Druids Sword (26 page)

I
had been feeling so much happier, almost positive, and then doubts crept back in. I was unsettled and depressed by the Great Marriage. I had told myself—and Jack—that it was because I didn’t want him destroying that fragile balance of our world and that I didn’t want him destroying my parents’ own peace, but as the days and then the weeks dragged on after May Day I had to admit to myself that there was more to it. I couldn’t bear the thought of my mother sleeping with Jack, and my aversion to the idea had nothing at all to do with whether or not Jack would destroy any fragile balances, or what my father felt about it.

Jack and Noah had looked so happy atop The Naked, and all I could think of was how Jack had spent thousands of years trying to correct the mistakes of their first lives together and win Noah back. Why should he give up now?

My mother returned the next day. She appeared radiant. It was not just the smile on her face, but myriad small things: humming a tune as she sorted through clothes that needed to be dry-cleaned; staring out a window for long minutes at a time at
nothing in particular with a smile on her face; falling into lengthy silences at mealtimes, also with a small smile on her face, when normally she would chatter on about anything.

My father did a very bad impression of not noticing.

Then came the little surprise she dropped at Faerie Hill Manor. That hit me on two levels. I was shocked, appalled and, most of all, intensely jealous, that she intruded so blithely into something that until now only Jack and I had shared. And I was shocked, appalled and desperately frightened that she, too, thought that Catling’s trap was, in fact, a Catling weakness. Instantly, so it seemed, Jack’s hitherto open mind (if open only a sliver on this matter, but it
had
been open) slammed shut. Yes, he agreed happily, it was a weakness. Noah had confirmed it.

Noah was his lover and the love of his life; she had shared thousands of years with him, and she was a goddess and a Darkwitch and a Mistress of the Labyrinth, and never, never, never could I compete on all those levels.

Of course he was going to believe her before me.

No wonder she had intruded so blithely.

Noah tried to smooth it over with me, in the kitchen. Considering the humiliating little scene I had put on, she was actually very nice. She promised to keep an open mind, but I knew that there was nothing I could do. Jack and Noah were so
intimate
(I don’t mean that only in the sexual sense, but intimate because of all they had shared and on so many levels), and I so much the outsider…well, once they had jointly made up their minds on the issue, then I had no hope.

It didn’t help that I had no proof, either. Sure, I was a Mistress of the Labyrinth, but I had nowhere near the experience in the labyrinth that Jack and
Noah had. I had nowhere near the experience in
life
that they had. All I had was that deep misgiving that the shadow hanging over London was connected with Catling, and was somehow a vile trap that would ensnare us all, but I had no proof.

I was scared that Jack would ask me to stop helping him. After all, he had my mother on his team now. While I continued my work, walking about London, discovering what I could, I tended to avoid Jack.

I didn’t want to know how well he and my mother did.

I didn’t want him to suggest, gently, that maybe he and my mother could manage by themselves now, thank you for all your trouble.

On the last Friday in May I was out later than usual. I had been wandering through Southwark, walking almost to Rotherhithe, and had lost track of the time.

I had also lost myself. I didn’t have any maps with me, and I’d managed to stray into the wharf area—a warren of alleys and laneways, each indistinguishable from the other. It was dusk, gloom had enveloped the entire area, and I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t even work out the location of the river. I
knew
it was close, because I could hear the water and the occasional faint sound of barges and tugs, but no matter what turning I took, I could not catch sight of it.

I thought I would ask someone directions, but although half an hour ago the area had been bustling with lorries and handcarts and sailors and overalled women hurrying about, now the entire area was strangely deserted.

Rotherhithe shouldn’t have been deserted. Not during wartime. It should have been bustling, even though it was coming on to full night.

There were no streetlamps.

No people.

No means to find my way home.

Power seeped about me.

Increasingly wary, I drew back against a wall, hiding in the darkness of the overhang of a warehouse.

I looked up. It was a clear night, and I could see the barrage balloons that hung over wharves and river.

I could also sense the shadow, more powerfully than ever before.

Suddenly, although I
saw
nothing, I sensed the shadow gathering its strength, as if for a leap, then felt it rushing towards me.

I gave a soft cry, hating myself for it, and scrambled desperately along the wall, hoping to find a doorway, an entrance,
anything
to get out of the way of the—

“Hello, pretty lady.”

Fear jolted through me. A man had come up behind me, grabbing me by the right elbow and pulling me against his body.

“What’s a lovely thing like you doing out and about, hmmm, when a murderer is wandering the streets?”

There was something about the way he said “murderer”, something in the vicious, cold jesting tone of voice, that made me realise…oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…

All my brave words to Jack were for nothing. I had never felt more terrified in my entire life than I did right then. Maybe he could not murder me—after all, Catling needed me alive—but what he could do…I had heard what those girls had suffered, what had been done to them, what—

Another man loomed before me, his hat pulled so
low I could make out nothing of his face save a well of darkness and some bright, gleaming teeth. He grabbed at my left arm, and then, no matter how I struggled, began slowly, lasciviously, unbuttoning my coat.

There were
two
of them! No wonder the women hadn’t stood a chance!

The next moment his hand ran over my dress, over my breasts, over my abdomen, down to my groin.

I tried to kick him, but he responded by kicking my legs out from under me, so that the only thing keeping me upright was their grip on my arms.

The first man, still holding onto my elbow with one hand, produced a knife in his other.

I screamed. Then again, and yet once again.
Someone
must hear me, surely!

The second man laughed, low, soft, sibilant, and tore my skirt away.

My gods, they were going to rape me first.

At that point I wished I
could
die. Surely it would be easier to just hold my breath, or suffocate myself against the coat of the man to my right.

The other man ripped away my petticoat, then I felt his cold fingers slide under the waistband of my drawers.

I wanted to scream again, but I was beyond it now.

His fingers slid low, rasping against my inner thigh.

“We were thinking,” he whispered, now so close his mouth was almost against mine, “that we could whip a thing or two out, eh?—and who would miss it? It’s not as if Jack needs it, right?”

I couldn’t believe it. What did they know about Jack?

“After all,” whispered the other—
Oh Christ, I could feel his cold tongue in my ear!
—“he has Noah now, right?”

Now the second man’s hand rose up under my blouse and gripped one of my breasts, so painfully I whimpered.

“We’re so happy we found you wandering about the streets, little girl,” he said.

“We’d like to know what you’re doing,” said the other man.

Not man
—
imp! Suddenly I knew who they were!
I remembered that moment, so many years ago, when they’d stood over me in my parents’ bed, and wrapped Catling’s hex about my wrists.

“What is sweet little Grace doing, wandering the streets, eh?” said the other imp, and squeezed my breast with such renewed spite that I cried out in pain.

“Tell us, little Grace.”

“Tell us, Grace, or you’ll feel this cold blade sliding into regions that until now only Harry has enjoyed.”

I could barely force the words out. “I came down here to see a friend…I got lost…I—”

They wouldn’t let me finish. I felt the flat, icy blade of the knife against my bare belly, then felt it turn, slowly, slowly, so that its edge bit into my skin.

I tore myself away. I don’t know how I did it, but I tore myself away and stumbled up the street, hearing the soft, sarcastic laughter of the two men behind me.

Ten minutes later, clutching my coat about the ruins of my clothes, I hailed a cab back to the Savoy.

In Rotherhithe the imps pulled their clothes straight, and Jim slipped the knife back into the sheath he had hung at his belt.

“D’you think we took it too far?” he said.

Bill leered. “I’
d
say we didn’t take it far enough.
”

“
We were told not to hurt her too much,” said Bill. “I think a rape would have got us into hot water.
”

Bill grunted. “Perhaps we’ll be asked to scare her again,” he said. “Then we could notch up the fright a little further, eh?
”

Jim laughed softly, his hand creeping back to caress his knife. “Yeah,” he said. “Let’s hope.”

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” said their dark mistress, appearing so suddenly beside them that the imps jumped back in consternation.

Her mouth twitched very slightly at their fear. “You scared her well and truly,” she said.

“We did!” the imps exclaimed together.

“But will she
stay
scared?” the woman whispered, then vanished.

Jack had been concerned about Grace for weeks. He had sensed the withdrawal in her after the night of the Great Marriage, and that withdrawal had only got deeper as time passed. He knew she was upset about his involvement with her mother, and suspected that she was jealous that Noah could now sense the weakness where before it had only been Grace and himself.

Jack hadn’t so much as laid eyes on her for almost three weeks, and had the distinct impression she was avoiding him. He was worried that Grace was tired of helping him, or that she believed that he would prefer Noah’s help to track down the extent of the shadow.

Preferences aside (and Jack was not entirely sure that he
did
want Noah before Grace), Noah wasn’t much help. Yes, she could sense the shadow, but she couldn’t discover any more about it. She could see what others had discovered, but she was not capable of discovering more than that on her own.

Jack could do that. Grace could.

Noah could not.

Jack had spent many sleepless nights trying to work out the significance. He’d sensed the shadow the instant he set foot back in London. Grace had sensed it immediately as well. Both she and Jack could, by slow exploration, discover new elements of
this weakness, slowly building up a greater understanding of it.

Then, after the Great Marriage, Noah had suddenly felt it…but could do no more. She could not discover it, and Jack suspected that neither could she sense the shadow as strongly as he and Grace. Why?
Why?
What significance the Great Marriage? Why had the shadow opened up to Noah after that, if only fractionally?

Jack drove slowly towards the Savoy through the darkened city, the questions still tumbling about his mind, and still no closer to answering any of them than he had been over the past few weeks.

He needed to speak to Grace. Somehow, she was the key to all of this.

“Damn it,” he muttered, pulling up outside the hotel, “why is she always so cursed elusive?”

He ran lightly up the steps to the residents’ private entrance of the Savoy.

Robert Stacey was standing a few feet inside the foyer, hands folded before him, demeanour calm, eyes steady, looking for all the world as if he had been waiting for Jack.

“You’ll not find her at home tonight, sir,” Stacey said as Jack came through the door.

“I’m not looking for Noah,” said Jack, walking past the Sidlesaghe with a nod.

“I know,” said Stacey.

Jack stopped halfway to the lifts, turning to look back at the Sidlesaghe. “You know?”

Stacey gave a small shrug.

Jack bit down his annoyance. “Where is she, Stacey?”

“You’ll find Grace at the parish hall of St Margaret’s Westminster. There’s a dance there tonight. Lots of young things attending. She wanted
to go. She said she didn’t want to be frightened, that she didn’t want to let them scare her.”

Jack looked at Stacey carefully, trying to sort through the implications of the Sidlesaghe’s extraordinary little speech. What was Grace doing, suddenly deciding to go to a parish dance? If Grace had been a normal young woman, rather than one caught up in three thousand years’ worth of hatred and ambition, then, yes, Jack could imagine she might have decided to go to a dance at the local parish hall.

But she was too withdrawn, too battered by all that had trapped her, and Jack could not for the life of him see her chatting gaily with numerous “young things” unable, on any level, to truly communicate with her. All in all, Jack thought a local dance would be hell on earth for such a one as Grace.

And…
didn’t want to be frightened, she didn’t want to let them scare her?
What the hell…?

“Stacey? What has happened?”

“I am surprised you don’t know, sir.”

“
What the fuck has happened, Stacey?
”

“Grace was attacked, about two weeks ago. Down in Rotherhithe, out trying to aid you. She came home, her clothes in tatters, her body bruised. She would hardly speak of it, and begged me to say nothing, but—”

“
What happened to her?
”

“So far as I can work out, two men attacked her, held a knife to her, tried to rape her. Threatened her with appalling violence.” Stacey paused, watching the expression on Jack’s face very carefully. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those two were the Penitent Ripper.”

Jack went so cold he was amazed his heart didn’t stop beating.
The imps. It must have been the imps.
Jesus Christ, what the
hell
was Catling playing at?

“I’m sure you’ll see her safely home tonight, Major,” Stacey said.

“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?”

“I’m telling you now, Major.”

Jack swore, then turned for the door.

The parish hall of St Margaret’s Westminster had been carefully blacked out so that no light shone from window or door, but Jack could clearly hear the sound of music and laughter coming from within.

In the first months of the war night-time entertainments—the cinema, theatres, dances, restaurants—had largely shut down, either by government order or because people were too frightened to go out. As the war dragged on and Hitler neither invaded nor bombarded London with gas or fire, people had slowly relaxed, and the dance halls, cinemas, theatres and restaurants re-opened.

As he parked his Austin, Jack wondered how long this false sense of security would last. Neither Hitler nor Catling would leave the city entirely alone.

Not forever.

Inside, the parish hall was alive with music, light, jostling bodies, laughter and chatter. Jack paused just inside the door, tucking his military cap under one arm, surveying the scene.

Where was Grace?

He peered through the throng, trying to see her, but the dance floor was so jammed with tightly packed, moving bodies that Jack thought he’d have a better chance of spotting a distant star on a stormy night than of picking out Grace.

“Major?” said a voice at his elbow, and Jack turned.

A clergyman stood there, smiling at him. “Welcome to St Margaret’s, Major. We weren’t
expecting our friends from across the Atlantic just yet, however. You came here because…?”

Despite the man’s smile, Jack could see his suspicion.

“I’m looking for Grace Orr,” he said.

The clergyman’s face cleared. “Oh, Grace! Yes, of course she is here. I’m glad a friend…you
are
a friend, yes?”

Jack managed a smile. “Yes. I’ve been a friend of the family for more years than any of us care to remember.”

“Of course. Well, I’m glad a friend of Grace’s has managed to arrive. Maybe you can drag her out of the kitchen. Several of the young men here would love to ask her for a dance.”

“The kitchen?”

The clergyman waved in the direction of a door at the back, and Jack nodded his thanks and started to press his way through the crowd.

Grace was standing at the sink in the little kitchen, her arms in suds up to their elbows. As soon as she realised someone had entered—alerted not by the sound of the door, but by the sudden rush of noise as the door opened—she turned about, grabbing at a tea towel as she did so.

She froze as soon as she saw who it was, the tea towel draped over her arms.

Jack closed the door, slightly stunned by the depth of relief that flooded through him as he saw she was safe. He swept his eyes around the kitchen, halfexpecting the cursed imps to leap out of some shadow, but they were alone.

He looked back to Grace, taking a moment to study her.

She was wearing a pure white dress of some slinky material, sleeveless, and cut in close to waist and hip.
A long-sleeved bolero jacket of the same material was draped over the back of a nearby chair, and Jack saw Grace’s eyes flicker towards it.

He realised that the tea towel was not so much an aid to drying her arms, but a means of hiding her scars until she could slip on the jacket.

Grace gave an uncertain smile, glancing once more at the jacket.

“You do not need to hide your wrists from me,” Jack said. He walked over to her, and tugged the tea towel out of her hands. “Want a hand with the dishes?” He thought she would flee if he suddenly demanded details of the attack.

She let the towel go, but with obvious reluctance. Jack had blocked her access to both jacket and door, and she leaned back against the sink, her face flushed.

“What are you doing here, Jack? My mother is out with—”

“I wasn’t looking for your mother. But what are you doing in
here?
” He smiled, infusing a jesting tone into his voice, trying to relax her. “Isn’t all the fun happening out there?” He tipped his head to the door leading back into the hall.

Another uncertain, unhappy smile. “I don’t know why I came. It’s stupid, really. I shouldn’t be here.”

No,
thought Jack,
you shouldn’t be here, at all.
He had a sudden vision of Ambersbury Banks bathed in moonlight, and Grace standing there, still and waiting, her eyes wild with power.

“Grace, why
did
you come? At night. It’s too dangerous. You could have been attacked again—”
Shit!
Jack broke off, wishing he could snatch back the words.

“Stacey told you,” she said, very low.

“Yes, Stacey told me. Grace…Grace…”

“I am all right, Jack. They didn’t hurt me.”

Didn’t hurt her? Torn clothing? Bruises? Knife? Threats of appalling violence.
“Oh, gods…what happened, Grace? Please, tell me.”

She drew in a breath, and he heard it shudder in her throat. “I was in Rotherhithe. It was late, I shouldn’t have stayed out so long. Two men grabbed me, threatened me with a knife. I got away. That’s all.”

“No, there’s more. Grace, those were the imps—you know that? Yes? By all the gods, they have been the ones doing the murders. Grace, what did they want?”

“Just to scare me, Jack. That’s all. It was just Catling, finding a new way to torment me. I am
not
frightened.”

And that was why she had come to this parish dance, Jack realised. To prove to herself and to the imps that she was not frightened. He was appalled at what
could
have happened.

Jack reached out his hands, resting them on her shoulders. “Grace, I can’t have you going out and—”

“Jack,
please
don’t ask me to stop helping you,” she said. Her voice was steadier, and her eyes met his without flinching. “If I stop helping you then Catling will have won.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll be careful, Jack. Really.”

He gave a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you, Grace.”

“I know you have my mother to help you now, but—”

“Your mother can’t do what you can. Noah cannot discover any more of the shadow. She can only sense what you and I are already aware of. Besides, Noah is not my life, whatever you think.”

She dropped her eyes, and Jack could see she didn’t believe him.

He tightened his hands fractionally on her shoulders. “Dance with me,” he said.

“No, I—”

“Dance with me, Grace. It is a lovely night, and the music is good, and I have no idea why on earth both of us are spending the night tucked away in this wretched kitchen. After all, you wanted to come here to defy Catling, yes?” Quite suddenly Jack found the idea of dancing with Grace very appealing.

“Jack—”

“Dance with me, Grace.”

Still she hesitated.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, “not of the dancing floor.” And with that he led her towards the door.

Once they reached the dance floor, Jack put his arm about Grace’s waist, and held her firmly against him. The music, frenetic when he’d first arrived, had calmed and slowed into a soothing ballad, and Jack led Grace into an unhurried, rhythmical ballroom dance. Grace held herself stiffly, uncertainly, and Jack had to coax her through every step.

The other dancers gave them their own space, not through any deliberate consideration, but because Jack and Grace’s arrival on the dance floor had caused a not-inconsiderable stir and most people wanted to be able to watch them. People had been gossiping ever since the handsome American major had arrived only to vanish into the kitchen to speak with the enigmatic Grace Orr, and now the talk, while muted, only increased in intensity. Jack was well aware that every eye in the hall was on them, and, from Grace’s rigid stance, knew that she was, as well.

“Dance with me,” Jack whispered, and smiled as Grace’s body finally leaned against his, and her movements loosened so that their dancing became much freer.

She was a good dancer, and Jack remembered that Noah had said that Weyland sometimes took Grace dancing in the Savoy’s ballroom.

But that was not the reason Grace danced well, was it? She was a trained Mistress of the Labyrinth, and she would have the rhythms and harmonies of the stars themselves sliding through her veins.

Jack relaxed, enjoying the feel of Grace in his arms. He thought again of what those imps
could
have done to Grace, and his arm tightened fractionally about her.

Grace responded by leaning most of her weight against him, and tucking her head into his shoulder, and he smiled against the loose, springy curls of her hair. This form of dancing, coupled together so closely, was unusual to him. For most of his long, long life, dancers had been segregated by sex and by distance. People danced in groups or lines or circles, not coupled together so intimately.

Jack wondered why it had taken so long for someone to think of this innovation.

Without thinking, the hand he had loosely clasped about Grace’s back began to move. At first randomly, gentle circles in the small of her back, the silken fabric of her dress no barrier to the warmth and softness of her skin, but then in more deliberate patterns.

Instantly Grace took a sharp intake of breath.

Before she could speak, Jack said, “Grace, you are a trained Mistress of the Labyrinth. But how good
are
you?”