by Ian Jarvis
‘Fran?’ He hoped the answer would be a feminine affirmative, and not a feline hiss.
‘I keep seeing those monsters,’ whimpered Fran. She clutched the bedsheet closer, a sniffle betraying recent tears. ‘Their cat faces! I’m scared, Rex. There must have been ten people left at that party and they’re all dead. Horribly murdered.’
Throwing back the quilt, he leapt up and hugged her to him. Her hair was damp, and despite the garlic, he could smell her perfume; a musky fragrance named Penetration. ‘Ssshh! Come on.’ He took off the garlic wreath, ruining the Hawaiian tourist look, and stroked her shoulders. ‘It’s okay now. Uncle Rex is here.’
The room was warm, but Fran trembled. She sobbed and squeezed closer.
‘There, there.’ Rex basked in the feeling of male power that comes from a girl crying on the shoulder. ‘Uncle Rex will make those nasty pussy cats go away and everything will be okay.’ Walking her to the windows, he gazed at the frozen parkland. ‘I’ve always adored frosty nights. Just look at the stars up there. Aren’t they beautiful?’ He stroked her waist and gestured to the Plough. ‘Look, there’s Pegasus.’
‘That’s sweet.’ Fran sniffed. ‘No one has ever shown me the stars.’
‘Romantic is my middle name.’ He pointed to another constellation. ‘That one is Orion. The line of three stars across the middle is Orion’s belt, and do you see the cluster under his belt? That’s Orion’s dick.’
Fran pouted, her eyes moving down his chest to the shorts with the embroidered SAS dagger. Smiling and raising her hand, Rex kissed the slender fingers as she caressed his cheek. It felt alien and very nice. Foreplay usually amounted to jingling the Ferrari key ring.
‘Come here,’ he growled, drawing her mouth to his.
She responded hungrily, moulding to his body, running her hands through his hair and clawing at his back. Their mouths locked, her tongue snaking in to lap greedily at his tonsils and her nipples pressing hard. Amy Clarkson unexpectedly flashed into Rex’s mind, until the sheet fell away exposing Fran’s nakedness and the doctor instantly vanished. His hand travelled south to discover, not the bald smoothness favoured by the models he usually dated, but a triangle of golden fur.
‘I want you, Rex,’ she whispered, panting. ‘I want you now.’
‘Well...’ He pulled her to the bed. ‘I can’t say I blame you.’
He reached to remove the crucifix and decided against it. This morning he’d have laughed at the idea of shapeshifters, but it seemed there truly were such supernatural creatures creeping about in the night. Rex left the cross alone, electing to go with all the health recommendations and make love wearing protection.
Chapter 44
The Custody Officer chewed a sandwich and peered through the police station window. It would be nine o’clock before the sun rose above York, but no one would see it this Friday morning thanks to another bank of icy fog. Sighing, he marched along the detention corridor, opened cell four and froze. He’d seen many sights here over the years: crazed students yelling about Jesus, drunks head-butting walls, and prior to the hasty removal of spaghetti from the canteen menu, a man who managed to hang himself. Never before, however, had he seen anyone in an Upright Tortoise Asana, balanced on their hands with both legs knotted behind the neck.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Yoga.’ Quist disentangled himself. ‘It tones the muscles, aids the glands and settles the mind. You ought to try it.’
‘Come on. You’re being released.’
Quist stretched and strolled out, the aroma of coffee, burnt bread and bacon greeting his nostrils.
‘You’re entitled to breakfast.’ The officer escorted him down the passage. ‘Fancy anything?’
Quist eyed the policeman’s sandwich. The toast resembled cork mats and the contents were thankfully unidentifiable. ‘I don’t suppose you have muesli or tofu?’
The sarcastic grin suggested not.
Katie Bradstreet stood with Watson in the detention lobby, the latter signing for the return of his laces, chewing gum and other property with which he might have killed himself. The Inspector’s yolk-splattered coat and the half-eaten sandwich on the table told Quist that his assistant hadn’t been so fussy over the breakfast offer.
‘Inspector Bradstreet.’ Quist smiled curtly. ‘I understand you’re letting us go?’
‘We’ve nothing to hold you on,’ said Katie, clearly frustrated. The lab had returned a negative match on the fingerprints found in the stolen Range Rover. ‘Besides, while you were helping with our enquiries, developments occurred that suggest you aren’t directly implicated in the investigation.’
‘Developments? Not another murder?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say. I said you weren’t directly implicated. That doesn’t mean we’re finished with you. By the way, how well do you know Doctor Stapleton?’
‘Not at all.’ Quist pulled on his leather overcoat. ‘Why should I know him?’
The Inspector raised an eyebrow. ‘Just thought I’d ask. I don’t suppose you called on Will Gillette in Fulford yesterday, or attended a biker’s party in Clifton?’
‘No. Sorry.’ Quist nudged Watson. ‘Morning,’ he muttered. ‘Any bruising from the interview?’
‘He can’t answer, can he?’ growled Katie. ‘Or didn’t you know that your employee was a mute?’
‘Come on.’ Grabbing his few belongings, Quist signed the acceptance and took the youth’s arm. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Hey,’ snapped Katie. ‘You need to take all your personal effects.’
Quist turned to the flashing gnome on the desk. ‘I don’t suppose you want to keep that for your garden?’
‘You signed for him.’ She jerked a thumb at the phallus. ‘He’s all yours.’
Snatching the wooden statuette, Quist pushed Watson into the elevator as Gregson entered the lobby.
‘We just took a call in the incident room,’ said the Constable. ‘Sounds like another girl is missing.’
‘What?’ Katie’s mouth fell open. ‘Who the hell is it this time?’
***
‘Cat people?’ stammered Watson, his eyes wide. ‘Fuckin’ cat people? People who turn into fuckin’ cats?’
‘Yes,’ said Quist, closing the station door behind them. ‘I must say, you’ve summed it up quite eloquently there.’
‘Am I glad we’re out, Guv.’ Watson zipped up his jacket against the icy fog and glanced about warily as they left the police grounds. Cars crawled past on Fulford Road, their lights reflecting eerily on the billowing whiteness. ‘I haven’t said a word all night.’
‘I hope nothing has happened to Amy Clarkson,’ said Quist. ‘I didn’t like what Bradstreet said about developments.’
‘I don’t like any of it. I’ve got to admit, I prefer the boredom of divorce cases to shitting myself in terror. That cat thing in the morgue - I saw it, but I still can’t accept it.’ Watson laughed nervously. ‘Supernatural shapeshifters in York? Here in the daylight it feels unreal, doesn’t it?’
‘Unfortunately it’s all too real. I need to speak to Amy. Could I borrow that mobile of yours?’
‘Oh, right!’ Watson waved the phone. ‘Not making crap jokes about texting now that you actually need a mobile, eh?’
‘When you’re quite ready.’ The detective held out a hand. ‘This is rather important.’
‘Yeah, they’re pretty useful when you need to warn someone about vampire cats, aren’t they?’ Watson thumbed the button. ‘Oh! It needs charging.’
‘Outstanding!’ Quist set off, looking for the nearest taxi rank. ‘Let’s get back to the hospital for the car.’
‘Cat people?’ Watson stuck close, looking back over his shoulder. Somewhere in the mist, a ghostly church bell tolled. ‘Genuine shapeshifters, like in the movies? What
was it you called them?’
‘The Ubasteri. We’re in a hurry so I’ll condense this. According to mythology, they originated in Egypt during the Eighteenth Dynasty. The Pharaoh Akenhaten worshipped Aten, the sun, and moved from Thebes to build a city at Amarna in the desert. A small group of renegade priests formed a cult there, the Ubasteri, who renounced the sun god and secretly worshipped the cat god Bast. Their aims were immortality and power, and they performed dark rites with human sacrifice and blood drinking to achieve this.’
‘Ubasteri,’ said Watson. ‘You’re sure you don’t mean batshit crazy? As in this all sounds totally batshit crazy.’
‘As it turned out, their vile practices angered both Aten and Bast. The two gods cursed them, granting immortality, but at a huge price. The Ubasteri were transformed into night creatures. Because they consumed human blood, they were forced to exist exclusively upon it. They had shunned the sun and so daylight became lethal to them. Aten declared they would never again stand in the warmth of his golden disc.’
Watson stared at Quist. ‘You believe this crap?’
‘It’s mythology, but here they are in York, so who knows? As you saw with Lisa Mirren, the Ubasteri create others with their bite. They spread in Amarna like a plague, until the citizens rose against the expanding cult, killed them with fire and abandoned the cursed city to the desert. The people returned to Thebes believing they’d wiped them out, but they were wrong.’
‘So that bunch at the hospital were Egyptians?’
‘No, there are no original Ubasteri left. Their cult continues because being drained of blood transforms you into one of them.’
‘How do you know all this shit?’
‘I’ve studied mythology and anthropology. There are these things called libraries where you can learn about shit.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Watson smirked at the sarcasm. ‘So how do you get rid of them? Stakes and crosses and all that?’
‘Religious items have no effect,’ said Quist. ‘Wooden stakes in the heart will kill them, as you’ve seen, as will silver, decapitation and fire. Sunlight destroys them instantly. Normally, they don’t emerge by day, but if it’s overcast, they can tolerate the light for a few minutes.’
‘Oh boy!’ Watson peered into the fog. ‘I’d feel safer with a few silver bullets. Er, and maybe a gun to put them in. Do they have a reflection?’
‘They drink blood, but they aren’t vampires.’ Quist quickened his step. ‘They show up in photographs and cast shadows too.’
‘You seem to know everything and last night was no big shock to you. Okay, you’ve read about them, but am I right in thinking you’ve run into them before?’
‘I’ll explain later. The thing is, I told you these murders weren’t routine police business. I expect you can see now what I meant?’
‘They’re not exactly consultant detective business either. What the hell can we do about this?’
‘We did fine last night. We stopped that panther from harming anyone in the hospital.’
Watson flinched at the memory. ‘Poor old Lisa. What a way to go.’
‘Lisa died on Saturday,’ said Quist. ‘The thing we destroyed was Ubasteri.’
The youth walked faster as they reached the city wall. Today, the medieval stonework reminded him of a Hammer horror film set. ‘So those girls from the lab were killed by these cats?’
‘They were indeed, but there’s far more to this.’
‘Yeah, and more than one cat. There was a whole bunch at the morgue, sniffing the air like I was a bowl of milk.’
‘Yes, so we’d better exercise caution and ensure you come to no harm. With the Harpo Marx routine at the police station, I don’t suppose you rang your mother? We don’t have much time, but do you want to call home to quickly freshen up and allay any worries?’
‘I’m a big boy. Staying out’s not unusual for me.’ Watson noticed Quist’s stubble-free chin. ‘Talking of freshening up, how come the cops let you have a razor?’
‘Never mind about shaving. We have to find Amy and let her know what we’re dealing with. I only hope I can convince her.’
‘What about Rex? Are you going to ring him too?’
‘Er, no.’ The last thing Quist wanted was the ultimate silent killing machine running around with a gun full of silver bullets. ‘No, we’ll call him later, but we do need to see Creeper again. Our involvement in this has been engineered by someone who left those badges to draw me to that Clifton house. I have to know why. Now that you know about the Ubasteri, can I rely on your help?’
Watson laughed and nodded nervously. ‘You know what? After last night, bikers don’t seem quite so scary.’
***
‘Doctor Gillette’s secretary?’ said Katie Bradstreet, hurrying into the police incident room. ‘Gregson tells me his temp Nicole Patterson is possibly missing? Who let us know?’
‘Her landlady rang,’ said Constable Planer. ‘Mitchell’s been watching Amy Clarkson since last night. Gregson has gone to take over the next surveillance shift and Mitchell’s going to call at Nicole’s address and look into it.’ He held up an envelope. ‘By the way, you wanted a picture of Doctor Stapleton. I finally managed to get one.’
‘About time,’ said the Inspector.
‘I asked at the lab, but there simply aren’t any.’
Katie opened the envelope. ‘So where’s this from?’
‘An advertising firm took this for a trade mag. It’s a shot of the lab, but if you look carefully, you’ll see the doctor climbing from a Porsche on the far left.’
Katie sighed at the microscopic figure in the rain. ‘This is no good. You can’t see...’
‘Er, no, so I had the section enhanced. The blow-up’s in the envelope too.’
She took out the picture, her colour draining. ‘You’re telling me this is Stapleton?
‘Yeah.’ Planer shrugged. ‘I know it’s blurred, but...’
‘You’re absolutely sure? This is Stapleton?’
‘Doctor Keating at the lab confirmed it. What is it, Ma’am? Does the face ring a bell?’
‘It certainly does.’ Katie shook her head. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Chapter 45
The mewing of peacocks mixed with the sharp calls of jackdaws as Fran peered at the tethered falcons on the rear terrace of Sedgefield Grange. Patchy fog still shrouded the moors, but the view from the dining room was reasonable. Moulded latex transformed the falcon hoods into human heads and gave Rupert’s birds the creepy appearance of mythical harpies. A peregrine sported Enoch Powell’s head, a goshawk wore the cigar-sucking face of Churchill, and a gyrfalcon displayed the crowned head of Thatcher.
Fran turned from the bizarre birds as Rex hurried into the busy dining room pocketing his mobile. ‘Did you speak to Bernard Quist?’ she asked.
‘No. God knows where he is.’ Rex pushed through the crowd of hung-over guests at the buffet. ‘He doesn’t carry a mobile and I don’t have Watson’s number, so I left messages on his home and office answerphones. I told him everything that happened last night.’ He kissed her cheek. ‘Not quite everything.’
She lowered her voice. ‘Attacked by shapeshifters. It’s unreal in the morning light.’
‘I still can’t believe it. I let Quist know that we were heading to Manchester too. Your brother lives at this side of the city, you say? It’s about seventy miles, so we’ll grab something to eat and leave now. Depending on the fog, it shouldn’t take long to drop you off and get back along the M62.’
Fran pouted. ‘You’re coming straight back?’
‘I have to. Quist couldn’t cope before, but now with these cat things involved, he’d be lost without me. I said in the message that I’d meet him before dusk. He needs me, you see?’
‘What if I was to say I need you?’
> ‘Don’t worry. I’ll keep in touch and as soon as I’ve sorted this out, I’ll be straight back to see you. That’s a promise, okay?’
Fran nodded glumly.
‘Hey!’ He lifted her chin. ‘Here’s looking at you kid.’
‘Okay,’ she smiled. ‘Help yourself to breakfast. I still don’t have any appetite.’
‘Er, just one thing...’ Rex headed for the buffet tureens. ‘It’s probably best if you don’t mention the SAS. We need to keep a low profile, you know?’
Grabbing some scrambled eggs, he sat with Fran at the giant dining table next to a crumpled Graham Smythe. Still dressed as Hitler, the man nursed a pounding head. Rex turned from gulping down the eggs as his nervous-looking aunt appeared.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked.
‘Not really,’ murmured Marika. ‘Would you come to the library when you’re finished here?’
‘Er, sure.’ Rex glanced down the table at the broken-nosed Dracula. Shit - perhaps he was pressing charges. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Probably nothing. Wait until we’re alone.’
‘Have you seen Tania?’ broke in Smythe’s drunken voice. ‘She started arguing and flounced out after you left the ball. I can’t find the silly bitch.’
‘She probably stormed home,’ said Marika. ‘You know what she’s like.’
Rex pushed his plate aside, anxious to get away before the awful woman appeared. ‘Ready when you are,’ he whispered.
Marika led them into the oak-panelled library. ‘I hardly slept,’ she said, opening a bookcase and taking out a small casket. ‘After the party, I was reading into the early hours. The creatures you encountered sound like the Ubasteri, an Egyptian cult who worshipped the cat god Bast. They’re feline shapeshifters who drink human blood, and dying that way transforms you into their kind. Sunlight destroys them, as does silver, fire, decapitation and piercing their heart with wood or silver. Think of them as vampires, but far more lethal.’
