Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (9 page)

Be careful when dealing with vampires - if threatened, they will try to get an innocent accomplice to move their coffin to a more secure location. The old story about seeking permission to enter a building is partially true - vampires are dependent on people and will try to exert contractual pressure on them by formal and informal means.

Further reading on real world vampires is available from Avartagh's Esoterica, either in person in our shop in Inverness's Culloden Arcade or through our Amazon and eBay stores.

Mark put the book down on the desk.

It was a work of genius - it almost had him going, until it was apparent that it was just a sales pitch for the freaky Esoterica shop near Buffy's comic shop.

Pushing the bowl and coffee mug aside to start working, Mark was becoming aware that he desperately needed to get through some serious word count.

He had woken at ten, tired from oversleeping. He'd slept through the breakfast service but had managed to persuade Harris to get a bowl of Bran Flakes and a strong coffee sent up from the kitchen.

He needed to speak to Harris about the rattling - worse the previous night than before - but decided that complaining at the same time as angling for breakfast wasn't the best idea. The state of the windows was beyond a joke - he'd never encountered anything like it. He was half tempted to take a second room, maybe he'd get some sleep and still be able to work.

Headphones on, he typed up the transcript from the interview with Lady Ruthven. He focused on her voice as he typed - it sounded so alluring, even above the background noise in the gardens. In person, he'd concentrated on how she looked and carried herself, while avoiding physical contact. Hearing her talk, he appreciated how strong and rich her voice was - almost a purr, smooth like silk, rolling over the vowels.

He still wondered what she saw in him. His long face, ginger hair, non-designer glasses and pot belly were not exactly Hollywood A-List features, with the exception of maybe Simon Pegg or Ricky Gervais.

Her dress had been revealing. And the way she kept on touching him.

He caught himself. He wasn't a single man any longer. He was married. He had a daughter. A family.
 

He smiled to himself as he remembered a Hall and Oates song his dad would play when Mark was growing up, something along the lines of a family guy being propositioned by a woman and trying to fight her off, but acknowledging that there may come a tipping point when he couldn't resist. To a disco beat.

That wasn't Mark. He knew he'd be strong, that he could resist anything.

The phone on the desk rang. Mark felt a cold trickle of sweat down his spine - he wondered if his thoughts had somehow leaked out and Sarah had found out.

It was Harris. "I've got a man here to see you," he said, the phone line crackling.

Mark was thrown. Who could it be - the blacksmith or John Rennie? Someone else with news of Kay's fate? "Who is it?" he asked.

"A gentleman called Adam Mathieson," said Harris, then hung the phone up.

Mark gave a deep sigh as he stopped the tape, though he knew that he'd have to wind it back at least five minutes to recover from his reverie. Locking the door securely, he headed down to the reception.

Harris was grinning from ear-to-ear, chatting to a tall, handsome man in his mid-30s who was wearing army surplus clothes.

Harris looked over at Mark approaching and straightened up his tie. "Mr Campbell," he said, voice almost too loud, "this is Mr Mathieson."

Mark shook hands with Adam, who had a firm and cold grip.

"How can I help?" asked Mark.

Adam smiled. "You've no idea who I am, have you?" he asked, in a broad Glasgow accent.

"Is this a game or something?" asked Mark, shaking his head.

"I'm your photographer," said Adam.

"I didn't know I had one," said Mark.

Adam frowned. "Well, Kay said you'd approved it," he said.

"Wait a second," said Mark. "Kay sent you?"

Adam nodded. "Yes," he said. He thumbed in Harris's direction. "Mr Harris here said that she was missing and you were taking her place. You're the client, right?"

Mark shrugged. "If that's how you see it," he said. "I'm the writer of the book. And, yes, Kay has gone missing."

"Nothing bad, I hope," said Adam. "She was a pretty girl. Could have shown her a thing or two."

Mark was getting irritated by Harris's presence. "Could you get us a pot of coffee, please?" he asked. "We'll get a seat. Charge it to my room."

Harris slowly nodded, then went through to the restaurant. Mark showed Adam to a pair of armchairs at a round table.

"Bloody nightmare getting here," said Adam. "Had to stay over at my sister's just outside Inverness and drive on up myself at first light. Even then, I ended up halfway up the wrong road."

Mark was in no mood to stop and chat when he was finally starting to make some progress. "What did Kay ask you to do?" he asked.

"Take some photos," said Adam, with a shrug. "She wanted some shots in Ruthven village. Said it was spooky and would help sell the book."

Mark ground his teeth together. "It's not a horror book I'm writing," he said. "And
I'm
writing it. It's
my
book, not Kay's."

Adam held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, chillax, man," he said. "Don't shoot the photographer."

Mark had taken a strong dislike to him already.

Harris appeared with the coffee, laying the contents of the tray down on the table. Mark didn't have much else to say to Adam. He took a sip of the coffee - far too hot to even consider downing it, but it was better than the tea he'd previously endured.

"I hope you understand," said Mark, "but I've now got two jobs to do. As well as actually writing the thing, I've got to do Kay's interviews again."

Adam frowned. "You not doing the interviews yourself?" he asked.

"Long story," said Mark. "New-born baby, irritated wife."

Adam laughed and made a whip-crack sound.

Mark hoped his expression was sufficiently sour as he sighed but, judging from the look on Adam's face, it clearly wasn't. "I'm trying to be responsible," he said, "but this is the last time that I delegate anything."

"Hopefully not the photography," said Adam, grinning.

"We'll see on that one," said Mark. "Look, I really need to get back to writing. Could you finish your coffee and then go and look around the village for a couple of hours? I've got an interview scheduled with a local landowner this afternoon. Seeing as how you're here, it would be useful to get a few shots."

"You're the boss," said Adam.

Mark collected his cup and took it to his room.

William Sellar lived in a sprawling estate a few miles along the road from Ruthven Castle, heading away from the village. Sellar House was a smaller building than Ruthven Castle, but it stood in lush grounds, with a large walled garden at the back. The drawing room overlooked the garden, full of roses, fruit trees and winding paths of pebbles.

William was a red-nosed, thin man in his fifties. He spoke in the sort of accent that Mark thought betrayed a boarding school education.

William wore a green tweed jacket, with a pink shirt and deep red trousers. Mark didn't doubt there was a selection of Barbour jackets somewhere in a boot room at the back of the house. A pair of labradors - or golden retrievers, Mark didn't really understand the difference - lay at William's feet, panting.

The wind was howling when they left the hotel. Mark had been glad of Adam's car. Cycling would have been a nightmare, though only in one direction. Adam sat alongside him on a large leather settee, taking the occasional snapshot. It was one of those design classics with dimples all over and not much of a back. Mark couldn't remember the name of them.

"I personally feel ashamed for what my ancestors' did during the second wave of the Highland Clearances," said William.

"Why do you say only the second Wave?" asked Mark. "Why not the first as well?"

William looked away and across the garden. They'd spent the first twenty minutes skirting around the subject, with Mark outlining his theories and William giving an overview of his family's history and actions during the 1800s.

"There was an awful lot to be ashamed of, of course," said William eventually, "but, on reflection, there was a lot to be proud of."

Mark felt a surge of excitement - he was onto something. He glanced down at his tape recorder and mobile, hopeful that they were both still recording. "This the first time I've heard anyone say that they were proud of the Highland Clearances," he said.

William sat forward. "I would like to make it clear that, of course, I'm not proud of the Highland Clearances," he said. "You must understand that." He pointed at the tape recorder. "And please make sure that the full quote features in your book. What I am trying to say is that I am proud of
some
of the actions of my ancestors during that period. Not all of the activities were driven by greed or evil, or the ruling classes' lust for power."

"Okay," said Mark, "give me some examples, then."

"Put it this way," said William, "however you look at it, there was going to be a lot of suffering. By taking a particular stance when they did, my family actually prevented the suffering of greater numbers later. Scotland's population was growing significantly in the Highlands prior to the first phase of Clearances."

"You're talking about the automation of farming," said Mark, "and the eventual aftermath of the First World War?"

William frowned. "Please expand on that?" he asked.

Mark leaned forward - this was one of his favourite theories. "The First World War caused a significant upheaval," he said, "especially to rural parts of Britain. The industries established in cities like Manchester, Newcastle, Glasgow and London, even Dundee and Edinburgh, attracted a lot of manual labourers from the countryside. In the last hundred and twenty years, the population split went from ninety percent in the country to ninety percent in the cities."

William smiled. "That sounds like a chapter from your book," he said.

Mark nodded. "Well spotted," he said. "Is that the sort of thing that you're getting at? Without putting too many words into your mouth."

William looked across the garden again. "That and others," he eventually said.

"Like what?" asked Mark.

William didn't reply.

"Mr Sellar," said Mark, "I appreciate that this is digging up old history, but this is a chance to absolve your ancestors of any lingering guilt. If there was a rationale - like you say - which was unrelated to greed or avarice, then it would be good to get it out there, wouldn't it?"

William's eyes focused on Mark, locking him in. "It's a grey area," he said. "They did some good, that's true, but they did a lot of evil. They don't deserve for their sins to be absolved, lest people think that I'm trying to portray them as some beneficial force in the area." He took a deep breath. "Besides, you wouldn't believe me."

"Please," said Mark, "I'm interested."

William smiled then looked at his pocket watch. "I'm afraid that we have run out of time, Mr Campbell," he said. "I have another appointment which I cannot be late for."

Mark smiled, but couldn't escape the feeling that he'd let something slip through his fingers.

"So, what do you think upset him?" asked Adam.

They were driving along the country lane, heading deep into the glens away from Ruthven village. Adam was desperate to see some more interesting scenery - the landscape around Ruthven was very bland.

"How do you know he was upset?" asked Mark.

"Soon as you started asking whether his ancestors could be absolved of any blame," said Adam, slowing down to avoid some wild ducks crossing the road, "he was out of there like a shot." He made a show of checking his watch. "No idea what sort of appointment he'd have at eleven forty-one."

Mark looked out of the window and watched the countryside roll by, the ominous hills in the distance inching closer. "You've got a point," he said, reluctant to get into a deep conversation about it. "I didn't even get to ask him about the devil worshippers."

"What are you talking about?" asked Adam.

"Just up ahead," said Mark, pointing at the sign by the side of the road. It read 'Inverse Faith Healing Centre'.

"What on earth is an inverse faith?" asked Adam.

"An inverted cross," said Mark. "Fancy a visit?"

Adam grinned broadly. "I'm always up for a bit of nonsense," he said.

There was an entrance on the left leading into a wooden fortress. Eight-foot tall wooden fences surrounded large steel gates.

"Inviting place," said Adam as he pulled off the road, parking the car on the verge just past the entrance.

They got out, Adam hanging back.

"Thought you were up for a bit of nonsense?" asked Mark.

Adam shrugged. "I'd rather watch nonsense if it's all the same," he said, shiftily looking around.

"Fine," said Mark, with a frown. "Are you not locking the car?"

"Why?" asked Adam. "Who is going to nick it out here?"

"Devil worshippers?" asked Mark.

Adam laughed. "I need to be convinced," he said. "Besides, if they come out with pitchforks and flaming torches, I don't want to be reliant on my central locking, okay?"

"Look," said Mark, "we're about seven miles from Ruthven, so I'd rather not have to walk back."

"It's my car," said Adam.

Mark sighed and walked over to the gate. It was taller than it had looked, reminding him of something from a high-budget fantasy film, maybe the entrance to a villain's lair. He knocked on the gate. The steel resonated, emitting a huge sound.

"Gentle," said Adam.

Mark ran his hand through his hair. "At least they'll hear us," he said.

The small door in the gate opened a tiny fraction. A head peered round, frowning. It was the ZZ Top guy from the tea room the previous day. He scowled at Mark. "What are you after?" he asked.

"Just wondering if I could come and speak to you about the book I'm researching?" asked Mark. "I told you about it yesterday."