Seeker (33 page)

It was on one of these sites that Frederick found a very detailed, and accurate, translation of the Lost Pages of the Book of Sekhmet. Fredrick never considered the ancient Sumerian text to be part of the Book, but the website gave a lot of compelling evidence. The rhythm and rhyme of the writing matched that of the Ancient, everything down to the syntax.

Frederick had never considered that before, but it was possible. After all he knew that Wamukota had lost several pages in Moldavia, so it had to be possible that other pages had been lost prior to the Book being returned to him.

Indeed, he knew from first-hand experience that some pages had been removed and translated, albeit badly, before the Ancient had retrieved his work. It was such pages that had started Frederick on the journey that had led him here.

Frederick cursed his own sense of importance. Ever since he had been given the Book, ever since he had supped on the blood of the oldest of their kind, he had believed himself chosen above all others. With the exception of Melinda, about whom Wamukota had foretold, Frederick had never sought any other views or opinions on the Book. He was convinced that he was the final authority on the writings of the Ancient. The blood in his veins made him so. Thus he had never bothered looking into the work and research of other scholars, he never considered that they could offer a fresh, and plausible, view on things.

But now, with so much in flux, he was forced to look into other sources. And, for the first time in 221 years, he realised he had not been right about everything. For the rest of the night, until his eyes could function no more, he read and read. Digesting everything written about the Lost Pages.

* * *

He awoke after nine hours of sleep, by which time it was almost two o'clock in the afternoon. Such a long sleep only served to remind him that he was still low on energy, following the telepathic experiment of Tuesday night. It seemed so much had happened in just under a week, and he was drained from it. Not least because of Willem feeding on him on Sunday night and the psychic assault on Tuesday.

It took him longer than usual to get himself together, and en route to Canvey Island he stopped by to see Anthony and purchase some blood. He left the bank refreshed and restored, shameful in the knowledge that he had drank more blood since Friday than he had done in months. He honestly believed that his people were growing beyond their need for blood, but there were times when it was necessary. Frederick contented himself in knowing that, the Sekhite notwithstanding, he had fed off no one in that time.

In all it took him a good three hours from waking to make it to the island. Celeste still looked weak when he found her, resting in her private chamber, an unfinished painting before her. She looked up from her chair and placed the brush and palette on the stool beside her. For a moment neither said a word, both tired and hurt by the deception. Frederick broke the silence, saying they needed to talk, and Celeste readily agreed, although she also needed air. So, with bodyguard en tow, they travelled out to Canvey Heights County Park. The bodyguard stayed back, close enough to keep watch but far enough away that they could speak in secret.

That Celeste needed a bodyguard was a ludicrous notion, really, since she was one of the oldest, and thus infinitely more experienced, upyr still alive. She could more than look after herself if the need arose. Any Sekhite trying to take Celeste out would have been a fool indeed.

However, Frederick reflected, in her weakened state a bodyguard was probably a good idea. Or would have been if Frederick was not there. It would be a cold day in hell before he would allow any harm to come to Celeste.

They reached the topmost peak of the park, the highest spot on the island, and looked out over the creeks and marshes at the Thames as it ran down into the North Sea miles away at Shoeburyness. Some distance behind them was a path that ran through the park, upon which many tourists walked. From their point of view Frederick and Celeste probably looked like more tourists, wrapped in their warm coats looking out eastward. The bodyguard perched on the back of a bench near the path, watching his charge, although to the casual observer he appeared to just be looking out to sea.

“I'm sorry,” Frederick began. Celeste looked surprised, as well she should. Frederick was not known for apologising. “I should have told you about Willem, come to you first. We've shared everything for so very long now…” Frederick smiled slightly. “I guess I just liked the idea of having something that was only mine.”

Celeste nodded slowly. “I understand, Frederick. You have had relations with humans in the past, but they never really amounted to much, but this time…It seems, for some reason, Willem has won your heart.”

“No, it's not that simple. Ever since I first saw him, years ago in London, I've felt drawn to him. As if…I don't know.” Frederick let out a hiss of frustration. Expressing such deep feelings was new for him; usually Celeste just knew how he felt. He struggled for the words. “What is it Emily Brontë wrote?
‘Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.'
That's how it feels, right now, in
here
.”

“Emily knew her stuff,” Celeste said softly, reminding Frederick that she had been a friend of the Brontë family. Another brief period of English history which Celeste had been involved in, while Frederick was off visiting the troubled town of Noyeston in New England. “Humans use this term too often, I feel, and it has lost its meaning, but perhaps you understand it now? Soul mates, Frederick.”

“Like you and I?” Celeste nodded, and Frederick continued; “That is why you chose me, and why you chose Theodor before me? You believe our souls are made of the same thing.”

“Absolutely. Even as a human I waited. It didn't matter to whom my father introduced me, if I did not feel a kindling of our souls I was not interested. And so it is with you. You have waited so long and now you have found
your
soul mate.”

“Then you are not angry with me?”

“No. Disappointed in the lies, but I understand why you chose to not speak. Confusion abounded in you; you had convinced yourself that Willem was the Seeker, not realising the truth of your connection with him.” Celeste turned to look him directly in the eyes. “Seeing him on the ground, dying, must have been the point when you realised.”

As ever, with those words, Celeste proved she knew him so well. He smiled and looked out towards Chalkwell. “He's out there somewhere; probably living near to me.”

“You have felt him?”

“To be honest I haven't tried. Not since Tuesday night.”

Celeste took his hand in hers. “Then let's try,” she said, squeezing his hand gently.

“Are you sure?”

Her eyes said no, but she said; “It was two days ago, I'm sure I've got enough strength to spare. Just.”

Frederick offered no further argument. Celeste didn't look strong enough, but she knew her own mind. He closed his eyes and reached his mind out tentatively.
Willem
, he called, and for a brief moment he thought he felt something. But then it was gone.

“He
is
there,” Celeste said, as Frederick opened his eyes. “But the barrier is strong, and until I have worked out what happened on Tuesday I'm not going to push too hard.”

“I still don't understand what would make Willem go to Chalkwell. The only thing I can think of is that he was led there by our blood bond.” For a moment Frederick lapsed into silence. Celeste waited. “What do you know of the Lost Pages?”

“Very little.”

Frederick told her all he had learned last night, and of his suspicions. Now it was Celeste's turn to be silent.

“If you had told me this another time I would have immediately thought of Julius; he's a man of power, running his own little empire. And his stance would certainly be a threat. But now…In his own way, in London, Willem is also a man of power.” Celeste closed her eyes and swallowed. “But his psychic protection. That is real power.”

“You think I might be right?”

“I think we cannot afford to take the chance. The nature of his Rebirth is unprecedented, everyone to whom I have talked have confirmed that nothing like that has ever happened before.” Abruptly Celeste turned, and staggered. Frederick caught her by the arm. She gave him a weak grin. “You see, this is what his power has done to me.”

Frederick did not share her humour. In silence he walked with her, his arm linked in hers. They reached the path and began the long walk back to the factory. The bodyguard got off his perch and started following them.

“What shall we do?” Frederick asked.

“If he is staying in Chalkwell we will scour Chalkwell until we find him. If he is the threat the Lost Pages tell us about, we must get to him first.”

“Before the police do.”

“What?”

“He has been reported missing. Even now the police are making enquiries in Southend.” Now Frederick did grin, but there was no humour behind it. “His family is persistent.”

“Then we must contact Rochelle. Put an end to their search.”

* * *

DI Rochelle Swanson made some discreet inquiries. It seemed that originally the missing person investigation was being run from Fulham nick, until a couple of hours ago when CID at New Scotland Yard took over. This puzzled Rochelle. What possible interest could they have in such a case? So far there was no evidence of foul play, merely an adult who didn't wish to be found.

She finally got to talk to PC Eliza Medeiros, who was the initial investigating officer. At first Medeiros was reluctant to furnish Rochelle with any information, but after a bit of pressing on, Medeiros relented and hit Rochelle with what was possibly the worst bit of news she'd heard in weeks.

DCI Alyson Rowe had taken an interest in Willem's disappearance, and had thus pulled some strings so she could take over the investigation. This news gave Rochelle pause, leaving her next course of action clear.

* * *

Frederick felt much better for his talk with Celeste, feeling like they were back on even footing again. He stuck around for a couple of hours, helping her where he could and talking more. Most of their conversation seemed to be about the old days, their long life together, as if they both knew on some unspoken level that those times were drawing to a close. He left her at the factory to rest some more, after she had got in touch with Rochelle who had agreed to make some inquiries.

It was almost half eight, his train nearing Chalkwell, when it happened. Like a cannon ball smashing through the wall that stood between them, Frederick was hit by a clear sense of Willem. He almost slid off his seat, knocked into near unconsciousness by the sudden contact.

An old woman reached out for him, but he had enough awareness to steady himself in time. The woman offered some advice about young people, and enjoying the drink while they could, then returned to her crossword.

The feelings Frederick were picking up from Willem were intensely erotic. Frederick frowned, wondering just what Willem had been doing since Sunday night. The train stopped at Chalkwell and Frederick rushed out, clearing the steps up to the ticket office in three bounds. He came outside and paused, reaching out with his mind. He set off.

The house he found himself outside was familiar, facing out towards the seafront, just a few doors from the corner that turned into Ridgeway Gardens, leading to his own street. There was a blue Yaris parked in the driveway. He walked up the path to the green door, and realised the real reason he'd noticed the house before.

He reached the door and knocked. He waited a few moments before the door opened, and even though he'd been expecting the woman his mouth still fell open in an “O” of surprise at the sight of her in her pyjamas.

The reason for Willem's erotic feelings was suddenly clear.

“Oh,” Frederick said.

For a second the redhead seemed put off, but with a polite smile she asked: “Can I help you?”

She had done nothing to him, but what she had clearly done
with
Willem angered him. Frederick's face hardened, and he shook his head, looking at her coldly. He smiled thinly. “I doubt it. I need to see Willem.”

For a moment the woman seemed confused. “There's no one of that name here.”

“Yes, there is. I can smell him all over you.” He made to step into the house but the woman held her ground, although she did take a step back.

“I've told you, there is no one of that name here, now please leave.”

“Oh, he's here, I can finally feel him.” He pushed past the woman. “I've searched too long to be denied now.” Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the woman stagger into the kitchen, no doubt going to grab her phone and call the police. That didn't matter now. He had Willem, who was standing at the edge of the room before him.

Frederick smiled. Willem was looking good, healthy, dressed in the same kind of clothes he had been wearing when they'd met on the train on Friday. He opened his mouth to speak, but Willem's lack of smile chilled him.

“Frederick!” Willem spat. “What have you done to me?”

Frederick stepped closer. “I saved you from death.”

Willem reversed into the room, never taking his eyes off Frederick. “Saved me? You killed me.”

“No, that was an accident, I…”

“An accident is falling over something you don't see, not ripping someone's throat out with…” Willem paused, and looked down at his hands as the skin around the tips of his fingers ripped open, revealing the talons beneath. “With these!” He raised his hands, looking at the nail-like talons with a mixture of horror and wonder.

Frederick opened his arms out. “Willem, come with me, I can explain everything. You've entered a big world now, you need to…”

“No,” Willem said, shaking his head. “I will never come with you.” He eyes were burning red, the blood behind them bubbling away. “You've made me a monster!”