by S E Holmes
to stay on my guard. He was a conniving manipulator, not to be trusted.
“I merely have to think it, and whatever I desire is at my fingertips. Enoch even managed to provide my favourite liqueur, which was made at a monastery that no longer exists. The recipe was lost some time in the thirteenth century. Would you like to taste it? There’s nothing else like it on earth.”
Alcohol plus Seth equalled the dumbest equation ever. “I don’t drink. I’m underage,” I replied primly, although it seemed odd to think of the normal rules here.
“Just a small one, then.” He poured two glasses.
Why did no one respect my opinion? “Most people don’t indulge in the morning.”
“Allow me to oblige.”
Seth clapped once. The sun sank beneath the horizon and twilight set in. White lights twinkled through the flowers, enclosing us in a soft haze. The rising moon reflected off jewelled water. A warm wind tousled Seth’s hair, and suddenly it felt as though I was a swooning maiden stuck in a sappy Mills & Boon novel!
“Are you still uncomfortable?” he asked. Seth could tell? I hated to be that obvious. “I have food if you’re hungry.” Seth indicated the tapas plate he’d prepared. I found his composure in the face of my wretchedness annoying. “Music.”
Speakers nearby piped Bach. He leaned in close and placed a long-stemmed glass of syrupy claret liquid into my hand, pressing my fingers about it. I shook so badly it was all I could do not to snap the fragile stem in two. Around him, my thoughts split apart and scattered like rays through a prism. He stretched out on his recliner and sipped his drink, watching me reflectively over its rim.
I felt exposed under his rapt gaze. I took a large swallow for something to do, nearly slopping the drink down my front, and tasted a heady mix of cinnamon and berries, which burned and made my eyes water. Fortescue had the very same drink upstairs in a decanter on the buffet in his private quarters. Calming heat spread through me. I took another gulp. It was delicious! I drained the glass.
Seth laughed. “I thought you didn’t drink?” I thrust out the glass for a refill. “Okay, but just one more. It’s strong. You won’t be able to come here alone if Enoch thinks I am hazardous to you in any way. I’d rather spend time with you unsupervised.” Said the spider to the fly.
“Just one quibble.” The liquor instilled boldness. It could get people in a lot of trouble if they drank too much. “Weren’t you the one who wanted to do me in? The one who used those awful seether things on me?” At least he had the decency to look aggrieved. “Raphaela sent you here for protection, didn’t she? That bit I’ve figured out. But I can’t understand how you trying to kill me fits with her plan. Or how instructing that Tate dick to assault me helps anything. And why you didn’t lay a finger on Hugo. I’m curious as to the reason.”
Seth stared at me speculatively. “You are clearly more intelligent than you at first seem.”
I glared at him. That sounded like an insult, but my booze-fuelled brain was fuzzy. Something about not judging a book by its cover sprang to mind, but he continued before my lips and sense could coordinate.
“I mean no disrespect. I merely comment on your youth and lack of experience. And your utter absence of enlightenment regarding your own history.”
“Thanks to you, I’ve been a bit busy for a spot of light reading. Besides, ‘age does not bring wisdom, knowledge does,’” I tersely cited Bea.
“You really are a little firecracker. You remind me of someone I used to know, long, long ago.” His expression turned to stone. “Despite your low opinion of me, I would never point Tate in the direction of a child. He was odious in the extreme and I am thrilled Hugo despatched him, even if his death was too easy. I wish I had killed him myself.”
Seth fumed silently. When he eventually looked back at me, his face softened. In that moment he was the saddest-looking person I had seen in the whole of my measly teenage existence. I yearned to comfort him, but was fortunately spared the effort when he snapped his fingers and a folded newspaper materialised in his lap.
“When Hugo fled the Anathema fold, his loss was a blow indeed. For he was a better Blood than all others, and could find potential members – and potential enemies – with unfailing accuracy. Recruitment is not my skill.”
I shivered involuntarily, well familiar with his talents. Heat burned my cheeks, the alcohol making me uncomfortably warm.
“My radar is for those intending to break their contracts. I am perceptive to betrayal and responsible for its punishment. I detected Hugo’s desire to defect before it formed in his mind, before Raphaela rescued me. He and I had been carefully plotting our departure together for a long time. But our aim was self-preservation. Raphi provided us with a better reason, to make amends for all the wrong we have done. Plus of course, the slim chance to triumph once and for all against the Crone.”
“You and Hugo? Together.”
“Of course. Hugo and I have been firm allies for years.” He put his empty glass on the table and settled back against the headrest of his sunlounge, peering at me with that intense look that made me feel as if none of my secrets were safe.
“Once the witch was trapped by Raphi, it was a simple matter to rendezvous here in Sydney. Unfortunately, Hugo has been on the run from Anathema for several years. Tate was tasked with hunting him. There is a huge bounty on Hugo’s head and others will follow. Regardless of how well he is shielded by the Trinity, Sydney is no longer a secure place for you, little Keeper.” He contemplated me for an overlong moment. “But then, until you vanquish your enemy, nowhere is safe.”
Twenty-Seven
Before I digested this latest headline, Seth plucked the newspaper from his lap and bent close to thrust it under my nose. He was too near for my tolerance and I scooted as far back as the seat would permit. The paper was folded to reveal a short article in a foreign language.
“Portuguese?” I squinted.
“Yes. Look at the picture.”
Accompanying the text was a grainy close-up photo in black and white of a corpse’s hand. The skin was mottled by rot, but a scorpion tattoo was clearly recognisable between the thumb and forefinger.
“You know to whom this belongs?”
That image had been branded on my brain forever. “Tate,” I said, surprised by the hatred in my voice.
“I shall cut to the chase and summarise the contents for you. ‘Lisbon. A body was discovered Saturday morning on the border of the Tejo estuary and the Cacilhas dry dock, its only distinguishing feature the pictured tattoo. Further identification has been hampered by extensive animal interference, water damage and advanced decomposition.’ Etcetera and so on. This small justice has been far too long coming for our vile colleague. And only other members of Anathema will ever realise its significance. Tate shall remain just one more John Doe, languishing in the morgue.” He tossed the paper aside and poured himself another generous drink.
“How on earth did his body get there? Hugo killed him here, just outside our warehouse.”
“You, young Keeper. Hiding and subterfuge are your supreme skills, particularly against anything that risks exposing the Trinity. Your touch can transport an enemy far from wherever you are.”
“What?” I said, my jaw dropping. Fortescue would not be pleased by this latest rudeness. “You mean, literally move someone from one place to another? Like …” I snorted a laugh. “Teleportation or something?”
He nodded, as if such a skill was akin to playing soccer or sketching well. “Under certain circumstances.”
For the moment, I couldn’t really contain my incredulity enough to grapple with anymore circumstances, certain or otherwise, and forged on. “So Tate tracked Hugo to Sydney and followed him to the party? Why attack me? Bea said that our crossing paths with a member of Anathema was too big a coincidence.”
“Anathema attracts the nastiest of predators, whose urges are outside ordinary behaviour. The Crone is tolerant of their habits, providing a member does not earn undue attention.
You were exceptionally unlucky to encounter him. That is all.”
The clipped dismissal seemed very suspicious. I remembered Hugo gave a slightly different reason for Tate’s presence, the night of his disappearance when he explained the role of Bloods to me. Something about tracking a potential Anathema recruit who was attending the judge’s exhibition. I wondered if Hugo and Seth’s conflicting accounts revealed a lie or were just another example of Chinese whispers. Seth didn’t seem inclined to pursue the matter further and I tried another approach.
“You aligning with Hugo, trying to flee Anathema and the Crone, wanting to defeat her. And loving Raphaela …” Beneath the relaxed countenance, I glimpsed a flash of pain. “It all begs the question. Why murder me? Are we on the same side or not?” No matter how he answered, I knew I would never trust him.
Seth’s brow creased. “I … lost control. I allowed my feelings of hurt and betrayal to colour my decisions. Raphaela didn’t tell me we were expecting a baby. If it wasn’t for Hugo trying to stop me as soon as I arrived in Australia, trying to divert me back to the plan …” He let the statement hang, battling to regain his poise.
“I was originally aiming to let the Trinity detain me at the warehouse by surrendering. But I can perceive you so strongly. Even as we sit here, your company exerts a strange influence that at once reminds me of
