by M. J. Hearle
How agonising it had been reading the reports in the newspaper and seeing the police on the news calling for information regarding the two corpses they’d retrieved from the blackened ruins of Pilgrim’s Lament. Marcus, Damien and Caleb Bennet had been quickly identified through forensic evidence but Blake and Claudette remained a mystery to the authorities.
It was Jasmine who’d counselled Winter against going to the police. She reasoned that to identify Blake would be a dire mistake. There was no way Winter would truthfully be able to answer the questions they asked, and worse still, might be implicated in the murders as Sam had been. It wouldn’t do Blake any good if Winter spent the next few decades in jail as Sam’s accomplice. While Winter doubted it would ever come to that, she’d reluctantly conceded Jasmine had a point and so had allowed her love to be buried without his name.
She’d watched the burial though, hidden from behind one of the larger tombstones, as the appointed official custodians deposited Blake and Claudette’s ashes with little ceremony. It seemed so wrong! There hadn’t even been a priest.
Winter closed her eyes forcing the pain into the background of her thoughts. There was no need to mourn him any longer. Blake was alive. It was only dust and dirt beneath her feet. He was alive.
Hearing the crunch of tyres on gravel in the carpark behind her, Winter checked her watch: six-thirty. She turned and saw the green station wagon rolling to a stop near the cemetery gates.
Chapter 18
As Sam stepped out of the car to greet her, Winter saw the signs of exhaustion on his face. Even in the fading light the dark shadows under his eyes were plainly evident. It didn’t look like he’d slept a wink since she’d last seen him.
‘Boy am I glad to see you,’ she said.
Sam smiled tiredly. ‘I wasn’t going to stand you up.’
‘Last night was okay?’
He nodded his head. ‘Yeah. No Benedict. I didn’t think he’d be able to pinpoint where you lived unless you used the stone again.’ His expression grew cautious. ‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘No.’
‘Good. But you brought it with you today?’
Winter pulled it out from underneath her top. ‘Of course.’
Sam’s gaze went from the stone to her face, frowning. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’
No, she wasn’t. What Winter wanted to do more than anything was go home and forget all about Benedict. But she couldn’t. And now, night was coming.
Winter tried to affect a look of confidence. ‘Yes. Once we’re . . . finished, we need to talk about Blake.’
He nodded reluctantly, avoiding her questioning gaze. ‘Okay.’ Again there was that expression of furtiveness, and her suspicion that he knew something about Blake’s circumstances strengthened. Before the night was out she was determined to find out exactly what he knew.
Sam moved to the back of the car, opened the door and withdrew the machete and its leather belt, strapping it diagonally across his chest. ‘I need you to promise me something,’ he said, as he tightened the strap. ‘If something happens to me tonight. If Benedict . . . if it doesn’t go according to plan. You need to call this number.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a torn piece of paper with a number scrawled across it in red pen. ‘Ask for Magdalene. Tell her about Benedict. She’ll know what to do.’
Confused, Winter took the paper from him. ‘Who’s Magdalene?’
‘My aunt,’ Sam said, pulling on his grey trenchcoat, hiding the machete. ‘She’ll be able to help you.’
‘How?’
‘Magdalene’s the head of the Bonnaire family,’ Sam explained. ‘The Bane,’ he clarified.
He turned away from her, collecting his duffel bag before she could question him further. Looking at the number he’d given her, Winter’s imagination kicked into overdrive. So, Sam wasn’t the last of the Bane . . .
‘Can you carry something for me?’ Sam asked, interrupting her thoughts.
‘Sure.’ She folded the number away, eager to be given something to do. At the moment she felt as helpless as a worm about to be wrapped around the hook of a fishing line.
Sam heaved the duffle bag over to her. ‘Catch.’
Winter caught the bag, straining beneath its weight – what the hell did he have in here?
‘We’re losing light. It’s nearly time.’ Grabbing his crossbow, he walked past her towards the gates and she quickly followed.
Chapter 19
Sam headed away from Pauper’s Lane, down the hill, cutting through the tombstones towards the older section of Morningside.
‘Where are we going? Blake’s grave is back there,’ Winter called, struggling to keep up with his purposeful stride.
‘We need cover,’ Sam said, gesturing towards a tall statue of a wingless angel. It was easily one of the biggest monuments in the cemetery, presiding over the grave of Arthur Hillcoat, a property baron who was largely responsible for developing the coastal stretch of Hagan’s Bluff. ‘Besides, he’s not going to have time to realise he’s made a mistake,’ he added.
They paused a few rows away from the stone angel, Sam nodding to the bag in Winter’s arms. ‘You can put that down.’
Winter placed the bag on the grass, careful not to dump it directly over the grave. She might not have been superstitious but she was respectful of the dead and didn’t want to disturb someone’s resting place. Sam lent his crossbow against the tombstone so his hands were free and knelt down to unzip the bag. He withdrew a thick loop of chain, stood back and walked it around the grave, creating a crude circle. ‘This is called a holding circle,’ he explained, seeing Winter’s curiosity. ‘It will stop Benedict Travelling once he appears.’ He walked back to the bag and removed four metal containers the size of lunchboxes. Each container had a different swirling design punched out of the metal cover. As he placed them around the circle, he opened the covers and lit the candles hidden within. The containers began to glow faintly in the dusk like lanterns.
‘Is this going to work, Sam?’ Winter asked anxiously once he’d finished his preparations.
Sam picked up his bag and walked over to her. ‘I have no idea,’ he said, shrugging. ‘I’ve never done this before.’
Seeing her worried expression, he smiled reassuringly at her. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be perfectly safe.’
His smile did not convince her. ‘How do you figure?’
Sam picked up the duffle bag and crossbow. ‘Come with me,’ he said, leading her towards the stone angel. Once they were positioned behind it, he opened his bag again and brought out a leather satchel, tied with a drawstring.
‘Stand still,’ he told her, loosening the string. Winter obeyed, watching him curiously as he began to pour a vaguely luminescent green powder around her.
‘Elderflower?’ she asked, staring at the shimmering substance curiously. As far as she could tell the powder had no scent.
‘No. Elderflower only works indoors. This is called Dust or Warding Dust. It will keep you safe.’
‘Where does it come from?’ Winter said, squinting at the fine, sand-like substance.
‘Warding Stones. From the Dead Lands. Very rare. Very powerful. We grind them up to make the Dust.’
While Winter mused on this information – just how did the Bane steal these stones from the Dead Lands? – Sam finished making the circle and tied the drawstring again. It might have just been her imagination but once the circle was complete the phosphorescent Dust seemed to glow a little brighter.
‘Do we need to chant or do a dance or something?’ Winter asked, only half joking. It wouldn’t have surprised her if Sam had asked her to do either.
‘You can if you like,’ Sam said with a shrug, not rising to the bait. ‘Who knows, it might help.’ He was about to return the satchel of Dust to his bag when he paused. Instead, he held it out for her to take. ‘Why don’t you hang onto this for me?’
Winter hesitated. Despite her scepticism, clearly Sam considered the Dust very valuable
. ‘I can’t take it.’
‘Please, I’d feel better if you did.’
Reluctantly, Winter took the satchel from his hand. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ Sam said, picking up the crossbow and stepping away from the bag. ‘It doesn’t mean we’re engaged or anything,’ he said with a half-smile, and joined her within the glittering barrier he’d drawn.
Feeling a little foolish, Winter rolled up the satchel and slid it into her jeans. ‘Now what?’
Sam looked up at the darkening sky. ‘We wait for night. Shouldn’t be long.’
It wasn’t. As the last rays of the sun vanished from view, Winter felt the coil of tension in her chest tighten. This was really happening. She was about to risk her life to help trap and kill a Demori. Without wanting to, her mind flashed upon the night on Owl Mountain and Claudette’s frenzied and terrifyingly efficient massacre of Sam’s father and brothers. There had been four of them armed with crossbows and Claudette had easily eliminated them. Did she and Sam really stand a chance against Benedict?
‘This is it,’ Sam said, all humour gone. Still, he was surprisingly calm given the circumstances, the steely look in his eyes a small comfort to her.
‘Go to the holding circle and use the stone. Call for Blake.’
‘Then what?’
‘Run back here as fast as you can.’ He wound the crossbow mechanism back and loaded an iron bolt.
Winter gulped, feeling the blood drain from her face. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the ring, instantly feeling more exposed. Her eyes flicked warily to the left and right, watching for shadows. Shadows with shining green eyes.
Stepping tentatively into the middle of the holding circle – from one ring into another – she reached for the lodestone. The sky was almost completely black now, save for a sliver of red on the horizon as thin as a paper cut. With the sun gone, the temperature had fallen dramatically and Winter was cold. Cold and afraid.
Her hands trembling slightly she clasped the lodestone between her fingers, closed her eyes and conjured Blake’s image. It was easy to do so as she’d memorised every detail of his face: the thick wavy black hair spilling across his forehead, the shining eyes, the generous mouth. Blake gave her a bittersweet smile. The only smile she remembered him being capable of making.
‘Blake,’ Winter said softly, her voice a mere whisper. The word was more than a ruse. It was a prayer and a promise.
‘Winter!’ Sam hissed behind her. She turned and saw him beckoning her towards him. She rushed back to his side, expecting to feel Benedict’s icy hands close around her throat at any moment. Once back within the safety of the Dust, she let out a long tremulous breath.
‘Don’t make a sound,’ Sam said softly beside her as he raised the crossbow, training it on the holding circle. Winter watched the space in the circle nervously, her gaze leaping to the graveyard beyond: the rows of tombstones sloping up the hill, in the middle distance the tall iron fence running the perimeter of Morningside, the front gates which she could hardly make out in the darkness. Suddenly the twin angels atop the gates were thrown into silhouette as a car’s headlights arced across them. An engine rumbled, rising above the shifting hush of the ocean, and soon a car rolled into view. Winter’s heart skipped a beat as she recognised the champagne-coloured Mini Cooper pulling into the space next to Sam’s station wagon.
‘Oh no!’
‘Is that —?’ Sam started behind her.
‘Yes. It’s Jasmine,’ she finished for him. They both watched as Jasmine walked away from the parked car towards the cemetery gates.
‘What’s she doing here?’
‘How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I invited her along tonight,’ Winter snapped, a cold panic beginning to set in. Her eyes darted to the graveyard. There was no sign of Benedict. Yet. ‘I have to get her out of here.’
She made a move to leave the ring, but Sam held her back. ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous. The Demori could arrive at any second.’
‘We can’t just stand here and do nothing!’
His jaw twitched and she saw the conflict going on behind his eyes. She made a move to leave and again he held her back.
‘I’m sorry, Winter. I can’t let you leave the circle.’ His eyes pleaded with her to understand, but she looked away. He couldn’t honestly expect her to abandon Jasmine.
‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth and turned her back on him. He kept his hand on her arm, but his grip relaxed slightly. Feigning defeat Winter sighed, letting her shoulders drop even as she tensed in readiness to make her move. Silently counting to three, she jerked her elbow backwards, digging it into Sam’s stomach, just below his solar plexus. He let out a surprised grunt and released her.
Winter sprung away from him, sprinting as quickly as she could through the tombstones towards Jasmine who was now standing on the edge of the light spilling in from the carpark. She looked so tiny and vulnerable, dwarfed by the tall gates behind her.
‘Winter!’ Sam cried out behind her, but she was encouraged by the breathless quality of his voice and how far away he sounded. She’d winded him; he wasn’t going to catch up to her right away.
Winter threaded through the graves towards Jasmine, wary of calling out in case she brought Benedict down upon them. Jasmine took a nervous step backwards as Winter came hurtling through the cemetery towards her, the look of apprehension relaxing once she recognised her.
‘Winter? What’s the —’
‘You’ve got to get out of here!’ Winter blurted out between harried breaths. She turned Jasmine around and began marching her back towards the gates and the car. Jasmine wriggled out of her grasp, refusing to be led away.
‘What are you talking about? I stopped by your house first but when you weren’t there I figured you probably came here. Especially after what you said last night. About seeing him again. I’m really sorry, Win.’
Winter ignored her friend, glancing around the dark tombstones anxiously. Fear wrapped itself around her, making her feel even more short of breath. Her arms had broken out in goosebumps. Where was Sam? She’d expected him to join them by now.
‘Winter?’ Jasmine said, frowning at her with deep concern.
‘Jasmine, listen to me,’ she said, meeting her friend’s worried gaze. ‘It’s not safe.’
‘I don’t underst—’
An agonised scream shattered the stillness of the night making both girls jump.
‘Sam!’ Winter gasped, fear clutching at her heart.
Chapter 20
‘What’s happening, Winnie?’ Jasmine asked, her eyes flicking warily from Winter to the cemetery. ‘Who screamed?’
Winter couldn’t answer. She just stared at Jasmine, her mouth locked, while her mind struggled to fend off the paralysing terror that now threatened to overwhelm her. What had she done? In trying to warn Jasmine she’d placed them all at risk. Now Sam was lying somewhere out there in the dark. Hurt, or worse. She needed to help him, but she found herself unable to move. Something was out there in the dark. Waiting for her.
‘You’re freaking me out!’ Jasmine said, trying to shake Winter from her non-communicative state.
‘I’m sorry, I . . .’ This was foolish. They couldn’t just stand here and wait for Benedict to attack them. Looking at Jasmine’s pale face she realised she had to tell her something. Prepare her for what they faced. Opening her mouth, Winter began to speak, when another chilling scream rang out.
The heart-rending agony in Sam’s voice shattered her paralysis, and Winter started off towards the sound. She needed to help Sam!
‘Are you crazy?’ Jasmine hissed, catching up with her and forcibly spinning her around. ‘Don’t go out there!’
‘Sam’s hurt,’ Winter said, growing desperate.
‘Sam? My Sam? What are you talking about?’ She paused, realising there was a more pressing question. ‘Winter . . . what hurt him?’
As if in response a low chuckle echoed through the nigh
t. In a way the sound was worse than Sam’s screams. Benedict was out there and in the mood for fun.
‘Let’s get to your car,’ Winter whispered, her voice trembling. Jasmine nodded eagerly and the two of them turned and ran towards the gates. The idea of leaving Sam to the Demori made her feel sick – but what could she do? She had no weapons, no way of fighting Benedict. If she tried to help Sam the only thing she’d accomplish would be getting both of them killed. Retreat was her only option. She could hate herself for it later.
Jasmine’s car waited on the other side of the gates, gleaming dully below the carpark fluorescents. They’d only made it halfway to the gates when there was the sound of exploding glass. The carpark light winked out, plunging them into blackness.
Jasmine let out a startled yelp, clinging to Winter like a frightened child.
‘Oh my God!’
Winter eased her friend’s death grip from her neck so she could breathe. Again, Benedict’s mocking laughter floated towards them, much closer now. He was enjoying himself. Feeling terribly vulnerable in the darkness, Winter pulled her phone out of her jeans and flicked it on, waving it around them like a torch. The pale blue glow wasn’t much of a consolation but at least they could see.
‘Call the police!’ Jasmine whispered, panic in her voice.
‘They wouldn’t get here in time,’ Winter replied grimly. She suddenly remembered the satchel Sam had given her.
‘Hold this.’ She quickly passed Jasmine her phone, then pulled out the small leather pouch.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Hopefully saving our lives,’ Winter replied, loosening the drawstring. She poured a small, crude circle of glowing Dust around them, careful not to leave any gaps. Once the circle was complete she stood close to Jasmine twisting the bag anxiously in her hands.
‘What is that stuff?’
‘Shh . . .’ Winter hushed her, straining to listen. For Sam. For Benedict. All she could hear was the crashing of the waves at the base of the cliffs and . . . footsteps! A dark shape shot by them, moving inhumanly fast. Jasmine gasped as the wind of Benedict’s passing teased her hair.
