The Secrets of Life and Death

by Rebecca Alexander

Felix dived towards the cat as Jack grabbed Ches’s neck but there was a muffled yowl, a bellow from Felix as the cat leapt from his hands towards an island unit, and a yelp from the dog, as a scratch opened up along his snout.

  ‘I’m sorry. He’s not very good with dogs.’ Felix examined his hands, spotted with puncture wounds that oozed with scarlet beads.

  Jack knelt and comforted the dog. She looked at the cat, which sat peering down at them from the top of a kitchen cupboard, only its flattened ears showing any disquiet. A slow growl started from the feline, and Ches whined back.

  Felix pulled down a large box, and showed Jack the contents. ‘I know they’re cat biscuits, but they should be all right for him.’

  ‘Oh, he’ll love them.’ The cat sniffed the air and stopped growling. By the time Felix had turned a large tin of cat food and a big handful of biscuits onto a plate, the cat had deigned to investigate. Ches, wolfing half the meat off the plate before it even rested on the kitchen floor, retreated as the cat advanced. Tycho delicately pawed a portion onto the floor.

  Jack nudged the plate closer to the dog so he could eat. ‘I suppose they will work out some sort of truce.’

  ‘He’s supposed to be at Marianne’s, but he keeps coming back.’

  ‘So she didn’t move out long ago?’

  Felix stroked the cat, who arched his back in response, then hooked another pawful off the dog’s plate. ‘Five months. She’d been in a relationship with Heinrich for quite a while, but they didn’t make it official for some time. I thought if I was patient she would get over it, but it seems not.’

  ‘That must have been hard. And that’s what you wanted … her to get over it and come back?’ She had to ask the questions, even as she braced herself for the answers.

  He sat back on his haunches, eyes level with the kneeling Jack’s, separated by their respective animals. ‘At the time.’

  She pushed the plate over for the cat to swipe a few stray biscuits. ‘You loved her.’

  ‘For a long time. Then … I didn’t any more. But I didn’t know anything better would come along.’ He paused. ‘I hadn’t met you.’

  She found she couldn’t meet his eyes, and fussed the dog, now chasing the empty plate around the floor. The cat leaped out of his way onto a stool, and started washing its paws.

  ‘Jack—’ Before he could finish, Sadie shouted his name, her voice high with excitement or alarm.

  Jack followed him into the study. Sadie was hunched over the laptop, her face white in the glow from the screen.

  ‘I looked up elementals and tornadoes. Look at this.’

  She angled the screen towards them, a lurid purple page with the title ‘Freak Weather’, with a photograph of shattered headstones and a damaged tree.

  ‘Listen to this,’ she read. ‘“In July 1978, in Norwich, England, a woman called Mary Kinley, twenty, was found dead in a funeral chapel in St Mark’s cemetery. Police said unusual weather conditions had caused extensive damage around the churchyard. Local meteor … meteorologist James Bettson said the circular pattern of debris suggested a tornado.” It looks a bit like the cottage.’ She clicked on a button at the side of the page, and Jack leaned in closer to read it.

  ‘The woman apparently died of blood loss, but none was found at the scene,’ Jack said.

  Sadie moved the arrow on the screen to an underlined area. ‘Look, more “vampire tornadoes”.’

  Felix interrupted. ‘You do know ninety-nine per cent of the stuff on the Internet is either fraud or pure imagination.’

  Another picture loaded, this time of grainy men carrying a coffin. Sadie squinted at the screen. ‘Helen McNamara. Found dead after a storm wrecked a car park in Leicester. “Police dismissed an account from an eyewitness who claimed a tornado had picked Helen up and taken her from three streets away. The inquest has been adjourned.” That was 1996. Look, there’s a comment here saying police found she had been exsanguinated. That’s drained of blood, isn’t it?’

  ‘Look up the inquest,’ said Jack.

  ‘No, wait.’ Felix leaned forward to stare at the screen, and Sadie pulled it around so he could see better. ‘Look at the pallbearer. He looks familiar.’ He dug in his pocket for the card he’d been given at the police station.

  A young man, maybe in his early twenties, was staring into the camera, his face tense and set. He was tall and thin, his face sculpted by his grief, perhaps.

  ‘He looks like the man from the Arts and Antiquities squad,’ Felix said.

  Sadie pushed the laptop towards him. ‘That man,’ she pointed, ‘was at the cottage. He was the one that kicked the door in, I’m sure.’

  Jack chewed her lower lip for a moment. ‘He does look like the man in the pub. So who is he?’

  Felix enlarged the news-clipping image, the face becoming less clear as it devolved into dots. The words under it came into focus. ‘“Helen’s coffin was carried by her father, uncles, and brother Stephen.” That’s McNamara.’ He waved the card at them. ‘I met him when I went to talk about the photographs with the police.’

  New pictures came up of Helen on the beach, Helen graduating from university. Sadie bowed her head over the screen. ‘There’s something funny about these pictures …’ She scrolled through the images, enlarging them. ‘Look at this dress she’s wearing.’

  Jack looked. ‘I can’t see anything odd.’

  Sadie brought up another one. ‘Try this blue one, it’s clearer. Look at her top. Look at the pattern.’

  Jack stared at the screen, unable to breathe out for a moment as she recognised the symbols printed on the fabric. Then the air escaped in a whoosh. ‘Oh, my God. Helen McNamara was a borrowed timer.’ It was a young face, a blonde girl in her early twenties, laughing at the photographer. Jack caught her breath. It looked like a younger version of the woman who had been in her car.

  Chapter 41

  ‘Our studies took us to the lower realms: that is, not the higher angelic kingdom of heaven, not the earthly demesne of men. The lower realms are peopled with goblins and spirits, of the most elemental nature, and forces that run through our lives. They are powerful and dangerous, like hurricanes and infernos.’

  Edward Kelley

  10 December 1585

  Csejte

  The count’s hospitality extended to the evening meal, where his captains and brothers-in-arms feasted loudly. But their eyes were often upon Dee, as if they expected him to leap to his feet and ensorcell them at any moment. Lord Miklós ignored us, and was much fêted as guest of honour as befitted the king’s brother.

  When our bellies were full, and the shouting had receded a little in the warmth of the wine, Count Nádasdy turned to me. ‘Master Kelley. I had reason to speak to Count Laski. He has great faith in your alchemical experiments.’

  ‘Indeed, my lord?’ I was wary about speaking of Albert Laski, whose adventuring sometimes crossed the line of honesty, although I had been accused of that myself.

  ‘He told me he was present when you raised a dead man from a crypt in London.’

  I glanced at Dee, whose downcast eyes gleamed with awareness even though he looked half asleep. ‘Doctor Dee will tell the tale better—’

  In truth, Laski can’t have seen much, scrabbling at the door as he did for a way out.

  ‘I would rather hear your version, at this moment.’ The count waved at Dee. ‘Your colleague is older, and my servants tell me he has been ill. Perhaps you would entertain us with the story instead.’

  ‘Sir?’ I was unsure, but Dee smiled through his beard.

  ‘Please, do, Edward.’ He settled back in his chair. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and, as I walked around the table to address the company, was able to get a better view. The witch, Zsófia, was standing half concealed behind one of the door curtains, just the flash of fox hair making her known to me.

  ‘My lords.’ I bowed, as one is wont to do in royal courts, when one entertains the gathering. ‘This event took place more than two years
since, in the churchyard of Greyfriars Church in London town. It had been a bad year for miasmas and agues, and there were many deaths. In the height of summer there came a fever that took Doctor Dee’s old friend and fellow natural scientist, Sir Gregory Whichall.’ I looked around to make sure the captains could follow my Latin, but they seemed flatteringly attentive. ‘Doctor Dee and Sir Gregory had a pact, my lords, that when one were to die, the other would come back to report on events after death.’

  There was a ripple of reaction. A few men murmured to their friends, and I allowed my eyes to range across the back of the hall, to see the flash of a skirt still in the doorway.

  I stood tall. ‘Lord Laski, Doctor Dee and myself walked, at midnight, to the chapel where Sir Gregory’s body lay. This is our custom, to stand vigil until the morning. Once there, we dismissed his servant, who kept watch in that place. Truly, he was grateful to be relieved of his morbid and lonely duty. My master and I prayed for the blessing of the Lord upon our work, then Master Dee drew a restraining circle beyond the funeral bier, and Laski and I removed the lid.’

  In honesty, my knees had been knocking together, and Sir Gregory’s shrunken features were most horrid. It had been a very hot and humid week, and his stomach was bloated and stinking, blood dribbling down his cheeks from the putrefaction. I went to the door for fresh air, more than inclined to leave, but the graveyard was filled with mists. They swept around the walls like wraiths trying to seize the living.

  ‘Master Dee spoke the summoning words, but nothing happened,’ I intoned. I waited, for a long moment, watching the nobles, letting the suspense build. I raised my voice to a cry.

  ‘“Speak, speak, shade!” said my master in a great voice.’ A few of the men laughed nervously, as I had intended them to do. I lowered my voice, and the men fell silent, the better to hear me. ‘At first I thought I heard the wind rising, then that an animal was caught somewhere, but then I realised it was a voice calling, wailing.’

  At the time, I had almost fled, but the thought of traversing that foggy churchyard at midnight alone had kept me close to Dee, newly my master and mentor. He had held his ground, calling upon the spirit to show itself, even as I prayed it would not.

  ‘As Dee conjured the spirit of his friend, I anticipated we would see the spectre of the man in the circle we had drawn. But no, the strangest of lights, like the glimmer of marsh gas, lit up the room with a glow.’ As luck provided, a draught from the doorway made the candles flicker, and my eye was drawn to the figure behind the tapestry. The count’s black eyes looked around the room, but I fancied I had everyone else’s attention, even Dee’s.

  ‘To my horror, the corpse began to seethe and move. The spirit made it heave with unnatural breath that filled the crypt with a stench of death.’ I paused for effect. ‘And Doctor Dee spoke with it.’

  Heads turned towards Dee, who leaned back in his chair. ‘Indeed,’ he said, then stood and joined me. ‘And my dear old friend answered. He spoke of the pain and grief of being an earthbound spirit. He had left tasks undone, left sins unshriven.’

  ‘What happened when you had finished speaking?’ The count leaned back in his chair, toying with the reddest of apples. Dee caught my eye, then proceeded with a version – not an entirely accurate one – of the story.

  ‘Upon being called to pray, he set up a wailing and crying. He submitted under coercion to kneel in his casket, and pray for the mercy of a Heavenly Father. Then, as he said the word “Amen”, he fell into his coffin, at peace.’

  The count murmured something to his neighbour, the one I called Redbeard, Lord Mihály, whose lips twisted into a grim smile. He rose to his feet and pointed at me.

  ‘Thus speaks the wizard. But what of his assistant? What did you see?’

  I looked at Dee, and back at the count, and shrugged.

  ‘I was too afraid to stop praying and look, my lords.’ I hung my head as if in shame, but the scars on my forearm itched to be revealed.

  A shout of laughter deflected the attention of the nobles, and I sighed. I sneaked a glance under my lowered eyelids to the doorway, but it was empty.

  ‘So, what really happened?’ The voice came from a dark corner of my chamber, which was lit by the single candle I was carrying. I flinched, and I almost dropped the light, but I fumbled it over my head to illuminate the room. I knew it was Zsófia from her voice.

  ‘What?’ I said, in stern accents.

  ‘The dead man you raised, the revenant. I can’t believe it said its prayers like a child, then laid down.’

  I put the candle on the table, and circled around the witch. My books and papers were, as far as I could tell, in order. I carried precious items in a secret pocket in my jacket, and my most important items in the sole of my specially adapted boots. ‘There was … some resistance.’

  The memory, of the corpse throwing itself at Dee and knocking me to the ground, erupted into my mind. I rubbed the scar on my arm.

  ‘We subdued it. We called upon heaven to take the man’s spirit and it did.’ I tried to sound as assured as I could.

  She walked to me, immodest in a dress with a low bodice, her hair loose upon her white shoulders as if she were a courtesan. She reached out one slender hand – not roughened by work, but fine – and took my arm, pulling back the sleeve of my shirt. The ugly marks were purple in the low light. If Dee had not staunched the blood that night, I fear I would have died.

  ‘It bit you?’ Her touch was gentle, yet burned me. She smelled of apples. Her eyes were uncertain, and she took her fingers away. ‘It bit you, yet you live?’

  ‘Of course. The angels keep us safe.’

  It had been Dee that struck the thing, for it was no longer a man, with his staff. He drove it with abjurations into the magic enclosure. When he closed the circle with a single sweep of his chalk, the thing had succumbed to the natural course of putrefaction, and exploded in a shower of limbs and entrails. I couldn’t keep food down for weeks, every morsel brought back the horrible wet sound and the wall of foulness that swept over me as I lay bleeding upon the ground. My wound mortified, and only the most vigilant care from Lady Jane kept me anchored to this plane, God protect and bless her. Thus we passed from master and servant to teacher and student, and the experience bound Dee and I together.

  Zsófia walked around me, as if looking over a horse, inspecting my face and limbs. Then she stood before me, and sniffed the air as if trying to detect my nature. I stared back, looking at her eyes, the darkest of greens in the low light.

  ‘You have power. Dee has much knowledge, true, but you have power. You must help my mistress.’

  ‘You have much affection for her.’

  ‘I love her.’ She spoke as if she were talking about a sister or a daughter. ‘She is my life.’ She approached, now so close, I could feel her breath upon my cheek when she sighed. I looked at her eyes, and my hands reached around her waist as if under their own power. All objections that a God-fearing man might raise were dissolved in the touch of her lips on mine, and I found my fingers pulling at her laces, which fell away. As she stood before me in a fine shift that barely covered her breasts, that sense of danger that has kept me alive screamed at me to retreat. I stepped back, shaking with lust and shame, and tried to summon my wife’s face to my mind. Jane Dee’s sweet face drifted up, instead, insubstantial as a cloud, but I held onto it as I pushed the witch away. I dropped my voice, lest Dee hear me in the adjoining room.

  ‘I thought … I thought you would not lie with a sorcerer’s assistant, when you could have royalty.’

  ‘I take anyone I want,’ she boasted.

  ‘Not me.’ I was shaking with emotion, which was in truth a mixture of fear and desire. ‘I do not lie with witches. I am a married man.’

  I closed my eyes and spoke the words of warding against succubi and other demons.

  When I opened them, she was there, the only woman I have loved, her pale oval face in the flicker of the single candle. Flaxen hair, not wound tight arou
nd her head as was her custom, but loose over her shoulders. Her cornflower eyes picked up glints from the single flame. My mind should have said ‘How, why?’ but instead, I was enchanted completely as she let her shift fall to her feet. Her skin was flat and supple, as if she had not borne Dee several children but was somehow a girl again.

  ‘Edward,’ she breathed. ‘My dearest Edward.’

  I opened my lips to whisper her name. ‘Jane, Jane.’ Then she covered my mouth with her own.

  Thus was I conquered by the witch.

  Chapter 42

  Early next morning, Felix stood in the city’s main police station, smiling at the sergeant, hoping to soften her up.

  ‘I was just doing some research into the symbols found in the Carla Marshall case.’

  ‘The coroner ruled that as natural causes. There’s no case.’ She wasn’t uncooperative, just uninterested.

  ‘Ah, but I may be able to link those specific symbols to another suspicious death.’

  There was a flicker of interest in the eyes of the sergeant for a moment. ‘And is that an open case?’

  ‘Well, no, the coroner found it to be misadventure. But it would be an unusual coincidence, two cases with sixteenth-century symbolism.’

  The glimmer of interest had died. ‘Coincidences are not a police matter. We don’t have the resources.’

  ‘I just need a copy of the investigations made into their deaths, one from Leicester in 1996, and one from Norwich, 1978, for my official report.’ He pushed a sheet of paper with all the details across the desk. ‘I don’t get paid until the investigation is complete, and I can’t finish it until I have all the details. The more time it takes, the more it costs … I was hoping to wrap it all up by the weekend.’

  She sighed, turned to a passing officer and spoke to him. She handed him the note. ‘PC Travers here will get you the details. Just wait over there, please.’

  He sat in a row of chairs provided for visitors, and could just see Soames’s office if he leaned back. The door was shut, but he could see through the glass panel that Soames was talking to someone. By leaning back further, he could just see it was Stephen McNamara.