Daniel nodded at him congenially. “Morning. Bloody cold out there, isn’t it? I can see why a good cup of coffee might go down a treat.”
The man simply stared at him. Daniel kept the smile on his face and Rowan turned back to the still waiting but now getting slightly impatient shop assistant as the young man cleared his throat.
“I still need twenty pence,” he said politely. Rowan nodded as he fumbled in his pocket. As he hunted deep down in his jacket, a rather dirty handkerchief slipped out onto the shop floor. Daniel held his breath, hoping the man wouldn’t notice, or some helpful but interfering soul wouldn’t point out to the man that he’d lost his hanky. He might be human but his late wife and nephew were both well versed in magyck and he’d learnt a lot. He knew a used handkerchief would make a perfect totem or talisman for Percy’s spell. He breathed a sigh of relief when no one seemed to bother and Rowan handed over a coin and turned swiftly to walk away with his coffee and pastries. Daniel leaned down quickly, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, and picked up the grey hanky, putting the stolen hairs neatly inside and slipping it into his pocket as he stood up. Thankfully the people in the queue were fairly apathetic and no one challenged why he was picking up another man’s dirty handkerchief.
He smiled at the shop assistant. “A plain filter coffee please, black.” The barista nodded and turned to do his bidding. A few minutes later, armed with a cup of coffee he had no intention of drinking, Daniel left the shop and tipped the still-full cup into a waiting rubbish bin, checked his pocket for his prize once again, and returned to his Lexus to drive to meet Percy so he could start his preparations for the ritual to destroy the Witchfinder General and his human host.
Chapter 17
Quinn, Percy and Magnus sat shivering on the outskirts of the cold Mistley marsh flats as they waited for the right time to perform their ritual. The eclipse was on its way and all they could do was wait. They’d been there for two hours now and it was half past midnight with just under an hour to go. Then they could perform the ritual that would hopefully destroy both Jeremy Payton and Matthew Hopkins. They knew that gradually the moon would have covered the sun and with less than an hour to go, they waited patiently for the maximum time decreed in the texts that Percy and his researchers had discovered. As the eclipse wasn’t visible in the Northern Hemisphere, all they had to go on was the time.
Percy hadn’t been sure whether the ritual would adversely affect Rowan Kirkpatrick, aside from sullying him so that the spirit of Hopkins could no longer use his body. They knew Jeremy Payton might end up very badly off though and were prepared for that. The hairs Daniel had plucked from Rowan’s shoulder when he’d got close to him would do the trick for that, together with the soiled handkerchief with its extra treasure of snot. The two men were still in the cottage and had not moved since the Warlocks had gotten there.
“We need to get as close as we can to the cottage when we do the ritual,” Quinn muttered. “The closer we are the better the result. It will have to be timed just right so they don’t sense us. We can’t afford Payton dissipating like he did on the yacht.”
Percy nodded. “Once the ritual is started, Hopkins won’t be able to use his power. It will prevent him from doing so if the texts are correct. The ritual itself is fairly short. We chant the words exactly on time, burn the hair and the handkerchief with an energy burst together, and supposedly Payton and Matthew Hopkins should separate somehow. They could disintegrate, burn or just disappear. We honestly don’t have a clue what to expect.”
Quinn looked at the other two Warlocks in apprehension, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “If the tests are correct? Do we have a contingency plan in case this ritual is a load of bollocks?” he muttered quietly. “I didn’t really want to have to consider an alternative, but under the circumstances, being so close to a progeny of Hopkins and Hopkins himself, that could be bad for us all if things go wrong.”
Magnus chuckled softly. “That is a valid point, Mr. Quinn. I’d suggest we simply invoke our Withinners and let them take us away. Failing that, we can always try fighting our way out of any situation.” He grinned widely, his teeth gleaming in the dim light.
“I promised Cade I’d try not to die again on this one,” Quinn smiled wolfishly. “He made me promise before I left. So I don’t really fancy going home to my fiancé in any other state that what I am now. He’ll kill me.”
Percy chuckled. “Well put. I wouldn’t like to face him either if anything happened to you. So we have to hope that the bloody ritual works.”
It was precisely one-fifteen a.m. when the three Warlocks made their way surreptitiously up to the stone cottage. Thirty feet away, lights flared from the small mullioned windows through slight cracks in the curtains. The clearing was shrouded in trees and the seven oak trees in particular looked like broad-shouldered giants. Quinn, Magnus and Percy waited in anticipation for the exact time. All of them had synchronised their watches to make sure they got the chant started at the right second. They’d memorised the chant, and the handkerchief and the hair were ready on the ground between them for the burn.
Quinn started as one of the lights in the cottage went out. He looked at his watch. One twenty-two a.m. “Nearly time, chaps,” he whispered. “Get ready.” He glanced at Percy. “We don’t have to hold hands or something, do we?” He grinned at them as he tried to relieve the tension he felt in the air. “Because then I’d feel like I’m in a bloody boy band.”
Percy shook his head, his eyes amused. “No, no hand holding.” His face became set as his wrist watch vibrated against his arm. They had sixty seconds to do this.
“It’s time, let’s start the chant. I’ll tell you when we need to burn the totems.”
The three Warlocks closed their eyes and began the ritual chanting, repeating the words they’d memorized over and over again. They heard a strange humming that seemed to echo through the air, like the high-pitched tone of a violin string. The hairs on Quinn’s body stood up, his whole being prickling with electricity. Taliesin was repeating the chant with him in a low, husky voice, his power adding to the spell.
The group looked up as the front door to the cottage was flung open and the stocky form of Jeremy Payton appeared in the doorway. The young man took one look at them and his face tightened as he realised they were not there to deliver Girl Scout cookies.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you bunch of wankers?” he shouted, the spittle flying from his mouth in silvery drops. “Matthew said he could feel someone trying to hurt him. Do you really think you can defeat him?”
He scowled viciously as he recognised Quinn. “You! Me and Rowan have been watching you and your fancy man at that posh place of yours.” He grinned nastily. “I’m looking forward to having a little one-on-one time with him. I have a few ideas as to how to entertain myself. I know a few magyck tricks now that could make him scream.”
Quinn’s anger surged inside him and heard Taliesin’s quiet voice.
Concentrate, Quinn, Do not let him distract you. It is what he wants.
Quinn gritted his teeth as the teenager moved purposefully toward them. The Warlocks kept up the momentum of their chant. They knew to lose it now would not be a loss they could take. Quinn hoped fervently that Percy’s assumption of the Witchfinder General’s magyck not working due to their spell was right or they’d be in real trouble. The teenager shimmered in the air as he walked toward them, similar to the shine Quinn had seen when he’d watched Jeremy board Andrew de Vere’s yacht all those months ago.
Rowan Kirkpatrick appeared at the door, his tall, gangly frame watching the events with consternation. He wore sunglasses and Quinn wondered inconsequentially why that would be. As they continued their ritual, a faint mist rose from Jeremy, a haze that appeared vaguely human in outline. Even as they watched, it rose and sank again back into Jeremy. It seemed to be unable to leave his body and Quinn sensed the frustration in the presence as it struggled to get free. Over and over it rose and ove
r and over it was forced back in. Jeremy stopped, his eyes widening as he struggled to understand what was happening to him.
He glared at Quinn fiercely. “What are you doing to me, you bastard? What’s this all about?” He turned and tried to clutch at the mist rising from his body.
“Nearly time, chaps,” gasped Percy, in between his chant. “Stay focused.”
Rowan Kirkpatrick was at Jeremy’s side, his face anxious as he too flailed at the mist rising from the boy as if trying to grab and hold onto it. Quinn saw a face form in the haze, a man’s face, with a moustache and a full, long beard, his eyes observing them in sheer fury, his lips twisted and snarling at them in anger. Even from here Quinn could feel the power of Mathew Hopkins, the Witchfinder General of Essex.
The Warlocks continued their chanting, watching as the two men fought against what was happening. Rowan Kirkpatrick stared at Quinn and the Warlock felt the intense hate emanating from him from behind the sunglasses. His mouth was twisted in a snarl.
Percy stopped chanting and panted, “Burn the totems, now!”
Like a synchronised group, the three Warlocks raised their palms and blue bursts of energy flashed down toward the ground, instantly incinerating the handkerchief and the hair of Rowan Kirkpatrick. There was a loud and frightful scream from Jeremy, whose face was now frantic with fear and pain, his hands flailing wildly at his chest. The haze struggling to release itself was sucked back into him like dust into a vacuum cleaner.
“Get it out!” Jeremy screamed. “Get the fucking thing out of me! It hurts!”
The teenager ripped his shirt apart with his bare hands and beat at his chest, which was pulsing madly. Quinn was reminded of the scene from Alien where the monster broke its way through a man’s chest in a burst of blood and tissue.
Jeremy’s chest was bulging in and out, his breath coming in tortured gasps as he tried frantically to stop whatever was happening to him. Their work done, the Warlocks watched with widened eyes seeing the young man thrashing about in sheer terror.
He saw the trio watching still and shrieked dementedly at Quinn. “You dirty Warlock, Fairmont! You’re doing this to me. You fucking arsehole, stop it now! You’re killing me!”
Quinn couldn’t quite tell the youngster that this had always been a possible outcome. Jeremy Payton finally gave an excruciated howl and spun around like a dervish. The Warlocks watched in complete horror as his chest exploded in a fury of flesh and blood, spraying Rowan Kirkpatrick and covering him with a paste of bodily fluids and tissue.
Well, that was an unexpected ending.
Taliesin’s startled words echoed what Quinn felt. They’d known Jeremy may not survive but this whole blood-and-guts explosion seemed very extreme indeed.
Kirkpatrick screeched at being covered with the remains of Jeremy Payton, who now lay broken and ripped on the grass at their feet. The dark haze that was Matthew Hopkins shimmered in the air, becoming fainter and fainter.
Quinn heard a voice crying out in rage and fury at being thwarted. Finally the black mist dissipated completely and the air was clear.
“What have you done, you bastards!” Rowan was sobbing now, his hands reaching out blindly to the circle of Warlocks. “You’ve ruined everything! This was my chance to be someone and you’ve taken it away from me!”
Quinn stepped forward, his hands already raised to direct a fatal burst at the now useless human vessel, but Percy placed a firm hand on his arm.
“Don’t kill him,” he said softly. “That man has no more magyck in him. He’s just an ordinary man, who’ll go back to an ordinary life and be miserable for the rest of his days. Isn’t that punishment enough? We can’t destroy him like that. You don’t want another human death on your conscience.”
Quinn stopped and lowered his hand. Percy regarded him quietly as Magnus watched the interchange between the men in silence.
Quinn sighed. “Fine. If you’re sure the man has no powers.” Although it went against every instinct he had to destroy this man for good.
“I’m sure, as are you. You can’t sense anything in him either. And the Witchfinder is dead. I can’t sense him anywhere.”
Quinn nodded. “Yes, I think he’s gone for good now. I think we’ve just stopped the Witchfinder line from breeding any more of them. That’s an achievement indeed. I never thought I’d see the day that happened.” An incredible sensation of peace filled his body. Taliesin seemed to feel it too.
He has gone, Quinn. I cannot sense him either. This was a good plan.
Quinn smiled. It was indeed, old friend. A good plan.
Rowan was now kneeling by the dead form of Jeremy Payton, no doubt sobbing at trying to make sense of what had just happened to his beautiful dream of being a powerful Witchfinder General. He took off his sunglasses and the Warlocks gasped at the sight of his pure black eyes.
Quinn looked at Percy in exasperation. “That doesn’t look like a man who has no magyck in him, Percy!” In truth, Quinn was a little scared at the sight of his own blackened eyes staring back at him. Rowan’s looked exactly the same as Quinn’s when he went into what Cade called his Antichrist mode.
Percy shook his head. “It’s a side effect of the preparation to cleanse the human vessel. It’s not magyck, more of a physical change to the eyes so they can see auras. The Witchfinder General apparently had the power to see them too so he needed to prepare the same in this man. It’s more to do with certain herb mixtures and infusions that he would have drunk.”
Quinn wasn’t convinced. “If you say so.” He wondered if that had anything to do with what happened to him when his eyes changed. He’d have to read it up on it again later. He walked over to the still-sobbing Rowan and stood over him.
“I’d suggest you forget about what you’ve seen here and get back to a normal life instead of hanging out with a couple of psychotic murderers,” Quinn said bitterly. “You’re lucky my friend here cared enough to spare your life. I’m not feeling as charitable so I suggest you disappear and we never see you again. I’ll do you a favour and clean this mess up for you or I’m sure someone will think you did it. You have been living together, after all. Who knows what the neighbours might think.”
He finally got to use his full energy burst on Payton’s ruined body, reducing it to nothing but grey ashes within minutes. Rowan’s black eyes glared at Quinn and he shivered. Now he knew why Cade had been a little scared the first time he’d seen Quinn’s eyes do the same. Rowan said nothing, just gazed from Jeremy to Quinn then back again. His body seemed to have shrunk back into itself. He appeared defeated, cowed.
Quinn scowled and turned away from Rowan. “We’re done here. Let’s get home. I, for one, have a man waiting for me.”
The Warlocks left Rowan by the pile of ashes that had been Jeremy Payton, invoked their Withinners and within minutes of the magyckal drama on a cold April night in Mistley, Quinn found himself instead in his bedroom on Hampstead Heath, listening to Cade’s soft breathing as he slept. Quinn took off his clothes, left them lying in a heap on the floor and crawled into bed, bone tired. He lay back on his pillow, luxuriating in the feel of warm blankets.
Cade stirred and turned over. His eyes opened and widened in pleasure at seeing him. “You’re home. Did everything go as you planned? You’re not hurt, are you? I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I wanted to wait up for you.” He moved over to him, exclaiming at the coolness of Quinn’s body.
“God, you’re frozen. I need to warm you up.” Cade threw his warm arms across Quinn’s middle, getting as close to him as he could. His lover’s warmth seeped through to Quinn’s chilled bones.
“I’m fine, everything went well. We got rid of the bastard, so I think it’s all over.”
“You came home without a scratch,” Cade muttered. “That’s a first.”
Quinn chuckled tiredly. “I didn’t want to risk upsetting you.” He yawned widely. “Now will you let me go to sleep? I’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”
His
fiancé nodded sleepily. “Okay. I’m glad you’re home safe and sound.”
“So am I,” he replied softly. “Sleep tight.”
Chapter 18
The following morning Cade woke up and gazed over at the sleeping form of Quinn beside him. His face looked properly relaxed for the first time in a long time. Gently he brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, smiling as Quinn muttered in his sleep. Cade got out of bed, pulling on his robe and went downstairs to make an early morning cup of coffee. He was sitting in the kitchen, looking quietly out of the window sipping his coffee, when Quinn came in behind him and nuzzled his neck, then wandered over to make himself a cup.
Cade grinned in appreciation as he regarded Quinn’s topless chest and loose jogging bottoms around his hips. “Morning. I have to say I love the fact you’re still in one delectable piece after your excitement last night, and I’m not visiting you at the hospital again.”
Quinn chuckled. “You and me both. Actually it went very well considering we were flying by the seat of our pants.” Quinn sat down, propping his feet up on the kitchen table as he drank his coffee.
Cade looked at him enquiringly. “So, what happened last night?”
“We performed the ritual at the right time and the young man, Jeremy Payton, came barrelling out of the house as if all the hounds of hell were at his heels. He threatened us but he wasn’t able to make his magyck work, thank God.” Quinn’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “At the end, his chest looked like something was trying to burst out of it.”
He frowned. “I’m not sure why we got such an intense reaction; there was nothing like that mentioned in the other case with the Druitt fellow. Percy seemed to think that it might have something to do with the fact that he was both Hopkins’s progeny and had the actual spirit of Hopkins inside him, so it was a little bit of overkill. Basically the guy’s chest just exploded and there was blood and guts everywhere.” Quinn nodded in satisfaction. “And then there were none. We all agreed we couldn’t sense Hopkins anymore, even the Withinners thought so, so we think it’s all over.”
Double Alchemy: Climax Page 14
