Thistle Witch, page 16
part #1 of Anaïs Blue Series
Anaïs ignored the librarian and turned to face him. ‘Yes, what is it?’
‘We’re not alone.’
He pointed through one of the side windows and Anaïs followed the line of his finger. The snow made it easier to track the curve of the road. It made a wide sweep and climbed a nearby hill. On the crown of the hill another car had stopped. It was a large, modern four-wheel-drive. Its front doors were open and spread like wings at its side. The vehicle looked like a huge black bird perched on the crest of the hill. Its occupants had climbed out and were surveying the valley beneath them. Unfortunately, it was now the all-too-familiar sight of a man dressed completely in black and a rather large dog.
Anaïs swore. The librarian went to scold her and decided against it. She saw the fear in the child’s eyes. She craned her neck to see out the side window and followed the witch’s gaze. In stunned silence all three of them watched the movement on the hilltop.
The Inquisitor pulled what appeared to be a fob watch out of the folds of his coat. He flipped its cover open and studied it. It was no watch; it was a form of compass. On its face a gold needle swung left and right and then settled. There were several symbols on its circumference. None of them indicated direction.
The Inquisitor turned his body until the point of the needle lined up with one particular emblem. It was the hieroglyph of the goddess Isis. He lifted his head and traced a line from the point of the needle. His eyes followed the road down the hill and settled on a Morris Minor parked near an old farmhouse.
The three occupants of the car stared out the side window and straight into the Inquisitor’s scrutinising eyes. He scanned the little car. Anaïs’s face was pressed up to her window. There was a moment when her eyes locked with his and she watched in stupefaction as his expression changed. One of his eyebrows rose. He snapped the compass case shut, shoved it in his pocket and barked at the dog. They both leapt into the vehicle.
Anaïs spun in her seat and screamed at the librarian, ‘Go!’
She turned and growled at Anaïs, ‘Please don’t yell at me. And don't go me.’ She tried to stick a finger in her ear but was prevent from doing so by her manicured fingernail. ‘I’ll go when I’m good and ready.’
She flexed her fingers and calmly turned the ignition on the little car. There was an unsettling moment of silence, the engine rasped and whined and then burst reassuringly into life. The librarian grinned. She gripped the steering wheel with determination, straightened herself in her seat, and slotted the gear lever into first. The wheels spun momentarily, burying themselves in the snow before finding traction on the tarmac beneath. Fortunately, the librarian had the benefit of foresight and had relieved the farmer of a set of snow chains.
On the crest of the hill the four-wheel-drive had better traction but was hampered by its size. The Inquisitor had to skilfully negotiated its bulk between the snow-laden hedgerows. It required all his concentration. The vehicle’s side mirrors clipped every twig and branch but somehow remained intact. He built up speed and let the vehicle glide smoothly around the long curve down the hill. He made it successfully down into the valley.
Once there, the road changed direction, suddenly surprising him. He fought with the steering wheel on the slippery surface. The back end of the vehicle swung out. He swiftly flicked it back. Speeding along the floor of the valley, he no longer had a clear view of the road ahead. Great white globs of snow-covered trees and bushes obscured his view on either side. The narrow road opened out at the entrance to the farm but didn’t give him enough time to avoid the object in his path, nor sufficient time to slow the four-wheel-drive.
At the last minute he saw the obstacle and planted both feet on the brake pedal. The back end of the vehicle flew out once again and it slewed sideways. Lifting his hands from the wheel he covered his face with both arms and braced himself for the impact. The four-wheel-drive ploughed into the large rear wheel of the farmer’s tractor.
The occupants of the Morris Minor were unaware of their good fortune. By the time the Inquisitor had extracted himself and his dented vehicle from the tractor, and decided he could continue, they were miles away.
CAR TROUBLE
The Morris Minor spluttered and coughed. The librarian pumped the accelerator but it was pointless and only served to make the car lurch down the road. Eventually it ground to a shuddering halt and threw them all forward in their seats.
The librarian slammed her fists down on the steering wheel. ‘Damn!’
Anaïs glared at her. ‘What happened?’
Immaculate Phlox took a deep breath and tapped the glass cover of the speedometer with a polished fingernail. ‘No fuel.’
‘No fuel? Why didn’t you keep an eye on it?’
With irritation the librarian replied through clenched teeth. ‘I was otherwise occupied. There was a little thing about a man and a dog chasing us.’
Anaïs softened. ‘Sorry.’
‘Can you still see them?’
Anaïs pulled out her promptuary and opened it. ‘Map,’ she said. The book obliged.
Anaïs studied the map carefully. ‘Strange, I only see one dot, the original one. The other one has disappeared.’
‘Maybe they’re gone,’ said Immi.
‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Prince, leaning forward in his seat and giving the librarian a start.
She snapped at him. ‘Oh, you’re still here?’
Prince chose to ignore her. ‘Maybe we can only see them when they’re nearby?’
Anaïs swung around in her seat to face him. ‘I hope you’re right. Although it’s a bit of a worry that we can’t track their movements.’
‘Hopefully, if we can’t see them, then they can’t see us.’
Anaïs closed the promptuary. ‘Yes, hopefully, but I don’t think we can rely on that. We’ve got to keep moving.’
‘Exactly. I don’t know what he said but I agree with you,’ said the librarian. ‘Maybe one day you can let me in on your conversation.’ She opened her door. ‘I’m going for fuel. We passed a service station not far back. That is, unless you have some trick you can perform?’
Anaïs shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. The internal combustion engine is not my speciality.’
The librarian grabbed the roof of the car. Grunting, she used it to leverage herself up and out of the vehicle. Once she had extracted herself she stood next to the car puffing from the exertion. She leant down and stuck her head back in the vehicle. ‘Pity. I would have hoped a witch would be good for something.’
Anaïs shrugged.
The librarian sighed. ‘Fine, I’ll be right back then. Anyone care for a walk?’
There was no response from the car’s occupants. The librarian pulled her bulky coat tightly around her torso. In frustration she snarled at them, ‘You two have fun then. Don’t bother concerning yourselves with me.’
She slammed her door, spun around brusquely and stomped back down the road.
Anaïs watched her leave through the rear vision mirror until Prince obstructed her view.
‘She’s a bundle of laughs,’ he quipped from the backseat.
Anaïs grinned. ‘Yeah, she’s a real pleasure to be around.’
Prince flashed her a smile. ‘You can certainly pick them.’
‘I wish it was up to me. I don’t think I’m in charge of the picking department. It’s the other way around. Everyone seems to pick me.’ She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. Wearily, she expelled air in a long, slow sigh. ‘I’m really tired. Think I’ll try to get some rest while she’s gone.’ She turned sideways in her seat and balance her head between the backrest and her knees.
‘I’ll keep watch,’ said Prince.
‘You do that,’ murmured Anaïs and yawned.
Prince reached forward and stroked her head. Instantly he was thrown back in his seat.
There were lights everywhere. People were cheering. They surrounded him on all sides. He heard the drawl of his own voice graciously thanking them. He looked down at his body. He was clothed entirely in skin-tight black leather. An acoustic guitar rested on one leg. He stroked its strings.
‘Thank you very much,’ he heard himself say again. ‘This one’s for my little girl.’
He put down the guitar and picked up a silver microphone. He was surprised how heavy it was. A solid weight, its size disguised its true mass. Using the cable attached to it, he held it secure with one hand and let it roll around in the open palm of his other. The microphone felt like a weapon. He juggled it and threw it in the air. The cable tightly coiled around his hand like a stockman’s whip and he used it to guide the microphone back to his hand.
His palms were sweaty. In fact, he felt wet all over, completely soaked in perspiration. The leather clung to his body and pulled at his skin when he moved. It was very hot. The lights beating down from above were intense. He squinted and peered out under their glow, trying to make out the crowd. He could see their bodies but their faces were totally obscured by the light.
Music began to play. A lush crescendo of orchestral strings. He heard himself begin to sing. The experience was odd. It was as if he was only sharing the body he possessed and had very little command over it. His body was a vehicle and he was a passenger on the inside looking out, along for the ride. He could only understand fragments of the text that was being sung. He was singing something about a light burning brighter.
He sensed his voice more than he heard it. It was beautiful. Warm. Rich. Powerful and sonorous. It rose from deep within his core. There was an almighty passion behind it. It drove him on, the voice a force unto itself. The fervour inside grew as he continued to sing. It cocooned him. It buoyed him. Lifted him up and released him. He felt an enormous sense of freedom. A flower petal spinning on the surface of water. He felt alive.
He tried to draw in a breath, but there was no air, not even a wisp of wind. He choked. Then his head began to swim. He couldn’t focus anymore. The sweat on his brow ran down over his eyelids and obscured everything. The bright light remained but the crowd was gone. He was alone. In a white room. Its walls glistened. He felt himself falling.
Then he saw tiles. Neat, bleached squares of porcelain. They rushed up at him as he fell towards the floor. He felt a tremendous shot of jarring pain as his head connected with the tiles. His skull bounced once and struck the floor a second time. He grimaced. He tried to move but couldn’t. Where previously he’d had some minor control over his body, he now had none. His corpse was limp and failed to respond to the signals he tried to send it. He exhaled, managing to expel a breath. He forced his chest to expand and sucked but nothing filled his lungs. Only emptiness.
A shroud of darkness descended. The last thing he saw, as everything faded to black, was mould growing on the underside of a bathtub.
ON TARGET
The blip had increased in size. They were very close to its source.
It had been a long drive and night had already fallen by the time they arrived on the coast of Cornwall. They had practically crossed the entire country from east to west in a day. Not only had they travelled a great distance but they had also moved into another climate zone.
The temperature hadn’t risen a great deal but there was now no snow, only rain and wind. It whipped off the ocean and buffeted the car as they drove along the coastal road. The sea was inhospitable, choppy and rough. White peaks stood out on the crests of waves like the snow-decked hills they had left behind.
After leaving the farm they had skirted north around London. They followed directions provided by the promptuary. It was surprisingly good at avoiding traffic jams.
After the refuelling of the car, Anaïs and the librarian had maintained a tense silence. Eventually, they both realised it was not healthy to harbour irritation. They had tentatively begun to make conversation and established a sort of uneasy truce. Prince sat for most the journey staring out the window and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The vision continued to haunt him and he vainly tried to make sense of it.
Anaïs and Immi had questioned why the Inquisitor had stopped following them, but the less they thought about it the better. They had to keep moving. They had discussed what they would do if they saw him again. They couldn’t address that concern. Individually they hoped their good fortune would continue, although deep down they both knew it would eventually run out.
Prince didn’t want to think about it and stayed out of the discussions. He didn’t want to upset either of the women. He was fully dependant on both of them to get him to the source of the signal. He had no idea what secret it held but the guidance from the promptuary was the only real magic Anaïs possessed. He had to trust it, just as he had trusted her.
He hoped that, if and when it came to it, she would have the power to stand up to the stranger. He convinced himself that when the time came, her powers would be enough.
Lizard was not a big town. It was practically deserted as they pulled into the centre. The rain had turned to spray and the beam of the nearby lighthouse cut through it. The beam of light swept across the horizon and presented an eerie backdrop in the blackened sky behind the houses as they cruised through the village.
The librarian stopped the little car and turned to Anaïs. ‘Now what?’
Anaïs consulted her promptuary. ‘It’s moving, but it’s very close.’
‘Ok, then we’ll watch and wait,’ said Immaculate Phlox. ‘With any luck it will find us.’
The light from the promptuary was the only light in the car. It lit up Anaïs’s face as she concentrated on it. The librarian leant over her, trying to make out an image on the screen, but only Anaïs could read the contents of her own handbook. Even Prince leant over the seat. He studied the face of the small girl for a sign. The three of them huddled around the little book as if it was a campfire. Under the canopy of the stormy darkness it provided some comfort. It flickered on their faces like candlelight.
Anaïs suddenly stopped breathing. She held her breath for an extraordinarily long time and then slowly exhaled. She looked up, leant forward in her seat and wiped the condensation from the windscreen.
‘There,’ she said.
They followed her line of sight. A car had stopped on the opposite side of the road. A woman got out and popped an umbrella. She fought to stop it flying away in the wind.
Anaïs looked down at the handbook and then out the window.
‘It’s her,’ she said.
The force that stuck the rear of the Morris Minor spun it in a complete circle. As it turned, the little car careened across the wet, slippery road in a direct trajectory towards the woman. She dropped her umbrella and flattened herself against her own vehicle as the Morris Minor slewed past her. It bounced off a high gutter further down the road, snapping its axle in the process. Its occupants were thrown around inside like dice in a cup. It crashed back down onto the cobblestoned street, lost its momentum and slid slowly to stop against another parked car. Its one remaining headlight lit up where it had come from.
On one side of the road the woman looked down at the crushed umbrella at her feet. She was shaking all over and clasped her chest to calm her beating heart. On the other side, where the Morris Minor had stood, was a new but beaten-up four-wheel-drive. One of its front fenders had been completely ripped off and there was an enormous dent in the bodywork where it had connected with the tractor. A large dog scrabbled through its broken windscreen and perched itself on the bonnet. Even with the noise of the wind its claws could still be heard scraping on the metal. The rain fell like a heavy curtain.
CAPTURED
Prince was pinned with his back to the wall. The massive hound had its paws on his chest, its hot breath on his face. Prince could feel it blasting his features like a hot-air gun. And he could smell it, the stench of death.
Anaïs was shocked. The whole time she had thought the man and his dog were after her. It now seemed that their goal had always been Prince.
The damaged rear door of the Morris Minor had fallen off when the car had come to rest. It had been all too much for the old vehicle. Its front bumper rested on the ground, its axle broken from the impact with the gutter. It pulled a sad face with its crumpled grill.
The hound had launched itself from the bonnet of the four-wheel-drive and bounded across the road towards them, its sharp claws clattering on the cobblestones. Anaïs had watched in horror as it had dragged Prince from the back seat of their vehicle like a ragdoll. Prince had landed on top of the dog as they crashed to the ground beside the car. The impact caused the dog to involuntarily release its grip on him. Prince had managed to shake himself loose and sprint across the road. The dog had untangled its legs and charged after him. It quickly caught up to Prince and used the weight of its body to throw the shade off balance. Prince had been spun around, stumbled backwards and fallen heavily against the ancient stone wall of a house. Before he could recover, the dog had stood erect on its hind legs and used its considerable mass to press the shade hard up against the wall.
As the dog dug its claws deeper into Prince’s chest, his disguise flickered and dematerialised, revealing the real him. He turned his face to one side and pulled it away in an effort to keep it out of reach of the hound’s sharp fangs. They dripped with steaming saliva.
The dog’s claws drove into his chest like needles. He could feel every one of them. In fact, he could feel everything. It had been a long time since he had felt pain. Now it was there, it was excruciating. He felt the entire weight of the animal pressing against him. Had it been necessary for him to breathe, its sheer bulk would have prevented him from filling his lungs.
Anaïs watched helplessly as the Inquisitor extracted himself from his damaged vehicle and march purposely across the road. The wind tugged at his long coat. The rain was heavy now and beat down on his bald head. It ran in rivulets over his shaved skull and down his face. He blinked to clear his eyes.
