by S E Holmes
“Oh, Bear.” His lips feathered my ear. “I said I would not leave you alone. Daniel’s faster than me over distances. He can get you out. I’m the better fighter at close quarters.”
“Live. Survive. I’ll come for you.”
“Don’t you dare come and find me. That’s what she wants. Remember your duty and stick to it. Do not diverge. Rendezvous with Bea and go home to Sydney.”
Even in this deepest of psychic trenches, my soul ripping in two, I resented them telling me what to do and how to act. Smithy could run around indulging foolish, self-sacrificial acts, denying me that option? And this was the second time I’d heard Enoch’s name mentioned as if he knew far more than he chose to tell. The time to force details from our mysterious glowing man was long overdue.
Naturally, I should do better than to succumb to the enemy’s goading. I should do anything other than what she expected. She knew I wouldn’t abandon Smithy.
But contrary to her opinion, I was no quitter. I had something Finesse really wanted.
My eyes snapped open. “Like hell will I leave you to her.”
Thirty
There was a bird perched on my chest. Its yellow talons punctured my t-shirt. But my clothes were so soiled and torn, a few more holes would blend in. My body ached and a torrent of emotional pain crouched for the ambush. But if I acknowledged how I’d reached this dismal crisis, the self-doubt would prove paralysing. All my decisions had been mistakes. Smithy was gone, my single focus: get him back.
Flat on my back on splintery wood beneath a corrugated tin roof rusted through in patches, pale dappled sunlight streamed via a crude square cut from the planked wall at my feet, treetops visible in lengthy gaps. The shack was little bigger than the height of me on all four sides. A foul stench pervaded, of rotting dead things.
The bird seemed disinclined to move. A handsome peregrine falcon. He regarded me critically from way too close.
“Shoo, Poe.”
He ruffled his feathers and with an indignant squawk, flapped to resituate on the windowsill. The hut swayed ponderously and creaked on every gust, giving the impression we were elevated above the swamp. I sat up, noticing for the first time a hastily chiselled Delta framed the floor. Behind me, was a bottle of water wrapped in a soggy note from Daniel:
You are surrounded. Make no sound.
Wait until they lose interest and go home.
I will retrieve Smith. Do. Not. Follow.
How convenient, stuck here for the interim. “See, Poe? More orders I have no intent—”
Footfalls on ladder rungs hinted at an ascent from beneath. As quietly as I could, I shuffled for the window, revealing a swinging door in the floor. A quick search provided nothing I could use as a weapon. For the umpteenth time, I cursed Daniel. Even if I planted upon it, I was too slight to prevent a determined intruder from raising the trapdoor.
The only option was ‘hidden cowering’ and the reminder of Finesse’s jibe brought on a stab of shame. I longed to be brave and confrontational, but wasn’t confident my strengths were best exploited by that approach. Maybe I wasn’t sure I had any useful strengths at all. Poe maintained his disapproving stare.
“You’re no help,” I whispered, rendering myself invisible.
That Finesse’s soldiers were not fond of water offered only mild comfort as the trapdoor inched skyward. A slender dark-skinned hand showed in increments, fingers scraped and bloody. At least that confirmed its owner wasn’t one of the Crone’s monsters. But if I’d learned anything, it was the worst monsters came armed with perfect smiles and vacant promises and a downfall wrought by accepting their brightly coloured candy.
The door flapped open and a girl’s distraught face popped inside. I materialised and thrust down my arm to help her up. The bloated corpses of swamp wildlife bobbed in the water below – a beaver, a white egret and several hares – their stench drifting on the rising heat of dawn. Even animals weren’t spared Finesse’s scourge. A skiff was tied at the bottom of the rope ladder.
“Maya?”
I recognised her from the bus stop farewell with Raphaela. She’d changed somewhat, her braids grown into a mass of honey-and-flaxen-streaked hair, leaves and twigs knotted throughout. In the flesh, she possessed the high, flattish cheekbones of American Indian heritage and topaz-coloured, almond eyes. Her sandshoes and shins were as grimy as her dirt-smeared face. I was in no fit state to judge, my appearance akin to a fur ball expelled by the cats.
Once Maya was safely inside our rickety abode, I carefully secured the trapdoor. She put her forefinger to her lips, then gestured by pointing two fingers perpendicular either side of her lower jaw to say brutish soldier demons still roamed the forest. I nodded and we launched a conversation in cumbersome charades, face-to-face and cross-legged in the triangle. It helped that Maya could read lips well.
The gist of her story was that Poe had appeared at her school several days earlier. Maya instantly understood what that meant and made a beeline home, despite the danger. She was too late to warn her boyfriend, Benji. I squeezed both of her hands and mouthed how sorry I was, troubled again by the network of interconnections splintering our lives like fractured glass. Trusting her instincts had saved her life and she wasn’t at school where Malachi first came searching. Our camouflage was falling away.
She flipped one of my wrists over to expose the Delta, her sad eyes searching mine. Shaking her head in pity, she let my hand drop. Malachi was lying in wait in town, and the chase began. Grateful as I was for her escape, one thought kept intruding. If Maya was here, where were Aunt Bea and the judge?
And I could not deny my overwhelming fear for Smithy. Separate from him, I felt diminished, oddly incomplete. The notion of what horrors he may endure demanded action. Finesse would probably keep him alive, but there were worse experiences than a merciful death. Poe screeched, hopping from the window ledge to needle my knee with his claws. I must acquire a set of nail-clippers.
He glared beadily at the opening where a sable fume congealed over the lip into Cherish, Vovo close on her feline partner’s heels. For a moment, happiness eclipsed all else, and I lunged to hug them both, dislodging Poe, who flurried to Maya’s shoulder where he roosted with an aura of bad grace. Bea’s cats rubbed my face with their snouts, purring. The tiny space was now very cramped. Both cats settled in to clean the muck from their fur. Cherish, feigning nonchalance, peeked at Poe as though at a juicy chicken dinner.
“Here’s the plan,” I said without sound, outlining her part while omitting my own. It would be better that she didn’t have details when Aunt Bea interrogated her.
Maya would take the cats as guides and pilot the boat back to our meeting spot at the marina. There, she’d wait in the car park until Aunt Bea and Nash returned. I refused to entertain an alternative: they would be there. Maya raised her brows in consternation.
“You?”
“They’d try to stop me, and make things worse. Please, Maya. Tell them I need more time to seek the Key and we’ll reunite at the plane.”
Perhaps, because she’d missed her opportunity to help Benji and wanted to spare me the heartbreak, Maya made no further objection. It was also clear from her dubious expression that she didn’t believe Aunt Bea would easily swallow such poppycock. It seemed the two of them were difficult women to lie to. I lifted the Amulet over my head and secured the chain around Maya’s neck. She peered at the bird on her shoulder, then at me.
“He’s staying here.”
I raised my forearm and he jumped over, perching like the king of the castle, glaring triumphantly at the cat who’d deigned to view him as brunch. Cherish bared his teeth in a feline sneer, his whiskers twitching the message this was not over yet. After Maya and I shared a hug, I watched from my makeshift fortress as she tailed the cats into the boat and vanished into a shroud of stagnant mist, until only the slight swish of oars echoing off tree boughs announced her passage.
Once more securing the trapdoor with my body, I got comfortable
in the Delta. An intruder would at least tip me in warning. That was the extent of my defensive measures.
“You’ll keep watch for me, won’t you, Poe?”
I tickled his grey mask under his beak, his feathers silky. In answer, he fluttered back to the windowsill to overlook the vista outside. After a swig of water I used the rest to re-plait my braid and fix my hair out of the way. Probing splintery wood with my fingers and ignoring the hut’s woeful history as storage for drug runners, Daniel’s shadowy trace confirmed my destination. He’d dissolved into smoke and travelled there in his wisp form. It was no surprise: Halcyon.
We would both greet the witch in her lair. Was she the type of host who’d offer cake? It would probably be laced with cyanide. As Smith would mutter, “Outstanding.” This reminder of his terrible predicament choked a hysterical giggle rising up my throat. I must be better than this: I had to be better than all of them.
Conjuring the last time I’d touched the Chalice, I rendered the temple in physical detail, cleaving from ruined wetlands to the crystal, perfumed confines of the Trinity church. My body remained in a bayou shack, along with distracting emotions. Stooping to collect the cup again, I drank as Daniel had bid me yesterday morning. The witch’s foul tendrils whispered up my spine, a wicked caress pulling me to her. My consciousness floated from the warehouse and sped for London over the vast blue expanse of the Indian Ocean.
Thirty-One
Late-afternoon sun slipped wanly over central London’s grey cityscape of frosty, unceasing drizzle. I’d never lived here. Bea believed it too likely Anathema would choose an ancient city, its thick roots spanning antiquity to the Roman era, and back further still to our beginnings. Plenty of wars and atrocities and plagues bled the soil here, layering foundations on bone and ashes. Not to mention a handy proliferation of CCTV.
Minutes and seconds lost all context in my fugue state. Although I arrived in the blink of my mind’s eye, the period since Smithy vanished from Raphaela’s mansion became woolly. Was it last evening, spanning an entire night and day? Or had I somehow subverted the normal sequence and it was mere hours since his captivity? The only deliverance from the tunnel now, was through to the other end.
I found myself teetering on the corner of a five-storey building, opposite its twin at the mouth of a gloomy, rubbish-strewn alley. They were ugly, blockish structures of red brick. Mirrored windows rowed three levels high above the street between them, discouraging the inquisitive. I’d expected Gothic moss-rimed slate and gargoyles, slightly disappointed by my enemy’s lack of drama.
At the miserable cul-de-sac’s termination was a broad bi-panelled door of studded metal. There were no discernible doorhandles. Were it not for the intimidating, neckless bouncers stationed either side, behind a velvet rope, and the grubby section of red carpet leading to them up four wide steps, Halcyon’s entrance would resemble any nondescript, industrial depot. I waited impatiently for my moment, hoping I’d recognise it when it came.
Shadows lengthened until acceptably late for night crawlers. A line began to form, and from my vantage they resembled cattle herded along a chute towards the bolt-gun. They were a motley assortment of fringe dwellers, whose extravagant efforts to stand out – provocative or gaudy clothing and hair, multiple piercings and tattoos, strange contact lenses and body surgery – just made them appear more alike. It was a wonder some of them didn’t freeze. Clouds of cigarette smoke competed for breaths misting in the cold. These were people for whom a special occasion meant rare abstinence from booze and drugs.
Mixed in amongst the rabble were the wealthy and nobility, obvious in their Burberry and lack of sullen despair, slumming it for the thrill factor, or fallen from grace. It was a rollcall of the desperate and dopey, and a timeworn cliché. Surveillance cameras discreetly positioned for maximum coverage of the ever-growing, jostling crowd. Another henchman wandered up and down, ejecting troublemakers. Two more giants monitored access to the lane. Their proximity kept everyone orderly. The fact the security was armed added further incentive.
After an hour or so, the queue expanded so that bouncers began to turn people away. Was Daniel already inside? Surely, if Halcyon had welcomed a lost sheep into its murky folds there’d be a noticeable ruckus.
The iron doors clanged open and the excited crowd surged forward, as music thumped out into the night. A statuesque woman appeared from within, carrying an electronic wand. She was striking, decked out in a skimpy combination of white vinyl and lace, with thigh-high turquoise stiletto boots. Her skin sparkled in rainbow hues and her hair, white at the roots, shone jet black.
“Those with barcodes or dermal inserts form a line in front,” she called. “Others will be selected from the crowd for special entry. The rest make alternative arrangements for tonight’s choice of venue. My decision is final and if you argue you will be black-banned from Halcyon for life.”
Many slunk away, giving in before their apparently assured rejection. Where was Daniel? Smithy was hostage somewhere in those buildings, while I dawdled out here. I still had no idea how I could wrest him back.
Aside from trading the Stone.
Suddenly, the street lights flickered off. I perceived a tinny buzzing and then popping sounds – too soft for indifferent human ears – as the video cameras blacked out.
“Keep calm. It’s just a power outage, happens all the time,” said the hostess in a bored voice.
I didn’t agree, my attention riveted to the mouth of the alley. A hooded figure moved fluidly down the midst of the packed people, drawing a particularly burly guard’s attention.
“Oi, you. No queue-jumpers. Back to the end or off with yer!”
I caught a glimpse of the intruder’s steely calm when he turned. “I will make a deal with you. If you are able to prevent me from reaching the front door, I will leave. Otherwise, you will permit me to pass.” He spoke quietly, his tone ice.
The guard’s simian face lit up at the potential for violence. As he moved to crack his knuckles, Daniel swerved slightly to bring him within reach, and thrust the heel of his palm into the guy’s nose. The bouncer sprawled over in a faint. His partner conveniently disappeared. Those nearby cheered. Daniel was already in motion, bystanders scrambling to clear his path. Another meat-mountain stepped into the mob, a hand twitching over his revolver.
Daniel kept going. On the way past, he enclosed one fist in his other for more force and elbowed the watchman in the solar plexus. I heard an “Oof!” and another swift uppercut brought him to his knees. Daniel collected the gun from his victim’s holster, checked the chamber and unlocked the safety, slipping it into a pocket almost at the club’s door. The hostess readied herself, feet planted, bodyguards either side pointing nine-millimetre weapons. He halted and threw back his hood.
“Seth!” Her mouth fell open in shock. “What are you doing here? Put down your guns, idiots.”
“No, Latoya,” one of them dared. “The Mistress won’t like it.”
Latoya? So this was Hugo’s baby sister. Their mutual genetics became even more obvious when she spoke, her tone clipped and no-nonsense.
“Do as I say, or you’re demoted. You’ll be cleaning latrines with your tongues in a Siberian labour camp for the rest of your days. Take the wand, no extras tonight. Go. Do your job.” They scuttled away, looking fearful.
“Thank you, Latoya. Going to let me in for old time’s sake?”
“It’d be a far greater favour not to, Seth.” She stepped closer. “Why? Why did you come back?” Her eyes shone with optimism and she tenderly placed her palm on his chest.
“You know why,” Daniel said, gently removing her hand. “Run, Latoya. The witch will be inattentive. Take anyone you care about and leave, while you can.”
“There are only two I care about,” she gazed at Daniel. “One was never mine. Hugo?”
“He’s on the right path. As safe as any of us.” Daniel chuckled. “Well, current company aside.”
“You’re laughing?” She eye
d him suspiciously. “That’s never good. And it’s too late for me. Tell Hugo it was never his fault. Tell my brother I love him. Now, get inside, before I change my mind.”
“She’ll kill you for helping me.”
“And it will be an act of generosity. Make sure you finish it, Seth.” He took his gloves off and reached to stroke her cheek. She shoved him towards the door, hiding her tears by turning back to the crowd.
“Go!” she snarled.
She whistled to get their attention, dropped the rope and gestured all of them through with a flick of her head. Daniel disappeared into the building on a flow of people. After the street emptied, my disembodied self soared to the concrete. The bouncers joined the throng inside Halcyon’s closed doors. Alone, Latoya leaned against the wall smoking a slim cigar and chewing a fingernail, her manner jaded.
“I hope you’re here somewhere,” she shouted. “You’d better help him, before the fool gets himself dead.”
She ground the cigar beneath her boot and twirled back through doors that responded automatically to her. I slipped in behind, to a long, foggy tunnel, its effect to enhance the magnificence of the nightclub when one eventually stepped out. This amazing collision of styles and eras was more what I’d envisioned. Enormous columns spanned the four-storey cavity, covered in tiny obsidian tiles that reflected light and colour, their bases buffed silver.
A broad staircase of black marble curved down from the mezzanine upon which I situated, onto a dance arena with a mirrored floor, crammed bodies heaving to a pulsing, hypnotic beat. Looking down was not advisable, lest one fancied the porn-shot, which I guess was the point. At its front was a raised stage with scantily clad dancers writhing seductively to a DJ, the opposite end a crystal-faceted wall that ran the entire height of the hall, over which laser lights made an ever-changing, dazzling kaleidoscope.
