Blood Rage, page 10
“Not a word,” I promise.
Rayne rolls her eyes and heads towards the kitchen.
I hear the fridge open and know she’s loading up a cool box to take some blood supplies for the trip, so I take the chance to cuddle Norma close.
“Best behaviour, okay, baby?”
“Nika?”
“We’re on an important mission, and I won’t take you to the cave sprites, but you have to sit in the back of the van.”
“Ka, dan. Son, da.”
“Fine with me. But you have to sit in my lap.”
“Nik-ika.”
Oh. I’ve not heard that one before. I pet her scaly head slowly, scratching that area beneath her chin where the pocket flap rests.
She croons and chitters at me, before resting, lowering her head to her front legs.
While it isn’t strange for Norma to join me on car journeys, one as long as this is going to be rough on her. Part of me reconsiders the idea of bringing her at all, but the rest has noticed how very clingy she has become over the past few weeks.
While the imprint has always left my pet keen to be near my side, just lately she has been underfoot so much more. Or pulling at my bedsheets, fussing with my hair, sleeping in my dirty clothes. I’ve no idea why, but maybe with so much else going on this isn’t the time to figure it out.
I leave her comfortably on my shoulder and make a quick call to Pippa to let her know we’ll be gone for a few days.
She is absent on the phone, barely listening. I have to repeat myself several times just so I can be sure she understands. By the time the call is done, Rayne has packed up her supplies and we’re good to go.
I can’t help smiling as we head out to the van where Duo and Solo are already waiting. The vehicle is SPEAR issue, meaning it has a safe space for Rayne should we get caught out by sunrise, as well as communication lines that will serve us and allow us to report back to SPEAR. The windows are shatter- and scratch-proof, the engine far more powerful than anything required for casual day-to-day driving. Beneath the seats in the back are secure storage for weapons and survival gear, including a tent and several sleeping bags. There’s a lidded cabinet with a chilled interior between the two seats in the front.
Perfect.
The twins seem to be in the middle of some hand-based guessing game rather like rock paper scissors. There are other gestures I don’t recognise, though, which means it takes me a moment not only to figure out who has won but what they are playing for.
Duo leaps into the driver’s seat with a triumphant grin, while Solo schlumps his way to the passenger side with his head bowed.
Seeing them like this, I’m struck by how young they are, despite their maturity and power.
Without asking, Rayne and I take the back, securing both our bags and ourselves in place. The journey is a long one for us, about two hours, maybe three, so I take the chance to lean and rest my head in Rayne’s lap. No, she doesn’t need sleep, but I sure would appreciate it.
The general lack of sleep, coupled with the nightmares, has left its mark on me, that’s for sure.
Norma settles herself into the space between my arm and chest, making a small, comfy resting spot.
“All aboard, ladies.” Duo grins. “We’re off. Keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times unless an angry—”
“Werewolf,” Solo cuts in.
“I was going to say troll.”
“Werewolf is better. We’re far more dangerous than a troll.”
“No way. Trolls are so big and powerful…”
“So are we, when we shift.”
“When we shift.” Duo nods sagely. “But until then, we—the pair of us, I mean—are little weaklings with better hair than common sense.”
Solo dashes his fingers through the vibrant red of his hair. “It is pretty good. But it’s fine—if you’re worried, I’ll protect you.”
“Aren’t I the one more likely to take care of you?”
As the brothers continue to bicker, Rayne flicks a glance down at me. Though she says nothing, I agree entirely with the sentiment building in her eyes. It’s going to be a long drive.
* * *
The twins don’t stop for the entire journey. Not once. From bickering to singing to reminiscing to play-fighting and back to bickering again, the werewolves in the front seat chatter non-stop.
Once or twice I might have fallen asleep, but I wake swiftly each time when a loud bark of laughter or grunt of annoyance pierces the still of the car. Norma doesn’t budge, tucked up against my chest, gently snoring, her tiny chest billowing with each breath.
Beneath me, Rayne has helped herself to Shakka’s flash drive and studies the contents via a small handheld device. Each time I wake, she relays a little more information to me, including sketches of what Shakka believes the Blade to look like.
Most of it is history, rather than anything I can use. Shakka has clearly been investigating this artifact for many years, and his notes include plenty of eyewitness accounts, speculation, and supposed sightings.
From what he writes, this area of the country is probably about right for where the Blade might be now. But the world has changed so much since the time when the likes of Glal walked freely.
What if there’s nothing to be found?
We talk about it quietly, but Rayne has no comfort for me. Aside from reassurance that we’ll do our best, there really isn’t more we can do.
So she allows me to rest. But the drive isn’t particularly restful. Not least Duo and Solo’s constant chatter is a distraction, but each time I do manage to close my eyes, I see flashes of black smoke and twin spots of Day-Glo yellow, gleaming through the darkness. I can’t rest. I can’t settle, and I can’t stop seeing that thing crawl out of my father’s body.
I do my best to hold it in, or at least be subtle about the nightmarish visions, but I know Rayne will have some questions for me once we leave the van. Her free hand rests lightly on my back, at first as somewhere easy to rest, but gradually as a comforting presence. She rubs gently at my spine each time I wake, not speaking, just being there.
I’m grateful. The last thing I want to do is explain all this to the young wolves, but I don’t especially want to explain it to her either. So much for keeping it secret. I should have known better.
Somehow Duo turns the three hour drive into one and a half. I know at this time of night traffic must be lighter and the roads freer, but they’re still narrow country lanes designed for lower speeds. So the only conclusion I come to is that he’s crazy. Instead of dwelling on how fast we must have been travelling, I sit up and stretch to work some of the knots out of my back.
Norma yawns and wakes enough to follow, crawling up my body so she can curl up on my head.
The sky is still dark as Duo guides the van towards a tall, white sign, lit from beneath with several spotlights. It reads Welcome to Moarwell, Please Drive Safely in clear, bold letters of blue, red, and green. Beneath the sign are several clusters of flowers, all closed for the night.
Beyond the sign, the village spreads out before us like something from the back of a Christmas card or chocolate box.
The single road winds down the middle of a double line of houses which would likely be described as cosy or quaint. To me, they’re simply tiny. Several metres on, the road branches into two to surround a wide green area with a tall tree in the centre. On the other side, the road joins again only to split shortly after into three. One leads further on our current path and presumably out of the village, and the other two, to the left and right, where they appear to loop around the back of the houses.
Only as we reach the other side do I realise that not all the buildings are houses. At least one of them is a pub, while another is clearly a church. I recognise it from the news reports of the day before, from the stained-glass windows, now dim and gloomy in the darkness, and the lines of scaffolding all over the front. Some have already been removed, from what I can tell, but on the far side, some of the structure remains.
A handful more are probably shops, though that’s more difficult to distinguish in this light.
The rest I can’t see clearly because the few street lamps lighting the area are dim, if lit at all.
A small cat watches us from atop a wall near the pub, and more than once I spy curtains twitching. There is no one on the streets at all, but for an owl I hear hooting in a tree some distance away.
Past the green, the centremost road crosses a small river by way of a low bridge, and then, more buildings continue. These ones are set further back from the road with cute gardens bursting with flowers, ceramic gnomes, and wind chimes.
This place truly is tiny.
And yet, I’m excited.
Now that we’re here, I’m sure Rayne’s worry is unfounded. It’s not as though I’ve never been to a small village before. During my childhood, we would often take camping trips and caravan holidays to small, picturesque places like this. Once Pippa had been invited to the birthday party of one of her pen friends that took place on a village green very much like the one in the centre of the split roads.
Frankly, after the heaps of tests and the noise of Angbec, part of me grows excited that this might feel more like a holiday than work.
Duo slows the van to a crawl and begins scanning the buildings up ahead. I know he’s searching for numbers, but my eyesight isn’t good enough to lend a hand. Not in this darkness anyway.
After a moment, Rayne points ahead to a slightly wider, taller building on the right. The street lights there are much brighter, enough for me to see the words Kidson Bed and Breakfast in fine, elegant lettering on a narrow sign waving gently in the breeze.
The tiniest of slip roads leads around the side of the building towards an abandoned parking area. In it are several piles of wooden logs, a dilapidated shed, and a fenced-off garden with gaudy plastic furniture turned down for the night. When Duo turns off the engine, the silence of it all is a little daunting.
I’m first out of the van, eager to stretch my legs.
Norma immediately takes off from my head and flies a few quick laps around the small space. She stays close but seems fascinated by the area, gently chittering her interest as she goes.
When Rayne follows, she carries all the bags, with especial care given to the travel pod she will spend her days in. Though I can’t see her well, her shoulders are high and her hands twitching. I grasp at them, holding tight with my own.
“You’re okay,” I whisper.
She doesn’t look at me. Instead her gaze is focused on the garden beyond the fence and, maybe, the tree on the far side of it. “I used to play in there.” Her voice is haunted. “There used to be a tree house in the old oak back there. Gone now, though.”
I squeeze her fingers. “Are you going to be all right?”
“I have to be.”
Chapter Twelve
A door creaks open behind us. A bright spill of warm yellow light lands on the ground and fills the air with the welcome brightness. “Are you the soldiers?” a small voice murmurs.
Solo slides gracefully from the van and bumps his door closed with his hip. “We’re the party of four you’re expecting if that’s what you mean.” His voice is low and cool.
“Oh.” The owner of the voice continues to hesitate inside the door, just out of sight. “Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. Yes, visitors.”
“Tourists,” Duo adds, taking care to emphasise the explicit term we instructed them to use. He locks the van, and it gives a little bleep of confirmation. Two more bags dangle easily from his grip.
“Oh, of course. Yes. Tourists. Very hush-hush and secret and all that, isn’t it? Well, do come in. I’ve already prepared your rooms. You should be able to settle in for a day of, uh, touring tomorrow.”
As I guide Rayne towards the door, at last I’m able to see the figure half hidden on the other side of it.
A woman, sixty if she’s a day, with the wildest, curliest grey hair I’ve ever seen. It forms a huge cloud around her face and shoulders and reaches as far as her elbows. The thick mass is studded with dozens of little charms, sea shells, and crystals, and seems to be winding free of what might have been a braid. A pair of glasses dangle and rest awkwardly on top of the dozens upon dozens of beaded necklaces clattering against her chest. She even wears gloves, long, white ones that reach past her elbows. Ah. Of course.
Rayne finally releases my hand and steps forward. “Mrs. Bristow?”
She flaps a hand around. “Please, call me Fiona. That Mrs. nonsense makes me feel so old.”
“Fiona, then.” I step fully into the light and through the door. “Nice to meet you.”
“No, no, nice to meet you. I’m too old for jail, child, so a chance to help you is exactly what I needed. Imagine, nine months for carrying faerie dust. Whoever heard of such a thing?”
A little cough from Rayne. “Well, it is illegal.”
“Not the way I use it. I wasn’t hurting anybody.”
I step across Rayne’s attempt to argue. Given her police background before becoming a SPEAR, I know exactly how she feels about drugs of any sort. “Well, we’re grateful. Did you say the rooms were ready?”
“Yes.” Suitably distracted, Fiona steps further back to allow us fully into the rear of the building.
With the five of us all crowded near the door, it is cramped and uncomfortable and nothing exciting to look at. Just a kitchen. A large one, with lots of counters and appliances cramped into it. Ahead of us is another door, leading deeper into the house, and to the right a secure door with a large padlock dangling beneath the handle.
A moment later, Norma dives through the open door and crash-lands on the back of my neck, yelling hoarsely.
I grab her and her beak, to trap it shut, while Fiona takes a startled step back.
“Good heavens, what’s that?”
“Nika—”
I pinch harder. “This is Norma. She’s a pet.”
“Fine, but what is she?”
Solo snorts. “A pest.”
Clearly that doesn’t help.
“Norma is a Class A minibeast known as a chittarik.” Rayne speaks as though rattling off a script. “They’re mostly harmless with an intelligence level said to match that of intelligent dogs.”
“Will she bite?”
I hold Norma a little tighter. Just in case. “No. She doesn’t like men all that much, but generally she’s friendly. Protective, but friendly.”
As if knowing we’re speaking about her, Norma stills her wriggling and regards Fiona carefully through one beady black eye. After a moment of cool study, she relaxes entirely in my arms, even folding her wings down.
I risk releasing her beak.
“Kar, son-son?”
“This is Fiona,” I tell her. “A friend. Be nice.”
“Son. Da.”
Fair enough. That’s probably the best we’re going to get right now.
Fiona stares at Norma for a few more moments before visibly shaking herself back to her task. Though she speaks clearly, I see her, more than once, glance back at the winged, scaly creature nestled in my arms.
“You lads”—she points at the wolves—“have a space upstairs. If you walk straight up and follow the landing to the right, you’ll find a room that looks out over the back.” She points over her shoulder towards the parking area. “The bathroom will be through the opposite door on the left.”
Duo looks a question at me.
I nod and he leads Solo through the door and up the stairs just visible beyond. Their footfalls are light and quick, and by the time they are out of sight, I can barely hear them moving across the upper floor. Werewolf stealth is certainly something to behold. Or not, as the case may be.
“As for you, ladies, your, uh, captain said I should house you somewhere with no windows.”
Rayne nods. “That’s right.”
Fiona looks offended. “Well I don’t know why anybody would want that—Moarwell is so pretty at this time of year—but I don’t have rooms like that.”
Rayne grips more tightly at her travelling pod.
“You’ll have to use my scrying space, which is down in the basement. So do excuse all my equipment, child, but it was rather last minute, you understand.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.” I address my words to Fiona, but I mean them mostly for Rayne, who looks more horrified than ever.
Fiona frees her glasses from the clutches of her many necklaces and plants them daintily on her face. They make her pale eyes abruptly huge and owl-like, showing off little clumps of poorly applied mascara across her lashes. That done, she pulls a huge bunch of keys from somewhere on her dress and begins to count them out.
“Garden, front door, pantry, car, shed, safe, side door, office?…no, not office, that’s the other shed. Bike lock, back door, guest room—oh, this one is the office—second guest room…”
I sigh. This is going to take a while.
* * *
After several false starts, Fiona finds the correct key to fit the padlock on the door to her side. She whisks it open with a flourish and points down a narrow set of wooden stairs lined with twinkling lights. A dreamcatcher hangs on the inside of the door, as well as a clear crystal on a long chain. She spies me looking and draws her shoulders back.
“I know what you must think of me, but sometimes a woman must put on a show to be taken seriously. I’m sure you understand the world is different to what it used to be, but not everybody does.” She frowns. “If I have to wear this ridiculous nonsense in my hair and dress my workroom like some medieval fortune teller, I’ll do it, child. I do what must be done.”
