by Beverley Lee
Ollie was a terrible liar. He was the one who always got into trouble because Liv could convince anyone she hadn’t touched the biscuit jar, even with tell-tale crumbs around her mouth. But he knew nothing about what had happened earlier, so there was no lie to be told.
He watched over the top of his book as Carver paced the length of the room, his head bowed in thought. Ollie knew him well enough to know he was waiting for the right time to speak, whenever that was. That moment came when Gabe left to grab something from his room.
‘There’s something you should know, Ollie, but this isn’t for Gabe’s ears. Remember the box from the Davenports? The one Noah found on the lawn? I kept it. That’s what was in the safety box in the vault.’ Ollie had been expecting something important, but this came right out of nowhere and hit him like a sucker punch.
‘So that’s what you think Olivia took?’ He had to force his lips to form words as his brain raced. ‘I swear she didn’t know about it. She would have told me.’
‘Would have told you what?’ Gabe hovered in the doorway with a book under his arm.
Ollie cut in. ‘If she had taken anything out of the vault.’
Carver shot a relieved glance in his direction, then frowned.
Gabe set his book down on a side table. ‘I’m getting a drink. Does anyone want one?’
Ollie asked for a sparkling water and Gabe went off to the kitchen.
‘For now, we don’t say anything to him about what was in the vault. Agreed?’
A niggle of uncertainty sparked in Ollie’s gut. ‘Wouldn’t it be better if we all knew?’
‘Gabe is freaked out enough about what happened in the cellar. I want to find out what happened to the box before telling him the thing he thought was gone and that started off the whole sorry mess with his family, is the thing that has inexplicably disappeared.’
Chapter Thirty-Nine
A thorn of guilt lodged itself under Noah’s skin. He was the one who had left the vault door open. And he was disturbed that no one had admitted to taking it, which only left one possibility. The feel of the box in his hands all those years ago...there wasn’t an adjective on earth to describe it.
He stood on the threshold of the French doors, letting the breeze cool his skin. The sky was now the colour of steel, the beautiful morning spoiled. A heavy, oppressive quality filled the air as though the day was brooding. Even the birds had stopped singing. He watched as a single leaf fluttered down from the cherry tree—the promise of autumn.
‘You want to ask what we’re waiting for, don’t you?’ Carver appeared at his shoulder. Despite the heat, the older man still wore his jacket. Noah had often teased him that he was born in the wrong century.
‘I do.’ A faint rumble of thunder grumbled far to the east. ‘I’m trying to convince myself you know what you’re doing.’
There was a wry smile on Carver’s lips. ‘Truthfully, Noah, I’m not sure what we’re dealing with here. But nightfall will tell us. I’m working on the Sherlock Holmes methodology.’
Noah half laughed.
‘The process of elimination. Part of me wants to believe someone did take that box and they’re not telling, and that Gabe’s fall had nothing at all to do with anything that crawled out of the woodwork. Then all we’re dealing with is a liar and a random incident. But my gut tells me there’s a chain reaction here and we’re only just starting. Stupidly enough, I want something to show itself because at least then, I’ll know what I’m dealing with—and if it’s related to Gabe.’
‘I don’t think there’s any if involved. Whatever targeted the Davenports all those years ago has come back for Gabe, and maybe Beth. It has a score to settle.’
‘For a man of God, that’s one hell of a statement.’ Carver put his hand on the priest’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for staying with me, Noah. I need your faith. We need your faith.’
‘Only you could put God and hell in one sentence, my friend.’ He placed his hand over Carver’s. ‘What about Olivia?’
‘I want her home by dusk, but she’s not answering her phone. Not even for Ollie. So, all we can do is wait.’
Noah voiced a thought that refused to be silenced. ‘The magpie was the only bird that didn’t sing or comfort Jesus at the crucifixion. Some people are convinced that they’re cursed. The old myths say they carry a drop of the devil’s blood under their tongue. Is it coincidence that’s what attacked Gabe?’
The curator’s lips twisted into a hard smile. ‘Everything is playing out here for a reason.’
His answer didn’t make Noah feel any better.
***
Ollie and Gabe were slouched on the grey sofa, playing chess on Ollie’s tablet, as the two men came inside. At the sight of the two teenagers studying a game that had endured for centuries, Carver smiled. The first genuine smile of the day.
The Manor was a classic case of a time warp. On the exterior, it looked like a house that might be found on a Sunday night television drama. On the inside, it was an eclectic mix of styles, some as old fashioned as the grandfather clock in the hallway, and some as modern as the state of the art computer system throughout the house—and of course, the vault. Victorian ran into Edwardian, ran into Art Deco. Original oils of horses and dogs that were once part of everyday life hung alongside parchments depicting ancient Egyptian mythology and Pagan spell charts. Artefacts lay in unnatural surroundings: a skeleton of a Halloween carousel horse on the polished mahogany top of a bureau, a wooden witch’s ladder hung in the corner of the Shaker style kitchen. But somehow, it all worked. The house seemed to absorb each piece and make it part of the whole.
As the afternoon slid into early evening, there was still no sign of Olivia. Ella’s sister, June, had rung to say the tests they had done had proved inconclusive, and they were moving Ella to the city hospital in the morning. Carver had taken another grilling from June when he suggested he and Noah pop over. June made it perfectly clear she thought Ella worked far too hard for too little reward. It did nothing to lighten the mood.
No one was hungry, but Noah kept bringing snacks from the kitchen, the latest of which—a toasted cheese sandwich—lay on plates on the low table. Gabe prodded an ooze of melted cheese with his finger. Ollie watched him over the top of his glasses.
The French doors stood open in hope of a breath of cool air, but all was still. The sky had turned from a gloomy grey to a dirty yellow-beige. Somewhere, the sun was setting.
Gabe stood and stretched, arching his shoulders back with the grace of youth. He made for the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Carver put down his newspaper.
‘The bathroom.’
Carver’s reply was stalled by a glance from Noah. ‘Just be vigilant, Gabe, please.’
***
Gabe acknowledged the priest’s concern with a raise of his hand. It was approaching 8 p.m. and the house seemed unnaturally quiet, as if it, too, was waiting for something. Even the floorboards appeared asleep as he crossed the landing to his room.
He shut the door and leaned against it, feeling the welcome chill from the wood on his brow. The air in his lungs came whistling out as though he had been holding it in all day. He opened his mouth and rocked his lower jaw from side to side. It ached from being clenched. The covers on his bed lay in a heap from this morning. Of course, Ella hadn’t been in to tidy up...a small lump formed in his throat. It was stiflingly hot. Then he remembered shutting his window this morning—was it really only this morning?—after seeing the bird. He knew instinctively it was the same bird that had attacked him.
The wood around the window had swelled in the heat and he had to push hard to lift the sash. Gabe leaned out and inhaled the unmistakable scent of ozone. He glanced to the right. His mother’s window was wide open, too. Beth had been more than happy to stay in her room all day, even declining a walk in the garden with Noah in the afternoon. Carver had said not to worry; she was probably still unnerved by her visit to the farmhouse. The curator didn’t say anything
about the ghost of Stu Davenport, but his omission hung there unseen, like the ghost itself.
High in the sky, a curve of moon interrupted the coming twilight, as though it couldn’t wait to appear. The North Star twinkled a greeting. Gabe wondered if this was officially night, or did he have to wait until the sky was dark. He rocked on the windowsill, letting his weight take him slightly off balance, feeling the adrenaline spike through his veins.
A small bird darted close to his face and he let go with one hand as its wingtips touched his cheek, a cry of panic shooting from his mouth. The swallow disappeared into its nest of twigs, its beak filled with squirming grubs. Gabe wondered again, this time about what it felt like to be one of those squirming grubs. He slid down onto his knees on the bed, his courage swirling away like water down a drain. He was afraid.
Gabe had been brought up in this house. He knew dark things that couldn’t be explained by men or science existed. When most children were ready for Harry Potter, he was digesting The Encyclopaedia of Modern Witchcraft. Once, a presence had passed right through him, causing little bubbles to explode inside his stomach. He had worked long into the night with a restorer, picking dead lice from a banner used on the fields of Culloden, and had seen the dried blood of men who had died terrible deaths. But despite what happened on that snowy night long ago, nothing evil had ever touched him since. On nights when he was bored, he had sometimes wished for it, something to prove he was here in this house for a reason.
But what if wishes came true?
Chapter Forty
The vampire returned to The Manor the following evening as soon as the sun set, as he knew he would. Truth be told, he could venture out as it slid towards the horizon—but it wasn’t comfortable. The light made his eyes stream.
The two young vampires who shared his den had pleaded with him to bring a human home before he left. He hadn’t sired them; he had only taken them under his wing a few years ago. The scent on his skin from the human boy caused the weaker one to press against him like a cat claiming ownership. They were fixated on blood as the young always were, but he hunted for them most nights. It was easier that way. He didn’t need the attention of a messy kill and he forbade them to hunt indiscriminately. They knew the price they would pay if they did.
They must stay in their den tonight, he had told them before leaving. They knew better than to argue, even though they hovered in the doorway of the stone crypt, hoping he would change his mind. But tonight wasn’t a night for teaching. Five minutes later, he returned with a small roe deer struggling in his hand. Its legs kicked and flailed against his thigh, but he felt nothing. Their forms waited in the darkness, milling around the doorway. Their need was palpable. They fell upon the deer as one. He had forgotten the monstrous rage of young hunger.
Now he stood in almost the same spot as last night. It was pointless to try and hide his presence from the entity inside. It would know as surely as he. Predators acknowledged each other in the wild.
A loud rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens and far away, the stark flash of lightning. Electricity sizzled in the air. He pulled his hood over his head, not for the threat of rain, but to be at one with the dark. It was an old friend now, although in the past it had bruised and bloodied him nearly to the point of extinction.
The sticky heat clung to everything. It carried scents from the garden and from within the house—the saccharine smell of honeysuckle, a sour odour from an open grate at the side of the house, the scent of beeswax from within the rooms. And of course, the many nuances of the human inhabitants—the falseness of soap and cologne, the heavy aroma of blood with all its singular sweetness. But there was another smell drifting from the open window up above. The prickling stench of fear.
The vampire paused, pressing himself against the tall guard of a clump of evergreens. The boy stared out the window, his face pale against the darkness of the room. He was the fear.
High above, the vampire caught the tremor in the air from the beat of wings. The moon, now set in place and covered by cloud, cast only a ghost light, but there was enough for him to pick out the hard glassiness of an eye staring down. The bird screeched. It was an inhuman sound.
The open window slammed closed and the face disappeared. The vampire mused, adding knowledge to the slate in his mind. So, the boy knew of the threat. He was gone from the trees before the ripple of noise had settled into the night.
Chapter Forty-One
Noah was halfway up the stairs when Gabriel came out of his room. The priest stopped, not sure whether he should continue and make some excuse as to where he was heading. He was very aware Gabe didn’t want babysitting, but one look at the boy’s ashen face was enough to keep him in one place.
‘The bird’s outside. I heard it.’
‘Come downstairs.’ Noah held out one hand and was startled when Gabe grasped it. His fingers were ice cold.
Ollie and Carver had moved to the front parlour. The curator stood by the bay window staring out. Rain hammered against the glass, running down in dark rivulets. A lightning bolt struck the valley, illuminating the whole hillside for a brief moment.
Ollie sat on the arm of a chair, his phone pressed to his ear. ‘Fuck it! It just goes straight to voice mail. She must know I’m out of my mind.’ The outburst was uncharacteristic, but everyone felt his anguish.
Gabriel threw himself down on the couch and plugged his earphones into his phone. He pulled at the lobe of one ear.
A door slammed shut somewhere in the house and everyone jerked round.
‘Noah, please bring Beth down here, too.’ Carver’s voice was low, as if he only wanted the occupants of the room to hear it.
‘She was sleeping...’ Noah began, and then he stopped and sprinted up the stairs. The slow blink of the moon shone through the arched window, and then was obscured by a scud of cloud. The wind, which had begun with a lazy breeze, was now rampaging around the exterior of the house, whistling through gaps in the old bricks and lashing the rain against any exposed surface. Something large swept past the window and Noah ducked down before realising it was the sun parasol that covered the picnic table. No one had thought to take it down with the threat of a storm. Ella would have remembered...
A verse from the Gospel of St. Mark came to mind. Some demons are so strong they require a level of faith to cast them out—prayer and fasting and faith in each other. His faith was hiding somewhere beneath his fear. And their faith in each other? Olivia’s image swam before his eyes, her face rigid with anger as she had left this morning. Gabe’s voice imploring them he wasn’t in shock, that the bird had attacked him.
Noah didn’t even bother knocking at Beth’s door. He barged through. The gauze curtains at her window billowed inwards like ghosts and the floor underneath was dark with rain. A bolt of lightning sparked overhead and the room erupted in a blinding glare of light.
Noah’s heart plummeted.
The bed was empty.
He stared in disbelief. For the second time in two days, Beth had vanished. He ran to the open window and his feet went from underneath him. His hip took most of the impact, but he ignored the jarring pain and scrambled to his knees, pulling himself up with the ledge of the windowsill. The rain beat down on his knuckles, far too icy for late summer. Noah leaned out into the storm and at once, his breath was taken.
‘Noah?...Good God, where’s Beth?’ Carver stood in the doorway. ‘I heard a thud. I called you but you didn’t answer.’
Noah backed into the room. His face stung where the rain had lashed down. ‘I slipped in the water, but never mind about that. She’s gone again, Edward. How?’
The two men faced each other. Noah swiped his wet hair away from his face and grasped the back of his neck.
‘She can’t have come down the stairs,’ said Carver. ‘We were all there at some point. And even if she did, she couldn’t have opened the door. I locked it.’
Noah arched an eyebrow. Carver only locked the door at night. Crime was rare
in the village and none of the locals would attempt to break in. They all knew strange things went on behind the doors, but Carver was well liked and generous to a fault at charity events.
‘She can’t have gone out of the window. It’s impossible....’ Noah’s voice trailed off as both men came up with the possibility that she had simply vanished.
‘Grab some flashlights; we’ll do a sweep of the grounds just in case.’ Carver’s face was grim. ‘She can’t have gone far.’
Something clicked deep inside Noah’s mind. It slid into place like a piece of a puzzle. Grabbing Carver’s arm, he stopped him from running downstairs. ‘It’s baiting us, don’t you see? It’s trying to separate us all because it knows it can’t take us all down at once.’ A trickle of water ran down his face. It looked like tears.
The truth in Noah’s words stopped Carver in his tracks. The curator pressed his palm over his eyes for a moment.
Noah grabbed his arm. ‘Are you okay?’
Carver waved his hand away. ‘If that revelation was God helping us out, I may become a born again Christian, my friend.’ They descended the steps. Just before they entered the drawing room, Carver leaned close. ‘It was in my head, before we came down. I don’t know how, but it was.’
This admission did nothing to help Noah’s state of mind. An image popped up like a jack-in-the-box. They were all waiting like little ducks in a row at a fairground. Waiting for something to pull the trigger.
‘Beth?’ Gabe leapt up, a frown deepening as he saw the empty space behind them.
Carver opened his mouth to speak, and at that precise moment, a clap of thunder rolled over the top of the house. The noise was deafening. The timbers of the great house shook and the glass in the windows rattled in their frames. A flash of lightning illuminated the room in a strange blue-white glow. Gabe’s hair lifted from his head as static charged the room. The thunder crashed again, bringing another bolt of jagged lightning from the sky. Eyes wheeled towards the bay window as if they were all in one body. The bolt hit the beech tree by the wall to the lane. There was a stretched-out creaking as though the bones of the old tree were being ripped apart, a smell of burning wood, and then they watched in horror as the great tree gave up its struggle and crashed to the ground. The foundations of the house shivered as the tremor ran through them.
