Sleeping Angel (Ravenwood Series) (20 page)

‘Gabriel!’ she shouted again, hopelessly.

It wasn’t until she was a hundred yards from the tube station that April began to shake. She’d started a fight with a vampire, and now she was alone in the dark. Was she being followed by a mightily pissed-off vampire? Could
Calvin have followed them?
she wondered, looking over her shoulder. And he’d called her “witch girl”. He’d threatened her hadn’t he? Had he been stalking her, like Marcus Brent had done?

Witch Girl
. April changed direction, turning away down the narrow street towards the little shop with the purple door, but Redfearne’s was closed. Not just closed for the night, but
closed
closed, as in “everything must go”.

‘Oh no,’ said April. Her stomach sank as she peered through the window. Inside, she could see piles and piles of books stacked on the floor or crammed into packing cases. What the hell was going on?

April saw movement at the back of the shop – Jessica walked into view. April rapped on the window.

‘Jessica!’ she called. ‘It’s me! Can you let me in?’

The woman stood there looking at her for a moment, then shook her head and walked hesitantly towards the door. ‘What do you want, April?’ she said, only opening the door a crack. ‘I’m very busy.’

‘I wanted to ... are you leaving?’

             
Jessica opened the door further and looked up and down the street. ‘Inside, quickly.’

The shop was in chaos. Half of the shelves had been dismantled and the display cabinets had already gone. Books were stacked in teetering piles and the walls had been stripped bare of their pictures and trinkets.

‘Where are you going?’ said April.

‘Does it matter?’

Jessica was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at April, anger coming off her in waves.

‘What? Is this something to do with me?’

‘Is it something to do with you?’ said the woman. ‘I take it you didn’t notice the door? Take a look.’

April opened the front door and gasped. There were deep gouges in the wood, as if a massive vicious animal had been trying to claw its way in. Scored into the frame were the words “witch” and “traitor”. She felt sick as the image of her father’s grave flashed into her mind.

‘I cleaned the rest off,’ said Jessica, as April stepped back inside and Jessica bolted the door behind her.

‘The rest?’

‘Blood. They’d smeared it on the step, the windows too. Similar words. Same sentiment, anyway.’

‘But who did it?’

‘Why don’t you tell me, April?’ she snapped. ‘You seem to be right at the centre of all this.’

             
April began to object, but then stopped herself. It was true wasn’t it? ‘How can you leave, though?’ she said, ‘You can’t let them scare you away.’

‘Do you really think it’s that simple, April? Do you?’

‘Yes, I do! We have to fight back, Jessica. We can’t give in. I know you must be frightened, but it’s only a door.’

‘Only a door?’ muttered Jessica in a low voice. She grabbed April’s arm and pulled her across the shop, bumping into boxes and scattering books as she went.

‘That’s not just a door,’ she said, pushing April through a doorway into a small kitchen area. April let out a moan. There was a cat lying on the sink. Or rather, it had been a cat. Now, virtually torn in half, its entrails were spilling out like spaghetti, its grey fur stiff with blood, jaws open as if in a scream. And around its neck was a collar, one April had seen somewhere before.

‘Is that ...?’ said April, her hand over her mouth.

‘Recognise it?’ said Jessica. ‘I think we’re supposed to, April.’

It was Jasper, Miss Holden’s Siamese cat, the one which April had stroked and petted while they had been cooking up the Dragon’s Breath. If the animal tongue had been a subtle – or not so subtle – hint, there was no doubt in this message. ‘Keep helping April Dunne and you will get exactly what Annabel Holden got.’

Jessica turned and marched back to the front of the shop, angrily grabbing books and shoving them into cartons.

‘I know it’s horrible,’ said April, following her, ‘But do you really have to run away?’

Jessica slammed a book down. ‘I’m not running away, April!’ she shouted. ‘You’re so naïve! Can’t you see that this is bigger than you and your father’s ham-fisted attempts to write a newspaper story?’

April shook her head.

‘This is war, April, war! Not some stupid schoolgirl game creeping around in the bushes.
Everything
is at stake here, not just your bloody boyfriend.’

‘If it’s all so important, why are you going?’

‘I don’t have any choice. The vampires are coming for
me
.’

‘Look, I’m so sorry I brought all this down on you, but ...’

Jessica laughed – a hollow, bitter laugh. ‘Not
everything
is about you, April. Don’t you see? I am a catalyst; not just a vampire.’

April frowned. ‘You mean the witches?’

‘Finally, she gets it!’ said Jessica, throwing up her arms. ‘Yes, I mean the witches. The witches took me in, they helped me control my hunger, adopted me as one of their own. As far as the coven is concerned, I am a witch. So if the vampires kill me, the witches will have no choice but to retaliate, and they will be drawn into the war.
That
is what whoever sent this message wants.’

April felt a an unexpected flash of hope. Maybe her little gang weren’t so alone after all, not if Jessica’s coven were prepared to stand up to the vampires too. She imagined fighting side by side with an army of witches equipped with powerful spells and potions – if they could make elixirs like the Dragon’s Breath, then there was no telling what else they could do. At the very least, they could make the vampires think twice, slow them up.

‘But that’s great,’ said April. ‘I mean, we can take them on together.’

‘No!’ yelled Jessica, ‘I am leaving the shop and I am leaving the witches and I am getting as far away from here as I can. I won’t have people I care about put in danger because of you, April. ’

‘Look, I’m sorry that you feel you have to go, but…’

‘You’re sorry? Is that it?’ said Jessica, narrowing her eyes. ‘You’re sorry? I have to leave the protection of the only people who ever cared about me. Because of you, I have put them in terrible danger. And you’re sorry.’

Gabriel is in danger too, Jessica,’ said April desperately. ‘He certainly cared about you once. I thought you cared about him too.’

‘I do. I
did
. But ...’

‘No, Jessica,’ said April fiercely, ‘Either you care about him or you don’t. He needs help, he’s having more and more of the dreams – he’s convinced that the killer he sees in these nightmares is him. He thinks he’s remembering some horrible slaughter from his past.’

‘Maybe not just his past,’ said Jessica.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ said April, ‘What do you know about this, Jessica? Why can’t you just tell me the truth?’

Jessica closed her eyes and turned away.

‘Christ!’ shouted April, sweeping a pile of books off a stool. ‘It’s like you’re all playing some stupid game! Everyone I speak to says “Ooh April, you wouldn’t understand”, “Ooh April, if I told you the truth it’d blow your mind!” – like I’m too stupid to grasp the rules of your secret little club. Maybe the truth is you don’t want your little cold war to come to an end because then you’d have to stop pretending you’re all so important.’

Jessica glared at her. ‘You want to know what’s eating Gabriel?’ she said, walking over to a box and pulling out a book. ‘Here, read this.’

She shoved the book into April’s hands. It was a hardback with a picture of a spooky Dickensian back-street under the title:
The Ripper’s East End
.

‘Here’s another one. Take it – they’re no use to me anymore.’ Jessica held out a paperback. ‘And this one; you’ll like this one too.’

Jessica was throwing books at her now and April had to duck to avoid them.

April looked down at the book she had managed to catch:
Jack The Ripper: The Face Behind The Cloak
.

‘What are you trying to tell me? That Gabriel was Jack the Ripper?’

‘Work it out for yourself, April!’ she shouted. ‘I think I’ve wasted enough time on you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my own mess to clean up.’

April stood in the doorway, wondering what had just happened, what had made her anger this woman, wishing she could turn back the clock and start again. But she couldn’t, could she?

April turned and held up the book. ‘I’m not going to like it, am I?’ she said.

             
The anger on Jessica’s face faded, replaced by what looked like sadness. ‘That’s the trouble with the truth, April. Everyone thinks they want it, but no one is ever prepared when it comes.’

April stood in the street, just breathing in the night air. Funny how quiet it could be right in the heart of London, she thought. But then, if you listened hard enough you could always hear it: the low hum of traffic, of chatter, of life. It was always there.

Maybe it was the same with secrets, thought April, glancing down at the book with its artist’s impression of the Ripper in his clichéd top hat and cloak. Maybe they just sit there waiting for you to find them. And maybe it would be better not to. She walked from the shop, remembering the claw-marks in the woodwork. She didn’t want to wait around for the modern equivalent of Jack the Ripper, whoever that might be.
Gabriel?
She almost laughed. Okay, so he was a vampire and he was certainly capable of violence – she had seen that tonight – but Gabriel was fundamentally... gentle – that was the word. Decent, too. And sensitive, so very sensitive, that the doubts filling his mind were literally tearing him apart.

April opened her bag and pulled out her phone, scrolling to Gabriel’s number.

She wasn’t surprised when it went straight to voicemail. ‘Hi, it’s me,’ she said after the beep. ‘I’m sorry for whatever I said. Just give me a call, okay? I love you.’

Then she scrolled straight to Fiona’s number and pressed call. ‘Pick up, Fee, pick up,’ she whispered.

‘Hey, beautiful.’ Fiona sounded groggy and a bit muffled.

‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’

‘Little bit. I must have dozed off.’

‘Sorry, honey, just needed to hear your voice. Things have got a bit strange.’

Instantly Fiona’s voice was more alert. ‘What’s up? Where are you?’

‘Cov Garden, just walking home, but it’s a bit spooky right now.’

She quickly filled Fiona in on the events at the party.

‘Bummer. So where’s your knight in shining armour?’

‘He ran off.’

‘Oh. Not good. Lover’s tiff?’

‘No, more like he’s ...’ April was turning into her grandfather’s road now. The terrace was lit by those old-style gas-lamp streetlights the tourists so loved – and there was a man standing there, right in front of Grampa Thomas’s house.

‘April?’ said Fiona, ‘What’s going on? Have you seen something?’

‘There’s some bloke waiting outside Gramps’ place,’ whispered April, pulling back behind a wall.

‘Who? Gabriel?’ asked Fiona.

‘I don’t know.’ Her grandfather’s house was surrounded by black iron railings and there was a tall gate you had to open to get to the front door. She squinted, trying to see in the darkness. The man seemed to be standing at the gate, peering through the bars.

What the hell was he doing?

She took a few steps forward. ‘Gabriel?’ she called softly, her phone still to her ear.

‘You’re not going over there,’ said Fiona. ‘April, do
not
go over there. I forbid it!’

But April was already crossing the road. She could now see that the man was holding onto the bars high up, either shaking them or preparing to climb over. Had Gabriel come to find her?

‘Gabriel?’ she repeated, ‘Is that you?’

But now she could see it wasn’t him – not tall enough, wrong hair. And the man didn’t turn as she approached.

‘Hello? What are you doing? Excuse me?’ April was only two paces away now. She reached out to touch the man on the shoulder – and the gate swung inwards.

It was then April screamed. Because now she
could
see. His hands were impaled on the spikes at the top of the gate, a dark bloody hole gouged in his neck. Blood was forming a puddle at his feet. And she recognised him – Calvin, the boy from the party.

April screamed again.

‘Look, Mr Reece, I
don’t know
where he is. I wish I did.’

April pushed her hair out of her face and looked up at the policeman.
This seems familiar,
she thought. Her grandfather’s front room was a new venue, but the setup was the same: tepid tea in front of her, policeman asking questions. Another murder.