Skinned (19 page)

Now the man's face registered a different kind of surprise.

‘
Jacob?
'

Jacob bowed his head in his characteristic, old-fashioned greeting.

‘So,' the mind-reader snarled. ‘Making new friends, I see?'

Jacob growled a single word.

‘Doom.'

Doom lunged toward the stranger.

But before Doom's snapping jaws could make contact, the violet flame in the man's palm went out. He had simply vanished. Doom sailed through empty air and landed in shadow on the bare floor of the tunnel.

‘Where is he?' Callum shouted. ‘Where did he go?'

They all looked around, baffled, but there was nothing. Jacob turned to the others quickly. ‘We must go.'

Doom shepherded Callum and Melissa up the tunnel, but they didn't need telling twice. Soon they were up through the passage and out into the icy cold night air.

‘What was that about? Who
was
that?' Melissa asked, panting. Callum, still reeling with the shock of having his mind invaded and his deepest secrets stripped bare, remained silent.

Jacob paused for a moment. ‘Callum, I am sorry. I did not realise at first what he was doing, or I would have interrupted him sooner.'

‘Who was he, Jacob?' Callum said finally, turning and glaring at ghost boy. ‘How did he know who you were?'

‘He is a powerful magic-user,' Jacob said carefully. ‘One whose path crossed with my own many years ago. I should have known it might be him who was behind this.'

‘You knew this guy before?' Callum folded his arms, frowning hard. ‘What did he mean, “making new friends?”'

Jacob was silent for a moment. He turned away from Callum's inquiring gaze to watch Doom stalk back to his side before speaking again. ‘When I first knew that man, he was not . . . as he is now. He has been corrupted, much as I have warned that you could be, if you do not tread carefully. We must be extremely vigilant now. Our enemies are close. Closer than we could have imagined.'

Callum shook his head at the ghost's cryptic answers. He sighed, his breath pluming in the starlit night. He'd had enough of questions for now.

‘I just want to get home,' Melissa said, echoing Callum's thoughts.

Callum didn't even have time to say anything more before he felt Jacob's cold hand on his shoulder, and
the grey mist swirling around them.

Moments later, they were all back in Marlock Wood, standing with Doom among the familiar tombstones of the churchyard. Callum looked at each of his companions, and he knew their solemn faces reflected his own.

There seemed to be secrets, mysteries and conspiracies around every corner. Callum's mind was whirling with a million questions. How could there be people,
humans
, who were willing to sacrifice everything good about the world for their own selfish gain? How far were they willing to go? No matter how hard Callum had
thought
dealing with the Shadowing would be, it was turning out to be ten times harder.

‘You should both be on your way.' Jacob's voice broke the silence. Callum nodded.

‘Come on, Melissa,' he said. His friend looked pale and tired. ‘Let's go.'

They began to make their way out of the churchyard when Jacob spoke once more.

‘Callum,' he said. Callum stopped and turned around.

‘Well done.'

Callum looked at the Born Dead's solemn face and smiled.

‘See you soon, Jacob.'

The ghost boy remained still, looking at the chime child for a moment, and then turned away. Callum glanced at Melissa and shrugged, then the two of them began to walk along the path and out of the churchyard.

‘What do you think will happen now?' Melissa asked quietly.

Callum looked over at her and set his jaw determinedly.

‘I don't know exactly what we're going to have to face. I may not be able to protect the entire Boundary. But my powers are getting better; yours are too. And there's one thing I know we
can
focus on.' He paused. ‘The coven. We're going to stop them.'

In the dark, echoing space, Varick waits alone. He is hesitant, anxious. He swallows hard and clenches his fist for a moment before snapping his fingers and igniting a flame. He drops it down into the centre of the room and the fire catches, creating violet flames that cast an unearthly light around the walls. The crystal on his finger glows blinding white. He is not a coward, but as his master's terrifying face looms into view among the flames, his heart quickens.

‘Tell me,' commands the demon with a hiss.

‘Black Annis is destroyed,' the man says bleakly. ‘We were unable to use her in our sacrifice.' He closes
his eyes and looks away from the demon's inevitable fury. He takes a deep breath as the hideous face flickers in the flames. Its slitted, goat-like pupils are narrow with anger.

‘How?' the spitting voice demands. ‘Look at me, mortal, and explain your failure.'

‘The last chime child,' the man admits, his own voice low. Reluctantly, he looks up at the demon, as commanded. In its fury the demon's eyes blaze crimson. The violet flames sizzle and snap.

‘The
sole
chime child thwarted you and your coven?' the demon screeches. ‘How can this be?'

‘I warned you of this,' the magician replies grimly. ‘One chime child is still one guardian for the Boundary, and this youth is invested with tremendous power. He does not even realise its full extent yet. And he has some formidable allies, it seems.'

‘You
must
seek him out. He cannot be allowed to remain.' The demon's voice crackles.

‘I know where I can find him,' the man says through his teeth. He pauses and frowns, before a cruel smile forms on his lips. ‘But to bring about his defeat we
must be certain of success. The child has a weakness. One that can be exploited.'

The demon's smile is crueller than the man's, and uglier. ‘Go on,' the hideous mouth spits.

‘I've seen deep into the boy's heart. He's strong and determined. But he has one fatal flaw. In the right circumstances, I am certain he could be tempted.'

The demon chuckles. Its laughter is like an avalanche of falling rocks. It is no longer angry. It is scheming anew.

‘Yessss,' it hisses. ‘But you must be more than certain, mortal. You must make good on our agreement, or you will face the consequences when the Shadowing reaches its zenith.'

‘I will not let you down,' the man says. A moment later, the flames are extinguished and the space is plunged into darkness once more. He waits in the silence for a moment.

‘Varick?'

The voice startles him, but then he realises who it is.

‘Aradia,' he says, his voice grim. ‘You failed me.'

The woman emerges from the shadows and steps
towards him. He can see that she has been injured, but he maintains a stony glare.

‘We shall not fail again, Varick. I promise you that,' she says, her eyes narrowed venomously at the memory of defeat.

‘The coven remains intact?'

‘It does,' she replies. ‘And we are ready for instruction.'

The man smiles, his voice now little more than a whisper.

‘I know exactly what must be done . . .'

 

 

Turn over if you dare for a chilling preview of the third book in the series . . .

THE

SHADOWING

DOOMED

 

 

 

 

It is the dead of night in the dead of winter. Thick cloud hangs in the black sky, reflecting the dull glow of the sleeping city. Above the ice of the frozen River Mersey, three red lights dance; pinpoints of brightness in the dark.

The Will o' the Wisp is following the river towards the point where it has been called. It has been summoned by a new master.

The Wisp's red lights flit together along the cold, hard surface of the river, but come to a halt as they reach the towering arches of the Stockport Viaduct. Beneath one of the tall tunnels of Victorian brick slumps a human youth. A young creature – a runaway, far from home.

An irresistible opportunity.

The Wisp floats towards the shivering boy. It cannot help itself. Its Master's call can wait a while . . .

*

He doesn't know what makes him open his eyes.

The boy had just begun to drift into a fretful sleep, but now he wakes and looks up. Before him is the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. He forgets cold, forgets hunger, forgets how miserable he is. He simply stares in amazement as three red lights float up to him and quietly bob and weave around his shoulders. They're like tiny, playful stars, red and bright. He blinks, scarcely able to believe it. What are they . . .? Where have they come from? And –

‘
Follow us . . .
'

‘
Come on . . .
'

‘
Come with us . . .
'

The words are no louder than a whisper. The lights . . . they're speaking to him. Somehow, their voices are like the sweetest music he's ever heard.

They want him to go after them . . . he must go with them . . .

The boy staggers to his feet. The lights dart away from him, and then pause.

He steps towards them.

*

The Wisp tumbles over itself in glee. The weak human is slipping into its thrall.

From the top of the viaduct, the still night is pierced with the distant wail of a train's horn. Behind a barbed-wire fence, a series of caged iron ladders lead up to the tracks. Yes – the perfect place. This is where they will go.

The Wisp fights to control its bubbling anticipation. Its three red lights dance eagerly through the links of the fence and hover for a moment, weaving between one ladder's iron rungs. The metal would be a threat to some from the Netherworld, but it feels no ill effect.

The human trudges, entranced, towards the fence. The Wisp has him now.

He will follow.

*

The boy begins to climb the fence without thinking. When he reaches the length of barbed wire, he sinks his palms into the sharp prongs of metal, and does not flinch as they tear open the flesh of his hands and rip his jeans. None of that matters. The glowing red stars light the handholds for him. It's so easy.

‘
Come up . . .
'

‘
Yes . . .
'

‘
Up here . . .
'

The boy's hands slip a little on the rungs of the ladder as thick blood seeps from his wounds, but he holds his grip. The climb is over before he even realises it. He clambers over the guardrail, and he's at the top of the huge viaduct, high as he's ever been, with all the twinkling city's lamps spread out in the darkness below him. The red lights dance along the tracks, lighting the steel with their glow. He feels no fear, only exhilaration.

‘
Follow . . .
'

‘
Follow . . .
'

‘
Follow us . . .
'

The dancing lights lead him along the humming rails.

*

The Wisp has forgotten the true purpose of its journey along the river. For the moment, its whole being knows nothing more than the compulsion to lure this boy. The sheer delight of its imminent success sends the Wisps' lights into a tumbling, whirling frenzy.

The train tracks begin to rattle and vibrate loudly.

Ahead of the stumbling boy, the sound of the approaching train is building to a roar. The three lights dance in the space between the speeding metal missile and the helpless human. The moment is close, so very close. The boy has no hope . . .

*

The boy steps forward lightly, one foot and then the other, balancing along a trembling metal rail. Carefree. Nothing can stop him. The lights are so
beautiful
.
They dart and loop like fireflies before his eyes . . .

But then, behind them, suddenly making their lovely gleam seem dull, a new light builds. White and blinding in its brightness.

As it thunders nearer, the red lights shoot upwards into the dark sky like exploding fireworks. The boy is confused for a moment. Where are they going? He wants them to stay; he wants them to come back . . .

In the blink of an eye, the three lights disappear altogether.

The boy stops for a moment. He frowns and looks around, confused. Where is he? The wind buffets him this way and that – he's high up somewhere. How did he get there? And that noise, that terrible noise is getting louder and louder. He can hardly see. He throws a hand up to shield his face, but the wall of white is blinding him, and he can't understand what's happening.

A train's horn blasts.

A shot of dread pierces through to the boy's core. But it's too late. The world is filled with light and noise – the blaring horn, the scream of steel, the screeching brakes.

The boy squeezes his eyes shut.

A moment later, there is silence.

*

Above the tons of thundering metal that have now ground to a halt, above the pulped wreck of the human body beneath it, the Will o' the Wisp's lights dance contentedly. Its compulsion is satisfied once more. For now, at least . . .

Then its attention is caught – arrested – by a shadowy figure standing on the riverbank below.

Its Master is here.

Another human – but not a weakling to be toyed with like the pathetic creature the Wisp has just led to his doom. No, this human is a man of strength, a magician who wields the dark power of the Netherworld and bends it to his command: he is the Wisp's summoner.

Its three red lights spiral down to this dark figure who stands on the bank of the frozen river, watching. As the Wisp approaches, with a sudden, swift movement, the man sweeps off his coat and turns it inside out. It is a centuries-old mortal protection against the Wisp's power
– at least for those who know of it. The red lights falter in their approach. The ward may be simple, but it is effective.