Hunted (12 page)

its own reflection in their dead eyes.”

Callum couldn't repress a shudder.

“But why is it here?”

Jacob bowed his head. “It is hunting the chime children. There have never been many of our kind. Now there are fewer still. You may be the last chime child, Callum—the last living.”

Callum shook his head.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that now the Fetch is hunting you alone. You are its final victim. It will not rest until it has tracked you down and satisfied its hunger with your eyes.”

The easy catch outside the school has whetted the Hunter's appetite. It has never felt more alert: its senses at their peak, its awareness of the real quarry electrifying. It knows where the boy is, knows exactly where to find him.

The Hunter tracks silently through the trees towards the abandoned church. The trail is clear and sharp. The Hunter does not need moonlight to find the way, but it enjoys the blue glow that will illuminate the terror on the boy's face when he is finally caught. The game has gone on long enough.

The Hunter arrives at the church. But the quarry is not alone. There is a mortal girl there too. She is no matter, but there are other, more potent, beings as well: creatures of the Netherworld, an unusual ghost, and a spirit hound. The ghost is speaking to the mortal children as if they share the same world.

The Hunter would rather not let these others watch it feed—a ghost will not scream and flee in terror of the Hunter as a living being will, and a Churchyard Grim is a formidable opponent. The Hunter does not fear such things; it does not understand fear, though it is amusing to see it in mortals. Still, for now the Hunter is outnumbered. Very likely it will not be able to take its prey by surprise here. The boy must be lured to his own, carefully guarded dwelling place, where the ghosts cannot enter.

The Hunter knows how it can cross that charmed thresh-old. It only needs an invitation. And it is already masked with the boy's own face.

The Hunter smiles with its borrowed mouth. It passes by the church without any further hesitation.

It heads towards the lighted cottage.

Doom growled.

It was the same sound the great dog had made when Jacob first mentioned the Fetch, beginning low in the hound's deep chest and rising to a dull roar. Then Doom spun around and snapped his long, white fangs. He took a few steps towards the western end of the church, where the dark tower squatted, and stopped, sniffing the air. The growl rose again in the beast's throat as he gazed piercingly at the church wall, as though he could see or sense something beyond it.

“Doom,” Jacob said in his echoing voice, and the dog turned a querying head to look at his master. “Let. Sit. These mortal beings are safe enough here for the moment.”

Doom whined. It, too, was a fearful sound, like the wail of a man being tortured. Melissa covered her ears.

“Quiet, Doom,” Jacob ordered. “Guard the door, if you must. I have urgent business with the chime child.”

Doom slunk to the door in a rush of shadows and spread his enormous body at full length across the ruined threshold of the church. Callum felt increasingly trapped; not only was he surrounded by the church's stone walls, but the entry was blocked by the waiting Grim.

Jacob's bloodless lips quirked suddenly into his faint, wry smile.

“You still fear we mean you harm.” It wasn't a question.

Callum took a deep breath. “You've agreed to trust Melissa. I've agreed to trust you. We're even.”

Jacob nodded. “Good. Let me tell you what I am.”

“We're listening.”

The pale ghost looked away. He stood casually, with his gleaming white hands hidden in the invisible pockets of his trousers. His unwillingness to face Callum and Melissa as he spoke gave Jacob an air of embarrassment, as if he was sharing a shameful secret.

“I said that you may be the last living chime child,” he said slowly. “But there are others. Others like me. I too came into this world in the chime hours, but not as one of the living. I was stillborn, dead at the moment of my birth. I am the ghost of a child who never lived, born more than a hundred years ago. I am one of the Born Dead.”

Jacob's shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. “Because I never drew breath, I was buried unbaptized, in the unconsecrated plot beyond the yew tree. But my mother named me Jacob. My name is all she gave me.”

“But if you're the ghost of a baby, how come you look like you're our age?” asked Callum.

“The Born Dead are given the power to choose their shape,” explained Jacob. “I chose this—the form of the boy I would

have grown into had I lived—”

“You're bleeding,” Melissa interrupted faintly.

A line of black blood trickled, glistening, down Jacob's throat. The ghost frowned and wiped the blood on to his fingers.

“It doesn't matter,” he said. “I can't control it. An echo of my birth, perhaps …”

Melissa and Callum exchanged horrified glances in the dim light. Jacob held up his hand and the blood slowly faded away.

“So what does it mean to be one of the Born Dead?” asked Melissa. “I've never heard of you before.”

“We haunt the boundaries between the Netherworld and the realm of the living, belonging neither in one world nor the other. It is a lonely business. When I first found myself to be a waking spirit, I raised this dog's shade from its grave to be my companion.” Jacob cast a glance at Doom, crouched by the church door. The great beast seemed unaware his master was talking about him. “It caused a deal of upset in the village. No one even knew Nether Marlock
had
a Churchyard Grim before I summoned the dog's spirit. But I needed a companion. And a Grim is a formidable foe against the demons of the Netherworld. Doom is my protector, as he protects all the humans buried in this churchyard; and he will protect you too, if I command it.”

“But what does this have to do with the Fetch?” Callum asked.

Jacob turned to look at Callum and Melissa directly. Then he held out his long white hands, palms facing upwards.

“Touch me,” Jacob commanded.

Callum and Melissa glanced at each other in alarm.

“Can we?” Melissa said. “If you're a ghost, we shouldn't be able to, right?”

Jacob nodded.

“Well, there you are,” she said without conviction.

“Try.”

Melissa raised her hand tentatively. Then she reached towards Jacob's palm and laid her hand against it.

“Oh!”

She jumped as though she'd received a jolt of electricity through her whole body, but she kept her palm held steadily against Jacob's.

“Should that happen?” Melissa whispered.

Jacob looked at Callum, the tilt of his head challenging. He shook the long black hair out of his face.

“Go on.”

Callum laid his living hand against the ghost's dead palm.

It was cold. But Callum could feel it, the shape of it—dry, lifeless skin without any heat of its own. It wasn't a repellent touch, not clammy or icy, just lifeless, like a handful of dead leaves.

“How?” Callum croaked. “I've never been able to touch a ghost. How are we able to touch you?”

“Once in a century this happens.” Jacob spoke quietly, but his bell-like voice was no less commanding. “Once every century, for thirteen months—a year by the moon's clock—comes a time called the Shadowing.”

Callum's heart skipped a beat. “The Shadowing …”

“You have heard the word before?” Jacob's expression was surprised.

“Not till tonight. My gran mentioned it, but she wouldn't tell me what it meant. She said it was dangerous.”

Jacob nodded. “It is. More dangerous than you can possibly imagine. While the Shadowing lasts, the boundaries of your mortal world and the Netherworld are weakened.”

“The Netherworld—the world of the dead?” Melissa asked.

“Some of the dead dwell in the Netherworld,” Jacob answered. “But they are not its only inhabitants. The Netherworld exists alongside the mortal world; its creatures unseen and invisible to mortal eyes. Not just the spirits of the dead, but also beings of magic and evil. Demons. Monsters. When the boundaries between the worlds are weak, the beings of the Netherworld can cross the border between the worlds and enter the realm you know.”

“And we can touch,” Melissa said in wonder.

Jacob nodded. “The Shadowing is not upon us yet, but it is close, and as I am a boundary-dweller, it is already affecting me—just as it has been affecting you, Callum.”

“What does it have to do with me?” said Callum.

“Your powers have been given to you for a reason,” replied Jacob. “The power to see the dead, to sense evil, to resist magic. You are a warrior, Callum. You and every other chime child. You are the guardians of the boundary. It is your fate to protect this mortal world from the dark forces that threaten it.”

Callum closed his eyes, blotting out Melissa's amazed expression. A warrior? How could he be a warrior?

“But you said this happens every century, the Shadowing,” he said in a low voice. “What's so different about
this
time?”

“This time,” Jacob said, his voice suddenly fierce, “there is a conspiracy. A plot between the demon powers of the Netherworld and the evildoers of this. The Shadowing has not yet begun—the Fetch could not have crossed into the mortal realm without help from this side. And why is it only killing chime children? A Fetch can take any child, any human, and yet this one is picking and choosing its prey. It is no glutton—it is a gourmet. An assassin. I think the chime children are being singled out for destruction.”

“And they're being killed just before the Shadowing begins—just when their protection is most needed,” Melissa said, understanding flooding her eyes.

Callum dropped his hand from Jacob's palm.

“And why do you care?”

Jacob shrugged. “I have no wish to exist in a world dominated by evil, any more than you do. My existence is lonely enough as it is.” Jacob's pale lips formed the faint, sad smile that made him seem more human.

Callum turned to look at the great shadow of Doom lying in the doorway.

“You said that Doom protects you.”

“Yes. And could protect you too, if you would accept my help. Together, perhaps, we can defeat the Fetch that stalks you.” Jacob glanced at Melissa, who still held her palm stalwartly against Jacob's hand.

“I'll help too,” she said.

Jacob nodded. “Translator.”

Suddenly angry, Callum glared at Jacob and Melissa. They seemed to have formed a united front, ready to decide his destiny for him. Rage swelled up in his chest.

“Why is this my fight?” Callum demanded. “I didn't ask for this. I hate these so-called chime child powers. I've always hated them. Why should I use them for anything?”

“Callum!” Melissa swung around to face him in surprise.

“I mean it. Why am I responsible? I just want to be normal. It's all I've ever wanted.”

“But you aren't normal, Callum,” retorted Melissa. “You're special. You have a gift—”

Callum snorted. “Some gift. The chance to wage a one-man war against the Netherworld. No thanks.”

Melissa put her hands on her hips. “You said you wanted to know what was happening and now you do. The Fetch is here to kill the chime children—all of them. That includes you. Isn't saving yourself a good enough reason?”

At the very moment Melissa spoke the word
yourself
, Callum's fingers went numb.

He shook his hands in panic, but already the burning pins-and-needles sensation was spreading through his finger-tips as though he'd shoved them in a patch of nettles. It was the strongest warning of a premonition that he'd ever had, and the most painful. Then another vision hit him like a lump of falling masonry.

It was the Fetch. For one second, he saw the demon in its true form, a stick figure with no skin and no shadow. Then the vision flickered and he saw it in its present shape—his own body. Even though he had never seen himself walking, he could tell that in its disguise the Fetch was his identical twin. It strode through the tangled trees of Marlock Wood with its shoulders hunched, as Callum always did when he walked along the old road, avoiding looking up from his feet for fear of seeing the ghosts that haunted the lane.

This is what I look like.

The furtive, youthful figure cast a faint shadow in the bright moonlight, and Callum realized with a sudden jolt that the moonlight he saw in his head, shining down on the figure of the Fetch as it paced through Marlock Wood, was the same moonlight that shone through the roofless ruin of the church. The same moonlight that bathed him now.

Now
. It was happening now. The Fetch was on the road through the woods. And it was heading downhill. Not towards the church, not towards Callum, but towards another destination altogether.

It was heading for the row of ruined alms cottages.

In Callum's mind, he saw the figure stop outside the low brick wall and leap over the wooden gate, just as Callum himself had done so many times that week.

The light was on over the porch. The curtains were open. Gran was inside, waiting for Callum to come home. The Fetch walked up the path to the door of the cottage, wearing Callum's own embarrassed smile of apology, and with a hand identical to his own, lifted the brass knocker.

Gran sat wearily in her favorite chair in the nook under the stairs, from which she could see a long way up the road. Cadbury was prowling restlessly, but when she got up to let him out, the cat hissed and backed away from the door. She stood staring up the empty road for a minute before she shut the door again, biting her lip. After a moment, she locked it.

“Where is he?” Gran muttered. Cadbury stopped his prowling and sat down on his haunches to look at her. “What do I do, Cadbury? It's not safe for him to be out there alone. But if I go off to try and find him and he comes back …”

Gran wrung her hands together in indecision. “What do I
do
?” she repeated.

Cadbury jumped up to sit on top of the bulky old radio/ cassette player. It immediately began to play one of Gran's favorite big band tunes.

“Thanks,” Gran sighed. “I guess you're right. I've small hope of finding him, and no hope of protecting him outside these walls. We'll just have to wait it out and hope for the best. But he's so angry. And that's my fault; my fault for deceiving him. No wonder he was confused and upset.”

She felt old and tired, but she couldn't sit down again. She'd made herself a cup of tea earlier, but it had gone stone cold and she hadn't touched it.

“Come on, Cadbury,” she said. “Let's switch on every light in the house. Let's make this place into a beacon.”

She had been in two minds about turning on the lights%—she could see the road better with the lights in the sitting room off—but she needed something practical to do. She knew that Callum looked for the light when he made his way back through the woods, and she wanted him to feel welcome.

Walking upstairs, she switched on the overhead lights in both bedrooms, the bedside lamps, and the landing light. With the upstairs windows of the cottage ablaze, Gran came back down and turned on all the other lights.

The boy had been gone for over an hour now. Where? It was unlikely Callum had gone to meet anyone he knew from school, unless it was the girl, Melissa. Despite her initial reaction when she'd found the girl nosing through the books, Gran had had to change her opinion of Melissa that afternoon. She had stood at the door, insistently rapping the brass knocker with the urgency of a fire alarm and calling wildly. Gran had been in the back garden, trying to figure out why the row of cabbages by the wall had gone black and moldy overnight, and hadn't heard the phone when Callum had been given his one call. But there had been no way to miss Melissa's shouting. It carried over the roof of the little cottage.

Mrs. Scott! Mrs. Scott! Callum's in trouble!

Why, Melissa had even been ahead of the
police
! They had met the patrol car coming down the road through Marlock Wood as they were walking back up to town together.
A right bright spark
, the sergeant had called her.

So maybe Callum had gone to see Melissa. That would make sense. The Old Stationmaster's Cottage, that was where Callum had said she lived. A pleasant enough place, the yellow bricks in good repair, and nice flowers in the window boxes.

But the yellow brick house wasn't
safe
—it wasn't protected by a web of charms, and its ordinary walls would be no protection against the invasion of a monster from the Netherworld that even she didn't recognize.

“Oh,
why
doesn't he come home!” Gran exclaimed, going to the window again.

She pressed her face against the cold glass and cupped her hands around her eyes, trying to see beyond the reflection of light and firelight from the room behind her. The moon was out and high now—it was a beautiful clear evening. Gran couldn't see anyone on the road. She sighed and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Callum might want a hot drink when he came back. And she could use a fresh cup of tea.

The kettle had just reached the boil when Gran heard the sound of the brass knocker, Callum's signature firm drumming.

Thank God!

She was at the door in three strides, in less than a second.

“Callum!” she cried out. “Thank goodness, I've been so worried!”

Gran lifted the latch effortlessly—she couldn't figure out why Callum always had to fight such a battle with the old thing—and threw open the door.

The boy stood just off the doorstep, his untidy hair in his eyes. He looked hangdog and embarrassed, as though he was feeling a little ashamed of himself. He'd either taken a step backwards waiting for her to open the door, or he'd had to lean across the porch to knock.

Cadbury let out a hiss and backed away from the door with a tail the size of a chimney brush, then fled upstairs. The radio, too, gave a howl of static and went silent.

“Good grief, but that cat's wound up this evening! Callum, I'm so relieved you've come back
.
”

Gran pushed the door wide open and stepped aside so that Callum could come past her. But he just stood there, silently, on the other side of the doorstep looking at her with shy, beseeching eyes.

“I'm
so
sorry you had to find out the way you did, I really am, Callum. I've been going out of my mind myself all evening!”

Callum shrugged and gave that characteristic shake of his head to get the hair out of his eyes, just as Peter had always done at that age. She felt such a surge of love for him that for a moment she couldn't speak. Then she found her voice again:

“Well, come in, for goodness sake! Don't stand out there in the shadows! Come in!”

Callum smiled. At her invitation, he stepped across her threshold, came into the house, and closed the door behind him.