“It must have been exciting having a spy as a dad!”
“I don’t know what he does, really; he would never say. I suppose if he is a spy, he wouldn’t be able to tell me anyway. And then those . . . things came. I just see them as monsters, but I guess that’s because I hit my head. I don’t know who they were or why they attacked us either.” He bit his lip and added sadly, “It’s been over two weeks, and I still don’t know where my parents are or why I’m here. I don’t really know anything.”
He hung his head. He liked being here in Hobbes End, he liked Cay and Elgar and Ignatius and Grimm; he liked everyone. But every time he started to feel happy, he remembered that he had a list of questions as long as his arm, and nobody could give him any proper answers. He wondered if Gabriel could help him find his parents—he was an angel, after all . . .
Seeing that Jonathan was starting to brood, Cay resorted to throwing a handful of dead leaves at him. Jumping up, she shouted, “Last one to the lake carries the rucksack home!” and sprinted off into the trees.
By the time Jonathan got the leaf mulch out of his mouth and eyes, Cay had completely disappeared.
“Wait!” he cried out, getting to his feet and stuffing the water bottle into the rucksack. “I don’t know which path goes to the lake . . . Cay, wait!”
Rapidly fading laughter was her only reply. With a groan of frustration he ran after her.
Rook watched from a distance as a disoriented Jonathan tore through the forest, his path taking him farther and farther away from the lake. Once he was sure that the boy was hopelessly lost, Rook melted into the trees, eager to finally introduce himself . . .
Chapter 12
AN UNKINDNESS OF RAVEN
Cay burst out of the forest and onto the shore of the lake, her lungs burning as she panted for breath. Resting her hands on her knees, she tried to slow her thumping heart as little black spots danced before her eyes.
“Beat you, Jonathan. Beat you!”
Taking a deep breath, she stood up and looked about her. The lake was fringed by weeping willow trees, their branches trailing in the water, and Jonathan was nowhere to be seen. Cay suddenly wished she hadn’t decided to race him here—apart from anything else, he had the water bottle and she was feeling very thirsty. Deciding to pass the time by walking farther round the lake, she pushed her way through curtain after curtain of willow, enjoying the sensation of being almost blind.
The branches parted to reveal a small clearing set back from the lakeshore, the still air filled with an extraordinary kaleidoscope of motion and color. Cay smiled, amazed at what she was seeing: butterflies—hundreds and hundreds of butterflies. Not wanting to disturb them, she inched forward to get a better look. To her delight, they didn’t seem to mind her presence. One of them, its wings painted with copper and black, landed on her shoulder.
Suddenly every butterfly took to the air and fled the clearing. Cay shivered, a peculiar sensation rasping its way across her nerves, and she spun round, her heart in her mouth. But the clearing was empty.
“Hello?” she called out anyway. “Is anybody there?” There was no reply, just the faint sigh of the wind. Deciding to splash her face and neck with cool water, she headed back through the trees until she reached the edge of the lake. As the last branches parted, she found herself face to face with a nightmare.
Standing in front of her was a woman wearing a pinstriped suit and a bowler hat. The woman had long, dark hair—and no face!
Terror washed over Cay, and she let out the biggest scream of her life. The woman’s hand shot forward and closed around her throat like a vice, and Cay’s eyes bulged, pain building in her chest as cruel fingers crushed her windpipe.
“Hello, child,” came a chilling, sibilant voice. “I’m Raven of the Corvidae, and it’s been too long since I last indulged myself. I’ve decided that while my brother has a chat with the boy, I might have some fun drowning you.” Then the demon pushed Cay’s head underwater and held it there.
“Great,” said Jonathan. “I’m lost, Cay. Thanks!”
Standing in a forest clearing, he turned full circle and saw nothing but trees and bushes stretching off in all directions.
“Cay, where are you?” he shouted.
“A long way from here, boy,” came a deep voice from behind him.
Jonathan swung round just in time to receive a harsh blow across his face. He sank to his knees and with watering eyes saw the blurry figure of a faceless man in a bowler hat. Panic filled him as he remembered where he had seen this thing before—in the cellar of the cottage just before his father had brought the ceiling crashing down.
“You’re real!” Jonathan gasped.
“Oh, I’m very real, boy,” the demon said to Jonathan, a mouth forming in the blankness beneath his hat—a red gash behind which jagged teeth could be seen gleaming. “Don’t you recognize old Rook? The Corvidae have been hunting you for a very long time. Surely Mommy and Daddy must have warned you about us? Told you to run if you ever saw one of us?” Rook let out a gurgling chuckle.
“I don’t know who you are. Why are you chasing me? Where are my parents?” Jonathan spat through clenched teeth. The world was spinning, and the only thing keeping him upright was the adrenaline of fear.
“Belial wants you, boy. He thinks you’re going to end up leading his armies, a powerful, half-angel, half-demon general. Looking at you now, I can’t really see it.”
“Wh . . . what?” stammered Jonathan, the mention of the name Belial making his skin crawl just as it had at dinner the previous night. “Half angel, half demon? I’m human—what are you talking about?”
Rook tilted his head to one side in apparent puzzlement, then roared with laughter. “Oh, that’s rich, that’s positively delicious. Your parents didn’t tell you what you are, did they? That is a cruel and unusual punishment, and I approve! You’re going to be Belial’s weapon to wield whether you like it or not, boy. You are far from human.”
Jonathan scrambled backwards, a scream building in his throat. He collided with the trunk of a tree, and agony exploded outward from his still-healing skull fracture. He dimly heard a crack as the glass face of the watch Gabriel had given him broke.
“No point running,” grinned Rook, baring those awful teeth, “or struggling, either. The outcome is inevitable, as your little girlfriend is finding out right about now.”
Jonathan stared in horror. Cay? he thought. They’re after Cay, too?
It was like a switch had been thrown inside him. An eerie calm descended, and all fear of the thing towering over him faded away. Rook was nothing; he was just a problem to be solved, an itch to be scratched. Then the anger came, and for a moment Jonathan thought he might explode as his vision went a weird shade of purple, and his shoulders screamed in agony as if the muscles of his back were laid bare. It was just like it had been when he’d faced Rook in the cellar.
“Kill him,” said a voice in his head. “Rend him, tear him, gut him. He is not your equal.”
Surging to his feet, Jonathan made a fist and punched the surprised Rook in the chest. As if he weighed nothing, the demon flew backwards across the clearing and slammed into a tree.
How did I do that? thought Jonathan as he watched Rook trying to regain his balance. The demon shook his head, black blood trickling from one of his ears and running down his neck as he faced Jonathan, then he drew back in what looked like fear. Jonathan blinked, his eyesight still blurry. It took him a moment to realize that Rook wasn’t looking at him, but at something above and behind him. Jonathan slowly turned his head, staring at the towering mass of purple light that writhed in the air—light that grew from his shoulders!
With a crash Rook dived into the undergrowth and disappeared, leaving Jonathan alone in the clearing. He stood where he was, unsure of what was happening as the anger drained out of him. Something warm was running down his face, and he touched it with his fingertips and saw that they dripped crimson.
Far from human? he thought
as he crumpled to the ground. Then everything went very, very black.
Ignatius stood in a quiet corner of the churchyard, not far from Gabriel’s cottage. Next to him a rectangle of iron railings fenced in a horizontal slab of white marble. On the slab was a carved inscription:
ANGELA AND DAVID
BELOVED WIFE AND SON
ALWAYS IN MY HEART
Ignatius sighed. He had just turned to walk away when suddenly he doubled up in pain. He couldn’t breathe; something was crushing his throat, and all he could see was dark water—he could even feel the coldness of it on his skin. He forced himself upright and with horror realized that Hobbes End was screaming at him inside his head, sharing the pain of someone who was in trouble, begging him to do something, and quickly.
There was a crash from Gabriel’s cottage as the angel almost fell out of his front door, his face white. Clutching his chest, Gabriel met Ignatius’s gaze.
“Something’s hurting one of the children,” the angel gasped. “The village is under attack.”
“But where . . . ?” said Ignatius. “Oh my God, they’re at the lake. They went for a walk to the lake.” Cold panic seized him. “It’s too far; we’ll never get there in time.”
“No—we won’t,” urged Gabriel. “But the gargoyles can!”
Ignatius ran faster than he ever had in his life. He tore back toward the vicarage, screaming out for Grimm and Elgar at the top of his lungs. They met him at the gates, eyes wide and wondering what the hell was going on.
“Someone’s trying to drown one of the children up at the lake,” he gasped. “I don’t know which one. Get up there as fast as you can—I’m going to send help!”
Without a second thought, Grimm and Elgar sprinted off toward the forest. Behind them, Ignatius turned to the gargoyles.
“Montgomery, Stubbs, you’re free to leave your posts. Get to the lake, save the children. Do whatever you have to do.”
“Fancy a quick spin up to the lake, Mr. Stubbs?” asked Montgomery.
“Indeed I do, Mr. Montgomery. Indeed I do,” replied Stubbs.
Cackling with glee, the two gargoyles launched themselves skyward, across the village, and out over the forest.
“Crikey!” said Elgar as he ran into the forest beside Grimm. “I didn’t know Monty and Stubbs could do that.”
“They haven’t been let off the leash for quite a while,” Grimm said, panting, as he tore along. “So I think this is a good time to use ’em!”
The thundering in Cay’s ears grew louder, and when she opened her eyes, they filled with water and she could see nothing but black. She began to thrash her body about, clawing at the hands wrapped around her throat. Nothing helped. Her lungs burned, and she opened her mouth to scream, but all that came forth was a small stream of bubbles. In the roaring of her oxygen-starved brain, Cay realized that she was about to die.
Suddenly the world spun as she felt herself picked up and thrown out onto land with jarring force. She coughed up water, then drew a ragged, painful—but very welcome—breath. Lying on the sodden ground and desperately trying to come to her senses, the sounds of a titanic struggle washed over her. Her vision swam as she struggled to raise her head, blinking to clear her sight. Two figures were fighting in the lake in front of her, slamming into each other again and again, bellowing and hissing.
As her eyes regained their focus she saw the pinstripe-suited monster that had been trying to drown her. The bowler hat had been knocked off her head, leaving a blank face framed by twisted ropes of wet hair. Crouching spiderlike in the churning lake, her attacker hissed through a mouth that was still nothing more than a crimson gash.
Then Cay gasped as she saw what had saved her. Standing between her and her attacker stood a huge, misshapen male wolf, its silver-gray fur running with water and blood. The wolf’s muzzle gaped to reveal a set of razor-edged fangs, and from sockets deep in its skull two yellow eyes blazed with defiance. Taking a breath deep into its barrel chest, it roared in fury.
“Dad?” croaked Cay.
The wolf turned to look at her, and for a second his gaze softened. This gave Raven the opening she’d been waiting for and she launched herself at the wolf, talons outstretched. He swung back but was too slow to stop her from gripping his right foreleg and wrenching it sideways. There was a sickening crack, and the wolf bellowed in pain. Enraged, he slammed his open mouth onto Raven’s shoulder and bit down, hard.
This time it was Raven’s turn to scream. With a powerful swing of his head the wolf sent the demon flying, then he began limping toward Cay. He hadn’t gone more than a few feet when the seemingly unstoppable Raven launched herself out of the water. She landed on the wolf’s shoulders, black demon blood pouring from the awful wound on her shoulder.
The wolf thrashed his head, trying to dislodge the demon while shielding his eyes. As he did so Raven lashed out at his damaged foreleg, driving him to his knees in pain.
With mounting horror, Cay saw that the broken leg was stopping her dad from rolling over and throwing off Raven. The monster was going to tear him to pieces and laugh while she did it.
Cay reached out with her hand and tried to scream, but her throat was too bruised to allow her more than a hoarse moan.
For one brief moment her dad returned her gaze. Then Raven cruelly jerked his head upward, her talons ready to tear out his throat.
And then the cavalry arrived.
“Incoming!” hooted Montgomery and Stubbs in perfect unison, slamming into Raven with the force of two well-thrown granite bowling balls.
Raven didn’t have time to react. She was torn from the wolf’s back and flung out over the lake, flailing and tumbling before hitting the water with incredible force. Stubbs, positively volcanic with rage, clung onto Raven’s hair with one hand and punched her as hard as he could with the other, hammering the demon almost senseless. Montgomery was about to join in when the wolf collapsed into the lake, the water closing over his head.
“Dad!” Cay cried, crawling as fast as she could toward her wounded father.
“Duty calls,” shouted Montgomery, pulling his friend off the struggling Raven. “We’ve got to help Mr. F.”
“Right,” said Stubbs, giving Raven one last punch right between where her eyes should have been. Streaking off after Montgomery, he left the battered demon barely conscious in the water.
With the assistance of the gargoyles, a sick and dizzy Cay managed to pull her father to safety. Sitting by his side, Cay gently stroked the wolf’s torn and matted fur and watched the rise and fall of his chest, averting her eyes from his shattered front leg. Montgomery stood next to her, resting his granite paw on her shoulder. Stubbs sat by the wolf’s head, patting it reassuringly.
An awful thought crawled its way into Cay’s shocked mind. “Jonathan!” she gasped. “Oh God, what if there are more of those things? What if he’s being attacked too?”
“We can go find him?” suggested Montgomery.
“Oh please, Monty,” said Cay. “We’ll be all right now. It’s my fault he got lost. Please let him be okay.”
“No need to panic,” said Stubbs. “We’ll sort it. C’mon, Mr. Montgomery.” Like pebbles from a slingshot, the two gargoyles arced skyward and away over the trees.
It seemed like an age, but the change Cay had seen so many times finally began. Fur withdrew and was replaced by skin. Muscle and bone changed shape, melted, flowed into one another, as the wolf’s body redesigned itself. Through her tears, she saw the wonderfully familiar, heavily bearded face of her father. He looked back at her through eyes that were tight with pain, but still he smiled. His right arm was badly broken just below the elbow, jagged bones protruding through the skin.
Cay laid her head against her father’s chest and wept. “Thanks, Dad,” she whispered.
Kenneth Forrester kissed her forehead, holding her tightly with his one good arm. He glanced warily at the lake. There was no sign of his adversary, just a battered bowler hat floating on the surface of the
water.
And at that moment Grimm and Elgar came crashing through the trees. “It’s okay,” said Kenneth. “The boys got here in time.”
“Only just, from the looks of it,” said Grimm, shocked at what he saw. Taking off his jacket, he gently wrapped it round Kenneth to keep him warm.
“I know the arm looks nasty, but it’ll mend quickly once you set the bones. One of the benefits of being a werewolf!”
Other voices called from nearby—voices filled with concern.
“Over here!” Grimm bellowed.
Within moments, Ignatius, Gabriel, and a frantic Joanne Forrester burst into the clearing. Mrs. Forrester’s expression of anguish melted when she saw her family, and she rushed toward her husband and daughter, enfolding them gently in her arms. Grimm smiled at her and, after tearing a strip off his shirt, set to work on Kenneth’s broken arm.
“Where’s Jonathan?” asked Elgar.
A shiver ran down Ignatius’s spine as he realized that the boy wasn’t there.
“We got separated,” said Cay from deep within her mother’s embrace. “I was racing him here and he didn’t arrive. He must be lost. Monty and Stubbs have gone to look for him. I’m sorry . . .” Tears ran down her cheeks.
“It’s all right, Cay,” said Ignatius. He turned and took Gabriel aside. “Is the village telling you anything?”
Gabriel shook his head. He was trying to look calm, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. “Mercifully the village isn’t worried about Jonathan. Cay’s right, though—he’s in the forest somewhere, not too far away.”
“I’m getting the same thing,” said Ignatius. “The gargoyles will find him, don’t worry.”
“But I am worried,” said Gabriel. “What just happened to Cay and her father doesn’t make sense.”
“Would you keep watch for Monty and Stubbs while I find out the details?” said Ignatius. “Then we’ll know what to do.” Gabriel nodded, and Ignatius walked back to where Cay sat with her father and kneeled down next to them. “What attacked you, Kenneth? It must have been strong to hurt you in your wolf form.”
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