Immortal Warriors 02 - Secrets of the Highwayman
Page 24
Against her will, but needing to see, Melanie crept farther toward the cliff edge. The cold rain struck her face, and she had the mad urge to dive into the water and swim out and save at least some of them. Even though, deep in her heart, she knew they were already dead and what she was seeing was just a replaying of something that had happened who knew how many years before.
She stood and watched the old sailing ship rolling helplessly, already breaking up beneath the pounding she was getting, and the people running on the deck, slipping and falling, flailing in the water. They were drowning. Dying.
As she stared in horror at the scene before her, Melanie realized she could see their souls rising from their bodies. White and misty, like columns of smoke, they wafted upward. There were so many of them, they joined together until it was like a fog, growing thicker, until it all but obscured the scene of the tragedy.
The air crackled and zapped. She could feel the power, as if there was an electrical charge surrounding her. It was the same feeling she had when she touched Nathaniel. Her body began to grow stronger, taking in all the life essences around her. It was like being reborn, like being made young and strong again, only more so. She was a goddess, drinking in their souls. Or some sort of vampire.
Sickened, she spun away. She did not want this, she did not want to think she was capable of such a thing.
And that was when she saw Pengorren.
He was standing very still on the clifftop where the steps led down to the beach, watching the death and destruction taking place before him. And he was smiling. Because this was what he wanted. He had probably caused it to happen! A lantern burning in the wrong place, the warm light shining through the wind and rain and enticing the desperate ship onto the reef.
Melanie knew as if he’d told her that he wanted those people to die. More than that, he needed them to die, so that he could remain strong.
So that he could continue to live forever.
Just then he turned and saw her. His face changed, twisted into a mask of hatred. He came at her through the lashing rain, his eyes like burning lights.
“You!” he shouted against the storm, and reached for her.
At once Melanie felt herself spinning through the air, leaving the cliffs behind, until there was only sky all around her. A sweet young face filled her vision, framed by auburn hair, and with eyes so blue they hurt.
“Your Majesty?”
“Melanie, look. Look at what I’m showing you.” The queen of the between-worlds waved an arm that was covered in feathers. Melanie could see a room, and in it was Pengorren. He was holding a silver locket in his hands and as she watched he opened it. There was a miniature inside, but he pulled it out and set it aside, and she could see something else in the case. A gold disk with strange writing all over it. Suddenly the room vanished.
“See?” the queen said, and when Melanie turned to her she saw that her face was narrowing and a beak was forming and her eyes had become those of a predatory bird. “He has the time-traveling key. It belongs to me. He stole it from me long ago. You must get it back for me, Melanie.”
“How—?”
But the eagle flapped it wings and rose above her, hovering on an air current. “Get me the key,” it shrieked, “and I will give you what it is you wish for.”
She watched it fly away, and then she was falling through the sky, the ground rising up to meet her.
“Melanie.”
She was dreaming, muttering and twisting, as if something had her in its clutches. Whatever the dream was about she wasn’t enjoying it. Pengorren again? Had he drawn her back into the past with him?
Suddenly afraid, Nathaniel sat up and shook her hard. “Melanie!”
She screamed.
Shocked, he pulled her into his arms, holding her, rocking her. She wasn’t crying, but every now and then a shudder would run through her body, as if she had a high fever, although when he felt her skin it was cold.
At last she drew a shaky breath and reached up to touch the wound on his shoulder, her fingers very gentle. “I need to bandage this,” she whispered.
He tried to read what she was feeling in her face, but she turned away and wouldn’t allow it. “Melanie?”
“Don’t,” she spoke harshly, and pulled away altogether, sitting with her back to him. “I feel unclean,” she said, and her voice was filled with disgust and horror. “We have to stop him, Nathaniel, for your sake, for my sake, for the sake of everyone in this world.” And then she told him what she had seen in her dream, and what it meant.
Thirty-one
Mr. Trewartha lived in a town house in a quiet cul-de-sac. Lights showed through the windows as Suzie eased the Aston Martin car into the curb and switched off the engine. By now it was almost dark. “You may as well stay here,” she said to Eddie. “I’ll go and see if he’s ready.”
“Fine,” he replied, leaning back in the squishy leather seat with a smile. Eddie had discovered luxury. Suzie was glad she’d persuaded Melanie to let her drive the boss’s car.
There was a mock-Victorian streetlamp on the sidewalk, and she could see that the town house was built of a smooth dark red brick, with two windows top and bottom, and a steep pitch of grey slate roof. The garden appeared not to have been tended for a while. She walked along the path, flanked by an untidy box hedge, and rang the doorbell.
There was movement inside, and a wavery voice called out. “Come in! The door’s open.”
Suzie gave the heavy door a push. It swung open into a dimly lit hall cluttered with antiques.
“I’m sorry, I…” the voice dissolved into coughing.
Concerned, Suzie pushed past dusty chairs and a marble bust on a pedestal, down the hall. “Mr. Trewartha?” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I wonder if you wouldn’t mind…”
He was coughing again. It sounded serious. As she reached the doorway and stepped inside the room, Suzie was trying to remember the basics of the first-aid course she’d done five years ago, but she’d been more interested in the good-looking instructor than what he was saying.
The curtains were drawn and all she could see was a shape, standing in the middle of the room.
“Mr. Trewartha?”
He moved toward her then, faster than she could ever have imagined, and the light from the hall spilled onto his face. “Suzie,” he croaked, “it’s so nice to meet you…” And his hand closed on her arm.
Nathaniel lounged in Miss Pengorren’s old desk chair, swinging it gently from side to side, as he watched Melanie dart about, making notes, checking lists. She’d dressed in a dark skirt that stopped just above her knees, and a jacket in the same cloth, worn over a lime green blouse. She imagined she looked serious and professional, but the glamour was stronger than ever, and every time he glanced at her he had to remind himself to keep breathing.
“They should be here,” she said. “Do you think there’s a problem?”
“Maybe Trewartha and Eddie are fighting a duel over their respective theories. Pens at twenty paces.”
“Very funny.”
“I wonder if Pengorren has ever read The Raven’s Curse? He’d enjoy it. It’d be like murdering me all over again, only this time it’s my character and my memory being assassinated.”
Anger was simmering below the surface, but he held it in check. Nevertheless, Melanie gave him a sideways glance—it was all they could manage at the moment. “You shouldn’t be here when he comes, Nathaniel. This is business, that’s all, nothing to do with his views on history. I want to get this meeting over and done as soon as possible. You know that.”
He shrugged.
“I’m sorry.” Her shoulders sagged in defeat. “I wish this didn’t have to happen. I’m hoping I might be able to put him off doing the listing for a couple of weeks, so that you can carry on with your search. If I tell Mr. Foyle things are more complicated than we thought, he should let me stay on a bit longer, too. I mean, he trusts me, I don’t see any problems.”
“I’ll go down and take a look at Neptune,” he said. “Let me know when he’s gone.”
“Thank you.” She smiled.
Alone in the room, Melanie tried to settle her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. All the things she’d believed important now seemed mere distractions from the truly urgent task of finding Pengorren and putting an end to his evil. In a matter of days her priorities had taken a giant shift, her whole life had been changed irrevocably. Whatever happened next, Melanie knew she would never be able to go back.
Downstairs, the front door opened.
Annoyed that she hadn’t heard the car arrive, Melanie hurried out onto the landing. In the dim light of the single bulb, she could see the man standing in the hall below her. He was wearing a hat with a brim, the sort that men like Frank Sinatra used to wear, and a heavy dark coat buttoned up to his chin.
“Mr. Trewartha?”
Even as she spoke she felt it rushing toward her. Strong, dark…evil. Creeping into her mind, over her skin, filling the house like black acrid smoke.
Pengorren.
He wasn’t so bent anymore and although his face was incredibly wrinkled it was no longer just a skull. His eyes were shining like blue penlights, fixed on her as he shuffled forward with a rustle like dry paper.
“Melanie,” he croaked.
She shook her head, but it was more of a denial of what he was, not who he was.
“You are mine…my blood, my flesh, my seed.”
“I’m not yours!” her voice was shaking with revulsion. “I’m nothing to do with you!”
He laughed like a creaking hinge. He took off his hat and his hair wasn’t quite so white anymore, more like pale blond, and he was bigger, bulkier, his body filling out. Right in front of her eyes he was growing as he moved toward the stairs.
She tried to steel herself as she stepped back. He needed her, so he wasn’t going to kill her just yet. “Nathaniel won’t let you win,” she said, breathless. Dark flecks were beginning to spin at the edges of her vision, and she realized he must be taking her energy. He was sucking her life out of her because that’s what he did. Fed off the lives of others.
Pengorren laughed again. He was gazing up at her as he came. “Nathaniel is easy meat. The dear boy rushes in and doesn’t stop to think, he never has. You don’t need him. You’re far superior to him.” His blue eyes gleamed with a warped paternal pride.
“I love him,” she flung back at him.
“Love?” he sneered. “Our kind don’t love, Melanie. We use and destroy, and we live on. Forever.”
He stumbled, forgetting to watch his steps in his passion, and the chain about his neck swung forward. He was wearing something. The locket with the key inside it.
Get me the key and I will give you what it is you wish for.
Melanie could have run then, but she made a conscious decision to stay.
“How old are you?” she whispered, with a sort of horrified wonder. “Why aren’t you dead and buried, where you belong?”
“I am older than you can imagine.”
Suddenly Melanie felt her knees buckle, and Pengorren’s face slid out of focus. Even if she’d wanted to run now, she couldn’t. She shook her head, desperate to clear her sight. Pengorren was bulking up even more, and his cadaverous face was plumping out, the skin smoothing, becoming young again. His eyes still glowed eerily but now they were more like eyes, and they crinkled at the corners when he smiled. She was beginning to feel the effects of his glamour, like a meteor drawing closer and increasing in strength and brightness.
“Why do you do it?” she whispered. “Murder people, take their lives?”
He grinned, and he had teeth, white and strong. “Normal mortals are of no use to me. Their essence is puny. It is only if there are lots of them, if there’s a mass death, then I can take power from them. I need the essence of those with my own blood to keep me strong. Before my children and grandchildren were born, I needed to bring a sailing ship onto the rocks to stay alive. But you know that, don’t you, Melanie, my clever girl?”
His crooning voice lulled her. He’d almost reached her, and again her eyes were drawn to the locket. The chain looked strong for all its fineness, but one sharp tug might do it. She must reach out and grab it. She must try. He wouldn’t be expecting her to do that, and she could take him by surprise.
“I have developed a way of farming the essences, the souls, that I need,” he continued, as if proud of his perversion. “I create my own, with my own blood in them. I sired many brats on the women of Ravenswood, and then those brats had their own families. Plenty of fodder, or so I thought. But my plan wasn’t quite as successful as I’d hoped. Some of my descendants didn’t inherit much of my power at all, and that meant I had to take so many at a time that my line began to dwindle. I grew weaker. Lately I have been too weak to leave my home. You have no idea how grateful I am that you came to Cornwall, Melanie.”
“You’ve killed your own flesh and blood to stay alive.”
“Of course.”
“You’re a monster.”
“I am a god!” Pengorren roared.
Melanie lunged forward, fingers crooked, but she was too slow and he easily evaded her.
“Don’t be silly now,” he scolded, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder.
She pulled away, staggered, and fell against the wall. And that was when she remembered something she should have remembered as soon as she saw Pengorren, alone, in the hall. Alarm made her voice more breathless than it was already, and she was filled with a sense of dread.
“Where’s my sister? Where’s Suzie?”
Thirty-two
Restlessly, Nathaniel kicked at the straw in Neptune’s stall. The big horse was restless, too, ears pricked, skin twitching. Nathaniel tried to persuade him to eat, but he ignored the feed, lifting his head to stare at the door.
“Do you think that bastard Trewartha will stay long?” Nathaniel murmured, and Neptune turned to him, as if interested in the question. “I wish I could tell him what I really think of him. Pengorren and Trewartha…they make a fine pair.”
Pengorren and Trewartha, they were both destroyers in their own way. Pengorren, who traveled through time and lived in different time periods, and was still here, somewhere. Trewartha, who was old and had lived in Cornwall for a very long time. Pengorren was old, too. He imagined that Pengorren would enjoy reading Trewartha’s book, and gloating over the blackening of Nathaniel’s memory. It was like something Pengorren would do himself. In fact, such a sly and underhand act was very characteristic of Pengorren…
“Oh God.”
He’d been an idiot. How could he have missed the clues? Pengorren was Trewartha. And Melanie was alone in the house with him.
Nathaniel ran to the stable door and flung it open.
Just as something big crashed into him, sending him backward onto the floor. He hit the stone flags hard and lay there, helpless, with the breath knocked out of him. A shadow fell over him, and then a heavy weight pressed down on his chest, and he felt the warmth of his own blood on his face.
“Ah yes. Dear Suzie.” Pengorren straightened up as he reached the landing. “Unfortunately she didn’t have your power, did she? I’m afraid to say she was hardly worth the effort. Still, it was enough to get me this far.”
Instinctively, Melanie edged along the wall, shaking, dizzy. “I hope you suffer for all eternity, you murdering monster,” she said, her voice trembling with grief. It couldn’t be. He was lying to her. Suzie couldn’t be dead. Not now when they were just beginning to find each other again after all these years.
“Poor Suzie,” Pengorren mocked.
He was towering over her now, and his shoulders were so broad, his feet planted apart. Imposing, terrifying, and almost completely regenerated.
She wante
d to throw herself at him and bite and scratch him, to hurt him as he’d hurt her. But it was too late. She was sliding down the wall, her senses swimming. The end couldn’t be far away. Her mind was fading. She realized, with a pang, that she’d never see Nathaniel again…
“Pengorren!”
For a moment she thought she’d dreamed his voice, but it was coming from the bottom of the stairs. Why was he down there? He should be up here, with her. And then she could hear the sharp click of claws on wood, the rush of something moving swiftly, and a deep angry growling.
His voice had the desired effect. Nathaniel watched as Pengorren spun around, staggering slightly—for all he looked like himself it was clear he didn’t yet have a young man’s strength. He climbed the stairs after Teth, and it wasn’t until he was halfway up that he saw Melanie on the floor near Pengorren’s feet. Her face was pure white, and she was slumped against the wall, her eyes sunk back into their sockets as if she had some terrible illness.
He shouldn’t have gone away and left her alone. He should have guessed. As he’d lain on the floor, with Teth licking his face—the warm wetness hadn’t been blood after all—he’d cursed himself for his lack of wits. Pengorren had bested him again.
Teth lunged, all demon. Pengorren let out a scream and fell back against a small table. They crashed to the landing, Teth on top, snarling, teeth fastened on the neck of Pengorren’s coat. Cloth ripped. Pengorren rolled over onto his front, lifting his arms to protect his head, but Teth grabbed hold of his sleeve, shaking it and making terrible noises in his throat.
Nathaniel stepped hastily around them and bent down to pick Melanie up in his arms. She was weak, almost too weak to lift her head as he shifted her so that she could rest her cheek against his shoulder. He began to back away down the corridor, carrying her with him.
“The key…” she managed, hardly more than a whisper. “He’s wearing it, Nathaniel…Take it…we must…”
He hesitated, glancing back at the writhing mass that was Pengorren and the hound. His first instinct was to take Melanie far away, to somewhere safe. But she was right. They had to have the key. He compromised, and carried her into one of the nearer bedchambers. It was a child’s room, musty with disuse, and he set her gently down on the narrow, iron-framed bed.