A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3

by Josephine Pennicott

  Despite the early hour and rain there were numerous tourists taking photographs, mingling with the Parisians who were arriving with fresh flowers in their hands to visit their dead. Lucius and Faline stopped to admire a large ginger cat sunning itself on the grave of Yves Montand, then jumped as their peace was disturbed by the harsh sound of motorbikes revving through the cemetery.

  It was never hard to find the grave of rock legend Jim Morrison. A crowd of fans was always gathered around it. A young Australian couple had attempted to videotape the scraps of poems, songs and cigarette butts decorating the grave in offering to the rock singer. An armed security guard employed to guard this much vandalised famous grave, was screaming at them in French to halt. The couple was attracting a crowd as they attempted to find the words in French to apologise and pacify the guard, who looked as if she was about to shoot them. It would not be the first time that somebody had been shot in this necropolis. In 1871, 147 survivors of the Communard insurgents had been lined up against the Mur des Federes and shot. They had been buried in a mass grave where they fell. Beneath the peaceful order of the graves, violence lingered.

  They paused on a garden bench to finish their snack. A large crow watched them from a nearby grave and Faline began to feel drowsy. Jet lag had become harder to shake over the years and not for the first time she cursed herself for participating in Phillip’s insane venture. She wasn’t looking forward to this afternoon’s journey to his chateau in Villefranche-sur-Mer and the reunion with old friends. She knew Lucius was still resentful of the closeness she had once shared with Phillip, despite the fact their relationship had been dead for years. He also tended to blame Phillip for the deaths of their friends Johanna and Cael. Faline realised he did this to avoid the truth of his equal responsibility for opening the portal that allowed the killers through.

  When Phillip first telephoned, Faline had felt only relief. Finally, a chance to make up for their actions of the past. As time had passed, however, she sensed the anxiety swelling inside Lucius. His solitary nights of drinking, plus the return of her old nightmares made her soon regret her quick acceptance of Phillip’s invitation.

  Sensing her thought, Lucius looked up from the orange he was peeling with a small sharp knife. She watched the large ring on his long white finger with its detailed working of a Tetragrammaton. It had always been important to Lucius to surround himself with the best quality magical props. Faline’s thoughts flew to Johanna, who had favoured kitchen magic, and delighted in using everyday objects such as kitchen knives and potato peelers in her rituals. ‘The magic is within,’ she had been fond of saying. ‘We are not the Catholic Church, dependent on theatre props.’

  ‘It’s nearly time to leave,’ Lucius said. ‘If you still want to go.’ His tone held hope.

  The crow took off in a flapping of ebony wings. Faline shivered underneath her long black coat. She shook out a scarf and tied it around her head, and then pulled out her sunglasses. Her morning meal sat uneasily in her stomach and she longed to purge herself of the decaying mass within her. The day that had promised so much joy in rediscovering Paris was quickly turning stale. Why am I so afraid? After all I have seen, why do I feel such fear at the thought of this act?

  Leonora was agitated. She had withdrawn deeply into herself when Cael died. For years after her breakdown she had refused to communicate with the original coven, blaming them for her lover’s death. Moving back to her homeland of New Zealand, she had looked after her elderly parents and had tried to forget the past. Life had been cruel to her. Her acclaimed beauty long vanished, she was old before her time. The golden hair of her youth was piled into a grey bun on top of her head. She regarded her old friends with suspicion as they sat uncomfortably around the large wooden kitchen table drinking chocolat chaud and eating croissants. Odolf and Agatha watched her warily as they made awkward conversation. The ghost of Cael seemed to linger at the table. Sadness pulsed through Phillip’s body as he saw Cael vividly for a moment. Long blond hair, eyes that could cheer the coldest heart. Beautiful, light-filled Cael, before the creatures of the night had ripped him to pieces and shattered all their lives. The memory was too painful; Phillip pushed it away from him. He would never get through this day if he gave into his emotions. It was the shock of seeing how much Leonora had aged, and realising she shared the same reaction at his appearance. It had been well over ten years since they had seen each other. He didn’t notice Agatha and Odolf’s ageing because he saw them more frequently. His arthritis had caused a deterioration in his appearance, not to mention the guilt and fear they had been living under for so long. But now hope, long submerged, flickered within him. The coven had agreed to his terms. He had even managed to convince Leonora to return to Villefranche-sur-Mer to meet with them. Lucius and Faline had also agreed to fly from England, where they had been holidaying after their latest book promotion in America. Dea Dreamer had refused to fly from Australia. She hadn’t the money, she said. Besides, she was finished with all that witchcraft nonsense. The craft had been diluted, for godsakes, it was in every teen magazine now. Fluffy, twee rubbish promoted by powerless, empty vessels. That stage of her life was well beyond her. She had, however, grudgingly agreed to meet with the coven if they made it to Sydney. So they would make it to Sydney, Phillip told himself. There was no longer an option for them.

  Phillip felt Leonora’s eyes on him and he fought for control. Ever passive and trusting, it was hard for her to break her habit of putting him on a pedestal. Odolf and Agatha waited for his cue in how to treat their skittish new house guest. This time around, they would not ignore his instructions. They would see things the way he did. He had always been able, if he focused his will, to bring them around to his way of thinking. They would agree.

  His certainty vanished when he opened the door to Lucius and Faline. Unlike everyone else, time appeared to have left no mark on them. Faline’s long raven hair was as dark as ever, and her skin as white, taut and firm as the last time he had seen her. Lucius had cut his waist-length dark hair short, and now looked even younger. But their eyes were wary. Phillip could see they had protected themselves, blocking him from looking deeper into them. Now he began to suspect their motives in breaking their journey in Paris before they travelled on to Villefranche-sur-Mer. Their excuse was they had a luncheon with their Paris publishers, but they had delayed their meeting to prepare themselves. Prepare themselves not to return? He pushed the thought aside. He could afford no sign of weakness in front of his old friends.

  Phillip could feel their slight recoil when they spotted Leonora who came creeping out from the back garden where she had been dozing among the water fountains, walnut trees and cacti. Leonora looked terrified, childishly attempting to hide behind Odolf and Agatha as they reacquainted themselves with each other. She wore a batik skirt, long out of fashion, and a shapeless cardigan stained with jam from her late breakfast. Faline, in contrast, looked every bit the successful, glamorous media personality she had become. She pushed back her designer sunglasses and said, ‘Leonora! My God, I was hoping you would be here!’ Only a faint trace of her Australian accent remained. Phillip watched in silence as the two women embraced.

  They spent the day making awkward conversation. It was pathetic how they had ended up like this, Phillip thought, recalling the group’s previous closeness. Faline and Lucius eventually excused themselves to rest before dinner and Phillip was left trying to quell the longing Faline’s presence always brought out in him.

  ‘To absent friends,’ Faline held the glass aloft, the red wine resembling blood.

  ‘To absent friends,’ the table echoed. Cael. The room seemed to shimmer his name.

  ‘Dea Dreamer is not here?’ Lucius enquired softly.

  ‘No,’ Odolf replied, passing a wooden bowl of ratatouille to Leonora. ‘She refused point blank. She’s living in Sydney, did you know?’ There was a strained silence while heads concentrated on their steaming bowls and they became engaged in passing plates of baguettes and
tiny china dishes with butter rolls.

  ‘I dreamt she became a Christian,’ Leonora said out of the blue.

  ‘Let us hope not,’ Phillip said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Leonora. Another silence.

  ‘How I miss Sydney,’ Faline said. For a moment Phillip fancied she was laughing at them.

  ‘Well, Dreamer may not be here, but you two are,’ Agatha said admiringly. ‘Quite the celebrities you’ve become, haven’t you? I’ve bought all your books, you know, and you must sign them for me before you leave!’

  Faline smiled and for a moment Phillip caught his breath, she looked so beautiful. He was aware of Lucius’s eyes upon him.

  ‘Darling Agatha,’ Faline said, watching Lucius as he helped himself to more wine. ‘Still beautiful and good-hearted, even after all these years.’ She sliced savagely through her meat, causing a pink pool of blood to emerge on the white plate. She studied the room with its lush Persian carpets, busts of Ancient Greek statues and beautifully bound books in the glass bookshelves. ‘I hardly recognise the chateau,’ she said, referring to their nickname for the large white house in the hills of Villefranche-sur-Mer. ‘You’ve done a wonderful job with the renovations.’ She put down her fork, staring upwards at the ornate crystal chandelier. ‘I’ve always loved that chandelier!’ she said. There was a silence while they all gazed upwards.

  ‘An angel passing over us,’ Faline said. She looked at Phillip with her beautiful green cat eyes. ‘You look well, Phillip. Silver hair suits you. Very distinguished.’ There was a hard edge to her voice. For a second the shutters of the window rattled and the room turned as one to look. Leonora half rose as if to flee, but was stilled by Phillip’s warning hand. ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘The wind, merely the wind.’ Leonora sat down, her hand to her breast, and Agatha patted her arm consolingly. She has been living in fear, Phillip thought. Guilt rushed through him, hot and heavy. Of course, they had all been living in fear, but it was time to stop running, time to face and slay the demons they had nourished. He looked at the faces around him. His coven. Once so close they could read each other’s minds. They had shared each other’s dreams, bodies and power, creating rituals that had healed and had materialised their wishes. No more. Those times were no more. Tomorrow, he decided. I will talk to them tomorrow. The window shutter rattled again as the wind howled outside the chateau.

  Faline creamed off her make-up and pulled her hair back to examine her face. She began her night toilette, an elaborate procedure involving three different night creams, a bust cream and hand care. Meanwhile, Lucius sat up in bed, writing in his journal. ‘Poor Leonora,’ Faline said.

  Lucius nodded, ‘Indeed.’ He frowned, not in the mood for a post-mortem over the miserable evening. He wished he had followed his instinct to stay away from France, to remain in America and keep as far away from blood Phillip and the past as much as he could. Once this group had possessed power, but now they were all walking shells, a sad testimony to the consequences of dabbling in the occult without sufficient preparation.

  ‘Poor lost Leonora, she is like a frightened little girl. A true Persephone woman.’ Faline picked up her tweezers and plucked a few stray hairs from her brows. ‘I was shocked to see Odolf bald, but it suits him. And Agatha will be beautiful the day they put her in the ground. Phillip looks well too,’ Faline added, too casually. She was plaiting her long thick hair. From where Lucius was seated in the bed by the glow of the night lamps, she looked about sixteen.

  ‘Phillip is a haunted man,’ Lucius said. ‘This is a haunted house and wherever he treads is haunted land.’ Faline watched him from the mirror. Outside they heard the screech of an owl and as one they froze. They were silent for several minutes while they regathered composure.

  ‘We should have stayed in Paris,’ Lucius said. ‘The past is a treacherous country to return to. Paris was beautiful at this time of year. Instead, as always, we obey Phillip’s commands.

  You know what he wants, don’t you? To go back there. That’s what he’s dragged us all here for. Paris was beautiful, the light was so perfect. Here in his fucking chateau it’s dark, the air is full of Phillip’s ghosts. He’s convinced we can close the portal.’

  ‘You forget not all of us are here.’ Faline turned to face him, her cat’s eyes huge and concerned. ‘Dea Dreamer refused. Thank the Goddess, it can’t work without Dea Dreamer.’

  ‘Not to mention Cael and Johanna.’ Lucius sneered. ‘Let’s see perfect Phillip sneak around that.’ The owl screeched again, giving Faline a start. She hurried to bed.

  ‘Oh Goddess!’ she buried her face against Lucius. ‘Will it ever be over? Will we ever know peace?’

  CHAPTER TWO

  And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death.

  — THE BOOK OF REVELATIONS 6:8

  The following day passed slowly in a magical blend of colour, memory and beauty. In an attempt to merge the group’s auras and get over the strangeness of their reunion, they were doing a walking tour of Villefranche-sur-Mer. Whenever Phillip began to broach the purpose for bringing the coven together, his instincts warned him to wait, sensing Lucius’s resistance. He was quickly losing his optimism that the group would blindly follow him. Why should they trust him? After all, he had introduced Johanna to the coven. He had initiated all of them into a nightmare. They had unlocked the gates of a nightmare and he had been unable to save them from what they had unleashed. No time for guilt, he told himself. But the truth was undeniable. They had embraced hell. They had touched the shadows, and the shadows had smelt them. Known them. Now the unthinkable was stalking them.

  ‘Penny for them?’ Phillip’s reverie was broken by Agatha peering at him with concern in her pale blue eyes. With the yellow scarf she bought in Nice tied around her head, she looked younger and prettier than she had done for a long time. Visitors had done her the world of good, he thought. For too long she had been cooped up with Odolf and himself while they studied and meditated.

  She moved closer and he could see the red scars on her neck where the darkness had touched her. ‘It is wonderful to see Faline and Lucius,’ she admitted, reading his mind. ‘Faline looks so . . . untouched.’ He nodded, feeling ridiculously close to tears for a moment.

  They stood, shoulder to shoulder, watching as Lucius photographed Faline, Odolf and Leonora in a reconstruction of a shot taken years before near the Jean Cocteau memorial bust. He had to fight to suppress the memory of Cael. Cael laughing for the camera, the sun haloing his head. Clowning in his floppy hat and scarf. Showing off his rock star look. He had loved Villefranche . . . had loved posing for photographs.

  A small group of fishermen mending tangled nets by the quay looked at them without much curiosity, raising tanned hands and calling ‘Bonjour!’ In this exclusive corner of the French Riviera, the town’s inhabitants were used to seeing the jet set. Members of the Rolling Stones had all lived in the village over the years. The cobbled streets had known the great artists, the reigning sex symbols of the time and crowned heads of countries. A group of witchy-looking people attracted no interest. Besides which Phillip, Odolf and Agatha had lived here now for so many years they were practically locals.

  Faline was laughing, her long hair blowing in the sea breeze as she photographed Lucius and Odolf leaning against one of the old-fashioned lampposts dotting the harbour. Phillip felt the small tug at his heart that watching her always produced. Agatha smiled, watching him.

  In some ways it was a perfect day. Although overcast and threatening, it didn’t rain and the lightning flashes of tension in the group last night were no more. It was as if the years had melted away and they had never been parted from each other. Villefranche-sur-Mer worked her magic as she always did. The colours of the charming harbour village — soft peach, rusty orange, pale citrus, sandy yellow — harmonised perfectly with the deep marine blues, sunflower yellows and rust reds of the houses. It was impossible to feel fear, anxiety and old resentments amid this peace, this
symphony of steep green hills, blue and pink flowers, brilliant green creeper vines and sparkling turquoise ocean. Lush vegetation adorned every corner of the town. Large palm trees, gigantic cacti and stone tubs of flowers lined the promenade. Orange and lemon trees were ripe with fruit. Scarlet geraniums and bright red frangipani joined the riot of colour. Even Leonora laughed out loud as Lucius teased her about different scrapes she had got herself into over the years.

  The town itself, although sprawling into the hills, was quite small and they could easily revisit favourite haunts on foot. They walked through the Old Town together. Every step along the twisting, tiny cobbled streets wrung a thousand memories. Clothes hung drying overhead from houses and spicy cooking smells permeated the streets. There were more souvenir shops selling postcards and T-shirts than the group could recall. ‘Impossible to stop progress,’ Phillip said and added something in French under his breath. They looked where he pointed to see four large cranes which overlooked the town, metallic dinosaurs accompanied by the ominous sound of workmen. The song of overdevelopment jarred with the tranquil harmony of the harbour.

  Walking along the Rue De May, Leonora jumped with a scream as four young boys on motorbikes suddenly roared past them in the street.

  Phillip bought the group lunch at one of his favourite pier restaurants, Le Fregate, where the dining tables were set with crisp white linen and sparkling wineglasses beneath elegant lemon-coloured umbrellas. They ordered two bottles of white wine. Leonora had a non-alcoholic cocktail, which she sipped nervously like a little bird. They ate a leisurely lunch surrounded by fat brazen pigeons and seagulls; salad, a selection of pâtés, fresh fish, followed by cheese and tarte aux pommes to finish. Afterwards they ordered coffee and sat in silence, lulled by the wine, food and sun. Faline knew a rare moment of complete and utter happiness, which shot through her chest like an arrow. I could stay here, she thought. Stop all the travelling, the creating of rituals, the books. Just allow myself to be. With envy she watched the painters setting up their easels by the harbour.