Ruins Page 5

  Dawn struggled to her feet. Her muscles – tight after the run – felt ready to snap, but she had to get away.

  “Going somewhere?” the other girl asked.

  Dawn tried to ignore her. She turned to start up the hill, but a hand flashed out and pushed her. She staggered backward, tripping over the tree’s roots and hitting the ground. The air left her lungs in a painful huff.

  The other girl was an outline in front of the setting sun. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’ve been following me,” she snarled coldly.

  Tears sprung to Dawn’s eyes. She couldn’t catch her breath. Couldn’t get up. She wanted to curl into a ball and disappear.

  “Who are you?” the other girl demanded. “Why you following me?”

  Dawn struggled, remembered how to push her hands against the ground, heaved herself up.

  A foot buried itself in her shoulder and she was forced back into the dirt.

  “Please,” Dawn mumbled.

  “HEY!”

  A voice rang over the park. Dawn strained to find its owner and spotted a man by the play area. The park’s caretaker.

  “She’s okay!” the other girl called airily. “She tripped, but she’s okay!”

  She grabbed Dawn’s arm roughly and dragged her to her feet.

  “You weigh a ton.”

  Dawn tried to get away, but the other girl’s grip tightened. She drew Dawn closer; she smelled like incense and something fusty. “I catch you spying on me again, you’re dead,” she whispered in her ear. Then she let go.

  Dawn staggered away. She pulled the straps of her backpack tight at the shoulders and hurried over the grass before the other girl could change her mind.

  Could’ve been worse, she thought. At least she didn’t spot the camera.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Downstairs

  THE MORRIS MINOR RUMBLED DOWN THE country lane. Nicholas peered out the window as if seeing the countryside for the first time. Green fields rushed by in a dazzling blur and Nicholas thought this must be how people felt when they’d been released from jail or hospital. He’d been cooped up in Hallow House for what felt like so long, he’d almost forgotten there was more to the world than a crumbling old mansion.

  Summer had returned in all its suffocating glory. Even in just shorts and a T-shirt, he was boiling. He’d slept restlessly, Jessica and Esus’s words somersaulting in his head. Could everything they’d said be true? That he was meant to resurrect the Trinity? And could some mystery girl really help? Nicholas felt like something had taken a bite out of him.

  His present discomfort was nothing compared to Isabel’s, though. He smiled faintly, watching the cat in the rear-view mirror. She clung to the back seat, ears flat against her skull.

  “Just go easy on the upholstery there,” Sam said to the animal’s grumpy reflection. Isabel’s eyes narrowed into slits.

  “Just think of it as a cart being drawn by invisible horses,” Nicholas told her.

  “How does it move?” Isabel demanded.

  “Magic,” Sam and Nicholas replied in unison.

  “Infernal contraption,” Isabel muttered, stumbling as they turned a corner.

  Sam flipped the visor down to shield his eyes from the sun. Nicholas did the same and peered at the old man. He’d barely seen him since all of this had begun. They’d not had time to talk after the festival. The last time they’d talked properly was on the bus, and that hadn’t exactly gone well – especially as Sam had evaded all of his questions.

  “Sentinels, huh?” Nicholas murmured.

  Sam concentrated on the road. He nodded.

  “And demons.”

  Nothing.

  “And her.” Nicholas jabbed his thumb at the creature fixed rigidly to the backseat.

  “Yes,” Sam breathed.

  “Would’ve been nice to have had a head’s up,” Nicholas said.

  “Nicholas–”

  “I know, I know. I get it. Big secrets and blah blah blah. Still can’t get my head around it, though. My parents. They... they were, you know...”

  “Indeed,” Sam said. “Just as their parents were before them, and theirs before them before that. It’s a birthright. We know things that other people don’t and it’s our duty to keep them safe.”

  “They all looked so... ordinary,” Nicholas said, recalling the Festival of Fire. “Last night. All the others.”

  “Ordinary!” Isabel snorted. “The gall of it. Ordinary people do extraordinary things every day. What were you expecting? Suits of armour?”

  Sam chuckled. He winked at Nicholas. “But more seriously, that’s partly the point. We’re supposed to look ordinary. When a Sentinel comes of age, she or he has two options: enlisting with special operations based on a particular skill, or being assigned to what’s commonly called the mortal sector. We couldn’t exactly go unnoticed there if we looked like what’s his name, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mortal sector workers like me and your parents are, for lack of a better term, ground-level spies. Your father was a publisher, but he also served as a Sentinel, watching for signs of emergent evil. You’d be surprised where the cracks appear.”

  Nicholas nearly scoffed at the idea of his parents as spies.

  “And the special operations?” he asked.

  “There are Sensitives,” Sam explained. “Or those particularly adept at research. There are experts on the Trinity and mythological profiles. The most physically capable often become part of an elite set of Hunters. Our friend Lash is of that crop.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Nicholas muttered, glowering at the mention of Jessica’s new bodyguard. What about Jessica, though? She’d been the leader of the Sentinels for five-hundred years. Had she ever left Hallow House? She’d said it was protected by her magic. Perhaps that prevented her from leaving; she couldn’t abandon ship. She’s not exactly stable, either, Nicholas thought. Was Jessica confined to Hallow House for her own safety? Or was the world a safer place with her locked away in there?

  He shook himself free of his thoughts. “Wouldn’t it make more sense just to get it out in the open? Let the world deal with demons and all that bad stuff? Surely having the army on your side would be a bonus.”

  “You’re assuming it’s never been attempted,” Sam said.

  “It has?”

  “Of course. On many occasions.” Sam squeezed the steering wheel between liver-spotted hands. “There are those who believe it should all be out in the open.”

  “Preposterous,” Isabel spat.

  “It has been tried,” Sam continued. “The last time I know of was in 1980. A town in North Yorkshire. There was something in the water. A dead jaruka demon was rotting in a reservoir and contaminated the water supply. Hundreds fell ill. The authorities were called in and the cadaver was discovered by the national health body, aided by local Sentinels who had infiltrated the water company. Instead of revealing the jaruka and causing an international catastrophe, the authorities stamped on the story. It never leaked to the press and it was never recorded in any official documents. The body was destroyed and the authorities moved on.” Sam paused, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, there are people in the know. People high up. There have been far too many occurrences for them not to be aware. But they’ve enough on their plate as it is. As long as somebody’s dealing with the problem, that’s good enough for them. Fewer dirty hands and far less paper work.”

  Nicholas’s head felt like the whirring drum in a washing machine. “But... that’s nuts! Why didn’t anybody try again? Who did they speak to? It doesn’t make any sense that they’d just ignore evidence like that.”

  “That’s the way it is.”

  “Child.” A feline voice probed from the backseat. “Man is a creature twisted into knots by fear. If a blind eye can be turned, you can rest assured it will be. Never was there a being more self-serving than Man. Nor quick to bury a truth too difficult to bear.”

  Sam laughed. “To put it lightly.”

  Nicholas slumped in
his seat. “I’ll never understand any of this.”

  “In time,” Sam said. “Once we begin training...”

  “That’s another thing,” Nicholas interrupted. “What exactly is this training going to involve?” He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Was he going to have to jump through flaming hoops and track demons? Shave his head like they did in the army and navigate back from some remote spot using only the sun’s position in the sky and his own wits?

  “Your training has already begun,” Sam said. “Or it will today. Best way to learn is by doing. You’ll help with the Snelling investigation.”

  “You think investigating Snelling will help you find out what happened to the Sentinels in Cambridge? The ones who got turned?” Nicholas asked. Just saying the name made him want to spit. The shopkeeper he’d befriended in Orville – the one he’d assumed was another Sentinel – had been nothing but a duplicitous fraud. Nicholas was glad he was dead. He rubbed his chest, remembering the concussive blast that had barrelled into him, unleashed by the strange metallic gauntlet that Snelling had wielded as a weapon.

  “It’s a start,” Sam said. “There may be something useful in the house. We know he was working with Malika and Diltraa, but where did the gauntlet come from? And if you hadn’t stopped them, what would they have gone on to do?”

  “Malika.” Anger rumbled in Nicholas’s chest.

  “Other Sentinels are attempting to track her down. The Hunters are out there tracing her scent. We may find that our paths converge. If she’s allied herself with somebody new, she must be stopped.”

  Nicholas brooded on that thought. He doubted Malika needed new allies. She seemed perfectly capable of wreaking havoc on her own.

  “What about the girl?” he asked. “How am I supposed to find her?”

  “We’ll get to that,” Isabel said.

  They trundled through the countryside and conversation turned to brighter things as Sam recalled his boyhood years in Bury St Edmunds. “It’s a special place,” he said. “You’ll see. Full of history. Did you know witch trials were held there long before they happened in Salem? Or that there are tales of a huge network of ancient tunnels beneath the town? Or that Edmund The Martyr himself is said to be buried there, hence the town’s name? Legend has it that a wolf still guards his severed head.”

  Nicholas had heard some of the tales before, but he hadn’t visited Bury since he was young.

  “You sure you want me tagging along?” he asked.

  “Why ever not?”

  “Our track record isn’t exactly great. Especially when it comes to things with wheels. I’m a bit of a demon magnet, if you hadn’t noticed.”

  “I’m sure we’ll cope,” Sam said evenly. If he was nervous about having Nicholas at his side, he wasn’t letting on.

  They chugged on, passing through one quaint village after another. Nicholas was surprised by how similar they were to Orville. Every one seemed stuck in time. These villages didn’t give him the creeps the way Orville had, though. Orville was a cursed place, and he was the reason for that curse. Another thought to push away.

  “Ah!” Sam exclaimed, relieving Nicholas of his guilt-ridden thoughts. “Almost there.”

  A sign on the dual carriageway announced BURY ST EDMUNDS – 3 miles. A train ran alongside them momentarily before swerving to the other side of a field and disappearing. On the horizon, twin caterpillars of white vapour crawled lethargically into the sky, emerging from an ugly concrete monolith. The sugar beet factory, Nicholas recalled.

  They left the dual carriageway and drove into the town. The roads were narrow, busy and old. Sam steered the car down a particularly grubby street and parked at the kerb.

  “Welcome to Bury St Edmunds,” he said, popping open his door and shrugging on a satchel as battered as his fedora.

  Nicholas didn’t remember the town being quite this rundown. They were on the outskirts, he supposed. When he’d visited with his parents, they’d never strayed much beyond the town’s bustling centre. He stepped out onto the street. To his surprise, Isabel scrabbled out after him and leapt onto his shoulder. She wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected.

  The cat didn’t say anything, but her whiskers quivered. She coiled her tail about his neck, and Nicholas felt oddly comforted, despite the heat. It was like she’d been doing it for years.

  Sam locked the car and strode purposefully down the street. Nicholas followed him around a corner, wondering why they’d parked so far away from their destination. A Sentinel trick, he imagined. As if reading his thoughts, Sam winked at him.

  “Never be placed at the scene of the crime,” he said secretively.

  The house was a workaday semi-detached with a front garden that had gone wild from neglect. The sullen midday sun exposed windows that were blackened with chipped paint like so much parched earth, and the roof had holes pecked in it as if by some monstrous beast.

  Sam paused at the gate, eyeing both the house and its dilapidated neighbour. Neither showed any signs of life.

  “What a dump,” Nicholas muttered. He nudged the fence with his foot and it creaked drunkenly. “Shouldn’t be surprised considering who owned it.”

  Sam said nothing, instead pushing the gate inward. It crashed from its hinges.

  “Delightful,” the old man murmured under his breath.

  Isabel jumped noiselessly from Nicholas’s shoulder and was the first to reach the door.

  “And how do you propose we make entry?” she asked dourly.

  Sam gave Nicholas a look and he shrugged.

  “She has a point,” he said. “How are we going to get in?”

  Sam approached the door, ran his hands down the flaking wood and pawed at the brass lock thoughtfully.

  “Just you keep a look out,” he said to the cat, rummaging in his satchel.

  “You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do...” Nicholas began uncertainly.

  Isabel looked up from the doorstep as the old man set out a leather pouch on the nearest windowsill and drew a shining brass instrument from it. It looked like a tool for removing debris from teeth after a meal.

  “I’m fraternising with a criminal,” the cat muttered, but she didn’t blink as she watched Sam insert the metal stalk into the lock.

  Nicholas scanned the neighbour’s house. There was no movement behind the net curtains. No slinking shadows. The street was deserted, too. This was a part of town that he suspected most people avoided. Just down the road, he glimpsed the unmistakable tableau of red bricks and satellite dishes that signalled a council estate. He hoped they’d be gone by dark. Demons were one thing, but he didn’t fancy going up against a band of knuckle-cracking teenagers.

  You fought a demon and lived, he told himself in an attempt to settle his nerves. But he couldn’t lie to himself. You survived, but only just.

  Click.

  “There,” Sam breathed. He sounded relieved. Nicholas wondered how long it had been since that particular skill had been put to the test. Nicholas felt far from relieved, though, especially when Sam pushed the front door open and he spied what lay in wait.

  The hallway was dark as a tomb. The stench of burnt wood and plastic lingered. Nicholas instinctively put a hand to his mouth as they crossed the threshold.

  “Jesus,” he muttered. “You think he actually lived here?”

  “One way to find out,” Sam said, returning the leather pouch to his satchel. He ushered Nicholas inside and pushed the front door to, stopping short of shutting it completely.

  A bare bulb dangled from the ceiling and it, too, was black on the inside, as if somebody had blasted it with a blowtorch. At some point, a fire had raged within these walls. When that might have been, Nicholas couldn’t guess, but the stench of that gutting inferno festered and poisoned the house’s every pore. The house was sick with unease.

  “What do you think?”

  Sam was talking to him.

  “About what?”

  “You know,” Sam said, waving a
hand at the air. “Are you getting anything?”

  “Other than a headache?” Nicholas said. He saw from Sam’s expression that now was no time for jokes. “No,” he added, assuming that Sam wanted to know if he could sense anything about their surroundings – other than the obvious. “Nothing.”

  Some of the tension left Sam’s shoulders. His pupils were large in the dark, like a bird’s, and the shadows the fedora cast made him appear oddly menacing. Nicholas had always seen Sam as a jovial spirit. Recent events had definitely changed that.

  “We’ll take it one room at a time,” the old man uttered softly. “At no point do we enter a room alone. Keep an eye out for anything... unusual. False walls, drafts, cold spots. Snelling could have hidden something here.” He paused and reached round to his back, exposing his teeth briefly in a grimace, as if the tendons in his shoulders had pulled. His hand returned clutching a small pistol. “Precaution. Get behind me.”

  Nicholas followed the old man’s back through the house. He’d been right; it was a dump. Every room was black and burnt. Desolate as a fatigued hearth. Graffiti was scrawled here and there. Distended pink letters that must mean something to somebody. An empty vodka bottle lay in the fireplace. The kitchen was full of leaves and there was a sleeping bag abandoned by the sink. Upstairs, every room was empty. There wasn’t so much as a mattress or a toothbrush. The house had been picked clean long ago. Even the toilet had been removed.

  Sam knocked on every wall. He pulled up floorboards and peered into the cobwebby recesses. But there was nothing other than skittery spiders, which Isabel chased into corners. Nicholas would have laughed at the cat, but Sam’s desperation filled each room with a dark cloud blacker than any of the walls.

  Back by the front door, Sam scratched his forehead. “Nothing,” he muttered to the floor. “Not a blasted thing.” The frustration bunched up his jowls. He seemed to have pegged everything on this, but he’d been chasing ghosts. Snelling was dead. The trail ended here in an infuriating, burnt-out full-stop.

  Nicholas looked away, anywhere but at Sam, and noticed Isabel dabbing at something down the hall. A door under the stairs.