by Beverley Lee
He hovered by the door, his own reflection staring back at him in the glass panel. Why was he so important? He was little more than a kid with a dysfunctional family, pretty normal in this day and age.
Up to an hour ago, he would have thought longer about his next decision. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something toxic had seeped into the house, and that maybe being inside wasn’t the safe haven people imagined. He raised his hand and rubbed the side of his neck, still able to feel the hard pressure of Carver’s fingers.
Rain pelted against the window in an angry lash, and the trunks of the old trees groaned in the onslaught. Stupid to go out, stupid to stay here. The scales were balanced; nothing was in his favour. A hard lump formed in his throat, made from exhaustion, frustration, and a huge sense of the unfairness of life. He hadn’t done anything to warrant being hunted, and even if some miracle occurred and they all got through this night, the prospect of it all happening again one day was very real. He would have to live his life looking over his shoulder or spend it cloistered away somewhere, too scared to glance into the shadows.
This was a strange place to be contemplating how useless things were. The riff raff of country living strewn around, muddy boots piled in a heap, watched over by a couple of shooting sticks. Weatherproof coats huddled together like sheep on the coat rail, a stack of newspapers waiting for someone to take them out to the garage and a recycling bin. An enamel bucket with a screwed-up cloth over the handle.
Gabe clenched his teeth and curled his fingers into his palms. He wanted to scream but didn’t want the attention that would cause.
Furious tears welled in his eyes and he bit down on his bottom lip. A voice in his head whispered, go outside, look for Noah.
Gabe wrenched open the door. The rain pelted against his face, making his skin sting and filling his eyes. His breath was whipped away as he shut the door, his t-shirt instantly soaked through. He lifted his face to the sky as a bolt of lightning crossed the darkness in a jagged line, illuminating the tops of the trees. But this was better than being inside. This was feeling. This was existing.
He half ran, carried along by gusts of wind tearing around the side of the house, looking for any pinprick of light that might be Noah. Holding his arms out to the side, he whirled on the steps leading to the lawn, a strangled laugh bursting from his throat.
‘Come and get me you fucker!’ The wind took his words and smashed them into fragments but Gabe didn’t care. He was high on the feeling that he was controlling his own destiny for once. Turning his back to the wind, he let it pummel him across the sodden grass, his feet slipping until he fell onto his knees, his hands splayed out, fingers digging into the dirt. A rack of sobs overcame him. He wondered how long it would take to die.
The wind halted for an instant and he looked up, aware in some instinctive way that he wasn’t alone. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to look whatever it was in the eye.
The darkness before him became solid. Gabe slowly lifted his face, unable to stop his jaw from trembling. His legs were too weak to try to stand. So this was it. On his knees. But he wouldn’t beg, he wouldn’t—
A pale hand reached out and lifted his chin with one long, cold finger—the stranger he had seen from the window.
Gabe flinched, but made himself look up into the face above. A black hood billowed in the wind and strands of long dark hair whipped across his cheekbones. Dark eyes stared out from skin so pale it looked like snow. A slightly slanted brow arched in his direction.
‘Young master. Don’t ask for death. It will come your way in some form eventually.’
A thumb joined the finger, clasping his chin in a vice-like grip. Gabe steeled himself, sure that whatever happened, it was going to be incredibly painful and drawn out.
‘So you’re the one. Not quite what I expected.’ And with that, he swept open his cloak and pulled Gabe into its dank-smelling folds.
Chapter Fifty-One
The vampire had watched as Aka Maga worked its savage revenge on Noah.
He had skirted around the edges of the house, an unseen dark shape moving as one with the storm. At any point, the vampire could have slipped inside and sheltered but he knew the bird carried the demon within it and was curious to see how the evening would unfold. He had no ties to the humans who lived within the four walls but he was intrigued, a state of mind he couldn’t quite decide was a blessing or a curse.
But the demon posed a problem, and one he hadn’t encountered for many decades. Its sheer brash arrogance, tempered with its obvious power, was not something to walk away from. These things had a habit of resurfacing at the most inopportune times. And he had fledglings near.
Discovering the boy offering himself out on the lawn had been a surprise. It might have been foolishness, but he couldn’t deny the sense of honour and self-sacrifice. He didn’t think mortals did that anymore. It had gone the way of doffing caps—an unnecessary gesture.
Yet he couldn’t stand by and let the possessed bird do its unspeakable things, not yet. The mortals knew about the spirit, their knowledge could help him to destroy it, so they needed to be spared.
The boy trembled within the folds of his cloak as he moved swiftly, climbing the creeper that clung to the walls, his guest pressed tight against his side. He pushed the window open and heaved the boy unceremoniously onto his bedroom floor. Following quickly, he slammed the window shut and pulled back the dark hood covering his face.
The boy scrabbled back, crab-like, his face a pale mask of terror, only stopping when his back jammed against the opposite wall. The vampire sighed, realising his appearance must be quite shocking. He was tall, well over six feet with long limbs and fingers. Eyes that were so dark they seemed black sat below slightly slanted eyebrows, and full lips balanced his face. His hair hung well past his shoulders, straight and matt black with dust.
‘Why don’t we start by introducing ourselves, like civilised creatures?’ He dropped onto one knee, level with the boy’s ashen face. ‘Ah, you still think I have come to kill you?’ The boy swallowed, his lips parting slightly. ‘I am not he. What you fear is in the shape of a bird.’ He paused. ‘But I see you know this already.’
The boy’s brow furrowed and the vampire studied the marks on his face.
‘I am not being fair, my apologies. I read your mind, which is rather impolite considering you’ve yet to tell me your name.’
Spittle formed on the boy’s lips before he managed to speak. ‘If you can read minds, you could simply take my name.’
The vampire smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘Touché, my young friend. I could indeed take anything I wanted from your mind. In fact, I could strip it bare and leave you with absolutely no memory of anything but the present.’ He placed his hands together, fingers steepled.
‘What....are you?’ The boy stared at him with wide eyes.
The vampire inclined his head and raised an eyebrow.
‘My name is Gabriel, Gabriel Davenport.’
The vampire bowed slightly, sweeping his hand in front of him. ‘Forgive the theatricals. Old habits die hard. Now, as you have been so forthcoming, I will introduce myself....are you going to spend the entire time pressed up against that wall? It can’t be comfortable.’ The boy’s shoulders dropped a little and he pulled his knees into his chest. The vampire laughed softly. ‘You remind me of someone, but that is not important now.’ He ran a finger along the wooden rail at the base of the bed, and then leant against it.
The boy was visibly staring now, but he ignored the scrutiny.
‘My name is Clove, although that was not my given name. As a child, I worked upon the great ships, bringing spices from the Far East—hence my naming.’ He watched as the boy’s jaw slackened. He could almost see the cogs whirring in his mind. ‘I could tell you a great deal more and maybe I shall, but what you must know is this: I am a vampire.’
Gabriel’s intake of breath caught in his throat, a single, shuddering sound.
&nbs
p; ‘Come now, you live in this place of supernatural discoveries. Surely ones such as I are documented somewhere as more than simply over-imaginative fiction?’ He glanced to the window, aware of some tremor in the air, then continued. ‘But I am what I am and I make no apology for it. I did not come here to befriend you or to save you, let me be clear on that. But I believe we can help each other. Is this a suitable proposition?’
The boy had shrunk back again, his chin nearly on his knees as he clutched them to his chest.
Clove clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘I need an answer, Gabriel. In fact, come here and give me one.’ He pointed one slender finger to the spot in front of him. His acute senses picked out the quickening of the boy’s heart and the instant rush of blood as adrenaline kicked in.
This was a dangerous moment. All it would take would be a momentary lapse on his part, a giving in to the instinct to feed, and nothing could save Gabriel, not even the demon hunter outside. This was a test for both of them. He fixed his eyes on the boy and waited, his face expressionless.
The storm still raged outside but it had become a distant background noise. The boy’s breathing was ragged and his limbs trembled as he forced himself into first a kneeling position, then rose shakily to his feet. He wondered what his reaction would be if Gabriel declined his offer. His dark eyes narrowed at the thought.
Gabriel’s feet moved slowly, as if they were glued to the floor. But inch by inch, and by some huge force of will, he was coming closer. After what seemed like hours, Clove looked down into the upturned face. The graze was a dark, angry shadow along Gabriel’s cheekbone. He raised his hand and touched the mark, feeling the heat throbbing through his fingertips.
Gabriel’s breath came fast and warm against his wrist. ‘Yes.’
Clove took the pale face in his hands and bent to kiss the top of Gabriel’s head. Trust had to be earned, but in this case, Gabriel didn’t have much choice. It was only a single word, but with that, this game of bait and dare had changed forever.
Underneath this truce, a flicker of disturbance grew. Like a radio wave, it spiked through the maelstrom of the storm.
Out there, something walked across the web of his radar.
But inside, this house was no safe haven. Clove made his decision.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Carver dragged himself out of the funk he had fallen into. The raging of the storm just about summed up his mood but he couldn’t let despair take over. Noah was taking a ridiculously long time to make salad. And where was Gabe? He squeezed Ollie’s shoulder as he went past and received a wan smile in return.
The smell of burnt pizza greeted him. Nothing green lurked on the counter top. He frowned and a flutter of unease uncurled its wings.
‘Damn you, Noah, where are you?’ His voice echoed as if he had entered a room devoid of all furniture. ‘Gabe?’ The only sound was a dripping tap in the boot room.
He wondered if they were together. He hoped they were together. If they weren’t...he ran his tongue over his teeth. He counted the bale of coats and rifled amongst them, hoping to find his own green storm jacket underneath. But it had gone. He knew it had gone before he had even counted. Surely Noah wouldn’t have taken Gabe outside, not in this weather, not with what they all knew was there?
Whirling around so quickly that he nearly fell, he sprinted for the hallway and took the steps two at a time. Ollie called out as he sped past but he didn’t even take the time to answer. His focus was purely on the closed door to Gabriel’s room.
‘Gabe! Open the door!’
Without giving anyone inside chance to answer, he barged into the room, shouldering the door out of the way. Ollie pounded up behind him. The window was wide open. The pull cord of the blind whipped from side to side, hitting the glass with a sharp rattle.
But the room was empty.
Carver’s heart sank; it was almost as though he could feel it move physically, which he knew was impossible—but tonight, anything seemed possible.
He leant out of the window, instantly soaking wet, and tried to stare through the lashing rain.
‘Ollie, do a sweep of the rest of the house for me. Gabe and Noah must be somewhere.’ Hope perched on his shoulder as he imagined them in one of the libraries.
Ollie disappeared, heading down the hallway that led to Carver’s room and the guest suites without asking a single question. A small glow of affection for the young student warmed his heart. Ollie was struggling with something, too, and his sister was God knows where. He hadn’t given much thought to the wilful Olivia but if she was out in this? Her driving matched her temper. The beginnings of a tension headache throbbed behind his temple.
Carver slammed down the window and latched it, wiping the rain from his face. Ollie wouldn’t find Noah and Gabe in the house, his gut told him that. Whatever was out there was picking them off like flies. Beth first, then Noah and Gabe. A flare of anger erupted and shot through his veins. He was the one who was supposed to have all the answers. He was supposed to protect them. But cut off by the storm and with the tree blocking the entrance, he was just another duck in the shooting row.
Carver retraced his steps to the boot room, hearing doors opening and closing upstairs. Never had he felt so useless. The wind howled under the small gap at the base of the outside door, forcing its way into any tiny crack, making sure that anyone inside knew that Mother Nature was well and truly in control. He watched the dark shape of the bushes bowing under the onslaught. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought a larger shape loomed. His hand went to one of the shooting sticks propped against the wall. The shape bobbed and struggled against the wind, occasionally being swept backwards.
Carver opened the door, sending it crashing back against the wall, dropping the stick onto the gravel, and running out to greet the bowed form dressed in his green coat. By the height alone, it had to be Noah. He slung his arm around the stooped shoulders and the figure gave way. Carver half supported and half dragged him into the house, the wind rattling all of the glass as it howled through the open door. He paused, glancing back and hoping with all his heart to see another shape struggling, but there remained only blackness. Leaving Noah on the floor, he grappled with the edge of the door, finally managing to slam it shut. His shirt stuck to his back like a second skin.
Ollie’s footsteps resounded in the kitchen. He skidded to a halt and threw himself down beside the man curled up on the floor. Between them, they heaved Noah into a sitting position. He muttered something under his breath, a string of garbled nonsense. Ollie peeled back his hood and gasped.
Carver registered the shock, then looked to Noah’s face himself. ‘Sweet Jesus...what did this?’
Noah’s eyes were bloodshot, the tiny red veins angry and swollen. His lips quivered and he reached out and grabbed Carver’s arm. The grip was like a dead man’s.
But Carver couldn’t keep his eyes on anything but Noah’s forehead. In the middle and running from the bridge of his nose to his hairline, his skin was seared by a mark that looked as if he had been branded by a cattle iron. The edges of the shape were raw and oozing and the skin wept where tiny blisters had burst.
The shape of a crucifix. But it was upside down.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Olivia’s eyes fluttered open and for a moment, she was unsure of whether she was dreaming. Her head felt heavy and a dull ache throbbed in her left hip. A steady drumming sound resounded in her ears. She stretched out one hand and touched her brow. It felt sticky, but she couldn’t see anything on her fingers. Slowly, she came back to consciousness.
A sudden wave of panic engulfed her as the last few moments of her accident replayed in her mind. She struggled to move, only dimly aware that the seat belt still held her firm. Something strange blocked her view of the windscreen. She ran her fingers around and over its surface. A fine powder coated her fingertips. The airbag had—mercifully—deployed as her car had met its resting place. There was a strong, acrid smell like burning
dust. The windscreen had shattered but was still in one piece, thousands of crazy paving glass shards smeared in mud. Her car rested on its near side and she was suspended at an odd angle with the driver’s door wedged against her seat base. Without much hope, she pushed the door with one leg and a shoulder but it remained solid against her.
She tried to remember what had happened before she blacked out. It had been a bird swooping down before the spiralling car took her into the ditch. Oh God, yes. She was on her way to The Manor with a message from a man who had been dead for fifteen years...
Shuffling around in her seat, she tried to get as comfortable as she could. Rational thought had better make an appearance soon. The chances of anyone driving past in this weather were pretty much zero, so that finished off the option of being rescued. Her phone? Yeah, she knew where that was and in what state. It was this thought that brought her fully back from the fog she was floating in. She hit the centre of her steering wheel with her fists, blind-angry at herself for making the not-so-smart decisions she’d made today. The horn beeped faintly, more of an apology than a blare of attention.
Okay. The only way out seemed to be staring right at her. The windscreen. Reaching across, she scrabbled in the glove box for anything that might puncture it, her fingers working blind. Lots of paper napkins, a couple of pens, booklets for God knows what. An ache grew in her throat as she tried to reach further, but she was trapped by her belt; if she unfastened it, she would end up in the passenger side. But maybe that would be better? At least she would have her feet against something solid. Olivia hit the red button at her side and tensed as it whipped past her chest. The sensation of falling was brief but it made her cry out, as did the impact with the passenger door. Her shoulder took the brunt of it. A jarring pain shot down her arm, making her fingers tingle.
