by D B Nielsen
‘Look,’ he began, sounding a bit more composed. ‘You shouldn’t have to apologise – you’re the one in danger and you’re sorry? That’s just wrong.’
I laughed self-consciously at his words. Truth was I did feel sorry for him though pity was the last thing he wanted. Then a thought struck me.
‘So you need me.’
He stared at me, stunned. ‘What?’
‘You need me. I heard you in the cavern as you were leaving. You said those very words,’ I pressed.
That displeased him. His brow furrowed as he said, ‘I just told you that we need you. It isn’t a secret. I’ve been telling you this from the first.’
‘No,’ I shook my head, my voice ringing with conviction, ‘That isn’t what you meant. You said before you took off that the Nephilim needed me. But then you said that you needed me. I know what I heard.’
His kingfisher blue eyes narrowed dangerously, bright with an intensity I’d only glimpsed on occasion. ‘How can you be certain? You’d hit your head. You were bleeding and barely conscious when I left you. Perhaps you misheard. Perhaps you imagined it.’
‘Whatever! My bad! If that’s how you want to play it, go ahead,’ I said, shrugging, trying to affect a disinterest I didn’t feel.
‘Pardon me? You think I’m playing a game with you?’ He took a step towards me, his voice ominous.
My smile was still mocking; his eyes were still intense and tight.
I decided to test him.
‘Perhaps you should stick around. My Mum really wants to meet our new neighbours.’
He was staring at me incredulously.
‘She’s thinking of visiting Satis House,’ I threw in for good measure. Some imp within me grinned wickedly as I went on, ‘Probably with a basket of baked goods. She likes to bake.’
‘You keep your mother and her baked goods away from Satis House. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said? It’s dangerous for you.’ His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious.
‘I’m not stupid. I have no intention of letting my mother visit Satis House.’ I said each word slowly. ‘But, yes, I think you are playing games with me. You need me – and not in the same way as the others. But you won’t admit it.’
He exhaled sharply.
‘Why can’t you keep your distance?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘I could ask the same of you.’ I looked down at my hands and realised they were trembling. ‘What are you doing here? You didn’t come all this way to simply ask me why I hadn’t spilled my guts to Sage and St. John.’
I looked up at him again, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained.
‘Did you?’ I whispered.
His voice whipped out, low and harsh. ‘Forget about it, Saffron. It’s never going to happen. We’re not on the same side.’
‘So?’ I tried very hard not to sound petulant. ‘I don’t think of you as the enemy.’
‘Maybe you should. It’d be better for us both,’ Finn growled. ‘We’re not a pair of star-crossed lovers in some story, Saffron.’
My hands were shaking badly now.
‘Well, that’s good for you! Because you’re not my idea of Romeo! You’re not even my type!’ I shouted defensively, losing my cool and starting to sound like a shrew. ‘And if you start spouting lines from Shakespeare at me, I think I’d throw up!’
Finn sighed deeply in exasperation. When he next spoke; his voice was tight, controlled.
‘Look, I didn’t come here to argue with you. I brought you something.’
From his jacket pocket, he removed a thick, rectangular object wrapped in string and utilitarian brown paper to hand to me.
‘What is it?’ I asked, curiosity warring with suspicion.
‘Open it,’ he instructed.
I reached out automatically to take the parcel from his outstretched hand and, as I did so, his fingers accidentally brushed against mine. An extraordinary power passed between us and I drew my hand back quickly as if stung. Finn smiled grimly; himself apparently unaffected but his stony expression displaying his displeasure at my reaction. Yet he still proffered the parcel, holding it out for me to retrieve.
‘Sorry, my bad,’ I mumbled an apology, as if somehow the tension between us was my fault. His fingers still bore a slight coolness from the cold air outside but they felt like they would scorch me, even by such brief contact, tingling as if I’d touched a live wire. Averting my eyes, I took the brown paper package from him as quickly as possible.
There was almost no way to disguise the trembling of my hands so I didn’t even bother, simply concentrating on undoing the tight knot of kitchen string and unwrapping the brown paper without incident. As the paper gave way under my probing fingers, a triple-decker stack of antiquarian books fell into my lap with a distinctive waft of centuries-old leather and dust.
The volumes were beautifully bound in brown morocco with five raised bands, and floral gilt decorations on the spines and front and back covers. I took up the first volume and carefully opened it; my fingers quivering even more than before. The front pastedown in gold-bordered green leather faced the front free endpaper in blue moire taffeta with its small green leather book plate consisting of a gold design and monogram. The title of the work and the accompanying introduction written by Percy Bysshe Shelley were the only distinctive features proclaiming the work’s origins; of the author herself, there remained only anonymity.
‘You didn’t steal this, did you?’ I demanded suspiciously as Finn observed my reaction to his unbelievably generous gift.
He stiffened, taking umbrage at my words. ‘I’m not a thief.’
‘But this does come from the library at Satis House,’ I insisted, glancing back down at the three volumes in shock and back up at Finn. ‘It’s part of the owner’s collection, right?’
‘It’s mine to give,’ Finn defensively claimed, adding for good measure, ‘and even if it weren’t, the owner of Satis House would never miss it. He does not care for what he owns, he merely enjoys possessing them.’
Something indefinable flared in Finn’s kingfisher blue eyes as he said these last words. He gave me a hard look and I felt a slight shiver go through me. There was something in his eyes that made me want to surrender to him, and I bit my lip in consternation at the thought of being possessed by someone like him. My pulse raced frantically – whether out of fear or something else, I wasn’t quite certain.
But what I was certain of was that Finn cared for the things he owned and also those, like Kemwer, that he didn’t own, but felt responsible for. He couldn’t stay away from me any more than I could stay away from him.
‘Are you sure I can keep this?’ I asked dubiously as Finn, having achieved the purpose of his visit, buttoned his scruffy jacket up under his chin, preparing to leave. Yet, even as I voiced the words, my hands clutched tightly around the rare copy of Frankenstein which Finn had given me, already unwilling to part with it.
Finn paused with his hand on the edge of the hospital room door and looked back at me.
‘That’s why I brought it. You claim you want to understand Louis, me, the others like us? Read the book – and then you’ll see what it means to hate, what it means to want revenge, what it means to be a monster, to be like us,’ he said brutally, turning up the collar of his jacket against the icy blast of late winter wind and rain he was heading into.
‘Keep it, Saffron. It’s yours now.’
THE THIRD INCURSION
CHAPTER FOUR
‘You can’t keep it, Fi! You’ve got to give it back!’
Sage’s voice was strident as she threw herself in exasperation onto the leather sofa in the solar, which had been converted into a family room.
‘But he gave it to me!’ I said defensively, ‘It would be rude to return it!’
She rolled her eyes heavenward. We’d been going over this for the last hour.
‘Honestly, Fi!’ she huffed, playing the part of the older twin, a role s
he performed all too well at times – times such as these. ‘Can’t you see how ludicrous this is? St. John gives me flowers and chocolates to show me he loves me, not something that’s practically worth a deposit on a house!’
At the mention of her fiancé, my eyes narrowed. ‘Hell, girl, you’re not jealous, are you?’
She gave me a look that would have blistered the fresh coat of paint off the walls of the solar had it the ability to harm. ‘No, I am not jealous!’
Of course not, I reasoned, that wouldn’t be a logical nor mature reaction for my sister.
‘Look, I’m not about to put it on eBay or something stupid like that, Sage.’ I sighed deeply, really just wanting her to shut up already. ‘But I don’t see why I can’t keep it.’
Now it was her turn to sigh. A long-suffering one.
‘Because, Fi, it’s more than just a book. It’s a rare – very rare – first edition and irreplaceable. It’s worth a small fortune – I’d estimate around £75,000, give or take. People don’t just give away this kind of thing. People, collectors, spend their whole lives waiting to find rare items like these; waiting till they come up for auction at Sotheby’s or some other auction house, usually from a deceased estate, and they pay a premium to acquire such a rare object. A book like that belongs in a library or in a private collection.’ She paused dramatically. ‘That’s why you have to give it back.’
‘Okay, okay, I get it!’ I said, stopping the barrage of words as I threw up my hands in exasperation, ‘At the first opportunity, I’ll go over to Satis House. Satisfied?’
‘You should wait until St. John can go with you. Just in case.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Whatever.’
The slightly condescending smile she gave me, coupled with the generous offer of a loan of her well-thumbed copy, proved her satisfaction. It was so annoying. I loved my sister but sometimes her smugness annoyed me. It was overbearing and patronising. I know she believed my moral compass to be in dire need of repair, but she would have gone ballistic if she knew I had no intention of returning the first edition of Frankenstein which Finn had given to me.
I had told her I would go to visit Satis House and I fully intended to – just without St. John and without the book that Finn insisted I keep. Sage would never understand, but I knew that Finn would be offended if I gave him back his gift. I don’t know how I knew – maybe it was instinctive – but I realised that the monetary value of the book meant nothing to him, and he’d spoken of the owner of Satis House with absolute contempt. I also knew that he was wary of St. John and Gabriel, and I didn’t need the Anakim to fight my personal battles for me, especially when they saw the Emim as numbering one of their enemies in this ancient war.
Instead, my desire to visit Satis House was for an entirely different purpose; I wanted to know what the rogue Nephilim were up to. Listening to Finn’s dire warnings and protests to keep me away from Satis House, I knew there had to be something he was hiding, something he wasn’t telling me.
But there was an even more pressing reason to return to Satis House – I’d heard the voices again.
On my final night at hospital after Finn’s visit during the day, compounded by his invasion of my tempestuous dreams, I woke to a steamy, sweat-filled darkness, my heart pounding in my ears.
Fragments still haunted me.
Initially, the dream began in the usual manner, a kaleidoscope of images with Finn featuring prominently and erotically, but then it took a sudden and unexpected turn. In my dream, I was somewhere darkly quiet and incredibly cold. I was afraid, though I didn’t know why. The stillness took on the quality of something organic – it seemed to be waiting for something or someone.
In the distance, there was a strange murky light, as if I were looking through an aquarium, like having my eyes open whilst swimming. The light held the quality of water. A feeling of urgency made me hasten towards it, but it felt like I was swimming against the current.
I could not see well. I could only hear. A strange droning, pulsing noise emanated from above or below – I couldn’t tell. The noise filled the air with a familiar percussion; the sound that engines make. It went on and on without pause.
I sensed the danger, but an overriding compulsion filled me. I kept moving towards the flickering light. It was as if I were swimming down a dark tunnel. I could not tell what the source of the light was, though I knew it was unnatural.
All at once a voice spoke through me or, more accurately, inside me.
Shocked, I halted, and began floundering in air like a fish on a hook.
The voice was coldly inhuman; containing only implacable authority and power. It stroked against my flesh, overwhelming my senses.
‘Bring it to me,’ the voice purred, ‘Find it.’
There was a sharp, searing pain upon my breast and another lancing jolt behind my eyes. I flinched in agony and astonishment, knowing that the voice was capable of harming me greatly. I understood somehow that the pulsing noise and the voice speaking inside me were the same.
But then another voice – a human voice – intervened. This new voice came from outside of me – somewhere distant, like an echo down a corridor in time.
‘“They are that which was spawned in the Creation of Anu,
Children of Earth they were born.
They are that which a woman in travail ... hath brought forth,
They are that which an evil foster-mother hath suckled,
In the Underworld are they
In the tomb are they
In the Great Gate of Sunset are they...”’
I turned to run whilst the human voice gave me a brief respite, at last obeying the urge to escape. But even as I did, the ground and the walls surrounding me burst into flames.
I screamed.
I awoke from the dream.
Staring wildly about me in the darkness of the hospital room, the nightmare receding even as my thundering heartbeat slowed and steadied, I could feel sticky perspiration clinging to my palms and back and beading in between my breasts. My breathing was again laboured, but not for any reason associated with my fractured ribs. I lay back in the dark, letting my eyes adjust to the layout of the room, and tried to rationalise my thoughts and wild emotions.
None of the sounds of the hospital or its equipment, so familiar to me now, were even remotely close to the pulsing noise I’d heard. But I’d heard something eerily similar that very first time I’d stepped foot in Satis House, which I’d likened at the time to the churning of helicopter rotors slicing the still night air.
As I lay in the dark, I had the strangest feeling – a fleeting impression – that something wanted me to return to Satis House.
The decision being made, it took over a fortnight to put into effect – and even then it may not have happened at all if it weren’t for Sage hounding me to organise a time with St. John to return the book to Finn.
I set out again for Satis House on a windless late February afternoon where the sky was awash with the colour of spilt milk, the trees black and silver, and the brown soil and hummocks of the woods lay exposed between curds of shrivelled snow. Spring was almost upon us, but the air still bore a crisp chilliness which hinted that winter would not give up its grasp without a fight.
Deciding to drive to Satis House, I parked the car in the same position as I had on New Year’s Eve, wishing to avoid being seen. This time I’d brought my camera; the old Nikon which had once belonged to Dad and used good, old-fashioned film. I figured that this would be a perfect opportunity to do some reconnaissance work while I was there, like a female James Bond.
Stealthily approaching the estate, I was struck afresh by its immense proportions; the menacing beauty of Satis House which lay behind the glamour both attracted and repulsed trespassers. There was something decidedly unnerving about the anonymity of all those heavily leaded, diamond-paned windows gazing out like unseeing eyes from the stonework. Especially as I knew the danger that lurked behind its stone façade.
&nbs
p; I had no clear plan in mind, no idea how I was going to enter Satis House undetected. Standing at the edge of the woods behind the line of trees, I contemplated the exterior of the manor. As fate would have it, a sleek black sedan rumbled down the disused private road leading to Satis House. The driver stopped the vehicle not far from where I stood and unlocked the solid iron gates. Climbing back into the car, he drove on through as Finn came out onto the terrace and made his way down the drive to relock the gate from the other side.
I tried to see the passengers inside the car as it moved in front of my view but the impenetrable tinted glass windows kept its secrets. Waiting till the car pulled up outside the house, I inched forward, drawing closer to get a better sight of the entrance.
Louis Gravois was the first to alight, reaching down with an inhumanely graceful yet coldly exacting gesture to assist the other passenger from the rear seat. His blonder-than-blond hair and pale blue eyes almost gave him the look of an albino, which made me think unwittingly of the psychotic android character from Prometheus.
I shivered, aware I was letting the atmosphere get to me.
Then I remembered I was holding my camera. Taking off the lens cap, which I stuffed into my jacket pocket haphazardly, I clicked off a quick succession of shots as if I was capturing the local wildlife, hoping that the Nephilim would not hear me with their exceptional auditory ability.
But they were too consumed with the other passenger who was shielded from my view by a voluminous woollen cape or blanket, so that it was difficult to tell whether they were male or female, let alone their identity. There was something strangely pitiful about the unidentifiable figure. I could not tear my gaze away from the shuffling walk of the stooped individual beneath the blanket. They moved with the gait of an elderly person; knock-kneed and waddling, bent over like an old crone, disappearing from my view as they passed beneath the portico and under the threshold of the entrance to Satis House, assisted by Louis on one side and Finn on the other. The driver bore up the rear, carrying what seemed to be a large cage similar to those used to transport small animals to a veterinary hospital. Inside resided Louis’ adder. They were lost to my view as the heavy wooden front door closed behind the driver’s back.
