sent someone else.”
My belly burned and I felt my face flush. “No! He is a danger to her, Sebastian. I know it. If I hadn’t left there, something would have happened to her. I knew it. I could sense it!”
“You’re not objective.”
“I know it!”
He sighed. “Fair enough. I believe you. So, he is one of them…you…”
I nodded. “And I’m pretty sure the shape-shifters work for him. He has some kind of power over people. He can control them. Have you seen what he’s done to Brutus?”
He shook his head.
“Well, he has him running around like his lackey. And he had some kind of shape-shifter chasing me when I left.”
We were quiet for a while. Then he said, “He has the same powers as you, but he has had more time to practice them—sword fighting, archery and telepathy. Gorm said you might have others he couldn’t remember, right?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, mind control and telepathy are very close, aren’t they? You are both very eloquent. You have the gift of blarney, as Ciara put it. That’s why you’re supposed to be debating against each other today. Bit of a coincidence, that, wouldn’t you say?”
“What are you saying?”
“If you applied your eloquence to your mind reading, wouldn’t you be able to control people? Manipulate their minds? A kind of super NLP?”
“I don’t know. Maybe… What are you driving at, Sebastian?”
“Think about his name. What is his name again?”
“Dicky Nixon…”
“What’s Dicky short for?”
“Richard…”
“Richard Nixon? Seriously?”
I spread my hands. “It’s a bit odd, but maybe his parents—”
He interrupted me. “What are his initials, Jake?”
“His initials? R.N.…”
“R.N.…Aren. Ring any bells?”
“Shit.”
“It gets better. What are your initials?”
“J.N. I don’t get it…”
“Jayen? The last phoneme is the same. Maybe it isn’t one name. Maybe it’s a name and a surname. Ar En and Jay En.”
I shook my head. “No… No!”
“Think about it, Jake. You have the same powers, you are involved in the same bloody fiasco and it seems you have the same—or at least related—names, but he remembers and you don’t.”
I suddenly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck with both fists. There was a wild panic in my belly. “We have to get to her, Sebastian. I have to get back to her. I know she is in danger.”
He clasped my wrists and stared into my face. “Take it easy. Stay cool. You said you need my help and you do. Keep your head screwed on and stay cool, or you are going to fuck up and get everybody killed. Do you read me?”
I relaxed and flopped back in my seat. “Okay…yes.”
“We need a plan. And we need to execute it systemati
cally and coolly. Got it?”
I nodded. “Yes.” I tried to think but couldn’t. I asked, “What plan, Sebastian? Help me…”
“Shut up and I will. As far as I can see, there is only one way of doing this, but it puts a huge risk on you. We have to face this, Jake. It could cost you your life. Are you prepared for that?”
I stared at him. “To save Ciara, yes.”
“There are just two of us against at least three of them, and one of us is a mere mortal. That puts huge pressure on you.”
I frowned, suddenly realizing what I was asking of him. “It also puts you at risk, Sebastian.”
He shrugged and smiled. “That’s the thing with life, Jake. None of us gets out alive. Now listen. The best way we can use our resources is this. You are going to have to take on Dicky and the shape-shifters on your own. You are invincible but so is he. So, it should be a stalemate. You understand your purpose is not to beat them—at least not Dicky. Your aim is to create a stand-off and keep them occupied.”
I nodded. “Okay, and meanwhile you slip in and get Ciara and her dad out to the car.”
“Exactly, but you’ll have to do one more thing. While you are fighting them with your sword, you are also going to have to keep up a sustained attack on Dicky’s mind. A constant assault, you understand, so that he has not an ounce of attention to pay to anything else. Only that way can I get past him without his realizing and get Ciara out.”
“Holy sh—!”
“It will likely be utterly draining. For all I know, the effort might kill you. I don’t know. But as far as I can see, it is the only way we can pull this off. Are you really prepared to do this?”
I stared at him a long while. Finally, I said, “And you? Would you be prepared to risk your life to do this?”
He shrugged. “Got to be done, hasn’t it?”
“Then, of course, I am prepared to do it.” I clasped his hand in mine. “And I will forever call you my brother.”
I think he blushed. English guys don’t go for all that stuff. He gripped my hand, made some waffling noises then said, “Now, we need to go to your place to get your bow. We are going to need to shoot out the lock of the church door. Reckon you can do that?”
I didn’t believe my bow was powerful enough for a shot like that, but I grinned, shrugged, and said, “I can’t miss!”
We laughed. I fired up the monster and we set off for my house. I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was three a.m. Sun-up in just a few hours.
* * * *
I parked at the end of the drive and sprinted quietly to the front door. I let myself in with my key and crept up the stairs. You can’t do that quietly in an old Tudor house, because a Tudor house is a living, breathing—and especially creaking—thing. I spread my legs like a crab and inched up, treading on the outermost part of each step where there was the least movement and made it to the top more or less quietly.
I paused on the landing and listened. I could hear my dad snoring softly, blissfully unaware of the total catastrophe he was going to encounter later that day—his son expelled from school, arrested for grand theft auto, himself in disgrace and his own career threatened by the scandal. I groaned inwardly and crept on, among the house’s soft creaks and bumps, to my room. I slipped in and closed the door gently behind me—and stared.
Standing by the window, caught by the last, dim light of the sinking moon, was a six-foot longbow. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and beside it were three long, sturdy arrows.
I stepped closer and picked it up. It looked like yew, but it was lighter and denser, with a high polish. The handgrip was leather with exquisite runes cut into the hardened skin. As I examined the stave, I saw more runes that seemed to appear and vanish within the wood itself. I strung it and tested the tension. It was immensely powerful, perhaps one hundred pounds draw weight. This was a war bow, more than sufficient to punch out the lock of the church door.
I set it down and picked up the arrows. They were long and firm, also designed for war. They were identical but for their heads. One was an iron bodkin—an armor piercing shaft, designed to punch through armor. The other two were broadheads, but they appeared to be made of gold. I knew exactly what each one was for. I knew then, in my mind, that there would be one more thing for me, and it was there, lying on the bed—a Viking broadsword, identical to the one Dicky had lent me. Hard and bright as diamonds in a wooden scabbard bound in leather. Again, the scabbard and the blade were engraved with runes. Mentally, I thanked Gorm for bringing me the tools I would need to protect Ciara, but even as I did so, I was aware, even as he had told me, that these gifts had not come from Gorm himself, that he was merely the messenger.
I slung them over my shoulder and slipped down the stairs as quietly as I could. I stepped out into the darkest hour and closed the door. The moon was an inch over the horizon, whispering frosted light onto the ancient hills. A cold breeze had risen, and the first chill of coming winter was in the air. I shivered, gripped my bow and my sword and loped along the driveway to the waiting car.
I climbed in and slammed the door behind me. It was warm and muffled inside. I showed Sebastian what I had found. He examined them then shook his head and laughed. “This is a nerd’s wet dream, and you’re not even a geek.”
I laughed, too. “Sheldon Cooper, eat your heart out.”
The huge, supercharged V6 roared into life, and we took off toward Little Sodbury. At that time of the morning, the roads were deserted, and I drove with a reckless abandon that, instead of terrifying Sebastian as it did me, seemed to amuse him. Within twelve minutes, we were rumbling back into the town. I pulled up by the commons opposite the church and out of sight then killed the engine. We sat for a couple of minutes, staring across the dark square, with the dull amber lights of the street lamps making the shadows seem deeper and the dead, sleepless eyes of the houses blacker. I heard Sebastian mutter, “Death walks here tonight…” and I knew he was right.
I turned to him. “We’ll go to the churchyard gate. You go ahead and hide behind the tombstone closest to the church door. I’ll take out the lock and charge the church. Once I’m inside and I engage them, you come in behind. You snatch Ciara and her dad and get out and to the Jag. I’ll fight a rearguard, fall back to the car then we go.”
He nodded. “That’s the plan. Let’s do it.”
We sprinted across the square and ducked in through the churchyard gate. While I strung the bow, Sebastian threaded his way at a half-run through the graveyard and finally crouched behind a huge stone, maybe fifteen or twenty feet from the church door. When I saw him duck, I nocked the iron bodkin, drew the massive bow, saw the iron keyhole in my mind’s eye, knew I would pierce it with the barb and loosed.
Chapter Thirteen
There was a whisper in the night, then a dull metallic thud and a soft creak. I slung the bow over my shoulder and sprinted up the path. As I arrived, I jumped and kicked the door with all my might. I jarred my leg, staggered and fell sprawling. I made the door swing a full two inches. As I hopped around holding my leg and cussing under my breath, Sebastian came running up to me. He ignored me and gently pushed the door a couple of feet farther. He slipped in through the gap and I hobbled after him.
It was real dark inside and silent as a grave. I touched Sebastian’s arm and whispered to him to get behind the nearest pew. Then I inched down the aisle toward the altar. Nothing happened until I was halfway along. There was an almighty crash and the door smashed closed. Then all hell broke loose, literally—and I do mean, literally.
Above the altar, a swirling spiral of red and orange flames spinning counterclockwise at a dizzying speed disgorged what I could only describe as a giant lizard man with black and green scaly skin and phosphorescent yellow eyes, wielding a huge trident spear. He was riding a lizard-panther the size of a minibus that sprang at me with its vast maw open and fire spurting from where its eyes should have been. The roar was horrific. I screamed and knew in my bones that it was
all over. I was dead.
But I wasn’t. Somehow my muscles moved on their own. I was possessed. Somehow my sword was in my hands and I smashed it into the panther’s face. It reared, snarling, and the trident came at me from nowhere. I hammered it to one side and slashed at the panther’s belly. I know I hurt it because its scream rattled the rafters and it took off up to the ceiling, leaving behind it a trail of sulfur. Flames licked at the ancient beams then it was nose-diving at me and the lizard-man was leaning to his side, holding the trident as a lance. There was a scream like a squadron of F-16s and the air caught fire. My sword seemed to move of its own volition. I batted the lance to one side, spun on my heel, brought the blade smashing down, two-handed, and split the demon lizard-panther right down the middle. I clove it in twain and rendered it asunder. No mistake.
There was a horrific explosion. The screaming and thrashing was unbearable and I collapsed into the fetal position, covering my head with my arms. The ground shook and there was a blast of burning air and a stench of sulfur—then silence. I poked my head out of my arms and looked up. I think I said, “Oh, shit!”
There was no trace of the lizard-panther, but his rider was standing over me. He must have been fifteen-feet-tall if he was an inch. He appeared like he’d been drawn by one of the Marvel team while they were tripping on mescaline. Two massive goat’s horns had sprouted from his head and curled all the way down to the backs of his knees. He had a washboard abdomen and muscles no organic being ought to have and in places they ought never be. He had smoke coiling out of his nostrils and in his hand, instead of the trident, he now held a massive hammer.
His roar shook the foundations of the church but his hammer blow shook the foundations of the earth. Something made me roll, and the hit missed me by an inch. If he’d hit me, I would have been atomized. I ran, jumped, ducked and rolled again, and with every move I made, a massive hammer strike fell where I had been half a second before. This was not sword fighting. I could not keep it up indefinitely and I could not get close enough to him to finish it. I was on the defensive and sooner, rather than later, he was going to get me.
The Dreaming Spires Page 10