Augustine, page 24
Connie sneered and threw her bag over her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going,’ she said, ‘but remember what I said, Dee. No third chances. You mess up this time. We all die.’
Dee scowled at her back as Connie left and locked the door behind her. ‘Thanks for the back-up,’ she said to Chris, as he plonked himself down on the couch.
He shrugged. ‘She was never going to believe me if I told her anything but the truth. What was all that about everyone dying?’
‘Nothing,’ Dee said, ‘just a bitter old woman with a grudge.’ She sat down next to him and ran her fingers over his newly healed cheek. ‘No scarring,’ she said. ‘Even your stubble has grown back.’
‘That’s because I have a bad ass nurse to take care of me,’ he said, grabbing her boob and squeezing.
Dee pushed his hand away. The thought of Chris touching her after what he’d done made her feel nauseous. ‘Tell me how you’re feeling,’ she said. ‘Any headaches, nausea, pain anywhere?’
‘I feel great,’ Chris said, ‘better than great.’
‘That’s good,’ Dee said, ‘but take it easy for the next few days, and above all, stay away from Raewyn.’
‘What difference does it make if Connie knows?’ he said. ‘Rae’s as good as dead tomorrow anyway.’
Dee thought about it for a second. Chris wanted in with The Order, and didn’t much care how he did it, so it was in her best interests to keep him sweet. ‘We don’t know that for sure,’ she said, ‘once Saoirse’s free it’ll be up to her what happens to Rae. I’m just worried that Connie will push Raewyn too far and something will go wrong. Connie is greedy and careless, and if she wants to continue to push my buttons that’s all well and good, but what she had you do was stupid and reckless.’
Chris nodded. ‘Lucky for me I have you watching my back, then.’
‘Lucky indeed,’ Dee said, smiling, ‘because if I didn’t, no-one else would.’
26
Rae woke up miserable and cold with her crystal clutched tightly in her hand. The wind had howled through the cottage all night long, whistling down the chimney and rattling the windows like a wailing ghost, but despite feeling like the night would never end she had eventually fallen into a troubled sleep.
She’d dreamt of golden eyes again, but this time they were getting married. They were in a castle with grey stone walls that shone with flecks of silver, and a floor as smooth as marble. High arching windows looked out onto an ocean of intense aquamarine blue, stretching out as far as the eye could see where a sun, twice its normal size, glowed orange against a pale blue sky. Her dress was the colour of creamy butter, her veil edged with white silk, and beside her, dressed in white armour and looking more handsome than ever, was golden eyes. He wore a cloak of black feathers that trailed behind him, his hair neatly tied at the nape of his neck, and he was smiling, eyes bright and full of laughter.
But then suddenly it was night-time, and they were riding on horseback, tearing through the countryside with Ben close at their backs. Rae’s dress flapped in the wind, her veil torn from her head, dark hair spilling out behind her. It began to rain, heavy sheets of ice that drenched them in seconds, but they rode on, harder and faster, heading for the forest where the shadows loomed deep and the darkest terrors hid. Rae was afraid, but the reason why was lost on her as the horses slowed and a light appeared up ahead. Fire the cold blue of winter, rose high and bright, engulfing the forest and filling the night sky with its black, acrid smoke. The horses pulled up short and golden eyes turned to Rae, but then it was no longer him, and instead the white-haired woman from her vision was beside her, pale eyes glistening bright by the light of the fire. ‘It’s time,’ she said, but Rae shook her head. Then she woke up.
Rae cradled her knees to her chest. The dreams always felt real enough at the time, but when she woke up she accepted them for what they were – an overactive imagination playing havoc with her sleep. But the visions were different. They were real, she was sure of it. She uncurled and reached across the bed for her phone. No missed calls, no texts, nothing. Not even a call from Alex and they were meant to be going to the movies that night. She dialled Alex’s number and hung up when it went to voicemail. She’d probably spoken to Chris. Maybe even seen his face and was right now giving a statement to the police. Rae covered her face with the pillow and screamed. How had things gone from bad to worse so fast? She crawled out of bed and headed downstairs, eyes avoiding the couch where the wet tea towel still lay, and went straight to her bag where it hung on the back of the door. Inside was a small notebook where she kept Ronnie’s address (thank God she didn’t rely on her phone for everything), then she opened the browser on her phone, punched in Harleybrock train station, and switched on the kettle.
An hour later she was bathed, had packed a suitcase and was dragging it downstairs when there was a thump overhead. Sunlight poured through the upstairs windows and there wasn’t a shadow in sight, but her stomach still twisted in knots as she left the suitcase where it was and crept back towards the bedroom. She stopped at the top of the stairs when there was another thud. It was coming from higher up, somewhere in the roof space. There was a hatch outside the bedroom door that led into the attic. Rae had noticed it on her first night here when it had been left askew by whoever had been up there last. It wasn’t askew now, but another thump from above confirmed that was where the noise was coming from.
A moment later she returned with a step ladder, torch and kitchen knife. The knife she placed between her teeth as she climbed the ladder. If so much as a spider jumped out at her right now then it was not going to end well for either of them. But she lifted the hatch without incident and shone the torch through the small gap. Tins of paint, that was what she saw, lots of them stacked one on top of each other, and three had fallen over – that, and a whole lot of cobwebs. She left the knife by the hatch and hoisted herself up into the cramped space. Ignoring the paint, she edged over to examine something else she’d spotted, stacked against the far wall, dusty and forgotten, but from a casual look, very well done.
The paintings reminded Rae of the portrait hanging over the fireplace at Carrion Hall, and the first one she picked up was in fact of the Hall, minus the blaze of crimson ivy and blossoming flowers. It was painted in varying shades of grey that mimicked a rundown old castle, and, coincidentally, echoed Rae’s own feelings about the place. She’d had an ill feeling about the Hall since she’d first spotted it, sitting on top of the hill like a preacher overseeing its flock and couldn’t imagine for one minute why anyone would want to stay there for fun.
She set it aside and lifted the next two, standing them side by side. These two were portraits of young women, possibly sisters by the shape of their eyes, though both very different in their own way. The first was bleak to say the least. Grey eyes looked out from beneath a pasty brow, and long, lacklustre hair clung limply to her face. She was unremarkable in every way and yet there was an air of melancholy that Rae found almost heart breaking. The second girl appeared a little older but with the same nose – slightly large and rounded at the tip – and the same sharp cheekbones. Ruby red hair billowed around her shoulders as though floating on a gust of wind and eyes the colour of freshly cut grass smiled confidently from the canvas. Her lips were red as fresh berries and her cheeks glowed with the freshness of youth. She was enchanting where the other was brooding, endearing where the other was sorrowful, and yet … for all her beauty it was the first painting that drew Rae’s eye.
She quickly sifted through the other paintings, mostly landscapes and still life, though all by the same artist it seemed. Then she found one at the back. It was smaller than the rest, thick with dust and unfinished. Rae blew on it, wafted away choking particles then shone the torch on the canvas. Another young woman, this one with brown curly hair and soft chestnut eyes that gazed down to where her hand rested on the swollen curve of her belly. She wore a wedding ring, a silver one with ruby clusters, and a gold Cartier watch, but it was what hung around her neck that made Rae gasp. A silver chain, long enough that what hung from it was mostly hidden beneath the open collar of her dress, but where the buttons bulged against her heaving bosom Rae could just make out the tip of a murky, orange crystal.
27
Dee was almost out the door when a green MG pulled up outside. An ashen faced Emma climbed out, large black bag slung over her shoulder, and an ugly grey scarf at her throat. ‘Emma, to what do I owe the pleasure?’ Dee said, though she could already guess the answer by the sour look on her face.
‘Will Chris be coming back?’ Emma said. ‘I don’t want him to see me here.’
She fiddled with her scarf and Dee could just make out the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek. ‘Not until later. Why?’
‘Can we go inside?’ She glanced over her shoulder as though the trees themselves were straining to listen to their conversation.
Dee stepped aside. ‘Be my guest.’ She closed the door and followed Emma into the living room where Emma stood in the centre, looking nervously around. ‘Can I get you a drink,’ Dee said, ‘you look like you could use one.’
‘I didn’t come here to swap pleasantries,’ Emma said, ‘I’d just as soon get this over with.’ She reached into her bag, withdrew a large brown envelope, and handed it to Dee.
Dee raised an eyebrow. ‘The agreement? You signed it?’
Emma nodded. ‘But I added a clause. If I’m not happy with your … product, or the money isn’t transferred within 48 hours, then the agreement is null and void.’
Dee didn’t need to ask why. ‘Give me a moment, will you?’ she said. A smile crept over her face as she headed down into the cellar. If she could get Emma to leave Cranston Myre, then she would have done at least one thing right. She left the agreement in the cellar and carried back a green glass bottle. It looked very much like a fancy bottle of perfume, rounded with a diamond shaped stopper and gold filigree wound around the slender bottle neck. She handed it to Emma as she returned to the living room. ‘A single drop of blood will activate it,’ she said, ‘and you can mix it with just about anything, but once done make sure John drinks all of it. This is a larger does than the one I offered you before, so the effects will last much longer – a lifetime if that’s what you want, and if you change your mind it can easily be reversed.’
Emma held the bottle like it was going to explode. ‘And you’re sure he won’t be harmed?’
‘It’s perfectly safe,’ Dee said. ‘Look. I have a cabin about two hours’ drive south from here. Nothing fancy, but it’s by the beach with no neighbours for miles around. I keep it well stocked and there’s a great fireplace to keep you warm. Why don’t I transfer half the money right now as a goodwill gesture, then you can go home, give John his medicine, and whisk him away for a couple of nights. The Hall will still be here when you get back, and if you’re happy we can conclude our agreement then.’
Emma eyed Dee suspiciously and Dee worried for a moment that she’d gone too far, seemed too eager to send Emma away. Emma glanced at the threadbare carpet and tired looking furniture. ‘You’re sure you have the money?’
‘Looks can be deceiving,’ Dee said, ‘do we have a deal?’
Emma fiddled with her scarf and seemed embarrassed when she caught Dee looking. ‘It’s the weather,’ she said, ‘I think I may be getting a chill.’
‘I didn’t ask,’ Dee said, ‘do you want the cabin, or not?’
Emma looked like she might throw up. ‘Not a word to Christopher,’ she said, as beads of sweat popped up on her forehead. ‘He wouldn’t understand.’
‘He won’t hear anything from me,’ Dee said. ‘Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?’
‘No. Why would I?’
‘You just … don’t seem yourself,’ Dee said.
‘Yes, well, it’s not every day you plan to drug someone,’ Emma said tightly. She popped the bottle into her bag, and as she did so Dee caught a glimpse of the scratches beneath her scarf. ‘Half the money by 5pm,’ she said, ‘the account number is on the purchase agreement. You can text me the address of your cabin.’
‘I can do better than that.’ Dee went to the front door where a bunch of keys hung from a hook on the wall. She took one down attached to a plastic keyring with a picture of the ocean on it. ‘Address is on the back.’
Emma took the key and nodded briefly – probably the closest she would ever come to thanking Dee – then walked out the door.
* * *
The Briar was on the other side of Dolen Forest to Dee’s house – a twenty minute drive if using the main road, quicker by foot if you knew where you were going, and Dee knew the forest very well indeed. Many years ago Richard had gifted the cottage to Louisa, thinking he’d done it out of love, of his own free will, but Dee knew that Louisa had slipped him the same tonic that Dee had just given to Emma. She also knew why Louisa wanted the cottage so badly.
The Briar sat on a ley line, a separate line to the one that ran beneath Dee’s house, but the same one that ran beneath Carrion Hall. All converged at the oak tree, but this one in particular was strong, and Dee knew Louisa had drawn heavily on it during her time at the cottage. It was also where Dee had chosen to hide the secret to obtaining the Servian Dagger.
Dee had been known as Daegan the last time she held the Servian Dagger in her hand, the same night that she had betrayed her sister by hiding away two baby girls. If she’d gone ahead with Louisa’s plan, and done as she was supposed to by delivering one of the girls to Saoirse, then maybe Louisa would still be alive today. But witnessing the birth of the prophesised child, and seeing her twin sister born only seconds later, had made Dee realise just how riddled with madness her sister really was. So she’d hidden the babies away, returned to Louisa empty handed, and lived with the consequences ever since.
Dee sensed the forbidding as she drew closer. It was a shield, a dome of protection for the ancient tree that had stood in this forest since long before Dee’s ancestors came to earth. Anyone could enter the forbidding if they knew what to do, but few seldom did. The forbidding rendered the clearing invisible, making it seem from the outside that the forest went on and on in much the same way it had by playing tricks on the mind, scrambling the brain so you may think you’re walking in a straight line, but really you’re turning left or right, avoiding the clearing altogether. The trick to get past it was simple, you only had to close your eyes and step through, but unless you already knew it was there, there was no reason to walk around with your eyes shut. Louisa had expanded the forbidding so it reached from Dee’s house as far back as the cottage, but access from the cottage would only be granted to those of Draiocht descent. For anyone else the moment you stepped from the back door into the garden confusion would ensue, nausea would overtake and a dash to the bathroom would become imminent. A drop of blood was the key. An unnecessary display of power by Louisa, but one that Dee was now grateful for as she travelled through the forest unseen.
The iron gate groaned as Dee stepped through it and she was unsurprised to find the garden had changed considerably since Louisa had owned it. Back then it had been wall to wall herbs, but now it was nothing more than a pretty courtyard used for taking tea or drinking lemonade in the sun. She was pleased to see the moon dial remained though, as did the sweet briar that climbed over the wall, and remembered well the fresh smells of bergamot, lemongrass and rosemary as she made her way towards the cottage.
On the left side of the cottage, below the window and three inches from the ground, was a stone no bigger than a tennis ball. There was a small carving in the middle, invisible unless you were looking for it, in the shape of a crescent moon. Dee removed a tin of grey powder from her bag, dipped in a small paint brush then carefully brushed round the outer edges of the stone. The powder burned through the mortar like fire through paper, so that Dee was able to free it from the wall without resistance. The stone had been hollowed out at the back and she was relieved to find the leather pouch still inside. She replaced the stone carefully, put the pouch in her pocket, and left the garden the same way she had entered.
The grazing fields were still wet with morning dew and soaked Dee’s pants to the knee as she ran up the hill towards the Hall. Chris was at the stables as Dee knew he would be, so she avoided them by ducking through the treeline to take refuge in the maze of rosebushes. Henry – an insipid young man if ever she saw one – was digging by the fountain and didn’t seem to notice as Dee hurried past. John was nowhere to be seen.
Alex’s cottage was one of two, and backed onto a row of purple rhododendrons, perfect when you needed cover from prying eyes. Alex had texted Dee the day before, asking for a few days’ leave so she could visit with a sick friend in London, and while Dee still harboured suspicions about her wily assistant, she had been only too glad to give it, especially now, as she crouched low behind the purple flowers, checking that the coast was clear.
John’s cottage was right next door, and Dee could hear yelling coming from inside as she slipped the key into Alex’s lock. Evie had given Dee a key when they were friends, with the promise that Dee could use the cottage whenever she wanted. She just hoped that in all these years the locks hadn’t been changed. But the door opened with ease and Dee breathed a sigh of relief as she closed it softly behind her. She crept through the kitchen to the front room, almost jumping out of her skin when something solid hit the wall to her left. She heard raised voices again, a man and a woman, then all went silent. She only hoped it wasn’t Emma, trying and failing to give John the potion.
Dee headed for the corner of the room, to just below the window where a small TV sat on a wooden cabinet. She pulled the cabinet out, tore up the carpet and removed a small crowbar from her bag. The floorboard offered little by way of resistance and she pried it loose with ease, almost crying with relief when her hand found what it was looking for. The box was a foot long and six inches wide and was made from the wood of an alder tree. It was engraved with markings of protection – the three symbols of Aster, namely the Triquetra – a knot of three overlapping, interconnected arcs representing the mind, body and soul. The ankh – a cross with an oval loop in place of the upper bar, representing life, immortality and eternal life, and the Triple Moon – the waxing, full, and waning moons close together and representing past, present and future. All three symbols had been used on Earth for centuries, but all three originated from Aster.
