Stalking Tender Prey

by Constantine, Storm

  Barbara and Barney Eager slept side by side, not touching. Barbara did not dream of forbidden lovers. She dreamed of summer time, and vast meadows.

  The only person who slept uneasily was Eva Manden. She was still in shock. After shutting up the shop at five-thirty, she had gone back into the house. The sight that had greeted her in the kitchen was one she would never forget. At first, she’d thought a stranger had invaded the house, for a slim, elegant female figure stood at the sink, her back to the door, apparently engaged in peeling some potatoes. She was wearing a floral printed summer dress, her legs and feet bare. For one dreadful, heart-stopping moment, Eva had thought it was Helen Winter, but that was ridiculous for Helen was dead, and this woman’s hair was dark, not pale.

  ‘Excuse me?’ Eva began, and the woman turned. Even then realisation hadn’t hit her, not even when the stranger had said,

  ‘Evie dear, go and sit down. I’ll get dinner ready.’ The woman’s dark, chestnut hair fell over her shoulders in abundant shining waves. She wore no makeup on her fine-boned face other than very red lipstick, which accentuated her generous mouth.

  ‘Who...?’ Eva began, but the words died in her throat.

  ‘Evie, can’t you see? I’m feeling so much better.’ The woman held out her hands, one of which still clutched a potato peeler.

  ‘Mother,’ said Eva, feeling her way into one of the kitchen chairs, her eyes bulging. She dared not look away from the vision at the sink.

  ‘That’s right, dear. What is the matter with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!’ Emilia laughed and turned back to her peeling.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Eva asked in a hoarse voice.

  ‘I would have thought you could work that out for yourself, dear. Would you like chops or a pie?’

  ‘Who’s done this?’ Eva demanded. ‘Who? Are they back? Are they?’

  Emilia looked over her shoulder, swung her hair. ‘Calm down, dear. You sound hysterical. I must say you pay very little attention to what goes on around here, but that doesn’t really surprise me. The Murkasters haven’t returned, no, but a relation of theirs has. Peverel Othman.’

  The name meant little to Eva, who had deliberately been excluded from village gossip concerning the traveller, at the insistence of her mother. All still obeyed the words of Emilia Manden. At one time, she had held the whip for the Murkasters in Little Moor.

  Eva had begun to shake. ‘This is an abomination,’ she said. ‘I know what you really look like. This isn’t real!’

  Emilia merely laughed. Then her face set into a harder expression and she came towards the table, leaned upon it on stiff arms. Eva cowered back in her chair. ‘My dear,’ said Emilia. ‘Take a good look. This is what I’m really like, what I’ve always been like. I’m just lucky because I’ve found a way around the injustice, the fucking unbelievable injustice, of nature. You think the decaying body was me? You think the sagging tits, the slab shanks, the dried up old cunt, was me? No. This is me. And it’s the same for every god-damn ancient bint in the world, whatever nature’s done to them. Just remember that.’

  Mother and daughter stared at one another in silence. Eva was speechless. She felt she could sense her own blood drying in her veins, her own flesh desiccating. This woman before her looked at least twenty years her junior. Emilia reached out with the potato peeler, gently touched the end of her daughter’s nose with it, smiled sweetly. ‘Chops, I think,’ she said. ‘I just fancy some red meat.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Friday 23rd October, High Crag House, Cornwall

  The day had closed in upon itself, shrouds of dark surrounded High Crag House. After their talk had ended in his office, Enniel had escorted Aninka to one of the smaller dining rooms for dinner. They dined alone. Soft candlelight bloomed above the polished table and caught the inner spark in the lead crystal goblets set before each plate. A fire burned in the hearth behind Aninka’s chair. She felt drained and drowsy. The meal had been consumed, punctuated only by small talk. Enniel had poured rich, red wine into Aninka’s goblet whenever she’d drunk more than half of it. She felt warm towards her guardian now. He had surprised her with his tenderness and sympathy. He offered her a cigarette and lit it for her. She watched him carefully as she leaned forward to the flame he offered her. He was a supremely handsome example of his kind. Only now could she see him as a man and not just a surrogate parent. She thought that if he asked to sleep with her tonight, she would comply. However, she also knew that any such suggestion would have to come from her. Perhaps it would be healing for her if she attempted a seduction, and imprinted another man’s hands over the memory of Othman’s touch.

  ‘Is Noah right?’ she asked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

  Enniel leaned back in his chair, his eyes cautious. He clearly hadn’t expected Aninka to raise the subject of her torment again tonight. ‘About what, exactly?’

  Aninka rested her chin on one hand. ‘That you’ll just cover things up, cement over the cracks and forget about what happened in Cresterfield.’

  Enniel shook his head. ‘No, all efforts will be made to track Othman down. Noah is only right in that usually Anakim are long gone by the time their delinquencies are made public. And they are difficult to pursue, because, as your cousin correctly pointed out, they are generally mature and experienced individuals. That does not mean, however, that we won’t catch him.’

  ‘What will happen to him if you do?’

  Enniel smiled. ‘That depends on whether he’s alive or not. If he is, we shall attempt rehabilitation. If that fails, and the success rate is not high, he will be incarcerated until this life-span has run its course. It is not in our codes to kill our own kind, Aninka. Once, in the distant past, we were forced to, when the Anannage turned brother against brother in a futile attempt to annihilate our race, but it won’t happen again.’

  Aninka sighed. ‘Great Shem, not more of that old hogwash! I’m sick of people living in the past. It’s over, and has been over for thousands of years. It has no bearing on the present.’

  Enniel refused to rise to her bait. ‘You are young,’ he answered. ‘As you grow older, all “that old hogwash”, as you refer to it, will mean more to you. We are still living it, Aninka, because it is a story that never ended. We are responsible for the way that the world works now: its science, its religions, even its wars. We were exiled from the source, the One, the place of our origin. The gate closed for us. But some foolish Grigori recklessly attempt to claw it open again. Now do you see why what you experienced in Cresterfield is important to us?’

  Aninka frowned. ‘I’m not sure exactly what happened there. I knew Othman was attempting to call something... horrible up, but why? I can’t understand why Serafina and the others had to die. I thought at the time it was just an excuse for an orgy, but then...’ She shook her head, grimacing. ‘I realise now Pev’s intention was always more than just sex.’

  Enniel regarded her steadily for a few moments. In his heart he was considering just how much he should tell Aninka. He could see her pain permeating the colours of her aura, dampening its glow. ‘Well, I think we can assume that Othman has undoubtedly tried that trick many times before.’

  ‘What trick?’

  ‘The conjuration. I think his motive is a lust for power. Perhaps he senses, subliminally, that accessing the stargate would help him. The gate is sealed and he calls up demonic presences to do his work for him, in an attempt to open the gate once more. But force of that kind will never succeed. Othman failed in Cresterfield, as he has undoubtedly failed before. I believe that he will continue to assault the gate in this way, and that his methods will never be successful. It’s possible that his actions are for the most part unconscious. If not, he would have worked out for himself by now that his techniques are wrong. He offered Serafina’s life-force and the power of her sexual energy to a demon, which was clearly accepted as delicious sustenance. Presumably, in payment for this feast, the demon was supposed to act as a psychic battering ram ag
ainst the stargate. Unfortunately, it appears that the entity not only failed or refused to carry out this task, but devoured the life-force of every other human who was unlucky enough to be there! Of course, I can only guess at whether that was Othman’s intention or not, but I’m pretty sure it was.’

  Aninka narrowed her eyes at Enniel. ‘You know a lot about his attempts at this kind of thing, don’t you?’

  Enniel shrugged. ‘Let’s just say we’ve found evidence of this type of activity before, and events suggested the same person was behind it. But we had not connected it with Peverel Othman before you gave us your information. Now that we know exactly what’s going on, we must put a stop to it.’

  Aninka stubbed out the cigarette angrily. ‘I want to help,’ she said. ‘I want to find him.’

  ‘You feel humiliated and extremely hurt,’ Enniel said smoothly. ‘That’s understandable. Grief squeezes your soul. You want revenge, not just for what Othman did to the little people, but for what he’s done to you. Think very hard, my dear, before embarking upon some heroic course. Your anger means nothing to a man like Peverel Othman.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Aninka said. ‘I can’t just go back to my life and forget about this.’

  ‘Indeed not. I have found an apartment for you in London.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean!’

  Enniel shook his head, gently smiling at her. ‘Aninka, I have been forced to donate a sizeable amount of priceless family relics to the museum in Cresterfield, as part of the deal for getting you out of this mess. They will probably end up in private collections in South America, without ever being appreciated by the public eye over here. I’m not blaming you, but your inexperience allowed you to get involved with Othman. Do you really think you’re capable of bringing him down?’

  ‘He would never have targeted a mature Grigori,’ Aninka said. ‘I don’t even blame myself for getting involved. And I don’t know whether I’m capable or not of dealing with Othman. I just want to try.’

  ‘You are very precious to me, my dear. I would hate for you to be hurt.’

  She looked at her guardian. He was still smiling. ‘You knew I’d say these things, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course. It’s quite natural, and you are a creature of spirit. Proud, I should say.’ He leaned towards her across the table, reaching for her hand that lay there. ‘This renegade, who has offended you so badly, is not unknown to us, but then you guessed that.’

  Aninka ran her thumb along Enniel’s palm. ‘So what else can you tell me about him?’ She dared to hope a bottle of wine had loosened her guardian’s tongue.

  ‘Well, as I said, his activities have come to our attention before, but nothing quite so unpleasant as the Cresterfield incident. Peverel Othman, just one of many aliases of course, was first noticed about two years ago when he lived in Europe. He came to England about twelve months ago, leaving a devastation of wrecked lives behind him. Once here, he started dabbling. He covers his tracks well, but usually he targets the most influential people: politicians, celebrities. The motive appeared to be money. He earned his living by corruption. Until recently, we had not connected his operations with the evidence that had been found relating to demonic sacrifice. I suspect he’s gone for small fry often in the past to consummate his unsavoury urges, but masked his behaviour with his more overt and relatively less destructive games with the rich and famous. His operations are generally more subtle than this — he has, for example, never been connected with murder before. Not directly. In fact, he has been a shadowy presence, hovering on the edge of our perceptions for quite some time. We have kept an eye on him, but also kept our distance. Maybe he has gone completely berserker now. I cannot say.’

  Aninka was stunned. ‘Haven’t you called him to you, spoken to him? You just let him get on with whatever he was doing?’

  ‘Othman has been interviewed by members of the Parzupheim in the past, but it was a long time ago. He was warned not to threaten our security. He never did.’ Enniel leaned back again, releasing her hand. ‘It is not our function to worry about humanity, Aninka. They are a nuisance we have to live with and co-operate with, to a large degree. You are upset because your human friends have been killed, but that really is no concern of ours. Yes, we must now try and entrap Peverel Othman, but for our own safety. He could be capable of anything. Just don’t mistake our motives.’

  Aninka smiled, too weary to be angry of the way Enniel spoke about her dead friends. He could never understand her feelings. ‘You talk like him, you know. In your position, he would say the same, I’m sure.’

  Enniel pulled a wry face, shrugged. ‘Oh dear. I’m not sure what that says about me! We’re investigating his movements in Europe now.’

  ‘You’ll find his ex-lover over there?’

  Enniel raised one eyebrow. ‘You are interested in that, of course.’

  Aninka ducked her head. ‘Well, yes. I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘What’s left of him.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Aninka demanded. ‘You know who it is, don’t you, or how else would you know what condition he’s in?’

  Enniel gestured with one hand. ‘Conjecture, my dear. I’m simply looking at the state of you now and taking a wild guess.’

  ‘There’s plenty left of me!’ Aninka said, and smiled. When she spoke, the suggestion in her voice was plain. ‘Would you like to find out how much?’

  Enniel considered this offer. ‘Very much so. I’m surprised, Ninka. I thought you disliked me.’

  ‘Well, I’ve grown up,’ she replied. ‘I’ve caught up with you, somewhat. When I was a child, you were nothing more to me than the voice of authority. Now, I can see you’re an attractive man. Have you had the others, Noah, Tearah and Rachel?’

  Enniel rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t make me sound greedy. Do you really need to know?’

  Aninka stood up. ‘No. Can we go upstairs now?’

  Enniel took her to his grand bedroom, with its crimson and violet tapestries, its stained glass windows, hidden by thick, blue velvet drapes. The bed was enormous, like the bed of a king, decorated with carved peacocks. Here, Enniel performed one of his functions as head of the family. He was bound to submit to whomever wanted him, the giver of seed and of life and warmth. Aninka’s parents had given her to him to raise, because he was respected and would ensure a suitable future for her. She had not seen them since she was a baby, and could not remember them. This was not unusual among the Grigori. Now, as she lay naked on Enniel’s bed, she thought about them. No doubt they would have expected this to happen several years before. It had been Aninka who resisted. She had not asked and Enniel would never have offered. It was not part of his duty to do that.

  He stood at the foot of the bed and undressed himself slowly, let down his dark red hair, casting off the image of efficient businessman and becoming pure Grigori. He flexed his long body, shook out his hair, the soft lighting affectionately caressing his perfect limbs. It was the only foreplay Aninka needed. She held out her arms to him. ‘Come to me.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday, 23rd October: Little Moor

  Barbara was quite surprised at lunchtime on Friday when Peverel Othman asked her if he could attend her writers’ meeting that evening.

  ‘But of course,’ she said. ‘Are you intending to contribute?’

  ‘I’d have no other reason for attending, would I?’ He smiled roguishly to imply that Barbara’s company might be reason enough.

  Barbara herself wondered exactly what his motives might be. She had met Mariam Alderley in the store earlier that morning, and had been forced to smother her surprise when Mariam had laid a hand on her arm and announced, ‘I must thank you for sending Pev to us, Barbara. He’s a Godsend!’ She had patted the canvas bag hanging over her arm. ‘I can get out and about a bit during the day now. It’s a great weight off me, I can tell you!’

  ‘Er... yes. What exactly is Pev doing for you, Marri?’

  ‘The voluntary work, as you suggeste
d, of course!’ Mariam laughed, an unfamiliar twinkle in her eye. ‘The old ones love him! And he’s the only person I’ve met who can keep the old witch Emilia Manden under control!’ She leaned closer, casting a furtive glance to left and right. ‘Mind you, Emilia hasn’t shown up today! I’m hoping he’s persuaded her not to come any more. I know he takes her out for walks, and such like, so perhaps she’s contented with that now.’

  Barbara was stunned by this information. Voluntary work? Walks with local old women? ‘Well, one thing I do know, Marri, our Mr Othman is a continual box of surprises! I had no idea he... he’d take me up on the suggestion.’ She had, in fact, never mentioned the old people’s day centre to him.

  ‘Well, thanks anyway,’ said Mariam, almost skipping to the door. ‘Toodle’oo.’

  Now Barbara was confronted with the decision as to whether she should face Peverel Othman out or not over the matter. They were in the bar, Othman in the process of devouring a hearty lunch. Barbara sat down opposite him. ‘Aren’t you back a bit early? I thought the old people’s centre was open until three-thirty.’

  If he was unsettled by her remark, he hid it well. He didn’t even pause in his chewing, dab his mouth with a timely napkin, or take a drink of his beer. Instead, he laughed, swallowed. ‘Oh Barbara, you’ve caught me out!’

  Barbara put her head on one side. ‘Apparently, I suggested you should get involved in voluntary work. Forgive me, but the memory of that suggestion escapes me!’

  Othman shrugged, forked up another helping of shepherd’s pie. ‘OK, I exaggerated, well lied, I suppose, but I couldn’t see the old biddy who runs the place letting a perfect stranger in without at least some respectable recommendation. Your name works wonders in Little Moor, Barbara. It’s like a free pass.’