by Roy Gill
He took a deep breath and steadied his voice. “I don’t think it was her. I don’t understand how it could be.”
“How did you scare it off?” Eve said.
“I ripped the curtain. I tore it with…” Cameron’s fist unclenched, with a sensation like muscles unknotting. Slowly he pulled it out his pocket and risked a look.
It was a normal human hand.
He swallowed. “I tore it with a pair of scissors. The Weaver hadn’t fully formed. It wasn’t expecting to be noticed, and I reckoned: get rid of the medium – get rid of the monster.”
“Good thinking, mate.” Morgan padded over, prodded the strips of curtain on the ground with his foot. Without the influence of the Weaver Daemon animating them, they were spidery legs no longer – just curls of material. “That’s got to hurt… Nice one!”
Eve looked at Cameron. She’d spotted the way he’d stared at his hand. Her eyes ran over the desk, glancing at the scatter of coins, guitar plectrums, odds and ends. She picked up a small pair of scissors. “With these? They don’t look sharp enough.”
Cameron shrugged. “What can I say? I never liked those curtains.”
There was a pause, then Eve nodded. “Hmm. Thank you for getting rid of it, anyway.” She put the scissors down. “I wonder what it wanted?”
“Opportunity,” said Morgan. “Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had a run in with the Weavers… Maybe it fancied a look round to see what it could grab.”
“Makes sense.” Cameron thought back to when he’d first met Eve and Morgan. His gran had been involved in a bargain with the Weaver Daemon known as ‘Mrs Ferguson’, who at that time had been Eve’s captor. Nothing involving Gran had ever been simple – all her plans had devious twists – and both she and Mrs Ferguson delighted in double-crossing each other. Now both of them were gone, it was all too possible other Weavers might come hunting for the magical apparatus Isobel Ives had sneakily acquired from her rival…
“Why now?” said Eve. “That’s the thing that’s bothering me. Why did it appear tonight?”
“I told you,” said Cameron. “I was asleep. It didn’t expect to be seen.”
“No, no, no. You’re asleep every night – well, maybe not wolf nights – so what made this night special?”
“I don’t follow.”
“Listen – all the time I’ve been here, living with you pair, I’ve felt safe. For the first time I can remember, I haven’t had to check the shadows, or keep a lookout for eyes watching in the dark.” Eve shuddered, and drew her robe tight around her shoulders. “What’s changed?”
Morgan stuck his hand up the side of his rumpled Nirvana t-shirt and scratched idly. “I expect the wards have gone.” Cameron and Eve stared at him. “What? You don’t think I hang out here just for your sweet tempers and good looks? Cam’s grandma was a serious player on the Parallel with her wheeling and dealing. Old lady would’ve set up protection.”
“I’m extremely lovable and good natured, as you know,” said Eve in a syrupy voice. She lifted Cameron’s guitar from its stand. “Assuming you don’t want me to break this over your head, would you please tell us – what’s going on?”
“Ok, ok! No need to be scary! You seriously never thought about this? And I reckoned you two were smart.” Morgan held his hands wide and grinned. “Old Nan Ives, for all she was mad-crazy, she wouldn’t have left herself vulnerable. She would’ve had something to watch over her home, keep intruders away. That’s what ‘wards’ are – a protective charm. Nice bit of boundary magic, if you can afford ’em.”
“And now she’s gone they’re breaking down.” Cameron sat down heavily on the bed.
“So we might get all sorts of daemons trying to sneak in…” said Eve.
“That little curtain-mugger was probably just the first.” Morgan shrugged. “Nothing lasts forever, does it?”
“I sort of hoped it would.” Cameron put his head in his hands. “But it’s all falling apart: Dr Black and Mr Grey at the shop, asking questions, demanding we show them Gran even when they know we can’t… And now we’re in danger here too. I thought we were doing all right! I thought I had fixed things.”
“Oh, cheer up, mate! Might never happen.”
“At least you’re still a big strong werewolf,” added Eve with a little smile.
“Yeah, brilliant.” Cameron remembered his wolf claw tearing at the curtains. That was something else he couldn’t explain, another thing that seemed to be slipping out of control… He pushed the thought away. “Morgan, where would the wards be? Let’s see if we can do something about that for a start.”
“Well, I’m no expert, but I’d try…” The wolf-boy pointed to the ceiling. “Up?”
The trap door inched open and Cameron stuck his head into the loft. He sneezed. “Remind me again… Why do I have to go first?”
“The ladder is clearly only fit for one person,” Eve called from the landing. “It’s got nothing at all to do with the attic being vile and filled with mice and spiders.”
“That’s what I thought.” Holding his torch between his teeth, he flipped the hatch all the way back, propped his hands either side of the opening, and hauled himself into the murky space.
Cameron had never been into the loft before – he’d just lifted the trap, slid stuff in and hoped for the best. He shone his torch into the gloom. The space was just as packed with tea-chests, boxes and old suitcases as he expected. Gran had been a hoarder. His dad had been too… He shook his head. He’d have to watch himself. Must run in the family.
“What about you, Morgan? What’s your excuse?”
“Hatchway’s too narrow for my shoulders. You’re the obvious choice for Operation Attic.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Cameron swung the torch. The arc-light reflected off a sharp-toothed leer and a raised set of claws, and he let out a startled YAAARK!
“What’s wrong?” The ladder rattled as Eve raced up. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s ok! I’ve found an old roommate. Can you believe it? I shoved him up here the first chance I got.”
Eve regarded the glassy-eyed stuffed mongoose with disgust. “Your gran had strange notions about decorating.”
“She had strange notions about everything. That wasn’t the half of it,” said Cameron. “Be glad she’s not here any more.”
Eve pushed her dark hair back from her face and gave him an odd look. “About that – I might have an idea how to tackle the Court of the Parallel.”
“Oh really? What?”
“Just something that occurred to me about your gran. Tell you properly later. I’ll need to find –”
“Hey, hey. What’s going on? Everyone ok?” With an eruption of dust, Morgan forced his way through the hatch.
“Looks like ‘the shoulders’ made it after all,” Eve whispered.
Cameron grinned. “Doing fine, mate. Why don’t you help us look for the wards now you’re up? What’s it doing here anyway?”
“Got to be above all the doors and windows that need protected. Above the chimney too, if you’ve got an open fireplace.” Morgan brushed himself down. “Could be worse, eh? We could be clambering over the roof.”
Cameron aimed his torch above his head and ran the light along the underside of the rafters. Hanging on a length of yellowed string was a stone disc about the size of a large coin. A design had been carved into the front showing a two-faced man. From under a mass of stylized curls, one proud nose pointed left, the other jutted right. A jagged crack ran straight across the middle.
“That’s it. And it looks broken to me.” Morgan stepped nimbly across the beams, reached up and snagged the disc. The string snapped and it dropped into his hands. He turned the disc over and examined it. “There’s something written on the back…”
“Let me see.” Eve studied the engraving. “It’s Latin. It’s quite simple. It says:
THIS TOKEN GUARDS ALL PORTALS OF THE DWELLING PLACE OF ISOBEL IVES, FROM DAY OF ISSUE UNTIL ONE YEAR AFTER SHE DEPARTS THE
HUMANIAN REALMS.”
“Eve, you are amazing,” said Cameron. “How did you know that?”
“You don’t work for a daemon for years without picking up the occasional dead language.” She gave him a haughty look, but he could tell she was secretly pleased. “It’s signed:
BY THE ORDER OF JANUS.”
“Janus!” Morgan whistled. “That’s a pretty classy ward. He’s only the Ancient Roman God of Entrances and Exits.”
“Do you know him?” said Cameron.
“By reputation. He’s got a bit of a connection to the pack. I might be able to lean on it. No promises.”
“Do we need to go to Rome to get the wards fixed, and make us safe?” Eve was full of enthusiasm. “The only thing I ever liked about Mrs Ferguson was she used to play opera. I’ve always wanted to see Italy…”
“Nah, you’re all right. No opera necessary,” said Morgan. “We can catch Janus here in Edinburgh. On the Parallel.”
“What’s he doing there?” Cameron laughed and held up a hand. “No, don’t tell me. It wouldn’t be the strangest –”
“Oh, don’t be dull, Cameron,” Eve interjected. “The Romans got everywhere. It’ll make an interesting trip.”
“Hold up.” Morgan gave Eve a hard look. “Who said you get to come? There’s no guarantee Janus’ll help. He’s meant to be a right Roman pain in the –”
“I am so coming. You just try and stop me.” Eve’s eyes gleamed, and she took herself on a little dance, jumping from beam to beam. “And I know how to tackle the Court of the Parallel too – I’m the only one who does – but I’m not going to tell you how until after we’ve been.”
Cameron and Morgan exchanged looks.
“You’d better say yes, mate.” Morgan cast a wary glance at Eve’s clodhopping footsteps. “If she carries on like that she’ll have half the ceilings down.”
Cameron sighed. “You realise this is blackmail, right?”
“Is it?” said Eve. “How sweet of you to notice.”
CHAPTER 3
On the Parallel Line
The Parallel ran through the world like a geological seam – at least that’s how Cameron always imagined it – a deposit of myth and madness and monsters, drawn in from the bordering Human and Daemon realms.
He remembered the first time he’d heard about it, late one night in the kitchen on Observatory Row, not long after he’d moved in. The loss of his father had been recent, and he’d felt very raw and empty. His gran had seen that emptiness, and for reasons of her own, offered up the story of the Parallel.
She had told him about the mages Mitchell and Astredo, and their bold plan to separate the Human and Daemon worlds. She told him how the plan had gone wrong, creating an inter-world gap instead. In time, the gap became the Parallel, and the descendents of Mitchell and Astredo’s covens found themselves drawn back to it, and able to use it for their own ends. They alone could travel into the Parallel, and between the worlds.
“People like you and me, Cameron,” Gran had calmly revealed, changing his life forever.
He’d hardly dared believe her, but with typical ruthless efficiency she had soon found a way to catapult him in. It wasn’t long before he was world-shifting: slipping from the Human world to the Parallel and back again, swift as a thought. All he had to do was concentrate on a certain tune – hear it in his mind – and reality about him would change.
Everyone with the Inheritance had their own way of finding and accessing the Parallel: it came from inside, from who they were. His gran had heard music too, although her tune had been as complicated and twisted as she was. Cameron’s song was direct: it strummed and surged its way forward, like a joyous riff on a guitar.
Basically, it rocked.
And now he was going to share the Parallel with Eve. He knew she had gone through a lot with Mrs Ferguson – things she wouldn’t talk about even now – but in an odd way, the evil old Weaver had protected her as well. None of the daemons that came seeking favours from her mistress would ever have dared harm Eve, for fear of reprisal. Out on the Parallel now, though, all bets would be off…
Cameron hoped she was ready.
“This used to be a railway. They shut it down, the weeds grew over the tracks and it went wild. Got turned into cycle paths eventually.” Cameron looked up from his map. “I think this is the right junction.”
“Foxes and badgers running along lines instead of trains… imagine that.” Eve seemed wistful for a second, then she shuffled her feet on the frosty ground.
They were in a raised-up area by a red sandstone wall. A line of benches was arranged around a dilapidated stone block salvaged from a fountain. An inscription round its base read:
WATER IS NOT FOR MAN ALONE.
Below them, the cycle path ran in a straight line between high banks covered in grass and trees. Cradled in an enclosure of vegetation, they were just a short distance from the bustle of the city, but it felt like they were miles away.
“So why here for a God of Entrances and Exits?”
“Morgan said Janus was a God of Journeys too, so I guess an old railway line fits. There’s always some kind of link between the Human World and the Parallel.”
“Doors and journeys. Of course,” Eve said tartly. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“You start a journey by going through a door, so it’s not totally mad.”
Eve pulled a face. “Anything else? God of Jam, perhaps? God of Thursdays? Or would that be too obvious?”
“He’s a God of January.”
“Well, that at least figures.” Eve banged her hands together against the cold. “Whoever he is, I hope he can fix the wards so we can get through a night without unexpected daemons popping in…”
“Worried about missing your beauty sleep?”
“Hardly. I think that’s more your concern.” Eve arched an eyebrow. “Your need is greater.”
“You wound me,” said Cameron, patting his chest. “Wards first, so we’ve got a secure base to work from, yeah? Then we can see about tackling Grey and keeping hold of the shop… Any chance you might share your cunning plan for the Court?
“I’m a Girl of Mystery. I shall choose the right moment. Which is not yet.”
He stole a glance at her. Even after a year, her ‘new’ appearance sometimes surprised him: a tall, slender woman with long black hair, not exactly pretty, but with a strong, animated face. She looked like she was in her late teens or maybe early twenties, even though he knew the spiky personality inside was a good deal younger. When she had first come to stay at Observatory Row she’d had almost nothing, and had been forced to rummage about in Grandma Ives’ stuff for things to wear. She’d looked kind of mad, dressed up in a ragbag of clothes… but maybe not so much now.
He frowned. Actually, she looked all right. When had that happened?
“Nice, um, jacket,” he said cautiously. “It suits you.”
“Thanks. I’ve had it for months.” She sighed. “You really are a boy, aren’t you?”
Cameron blinked. “Last time I checked. I was only trying to be nice.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She shook her head. “Where’s Morgan got to?”
“He had to fetch something. Something he said might be useful. He said he’d meet us by the fountain.”
“Well, you may have to use a pick and chip me from the ground, for I shall shortly become a block of ice.”
“Nah. I thought I’d leave you here, to puzzle future archaeologists.” He studied her face for a hint of a smile. “You can always go back to the shop.”
“With that grey lump stuck to the counter? No fear.” Eve grimaced. “I said I wanted to come, didn’t I?”
“You made a strong case for it.” A thought struck Cameron. “Eve, are you ok? About world-shifting, I mean? It’s just if you need –”
“Look out!” Her arm snaked out and shoved him into a bush, just as a motorcycle roared from the path in a blur of chrome. It sped past, circled twice around the foun
tain, and came skidding to a halt.
“Woo-hoo!” A familiar long-haired figure staggered off the rear of the passenger seat, shook out his greatcoat and gave the driver a hearty slap on the back. “That bike is made of win.”
Cameron pulled himself to his feet, spitting dried leaves from his mouth. “Yes, thanks for almost squashing us.”
“People should watch where they’re going.” The driver flipped his visor, revealing a hard, blunt-featured face that glared a challenge. “Little wolf cubs should too.”
Cameron bristled, and the muscles in his chest tightened. “Oh yeah? You shouldn’t even be riding that thing. This isn’t a road.”
There was a moment of silence broken only by the purr of the bike’s engine. Morgan shot a glance from his friend to the biker and back again.
“Cycle path, isn’t it?” the biker said. “This is a cycle. So it’s allowed.”
“But strangely it doesn’t say ‘idiot path’, does it?” Eve crossed her arms and stepped neatly between the biker and Cameron. “And yet here you are.”
Within his helmet slit, the biker’s eyes narrowed, as if he suspected he’d been insulted but couldn’t quite work out how.
“Anyway…” said Morgan in a placatory tone, “Ta for the lift, Grant. It’s appreciated.”
There was another pause and Grant the biker grunted. He pointed a leather-gauntleted finger at Morgan. “I know my duty. You should think about yours, once in a while. And you–” The finger swung to target Cameron. “I reckon I’ll be seeing you around, cub.”
The visor snapped down, the engine revved and the bike sped off, heading away from the path and into town.
Eve waved a hand in front of her face, clearing away the exhaust fumes. She coughed. “Who is your delightful friend?”
“Why? Fancy a date?”
“Not in a million years.”
“Nah, didn’t think so.” Morgan gave Eve his broadest grin. “He’s just a dog from the pack. No one special.”
Cameron had so far had little to do with other werewolves, apart from Morgan. While his friend was 100 per cent pure Were, born to the pack, Cameron’s own wolf-side was the result of a desperate gamble. In the life or death struggle that had dispatched his gran he had survived only by begging Morgan to bite him, and so pass the wolf-power on. Cameron knew the pack took a dim view of humans who were recruited this way, believing they were a liability because they so rarely managed to master their baser wolfish urges. In fact, the pack didn’t approve of anything that might call attention to the existence of Were-kind in the human world.
