Once (29 page)

Up ahead, Thom saw the gap in the crowded woodland that meant he’d nearly reached the main road and he eased off the accelerator pedal, bringing the Jeep down to a safer speed. Traffic seemed even heavier than usual there and he noticed it was also quite slow, passing the gap almost bumper to bumper. He decreased his own speed even more.

When he finally reached the lane’s junction with the main thoroughfare, he brought the Jeep to a complete stop, puzzled by the build-up of traffic blocking his way. First he looked right, the direction in which he intended to continue,

and saw only the stretch of slow-moving vehicles; but then he glanced left - and froze.

A huge transport-carrier was parked by the roadside, red and white cones placed behind and along its right side, a patrol cop patiently waving on oncoming traffic. But from where Thom sat in the Jeep at the entrance to the lane, he could see beyond the carrier along the verge. A green-coloured car was angled in the ditch, its bonnet and part of its roof caved in as if it had bounced off a tree. He recognized the little two-door Volkswagen immediately.

‘Katy!’ he said aloud and quickly switched off the Jeep’s engine. Then he was out and running - limping - towards the scene of the accident.

The transport-carrier was so close to the roadside’s grass verge and ditch that Thom used its length to keep his balance along the uneven ground, careful not to slip into the shallow ditch itself. He saw that the front of the big carrier was badly damaged, but nowhere nearly as badly as the smaller vehicle, whose bonnet and side were completely smashed, although only the front of the roof was crumpled.

‘Katy!’ This time it was an anguished shout, and a figure who had been watching a blue-overalled man attaching a grappling hook beneath the wrecked vehicle, its twisted-iron cable running to the nearby breakdown truck, turned to look in Thom’s direction. Another mechanic and a second policeman who were among the group of men hidden, along with the truck driver, from Thom’s view by the transport-carrier, also looked towards the sound of his voice, but quickly returned their attention to the job in hand when they saw him.

‘It’s all right, Thom, it’s all over.’ Eric Pimlet said as Thom drew near.

He was too stunned to greet the estate manager right away.

Terrible accident,’ Eric said in his gruff burr. ‘Poor young girl was badly hurt.’

‘Was it Katy Budd?’ Thom asked, already aware of the answer as he took in the terrible damage to the green car. Although the VW’s rear end was closest to him, he could see that the windscreen was completely smashed and the front of the roof itself so badly dented its metal almost touched the front seats’ headrests.

‘It was a girl drivin’ all right, but I wouldn’t know her name. Policeman’ll tell you though, he’s had to look through her things.’

‘It’s okay. I know it was her. How badly was she hurt?’

‘Can’t say, but they tell me they took her out unconscious. The driver of this thing—’ Eric pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the front-damaged transport-carrier’—tol’ me she was pretty messed up though. They rushed her off to Royal Shrewsbury Hospital, didn’t waste no time gettin’ her there. Another ambulance took this driver off too, after he’d made a statement to the police, en’all. Had to be treated for shock, poor chap.’

‘Did they tell you about the girl?’ Thom was still eyeing the wrecked VW as if in shock himself. ‘How bad were her injuries?’

‘Don’t know, Thom. They jus’ said she was none too good. I came on it after it had all happened and stuck aroun’ so’s I could give a hand, bein’ the accident occurred on the edge of the estate. Spoke to the driver though, managed to calm him down a bit.’ Eric rubbed at his veined nose, then shook his head. ‘He still seemed in bit of a daze to me, like he’d banged his head or somethin’. Kept goin’ on about a bird.’

Thom at last took his eyes off the wreckage and regarded the gamekeeper curiously.

‘Said the car appeared from nowhere, too late for him to stop,’ Eric went on. ‘Must’ve come out the lane to your place, Thom. One of your lady friends, was it? Someone up from London?’

Thom gave a quick shake of his head. What did you

mean, Eric? When you said the driver was talking about a bird?’

‘Oh, I think he was just a bit confused, like. As I say, he must’ve taken a knock on the head. Couldn’t make much sense of him, to be honest.’

‘But tell me what he said.’

The old gamekeeper huffed, and shook his head yet again. ‘He said that after the crash, when the other car had been pushed down the road and into that there ditch, he saw a bird, a black and white bird, he said, fly out from the windscreen. I reckon he was mistaken. I reckon if there was a bird, it was already in the ditch lookin’ for worms or grubs, an’ it flew up from underneath the car. I mean, it’s not likely she’d be carryin’ a magpie as a passenger, is it? Not likely at all.’

OF BANES / SPELLS

& DECEPTIONS

HUGO HAD gone to the plate-glass windows of his .father’s bedchamber at the top of Castle Bracken, closing all the curtains so that the evening sun burned against their thick material. The spacious but now darkened room suddenly seemed claustrophobic, the air somehow heavier, and he felt his father’s watery, old-ivory eyes watching him over the plastic oxygen mask, the invalid, as usual, propped up by pillows as he lay wasting away on the four-poster. He thought he detected momentary panic in them.

‘Just giving you some shade,’ Hugo called across the room.

Hugo grimaced at the sound of the laboured breathing in the shadowy room, for the initial sharp intake of air was like a grasp at life itself, the drawn-out rattling exhalation like final submission to the inevitable. A beastly noise.

‘Uuh - aaarrrghhhh …’

Grasp, submit; grasp, submit…

And so on it went.

‘You need to sleep, Father,’ he called out again, wondering if the old boy even understood his words these days. Sometimes he thought he caught a spark of intelligence in those vapid eyes, but mostly Sir Russell continued to stare blankly, observing without reaction or recognition. And yet at other times, when his breathing was regular and there was no need for pure oxygen, Sir Russell could appear quite lucid. Well, the time had come for some plain, sensible speaking from the old man and Hugo hoped Nell’s new concoction would do the trick. Their patience was running out

He returned to the bedside, hands in the pockets of his creased trousers, and watched Nell tilt a vial over a small ball of cotton-wool as she stood by the trolley containing genuine medications and equipment.

What is it this time?’ he asked, impressed by her knowledge of potions and poisons. ‘Hemlock?’ He gave a nervous laugh.

‘It was good enough to rid the Greeks of Socrates, but no, we don’t want to finish him off jus’ yet, do we?’ Nell Quick was wearing surgical gloves to protect her skin as she liberally dosed the cotton wool. This is henbane, a close relative of deadly nightshade with some of my own ingredients mixed in, but I’m usin’ only enough to loosen his tongue and impair his judgement. Too much and he’ll be dead in a few hours.’

‘It looks to me like his judgement is already impaired, although I do sometimes wonder if he understands what’s going on.’ Hugo eyed the frail figure on the bed, the sheet that covered his father more like a shroud.

‘What does it matter?’ Nell replied. ‘He’s too weak to do anythin’. Roll up his sleeve for me.’

Hugo was reluctant to touch the skeletal man. He remembered his father as he used to be, a small but powerful man, full of vitality. And, it had seemed to Hugo, always full of

anger. ‘But if he can hear us, if he can understand what we’re saying, he’ll be disinclined to tell us anything.’

Nell was short with Hugo. ‘I told you: it doesn’t matter. When this begins to work he won’t know what he’s sayin’. Jus’ wish I’d used it earlier. But then he’s been so weak it might’ve killed him. He seems jus’ a little stronger tonight though, strong enough to take henbane, I think.’ She bent over the sick man and dabbed the solution on the cotton wool into the skin of his forearm. ‘I would have put it into his nose for quicker absorption by the mucous membranes, but he needs the mask right now. No matter, the pores in his skin will soon soak it up. It’ll take a while to work though, so we’ll have to come back later - unless you want to sit with him, Hugo?’ Her grin was unpleasant, but to her companion, it was ravishing.

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘I can think of better things to do with my time.’ His leer was as ugly as Nell’s scarlet grin.

Even I’ve had enough for one day, Nell thought to herself. The little blonde bitch was strong enough to get away, but the fight was fun.

She giggled and Hugo regarded her curiously. “What is it?’

‘Nothing to bother you, my lovely.’

Hugo was suspicious. ‘You came across the bridge this morning. Had you been visiting Thom?’

‘Yes, I called in.’ She pulled the pyjama jacket sleeve back down over the emaciated arm. ‘Kindred wasn’t home though, so I pushed my bike all the way here along the forest path.’

‘I think we should leave Thom out of this. He doesn’t matter if we find what we’re looking for.’

“We’ve been through all this enough times!’ By the light from a nearby lamp Hugo could see the blaze in her eyes.

‘Until we’re sure, we take no chances. We have to be able to control Kindred, otherwise we stand to lose everything.’

‘But my father could die at any time.’ Hugo spoke in a whisper now, as if the old man might hear.

‘Not as long as I help keep him alive. But even if Kindred does go first, there’s still no guarantee you’ll get what’s rightfully yours. Sir Russell might still despise you enough to leave you with nothin’. No, the only sure way is to find his last Will and Testament and destroy it. Count yourself lucky he wasn’t well enough to make it in front of a proper solicitor, so there won’t be any copies lodged in an office safe somewhere.’

‘But his witness …’

She let out a sigh of exasperation. ‘I told you before - it won’t matter if there’s no proper documentation. There has to be written proof. Soon as we find that we can make an end to all this.’

‘Dear God, I hope so. I’ve had enough, Nell. We’ve searched the house so thoroughly these past months, I really don’t feel I can carry on much longer.’

Nell’s tone changed and her eyes searched his face. He was so weak…

‘Jus’ remember how good it’ll be, Hugo. All the money you’ll ever need, an’ me on top.’ She sniggered. ‘Or beneath; or on my knees, the way you like it.’

Dropping the sodden cotton-wool ball into a plastic bag taken from the trolley, she sidled around the bed towards him. She sealed the bag as she came, her walk provocative.

You’ll have me, Hugo. Any way you want me. An’ even when you’re too tired, I’ll mix you the brews you like, the ones that give you … energy.’

Yes, Nell.’

‘An’ then we can do things, those things that make you feel good.’

He reached out for her, but she playfully evaded his

arms. She let the bag containing the swab fall to the floor where she would retrieve it later. She began to pull off the surgical gloves, slowly, almost like a stripper going into her act.

‘An’ there’s always different potions for different things, Hugo. My, I’ve hardly shown you anything, there’s so much more you’ll appreciate.’

He made to move towards her again, but she stepped back, the movement languid, sensuous.

Hugo’s bulging eyes were pleading and his thick lips were wet where his tongue had flicked out between them.

‘Nell, please … just…’

He looked downwards, then up again and Nell groaned inwardly, knowing what the gesture meant. She would have to please him, otherwise he would be useless, sulking like a little boy refused his treat. She dropped the gloves by the plastic bag and went down on her knees.

‘Come here, Hugo.’ Her voice was low and she made it sound as though it contained pleasure. ‘I know what you want. We must be quick though, Hugo. We’ve got a lot to do.’

He licked his lips again as he moved forward and his hand was trembling as he pulled down the zip of his trousers.

She delved inside, took him out, secretly disgusted by the flaccid penis that would take so much effort on her part to embolden.

And there, by his dying father’s bedside, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth.

While outside the door in the antechamber of the rooftop quarters, a tall but stooped figure pressed close against the panels to listen.

THE SORCERESS ROOM

THOM PULLED up before the broken picket fence and surveyed the creeper-covered house beyond it. Nell Quick’s home looked empty; but then it had when he’d driven past yesterday and he’d known Nell was inside because he’d just left her. He realized the apparent emptiness was because the windows were so black, both downstairs and upstairs. The blackness seemed to represent an absence of life.

Nevertheless, he was here now and he was going to knock on that door - there were questions that had to be asked.

At the site of the accident Thom had used his mobile to call the casualty department of Shrewsbury’s main hospital but, Thom not being a relative, the person he spoke to was reluctant to impart any information other than that Ms Budd was in a ‘serious but stable condition’. Possibly tomorrow they would be able to give him a little more information.

He opened the Jeep’s door and stepped out. He had to lean against the vehicle’s roof for a moment as dizziness almost caused him to overbalance. Tired, he thought. Dog-weary beat. Too much had happened this day. He had learned so much, witnessed so much, and now this, Katy’s accident. Accident? Thom wondered.

With an effort he pushed himself away from the Jeep and went through the gateless opening, his gaze skimming over the house as he limped up the short path. The dizziness receded, but the anxieties would not leave him alone.

He found himself in front of the porch, the shadows inside somehow discreet, as if hiding the front door. He stepped inside and pounded on the door with his fist.

The top section of the stable-door rattled in its frame, but there was no response from within the house itself. Thom cursed under his breath.

Stepping back outside the porch again, he peered at the upper windows, perhaps hoping to penetrate its blackness at that angle. There was nothing though, no sign of life at all. He went over to the downstairs window, treading through the long grass and weeds to get to it, and put both hands on the glass to form a darkened tunnel through which to look. He could plainly see the opposite window, the one that overlooked the back garden, but still detected no sign of Me. Next he moved along to the kitchen window, shielding the glass against the glare with his hands once more. All he saw was the usual kitchen paraphernalia and shelves stocked with jars and tins, but no signs of life. Something - that sly little nagging voice of his? - told him not to give up. Even if Nell Quick was not at home, he might still find something useful inside the house, anything that might provide a clue to Nell’s true nature and intention. Rigwit had called her a hellhagge and although a few days ago Thom would have scoffed at the idea, now he was inclined to believe. There might be something in the house that would confirm the

elf’s assertion; there might also be an indication of Nell’s game plan. She appeared to have her hooks into poor old Hugo and Thom wanted to know why.

Moving stealthily, careful not to trip on weeds or tangled undergrowth, Thom turned the corner of the house and crept towards the rear. He hoped Nell’s neighbours in the adjoining house had not noticed his approach along the path to the porch; with luck, they were not even home, for there had been no vehicle parked in front of their fence. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner, afraid that Nell might be sunbathing or attending her back garden.

And attending it needed. He had observed the garden once before, through the window of Nell’s parlour, and had noted its cluttered disarray, but now it seemed even wilder. Yet… and yet, there was some order to the mess. He could see that now, for what had appeared as total disorder -abandonment even - now took on some placement logic, for among the wild ferns and overlong grass there grew herbs of all kinds, screened by the brambles around them, but obviously carefully tended, for they appeared fine and healthy with space to allow in sunshine and for uninhibited growth. In fact, rather than neglected, the plants and herbs in this apparently fiercely overgrown garden were skilfully protected; or perhaps skilfully hidden.

Towards the end of the garden was the battered and flaky wood-framed greenhouse, its glass rendered almost opaque by rain-smeared grime. Out of curiosity, Thom made his way towards it, finding the cracked, broken remains of a centre path to make the journey easier, brushing aside tall ferns and taking each step with caution because of the slippery, moss-covered slabs of stone beneath his feet. Occasionally, he looked back over his shoulder at the house, half-expecting to see Nell’s shadowy figure watching him from one of the windows. There was no one, of course -hadn’t he rapped hard on the front door earlier? - but he

could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. He realized it was the house, itself, that he could feel watching him. A silly notion, but one he was unable to shake off.

When he reached the greenhouse he saw it was in an even worse condition than he had first thought. Not only were the panes of glass filthy, but several were broken or cracked. Bird droppings decorated the slanted roof and bedaubed the side windows and the wooden-framed structure looked as if one strong push would send the whole lot crashing. There was something dirty, unhealthy, about it and Thom had no wish to enter. Instead, he found a broken pane and peered through.

Like the garden, everything inside looked to be growing wild, but he soon realized that this was only because the greenhouse was overcrowded with herbs, plants and fruits, most of which he did not even attempt to identify. But among them he did recognize the same orchids that he had found at Little Bracken earlier, the soil beside these disturbed and empty, as though their companions had recently been uprooted. Thom could not even guess at the significance of this; maybe Nell had thought they would make a nice gift, something to brighten up the cottage.

Okay, so what did all this tell him of Nell Quick? That she was an enthusiastic but untidy gardener? Or that she really was a maker of potions and herbal cures? He pictured Nell dressed in black, wearing a witch’s pointed hat, stirring a huge cauldron of bubbling liquid, and he almost laughed aloud. What a stupid picture. But how far from the truth was it? Forget the black attire and ridiculous hat, forget the bubbling cauldron and broomstick in the corner; forget the heart of a frog, and puppy dog’s tail, the black cat ‘familiar’, the book of spells, the … wax … the wax effigy with needles sticking into it - no! nonsense, forget that too. Forget all notions of witchcraft and sorcery. But remember the succubus, remember the battle for his own semen,

remember Nell’s own exotic allure, remember the uneasy feeling the magpie gave him each time he saw it - somehow he knew it was the same magpie each time - and remember a magpie had been seen flying from the shattered windscreen of Katy’s ruined VW.

He straightened and slowly turned his head to look at the house again.

The back door had been left unlocked (not all the old country ways had died), and after a brief look around the downstairs rooms - the tiny kitchen, parlour and lobby -Thom found himself upstairs in Nell Quick’s bedroom.

He felt guilty that he’d entered another’s home this way, even ashamed, but he wasn’t deterred in any way. In fact, he thought this surreptitious search was essential, even if he didn’t quite know why just yet; he’d know when he discovered something relevant, God knows what. He was acting purely by instinct, Katy’s accident jolting him from any reservations he might have. Besides, if Hugo was in trouble - blackmail was Thom’s best guess, the blackmailer being Nell Quick, Hugo the victim - then it was up to him to help his friend in any way he could. Whatever Hugo had been up to, whatever indiscretions or transgressions he had committed - and there were any number of foolish situations Hugo could have got himself into - Thom would support him. They’d take on Nell Quick together. It was the least, and probably the most, he could do for his friend.

The ground floor rooms had not revealed much more than he had expected, for although his perusal of the parlour yesterday had been cursory, the room had no hidden secrets of any interest. An ancient, handwritten book on herbs and their properties for healing, a drawer full of bills, many of them red-inked final reminders, old letters still in their torn

envelopes that he deliberately did not read - he was only prepared to take his snooping so far - and general accumulations that would not be out of place in any household.

The two upstairs rooms (not counting the tiny bathroom) were altogether different though.

The bigger one merely had a quilt-covered mattress on the floor’s bare boards for a bed, a long oak sideboard set along one wall and opposite this a tall wardrobe featuring a full-length mirror on its door. Unlit candles stood on the top of the sideboard, sharing space with a few cheap jewellery boxes, make-up accoutrements and perfume bottles. Apart from another large mirror over the sideboard, its gilt frame chipped and flaked, that was the whole of its contents - no chairs, framed photographs or pictures, no books or magazines lying around, no flower vases or lamps, nothing at all to make the room more comfortable or personal. Behind him at the top of the stairs was the bathroom, its door open so that he could see inside. It was half-tiled with white squares, the rest of the walls a creamy shade of white; the bath itself was plain and small, the toilet and sink next to it equally plain and functional. However, the room next door to the bedroom was the very antithesis of its companions, for whereas they lacked clutter and colour, this room had more than enough of both.

Garishly painted in red and black - red walls, black ceiling and floor - it came as a shock. Thom gave out a quiet breathy whistle and remained on the threshold for several long moments. A gold pentagram, a five-pointed star, was painted on the floor, and when he glanced up he saw it was replicated on the ceiling. There were symbols or hieroglyphics painted at certain points, chiefly close to the apex of each triangular shape. However, whereas the five-pointed star on the floor pointed towards the window, the one above was reversed. At the far end of the room and beneath the curtained window there was what appeared to be a small altar covered in a black material, its surface littered with

odd-sized candles, some black, some red, some gold, most of which were burned down to varying degrees, their wax molten-like, spilling over on to their stands or receptacles. There was also a medium-sized bowl on the altar, its contents hidden from Thom’s view for the moment. Piles of dusty-looking books stood around the walls, and some that lay flat on the floor and whose pages were open, looked to be original handwritten manuscripts, their letters copperplate and inked in red. A bookcase occupied the corner to his right, but instead of books, objects filled its shelves: amulets, ointment jars, crystals, necklaces, unused candles, an ornamental hand mirror, an athame, which was a knife with a black handle and steel blade, both of which had lettering of some kind inscribed on them, a coil of red ribbon, cloves of garlic, and various pieces of small statuary and metallic symbols.

The combination of smells and scents was almost overpowering, the mixture unpleasant rather than pleasing.

There were daubings on the red walls, crude images of men and women copulating or performing lewd acts upon one another, some in groups of three or four, all badly executed in gold and black paint. A larger depiction was of a horned creature with the upper body and limbs of a man but with a distorted goat’s head and cloven hooves for feet. A naked female knelt behind it and was lifting its tail to kiss its anus. There were names inscribed among the pictures, set out randomly it seemed and rendered just as unskilfully. CRESIL, MERIHIM, ABADDON, BEELZEBUB, LILITH, JEZEBETH, BELIAL, HECATE, MOLOCH, PYRO, SEMIAZ, ZAGAM … the list seemed endless and there were far too many names to take in. But he recognized a couple, for years ago most of his boarding-school friends had taken a keen interest in horror stories and movies and, although he was never so inclined himself, it was impossible not to borrow such books or magazines in times of boredom, or to overhear snatches of excited conversations. Wasn’t

Beelzebub the Prince of Demons, second only to Satan himself? And wasn’t Hecate the Queen of Witches?

A looped cross made from twigs and straw decorated the opposite wall and close by it hung a fox’s tail or brush, the reddish fur faded and matted as though many years had passed since the animal itself had roamed the countryside. Next to this was a horseshoe, open end downwards, the opposite of good luck.

Even though he knew all this was ridiculous, merely evidence of an obsessed mind - no, more than that: Nell Quick was plainly crazy! - Thom could not help making the sign of the cross on his chest. He was hardly religious, but this came as a reflex action, for there was something evil about this room, something that made him feel terribly vulnerable. He figured he might have felt the same in a high-security lunatic asylum where all doors were left unlocked.

Fighting the urge to leave immediately, Thom took two steps into the bizarre room.

And wished he’d followed his urge.

A heaviness seemed to fall upon him, a lumpen weight that had nothing to do with the physical. Rather it was like a sudden feeling of oppressiveness that sank over his shoulders, an ethereal mantle that hung heavily. Even the air he inhaled tasted thick. And the conglomerate aromas were like poison.

This is not a good place to be, he told himself. But still he lingered.

He walked to the altar.

Thick black candles at either end had been used, their frozen wax spilling on to the black cloth beneath; other thinner candles of gold and red were welded by their wax into tarnished holders. He thought there was a third black candle, but it was different from the rest, unburnt, its top curving slightly to one side, its surface smooth, lustrous in the light from the window behind. Curious, yet unthinking,

his mind assaulted from all sides by other things in the room, he picked up the object. And quickly put it down again, for it had no wick and it was definitely not a candle. It was too heavy to be made of wax.