Dark Embers

by R. L. Giddings

  “’Our intention?’ How many of you are there in this team of yours?”

  “Only five for this job.”

  Florian blinked, slowly, like an automaton.

  “Why five?”

  “Because there are five…” she made a show correcting herself. “No, I’m sorry. Nothing. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  The chains rattled through the restraining bar on the desk as Florian stood up.

  “Five!” he said it as if to himself. “Five.”

  He was still holding the glass. He raised it in front of his face. Then he turned his head and with his chin, managed to lift the collar of his jerkin.

  What is he doing?

  He took hold of the collar between his teeth and pulled, ripping the seam. Some kind of powder trickled out.

  Millie stood bolt upright.

  “Open the door!” she shouted.

  The guard headed straight for the prisoner.

  Florian held the glass against his chest. He raised his shoulder so that the granules poured straight into the water.

  “Open the door!”

  As the guard lunged for the glass, Florian brought his knee up and kicked him in the stomach. The guard’s body folded in half and he was hurled back across the room.

  Florian didn’t bother to watch him land. He was too busy shaking the last few granules into the glass. Not all of them went into the water but, where they did, bright green crystals blossomed.

  Millie concentrated on getting the spell right. She’d never had the need to use it before and the incantation was extremely complicated. When she’d almost completed the conjuration she needed only one plosive sound to finish it off.

  She looked at Florian. The glass was almost fully green.

  “Huh!”

  The desk must have weighed two hundred kilos but it slid across the floor as if mounted on castors, catching Florian midway across the thighs. The weight of it pinioned his legs, throwing his upper body forward.

  Reflexively, he made to protect himself by throwing out his free hand to brace himself.

  For a second, he forgot about the glass and Millie was able to snatch it from him.

  “Open the …”

  The buzzer sounded and the door started to open. Only it was prevented from doing so fully by the body of the fallen guard.

  Millie pulled the door wide enough to squeeze through and rushed out into the corridor. The outer door was still closed. The glass was starting to fizz.

  Oh no.

  “Not like this!”

  She kicked the outer door as hard as she could.

  Once, twice.

  There were shouts from the other side and suddenly her way was clear.

  Across the corridor, she could see the window, London’s skyline in the distance.

  The water was beginning to froth, giving of a phosphorescent glow. It was seeping down over her fingers but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted.

  Had to focus.

  The lower pane of glass popped out of the frame beautifully, she couldn’t have asked for more. But then the upper pane dropped down and shattered leaving a complete section of window open.

  Her fingers were starting to burn.

  Not like this!

  She threw the glass as hard and far as she could. No witchcraft involved, just pure animal instinct. It was only after she’d released it that she realised what she’d done.

  She ran to the window but, by then, the glass had already dropped out of sight.

  The explosion was so enormous that it shook the whole building. Every pane of glass on that side was completely destroyed. A huge fireball rose up to greet her, the heat of it flooding the corridor.

  And then it was gone.

  Millie had been knocked off her feet and lay against the far wall, covered in shards of glass. Over on her left, the three security guards were beginning to brush themselves off.

  “What the hell was that?”

  “I don’t know but I’m guessing some kind of water gel based explosive.”

  “But we searched him,” Dennis, C. protested.

  “Obviously not well enough.”

  The sound of glass breaking seemed all pervading and for Millie, time seemed to slow as though it were a physical thing, capable of manipulation.

  She knew what she had to do but everything felt as though it was taking forever. She struggled to her feet, trying to remember where she’d left her phone.

  Her hand went to her pocket but came away with the sea-salt spray.

  Her bag. It was in her handbag.

  Over on the table.

  The phone wasn’t where she normally put it and she wasted valuable seconds locating it. It was inside the zip-up section on the front of the bag.

  She never put it there and yet, there it was.

  Switched it on, entered her code.

  It was the last number she’d called.

  Kinsella’s number. Her thumb found it automatically.

  While the phone rang, she found herself seeking out the Bear Garden on the other side of the city, just to the right of the Eye.

  It was still there. Part of her mind had expected it not to be.

  That was good.

  On the third ring, someone answered.

  “Sir, is that you?”

  “Who else would it be?”

  Oh thank God.

  “Our prisoner. He had some kind of gel based explosive on him, in his collar…”

  “In his collar?”

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “Okay, I’ll go and check.”

  “No! I mean, okay. Just don’t put the phone down. It looked like some kind of powder but, when he mixed it with water…”

  “Water? Where did he get water from?”

  “We gave it to him. He was complaining about the sea water.”

  “Of course. He asked for a drink. Simple.”

  There was a new quality to his voice now.

  Was that fear?

  Kinsella was running. In the background, I could hear the sound of doors crashing open.

  “Plain water, you say?” he was slightly out of breath.

  “Yes. That’s right. You mustn’t let them have any water. I should have known…”

  But he wasn’t listening, he was clattering down a stairwell. She could hear the echo of his footsteps.

  How many flights down to the basement, she wondered.

  The Bear Garden disappeared in a bright flash and for an instant, the air seemed to shimmer.

  It took several seconds for the sound to reach her and by that time it was too late.

  The Bear Garden was gone.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I sat across from Carlotta.

  The mid-morning light lanced across the room. In the background we could hear the ponderous ticking of the grandfather clock, the hands approaching eleven.

  “I’m not even sure I should be here,” I said.

  Carlotta glared back at me. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bronte.”

  I brushed the edge of the table with my fingers. “Seriously. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. This is Pack business after all.”

  “By that logic neither of us should be here. Need I remind you that Pack business is solely a male preserve?”

  I wriggled in my seat. “Yes, I know that but you’re a Laing. That gives you certain privileges. I’m just – you know…”

  “Silas would want you to be here. It’s only right. If only to defend his interests.”

  I wasn’t sure about that. Carlotta had it in her head that I would one day be Silas’ wife and the mother of his children, but I had serious doubts about that. While our relationship could be best described as ‘intense’, the truth of the matter was that we’d never been on what you might call a conventional date. We’d kissed but that was as far as we’d gone physically. I had hoped that something might happen on the night of the formal ball but, in the end, that had come to nothing.

  To
call the situation between us frustrating would be to greatly over-simplify things.

  “Perhaps he’s not coming.”

  Carlotta rolled her eyes. “Please. Dougie Anderson is so old-school. He’s not going to miss an opportunity like this. Especially when we’re going to be feeding him.”

  I wasn’t convinced.

  “He’s here!” a voice declared from the hallway.

  *

  Dougie looked different from the last time I’d seen him. For a start, he wasn’t wearing a kilt, and there was no sign of the military uniform he’d been wearing at the ball. In their place, he was wearing an open-necked shirt and a pair of corduroy trousers. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and looked very relaxed.

  As we shook hands, I felt some of the tension leaving my shoulders. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was that I’d been so concerned about. Dougie wasn’t the enemy. If anything, he was a possible ally and an important one at that. I knew that Carlotta was pre-disposed to being wary of him because of their family history, but there was nothing to suggest that I should be quite so judgemental.

  When Carlotta invited him to sit down, he went straight to the head of the table. I wondered if this move was designed to be significant. Was he playing mind games with us already?

  One of the girls came in and left us with a pot of tea only to return moments later with a tiered tray of cakes. They looked delicious with the more substantial scones and carrot cakes on the lower tier and the tiny, bite sized amused bouches on the top.

  The first half an hour was very amicable with polite inquiries into the health of various family members. When Dougie asked if Silas was well Carlotta assured him that he was rather than acknowledging the truth of the matter: Silas was in a terrible state, trapped in his wolf form and unable to recognise even his own sister.

  But this seemed to characterise the nature of her relationship with Dougie. Under the veneer of ‘polite conversation,’ nothing untoward was ever acknowledged and every possible indelicacy was carefully avoided. The pair of them batted the conversational gambits back and forth like a pair of tennis players who had faced each other once too often. When the focus of the conversation turned to me, I also had an opportunity to play the hypocrite. I was fine with any questions dealing with my father but, when the questions turned to the subject of my mother, I became just as tight lipped as either of them.

  The arrival of the second pot of tea signalled a change in the tone of the conversation. While I helped myself to a slice of carrot cake, Carlotta became markedly more business-like.

  “Have you had an opportunity to talk to the other Pack members since we last spoke?”

  “As a matter of fact, I met with them just the other evening,” Dougie was arranging his napkin across his lap.

  Carlotta’s frown reflected her displeasure. “And where did this meeting take place?”

  Either Dougie didn’t detect the tartness of her tone or he was immune to it. Regardless, he selected a scone and started slicing into it.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Lottie. It was just a little get-together. We’d always meet here if it were anything serious.”

  “The Laing Estate,” Carlotta said testily. “The Pack’s official headquarters.”

  “Exactly. No, we met up for a drink in the Dumfries Hotel. I just wanted to give everyone the opportunity to air their views without having everything being formally minuted.”

  “So, you went behind my back?”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t intended as such,” I said and instantly regretted it.

  “Meeting in private like that might, at best, be construed as disloyal, at worst: traitorous. I’d be very interested to hear what my brother’s thoughts might be on the matter.”

  “And that’s the problem. We aren’t likely to find out what Silas is thinking anytime soon. Look Lottie, this is a situation that’s not of my making. I have a lot of affection for you and your family but that’s not how everybody feels. There are those who feel that you haven’t been completely honest about your father’s disappearance.”

  “I haven’t been completely honest!” Carlotta leaned forward, her hands braced against the table. “What about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Tell me it wasn’t you who was chairing this non-existent meeting.”

  Dougie was spreading cream on his scone, shaking his head in amusement.

  “You’re blowing this out of all proportion. We met for a drink. People wanted to talk. They’re anxious about what’s happening. It’s only natural.”

  “Anxious? They’re some of the most powerful landowners in the Highlands. What have they got to be anxious about?”

  “The Pack hasn’t got a leader, Lottie. Without strong leadership we’re liable to turn on one another. I was just giving everyone the opportunity to let off steam.”

  “Are you suggesting that a challenge is brewing? For Pack leader?”

  Dougie calmly placed his scone on his side plate. “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. All I will say is that every Pack needs a leader. It’s that simple.”

  “And is that why you’re here? To apply for the post?”

  The mood of strained civility, which they’d both laboured to construct earlier, was all but gone now and, while I understood Carlotta’s concerns, I thought that it was vital not to alienate Dougie unnecessarily.

  I said, “What’s standard practice normally? I mean, in the absence of a Pack leader? Do you draw straws? Fight to the death? What? I’d like to know.”

  Carlotta composed herself as if to say something but I discouraged her with a twitch of my eyebrows. I felt it was important to give Dougie the opportunity to talk. He had made the effort to come here, after all.

  Dougie said, “That’s one of things we were discussing. There hasn’t been a challenge for Pack leader in over three hundred years. So, I’d asked Callum Robinson to look into it. He’s our resident historian. Anyway, it all seems straightforward enough: any male member of the pack can field a challenge. All they need is someone to propose them.”

  “And what does this challenge consist of?” I was intrigued.

  “Depends how many challengers there are. If there’s only one challenger, it’s very simple. The two must meet in combat.”

  “Really?”

  Dougie frowned. “We’re werewolves, Bronte. It’s what we do.”

  “But you don’t fight … I mean you don’t fight to …”

  “The death?” Carlotta said. “That might not be the intention but that’s invariably what happens. When my ancestor John Cottesloe Laird challenged he was only twenty three. The previous leader had died in a fall. There were six challengers that time. He won his first bout after his opponent collapsed due to blood loss. He at least survived but the other two losing challengers weren’t quite so fortunate. One was killed outright, while the other one withdrew. He was forced to leave the Pack as a result.”

  “So, what happened next? There would have been three winners remaining, is that right?”

  “They drew lots and this was where my ancestor was most fortunate. He got a bye so the other two had to fight one another.”

  “And he fought the winner?”

  “Didn’t have to. The bout dragged on for most of the day. Both men died of their wounds.”

  I said, “Let me get this right: your ancestor became pack leader through sheer luck?”

  Carlotta cocked her head to one side and smiled. “Yes. And we’ve carried on being lucky for the last three hundred years.”

  “Only, this time,” Dougie said. “Your luck appears to have run out.”

  “More tea, vicar?” I interjected, reaching for the teapot. I filled Carlotta’s cup while she simply stared at Dougie.

  They sat like that for far too long with neither of them saying anything.

  Eventually, I said, “So, what was decided at the hotel?”

  Dougie gave me an anguished look. “What do you mean? Nothing was decided.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, come on. If nothing was decided then why are you here?”

  He looked from me to Carlotta and then back again. He folded his napkin and placed it on the table.

  “It’ll all come out eventually,” I said. “We’ve both prefer to hear it from you, first.”

  “Okay. I suppose I owe you that much. There’s been discontent within the pack ever since your father disappeared. Initially, it just bubbled away under the surface and nothing was said. Silas was still in London but there was a general consensus that if your father didn’t return soon then the leadership role would naturally fall to him. Not a perfect situation but it did seem workable.”

  Carlotta said, “Silas never had any intention of taking on my father’s role. He made that very clear.”

  “I’m sure that was what he said but, as a member of the Pack, he could have been under no doubt about the consequences of that for your family.”

  Carlotta pushed herself back from the table. “I’d be careful if I were you, Dougie: that sounds awfully close to a threat.”

  Dougie looked to me encouragingly.

  I said, “Let’s just hear what he has to say.”

  “You said yourself that your family has led the Pack for three hundred years.”

  Carlotta pointed to the family coat of arms over the fireplace. “1723. Not quite three hundred years, but close enough.”

  “Whatever. The problem is that you’ve been here so long that you’ve forgotten the building’s history,” he swept his arm around the room in an extravagant manner, indicating its various furnishings. “We might all know this as the Laing Estate but, in actual fact, the estate doesn’t belong to the Laings. It belongs to the current pack leader. Whoever that might be.”

  I glimpsed the look of shock on Carlotta’s face but, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone again.

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Must come as a bit of a shock. But I’ve seen facsimiles of the documents. They’re held at our lawyers’ offices in Edinburgh. Your father knew all about it and I’m pretty sure Silas did as well.”

  “So, why am I only finding out about this now?”

  “It hurts me to say it, but the answer should be obvious: because you’re a woman. You have no authority within the pack itself. Your father knew this, as did Silas. The pack elders had managed to put off any direct action out of respect for your father but with Silas out of the picture all that has gone.”