Church of Sin (The Ether Book 1)

by James Costall

  When she spoke again – the words she used as irrelevant as the tone with which they were uttered – he sat motionless in his chair staring into empty space. Behind him, the doors called to her. Wooden Sirens beckoning her to an unknown fate. She stepped forward, reached for the handle and then awoke in the cold embrace of sweat and fear.

  Chapter 10

  Alix awoke to the sound of an alarm persisting in her ear. She had tried flinging her hand vaguely in the direction of the noise, but she had deliberately placed the clock out of her reach. After a while her tolerance expired and she hauled herself out of bed and hit the alarm to turn it off before staggering to the bathroom.

  Her body rebelled at the sudden movement which reminded her of the expired gym membership that she’d found in her purse the other day. As she got up, memories of the dream circled around her head before falling out of her grasp. What remained was an imprint of something familiar, but something that had no form or shape. It was like recalling a certain taste but not being able to place what the taste was associated with.

  She slipped on a dressing gown and surveyed the chaos of her bedroom. Unpacked boxes piled on top of each other, containing mainly clothes. Piles of books in the corner ready to be put away, copies of old and new texts including an original copy of The Man of Genius. A half assembled exercise bike stood in the corner, the handle bars were used as a makeshift clothes horse. She had moved into the flat about two weeks ago but hadn’t yet found the time, or the desire, to sort everything out properly and, if she was honest, she didn’t mind living out of cardboard boxes for a few weeks.

  After a shower, she looked in the mirror, inspected her white skin, the freckles on her cheeks. She had a perfectly heart shaped face, petite features; a face that was somewhere between elfin and impish. Her hair was auburn, cut short around the neck. A clump of it stuck up on end from where she had slept on it. There were bags under her eyes. It was two in the morning by the time she had fallen asleep, the events of yesterday replaying over and over again in her mind like a broken record had kept her awake. Living alone didn’t bother her, she had lived alone since she was fifteen, but lack of sleep did and she looked as bad as she felt.

  But the bags didn’t detract from the vast depth of her blue, blue eyes.

  A frustrated part of her realised that, bearing in mind she was due to expose Gavin for the fraudulent piece of shit he was and attend her first staff meeting on the same morning, she might need a touch of moisturiser to revive her tired skin. She had no foundation but there was hand cream. She dabbed a bit on her face and rubbed it in. Presumably the effect would basically be the same.

  She finished in the bathroom and opened her wardrobe. It was sparsely occupied. A lot of space there in the unlikely event that she went on a shopping spree at least. Boxes of shoes did not cascade down on her; piles of handbags did not spill out on the floor. She had more books than clothes.

  Tucked at the side was a light grey suit, nothing designer but comfortable and nice deep inside pockets to store things. This morning, some form of effort was required. She’d wear jeans tomorrow. She threw on the skirt and a white shirt and hung the jacket on the back of a chair. She peered into the endless abyss that represented her makeup bag. Some congealed mascara, nail polish remover (which she used to clean the hob) and three shades of lipstick, still in their wrappers. The whole process took less than fifteen minutes.

  She should visit her father, she thought. Tell him about her new job. Not that the old git would give a hoot.

  Her kitchen and living room were open plan. Modern units, gleaming white appliances, shiny granite work tops, lime green bar stools set around a breakfast bar just before the grey slate tiles ended and the beige carpet began leading to small living area centred around a large flat screen TV clinging to the wall. More boxes of stuff cluttered the edge of the room. An unpacked toaster, pots and pans, Ikea mugs, DVDs and boxes and boxes of music.

  She needed more work clothes. One suit wasn’t great for her first real job. Getting her first real job at the age of 31 wasn’t great either. She knew that but did it really matter? Her mother was dead, her sister was still missing and her father would have been disappointed even she’d invented the cure for cancer, solved the problem of third world debt and invented a time machine on the same day. So did it really matter?

  It wasn’t even as if money was an issue. When her mother died, she had inherited enough to keep her going for another decade before she had to work full time. Plus royalties from the book, the odd freelance job and the work Ash had thrown at her during the years all added up. She hadn’t taken the job for money. She’d taken it to try and fill a gap in her life. A gaping hole that widened every day. This was what she needed, she told herself. Something to latch on to, something to give her purpose. And her visit to the forgotten Innsmouth Institution had revitalised her.

  She was thankful to Ash, of course. Perhaps she’d buy him lunch this week or get him a bottle of something. He looked like a red wine drinker. She’d get him some red wine. She had the feeling that he was the real reason she had gotten the job in the first place. He was sweet enough, and a good listener sometimes. And she’d never felt judged by him. He’d never labelled her as the girl who’d lost her sister. He’d never really ever asked about it at all in fact. Strange that, in many ways.

  “Nothing between you and that dishy DI, then?” her best friend had asked her when they’d talked about her new job and Alix had told her about her plans to ditch Gavin.

  “No,” she’d replied. “Too much I don’t get and I think he still reads Marvel comics when he’s not at work.”

  The doorbell rang, she span round and for a split second she thought she saw Zara but it was a red coat hanging on the back of the door. She clicked the latch.

  “Hi.”

  She was greeted with the familiar childish grin spread across an unshaven face beneath that unruly hair that fell in front of a pair of dark emerald green eyes.

  “Ash!” She failed miserably to hide the mixture of surprise and annoyance at being caught off-guard.

  “Sorry, are you ready? I shouldn’t have just... you know...” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “I can come back later if-”

  “No, no,” she said apologetically, ushering him in. “No, come in.” He stepped forward and there was an awkward moment as he offered his hand and she leant forward to air kiss him (it was all the rage on the continent) and they ended up caught in a slightly embarrassing quasi-embrace.

  “Sorry,” he said. She made a strange noise that was intended to be a laugh to clear the air but came out more like a puppy being run over.

  “Got time for a coffee? Meeting’s not for a few hours.”

  “Sure.”

  “White and one?” She fished out a mug from a box and tipped it up to let out the dust. She flicked the kettle on and busied herself moving things around her kitchen units unnecessarily. Detective Inspector Asher Fielding perched himself on a lime green bar stool and glanced across at the flowers on the window sill.

  “Black and none,” he replied. She closed her eyes and cursed under her breath. She should have known that.

  “Nice place,” he commented, looking around. “From what I can see of it behind all the boxes anyway.”

  “Moved two weeks ago. Not got round to unpacking.”

  “If you open the kettle lid and let it cool first the coffee won’t taste-”

  “Oops, sorry.”

  “...burnt.”

  She stirred the mug and handed it to him. She had a sheepish grin on her face which, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to shift.

  There was a short silence while they both tried to think of something to say.

  “Thanks for-” Alix stopped, not really sure what she was thanking him for. The job? He hadn’t offered it to her. Baron had. Possibly manipulating everything behind the scenes because he had a rather obvious crush on her? Difficult to put into words.

  “I had nothing to do wi
th it,” he said to her relief. “You obviously impressed the DSI in interview.”

  “He’s pretty scary.”

  Ash raised an eyebrow. “You’ll enjoy working with him.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Ash nodded. He stole another glance at the flowers. She got up and went to the fridge, from where she took a can of Dr Pepper. When she had turned her back, he took a quick look at the tag on the flowers.

  To Alix, thank you for all your help. I can move on now. Jenna x

  Odd, he thought.

  “So,” he said, “this book of yours...”

  “Oh, don’t go on about it, it’s not that great, really. I knocked it out in less than three months.”

  “You’re too modest, doctor Franchot. Actually, I found Inside the Criminal Mind a fascinating read.”

  “You’ve not read it.” She could feel the blood rush to her face. For some reason, the thought that Ash might have actually read her book, or worse – critically read it – terrified her. Not that she was intimidated by him. They were very similar in many ways. Both prodigies, hopes for the future, big things ahead. It was just that he’d got on with it quicker than she had. That’s why now, technically, he was her boss.

  “I have read it. Every page. I particularly liked the entry regarding our friend Professor Lombroso.” He smiled: a broad smile that is only ever seen on the faces of those who are genuinely impressed. Cesare Lombroso had been their long running, private joke. What would Lombroso do? They had asked each other before. A nineteenth century Italian criminologist, Lombroso pioneered a radical theory that criminality was an inherited trait identifiable from certain physical features. Criminals, he said, were subhuman and therefore looked subhuman, with features similar to apes: big ears, sloping forehead, long arms, that sort of thing. Generally, his theory was regarded with a great deal of scepticism even at the time and, if correct, would mean that a number of leading and high profile individuals have criminal tendencies, including the Prince of Wales.

  “Will you sign a copy for me?”

  “Now you’re taking the piss. Anyway, yesterday changed my entire perception of the country we live in and you want to talk about a book.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said more gravely, cupping his hands around the drink and nodding slowly more to himself apparently than to her. “Yes, the thing we’re not supposed to talk about. Not even to each other.”

  He looked at her meaningfully. Ignoring his implied warning, she recounted her experience at Innsmouth and he listened without interrupting. She didn’t mention that Anwick had attempted to negotiate his escape using her as bargaining tool for two reasons: firstly, she hated the idea that he might express some sympathy for her or consider her vulnerable in any way and, secondly, she hadn’t had a chance to properly mull over Anwick’s words to her; the reason he let her go. “I’m sorry,” he had said. “I didn’t realise you were a Host.” She had questioned Omotoso on the way out but he couldn’t shed any light on what he meant. But there was a lot he hadn’t told her and that may well have been down to the lawyer’s presence there.

  When she’d finished telling him everything he nodded solemnly.

  “So you’ve never heard of this place? What’s it called – Innsmouth?”

  “I’ve heard of it but I’d no idea it was operational. It’s a bit like visiting Castle Howard and finding real knights sat around an open fire roasting a hog and drinking mead.”

  “There were never knights at Castle Howard. Anyway, do you know who’s prosecuting Anwick?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Amanda Harker Q.C.”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus. Harker is one of the most formidable barristers on the circuit. You must have heard of her? The Riddle trial last year? Remember those rapes in Norwich? No DNA, no decent witnesses, no forensics. Nothing. But she got a prosecution.”

  “How?”

  “By putting Riddle on the stand and letting him sit and knit out his case slowly and comprehensively until the point where the jury had absolutely no doubt he was telling the truth. Then she took a needle and methodically and brutally unpicking everything he said until she found a loose strand. She took the strand and pulled and pulled and after five and half hours the whole goddamn stitching came undone.”

  “Wow. You must really like her.”

  “Ok, no need for that. Just take her seriously. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Would I do anything other than the very thing you say I should?” She smiled and winked.

  He sighed and went back to burning his mouth on the coffee.

  Chapter 11

  They had chatted a little longer before Ash had made his excuses to hurry back to the station. Part of her was looking forward to the prospect of working full time for Ash Fielding. Another part of her wasn’t so sure. She knew she mustn’t let him down but there was a much more important issue at stake: she knew she mustn’t let herself down either. This job was the biggest set of V signs to her father she could think of. An achievement she could be proud of but a job with the very people who, in his eyes, had failed to bring back the daughter he’d lost. Conversation to the dark side.

  She’d pop over and see him this morning before the meeting. There was plenty of time and breaking up with Gavin would only take a few minutes.

  “Whatever you do, don’t be late,” Ash had warned her. “Harker doesn’t deal well with – you know – people who are late.”

  Alix had packed a bag of papers and pens to make notes and gone over the report she was going to deliver about Innsmouth a thousand times before she made her way out towards the centre. A quick visit to Gavin and then a quick visit to see Dad. Two sets of bad news to deliver.

  Alix had once read that certain busy Macdonald’s restaurants contaminate their air conditioning with a tiny trace of an unpleasant odour to encourage you to eat your meal and go because they didn’t want you to hang around and take up space. Why, she thought, was that necessary when the plastic seats were so damn uncomfortable anyway?

  “Alix!” An arrogant smile beamed at her from across the restaurant. Jesus, she thought. He’s actually wearing a bow tie.

  “Hi Gavin,” she said, taking the seat opposite him and forcing the smile to carve itself across her face. Gums, she was showing too much gum for this not to be feigned. But he wouldn’t notice it even if she was wearing a tee-shirt that said I am only here because I enjoy disliking you.

  “Wow,” he said, his odd beam broadening as he took her in. “You look great.”

  “Thanks. You do to.”

  “You know I was just telling a colleague of mine at the bank how hot... I mean how great you are, Alix. Here, I got you a tea.”

  “I only drink coffee.”

  “Oh,” he pulled the cup away, disappointed. “Well, anyway, I was thinking we could have dinner tonight.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, at a hotel in town.”

  “A hotel?” She put her hand to her mouth in what she thought might be interpreted as an appreciative surprise but which entirely passed him by. “The Marriott?”

  He faulted slightly. “Best Western. I’ve, er, I’ve got shares in Best Western.”

  “Shares. Wow.”

  “Uh-hu. So, what, eight o’clock? Great, great. Jees’,” he leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head. “Yeah, we closed last night on a wicked deal, anyway; so I’ve got something to celebrate.”

  “Wow.”

  “Damn right wow. Another fat bonus at the end of the month but, you know, it’s not about the money, is it? It’s about the rush. Watching those numbers fly across the screen. Jesus.” He shook his head, as if he could hardly believe it. Alix stared at him blankly as she had done on their previous three encounters.

  “Fuck, the market is so unpredictable right now, babe.” He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, as if it were all too much for him. “My job is getting more demanding everyday and they want me to run
the whole goddamn department now and I was like, hang on, bro, that’s a pretty big responsibility. But they think I can handle it and they’re the ones that should know, right? So I took the offer and, Bam! I’m in the hot seat!” He clapped his hands together for effect and looked at her for a reaction.

  “I spoke to your wife at the weekend,” she said casually, taking a handful of his chips and eating them.

  The colour drained from his face. For a moment, he looked as though he might be sick. She looked back indifferently.

  “I... I don’t...”

  “Don’t have a wife? Sure you do. Her name’s Jenna. I spoke to her over the weekend. Told her everything and, fuck me, Gavin, it turns out you’re not a banker at all. You’re an administrative assistant at a local estate agent’s. And a compulsive liar, which is easy to spot because every time you bullshit, you bite your nails to cover your mouth.”

  “How did...”

  “How did I know? Well apart from the strange times you insisted on meeting there’s a tan mark on your ring finger that doesn’t fade and when you paid for lunch last time you handed over a card for a joint account so it wasn’t difficult. Plus you know nothing about banking yet you claim to be a stock broker. And your hair is greasy. This is from Jenna.” She pushed an envelope across the table. He looked at it, dumbfounded. “Well, it’s from Jenna’s solicitor anyway. Listen, I gotta’ go, but it’s been swell seeing you.”

  “You... you weren’t interested in me?” He sounded hurt and confused. A small part of her felt sorry for him but the feeling past quickly.

  “No, I realised from the moment we first met you were a fraud so I played along for a few weeks to exploit you. It’s just a thing I like doing.”

  She got up and threw a five pound note on the table. “For lunch last week. I think you used a voucher so that’s what I actually owe. Catch you later.”