Winter's Shadow (26 page)

A horrible rasping sound echoed from the floor above, shattering the silence of the old house. The cats scampered away in terror, disappearing into the shadows. The sound grew in volume. Laughter.

It was laughing at him.

By the time she walked in her front door, Winter’s clothes were soaked with sweat and her throat was parched. The journey home from the beach had taken longer than she’d expected. Each step an enormous effort, it was a miracle she’d made it at all. Labouring under this alarming lethargy, only her eyesight had remained strong. Stronger, in fact, than it had been before. She’d been forced to stick to the shadows, as the glare from the streetlights had been too painful.

The one benefit of making such slow progress was the time it allowed her to think – to try to rationalise everything she’d been through. Unfortunately she was no closer to coming up with a solution now than she had been when she left the beach. Nothing in her personal experience, nothing in books or movies or television explained
what she’d seen. The only person who could illuminate the mystery had run off and left her alone. And why?

Winter couldn’t believe she’d made a mistake in kissing Blake.
Wouldn’t
believe it! She hadn’t imagined the passion with which he’d returned her kiss, the way he’d pressed on top of her, pulling her closer. Even if she was wrong, and Blake had been revolted by the kiss, surely fleeing into the night wasn’t a reasonable response. Blake had left because he was afraid – she’d seen the fear on his face. He’d shown a vision to Winter tonight, and in doing so had revealed something about himself. Something supernatural, something magical, which he clearly wished to keep secret.

Winter was grateful the house was dark – it meant Lucy had gone to bed and there would be no questions. Just thinking about her sister was exhausting right now. She barely had the energy to entertain her own questions, let alone deal with Lucy’s. Tomorrow, Winter would set about uncovering this mystery. She’d track down Blake and confront him with the questions that plagued her. However, right now she could hardly stand. All she wanted to do was have a shower and go to bed. Before that, though, she needed to drink something. Her throat felt as if it was lined with sandpaper.

Moving confidently through the pitch-black kitchen, Winter went to the fridge and took out a carton of milk, wincing at the bright interior light that automatically flicked on. She slammed the fridge door, sealing the brightness in, and greedily gulped down the contents
of the carton until her thirst was quenched. She was replacing the milk when the kitchen light blazed into life, temporarily blinding her.

‘Decided to come home, did you?’ Lucy stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

Winter gestured at her in frustration. ‘Turn the light off!’

‘What?’

‘The light – it’s too bright.’

‘Have you been drinking?’ Lucy said incredulously.

‘No. Of course not!’ Winter replied, wincing. Through the glare, she could see her sister’s face slick with moisturiser, her expression thunderous.

‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ Lucy demanded, and Winter caught another emotion lurking below the outrage: fear. Winter felt a twinge of guilt.

‘I’m really sorry, Lucy – I had a . . . strange night. It won’t happen again.’

Wary of more reprimands, Winter brushed past Lucy into the hallway, and started walking towards the bathroom. The searing glare from the kitchen light had triggered off a killer headache, and she needed to pop some painkillers as soon as possible. But it didn’t seem that Lucy was going to let her go that easily. She’d had all night to work herself up into this state and wouldn’t be denied the satisfaction of some release.

‘You just can’t stay out all night and not call or message me,’ Lucy began, her voice shrill. ‘You just can’t do that, Winter! I nearly called the police . . .’ She trailed
off as Winter entered the bathroom, closing the door on her.

Leaving the light off, Winter went to the basin and splashed some cold water on her face. She pulled a packet of headache pills from the cabinet, popping two of them. She scooped water to wash the pills down, grimacing at their acrid taste. On the other side of the door Winter could hear Lucy’s breathing as she waited for her to emerge. Winter wished her away.

‘Win?’

Winter raked her wet hands through her hair in exasperation.

‘I’m really tired, Lucy – can we talk in the morning?’

Winter heard her sister sigh. ‘I understand that you’re seventeen, you’re not a kid – but you’re still my responsibility, Win. At least for a few more months. If you’re in some kind of trouble, I want you to tell me.’

Winter stood over the basin in the dark, too tired to apologise any more. She noticed the water was still running and turned it off.

‘Honestly, Lucy, everything’s fine. I’m going to have a shower now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

Lucy lingered outside a moment longer, and then Winter heard her footsteps pad softly down the hallway and her bedroom door shut. Winter exhaled in relief and walked through the darkness to the shower and turned it on.

Discarding her sandy clothes, she stepped beneath the rush of water, luxuriating in its heat as it cascaded onto
her. She turned her face up to the shower head, closing her eyes against the spray. Blake’s face floated out of the blackness, smiling at her. She smiled back at him, tasting water in her mouth.

Who are you?
she asked the phantom Blake and his silent reply surprised her.

Don’t you mean – what am I?
he answered, before his face drifted back into the ether. It was a troubling question. Blake had performed a feat tonight that was certainly beyond any human capabilities Winter was aware of – so did that make him inhuman? Troubled by this notion, but unwilling to dwell on it, she turned off the shower, towelled herself dry and, stifling an almighty yawn, stumbled to her bedroom. She collapsed onto the mattress, not bothering to submerge herself beneath the covers, and was asleep moments after her head struck the pillow.

Winter dreamt that she awoke in the middle of the night to see Blake standing at the foot of her bed, his eyes burning with green fire, illuminating the darkness.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there watching her sadly. It made her heart ache to see him looking so mournful, and she tried to tell him that it was all right, that everything would be fine, but when she spoke no sound came out of her mouth. There was just the roar of the ocean and the sound of bells chiming in the distance.

Clambering through the snow, Madeleine thought for one terrified second that she’d lost sight of the children’s tracks. Frantically, she searched the white terrain until she found them again: a twin set of footprints disappearing into the deep woods. She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck and set forth in the direction the tracks led. They’d only been gone three hours, but the trip to Herr Falkenmyre’s farm should have taken much less time than that. Madeleine cursed herself for not going to retrieve a jug of milk herself. The children had been so excited at the prospect of getting out of the house that she’d found it impossible to refuse them. Ever since they’d been born she’d kept such a tight rein on them – fearful that if she let them out of her sight for more than a second they might fall into the clutches of Victor and
his Bane. More than once she’d had to forbid them from playing outside, the wounded disappointment in their eyes breaking her heart.

A trip to the local farmer’s might not seem terribly interesting to an adult, but Claudette and Blake jumped at the task. The short journey from their cottage through the woods to the Falkenmyre property offered an enticing opportunity for adventure.

It had been months since either she or Ariman had been alerted to Victor’s activities, and so Madeleine saw little harm in sending them on the errand. Now realising she’d been lulled into a false sense of security, she resolved never again to let her guard down.
Please God – let my children be safe!

‘Blake! Claudette!’ Madeleine called out, straining her ears over the sound of the rising winds for a reply. Flakes of snow began to drift down from the bleak grey sky. Voluminous thunderheads loomed ominously in the distance. A blizzard was coming; she could taste it in the air. Soon the tracks would be covered and her chances of finding the children remote. If Ariman had been home, she would have had much less cause for concern. He could have found them in an instant. Unfortunately he was away in Prague, securing their safe passage for the move in January. They’d already stayed in their cottage on the outskirts of Munich too long.

The icy wind cut through Madeleine’s thick cloak, making her shiver. Even if Blake and Claudette hadn’t
met any danger, but had merely wandered off the path and become lost, they wouldn’t last long in the cold. Panicking at this thought, she tried to move faster, but the snow was thick, waist-deep in places, impeding her progress.

Madeleine knew of only two paths through these woods – one more direct than the other. She’d taken the longer path, anticipating that the eight-year-old twins would have wanted to prolong their expedition, their freedom from her overprotectiveness. The tracks were little more than shallow impressions now. In fact, they looked more like paw prints. Had she made a mistake and followed the wrong set of tracks? Studying the ground fearfully, Madeleine realised she couldn’t be certain she was still even on the path. She paused, searching for a familiar landmark. The trees crowded around her, their black skeletal forms twisted and monstrous.

A child cried out, the sound almost being snatched away by wind before it reached Madeleine’s ears. Heartened, she called out, ‘Children?’

‘Mama!’ came the immediate reply from just up ahead. It was Blake!

‘I’m coming!’ Spurred by the note of urgency she detected in his cry, Madeleine ploughed through the snow with renewed vigour.

Offering up a silent prayer of thanks, she felt almost delirious with relief. In another few minutes, the storm’s fury might have covered their cries and they would have been lost to her forever.

The carpet of snow thinned as she crested a small rise, and she was able to walk faster. Breathing heavily with exertion, she pushed through a thorny copse and was met with a sight that made her freeze. There were Blake and Claudette, crouched in the boughs of a withered oak tree. Snapping below them were three snarling wolves. The fearsome beasts scrabbled at the base of the tree with their claws, trying to gain purchase so they could reach their meal.