The Eighth Witch (35 page)

Laura had lost track of time and had no idea how long she had been running. She had always prided herself on her fitness, weekly Pilates classes, grueling racquetball games with a selection of male partners and daily yoga exercises had honed her body to as near perfection as she could reasonably expect it to be, but her chest throbbed from the exertion and her legs were starting to cramp.
 

The plan to rendezvous with Holly had come to nothing. By running in the direction she’d said, they should have met up in minutes but there was no sign of her. So she carried on in the same direction, looking for Holly, fearing that in her agitated state she may have taken a wrong turn when she reached the wood. After twenty minutes there was still no sign of her, so Laura turned back in the direction of the road, and now it seemed she had managed to get herself lost.
 

How she didn’t know. She had been running for well over an hour and there was no sign of Holly and, worse, no sign of the road. She leant against a tree, all the while trying to work out where she was and in which direction she should head next.
 

“Face it, Laura,” she muttered to herself. “You haven’t got a clue where you are or where you’re going.”

The sky wasn’t giving her any clues at all as she squinted up at it through the trees. All she could see was a layer of sultry gray clouds, so thick not even a glimmer of sunlight showed through.

Moss grows on the north side of trees.

The truism popped into Laura’s head unbidden. It was one of those random pieces of knowledge she had acquired over the years.

“That’s fine, but how does it help me?” She turned to look at the tree she was leaning against. Sure enough one side of it was green with dusty moss. “Right, so north is that way.” She tried to think back to when she last drove along the road that edged the wood. Which way was the sun shining? East to west? West to east? Due south? If she could remember it would give her an idea in which direction to run in order to reach the road.

Laura wracked her brain, infuriated with herself that she couldn’t clearly remember. Then from nowhere the memory popped into her head. She’d been driving along the road some six months ago, Diana in the passenger seat, on their way to a Jessie J gig at the Mechanics in Burnley. Throughout the entire length of the road she had driven with the sun visor down, squinting against the glare on the windscreen. The sun was low in the western sky.

It was enough. Laura now knew where the road was in relation to where she was standing. Buoyed by the knowledge she pushed away from the tree and started to run again.

It seemed only minutes later that the sound of a car’s engine wafted through the still air. She broke through the trees and found herself on the road. With a sob of relief Laura sat down on the grassy verge and took stock of her situation. There was no getting away from the fact that Holly had probably not been as fortunate as her, so it was vital now to get back to town and try to enlist some help. Fighting Diana by herself was not an option. The woman was too clever, too cunning and much too powerful. Her suggestion to Holly they seek out Annie Ryder still seemed like the best plan, although she wasn’t too sure what kind of reaction she’d get from Annie. Laura had realized over the past few days that she’d treated Annie appallingly. They had grown very close over the last few years but, as soon as Diana had come along, Laura had dropped Annie like a stone. Now Annie had every right to be bitter and Laura wouldn’t blame her if she wanted no more to do with her.
 

Getting to her feet, Laura moved out into the road and started to walk. She realized she would have to hitch, which in itself was odd, not having hitched a ride since her final year at university. As she walked she glanced down at herself, taking in the mud and moss streaks on her clothes. She ran her hand through her hair but it felt like a recently abandoned bird’s nest. Finger-combing might improve matters, but if she were driving this road she couldn’t imagine stopping to pick up someone who looked as scruffy and unkempt as her.

Her fears were well founded. A dozen cars drove past without even slowing down and she figured she had walked at least two miles down the road. A Ford Focus slowed as it passed her and the driver, a man probably in his early thirties, stared out at her through the side window of the car. For a moment it looked as though he might stop and offer her a lift, but then his face curled into a sneer. He gunned the accelerator and sped away.

“Thanks a bunch,” Laura muttered and continued to walk.

Her luck changed with the next car along. A dark blue Kia drove past, then signaled it was pulling over. It stopped a hundred yards along the road.

Laura broke into a trot, hesitating briefly when she realized it was a woman behind the wheel. “It’s not Diana,” she told herself. “Not Diana.”

As she reached the Kia, the electric window slid down. Laura peered inside.

“Laura, my God, it is you,” Penny Chapman said. “I thought I was seeing things when I passed you. We’ve been out of our minds with worry since you took off.”

Laura’s face split into a smile of relief. “Penny! You’re the last person I expected to see.”

“Get in. Where are you headed?”

Laura climbed into the car, shut the door behind her and snapped on her seatbelt.

“I need to get to Annie’s. I’ve got so much to tell you two.”

“I’m all ears,” Penny said and pulled back onto the road.
 

Once Carter stepped into the barn, the door slammed shut behind him and he could hear Annie outside pounding on the wood, unable to get in. “It’s okay, Annie,” he called. “I’m fine.”

The pounding subsided but he could imagine her pacing backwards and forwards in front of the doors, seething, angry that she’d been shut out and worried for his safety.

After crossing to the center of the floor, he stood there, arms hanging loosely at his side, and cautiously opened his mind to access to whatever was in here. And there was something in here.

“Who are you?” he called out.

There was no obvious reply but a small breeze blew a handful of moldering straw across the compacted earth floor.
 

“What do you want?”

Again silence, but a wave of melancholy swept over him, so intense it was almost debilitating. He sank to his knees, gasping as tears trickled down his cheeks. Such sadness and grief. It felt as if someone was reaming him out, robbing him of every moment of happiness he’d ever known.

Toppling to the floor, he brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them with his arms. He tried to shut down his mind, to block out the sadness, but it was too strong, and riding on the back of the melancholy came images and sounds.
 

Sophie Gillespie being flayed alive with a shard of glass, her skin being stripped from her body with fatal precision. Mark Gillespie ramming the table lamp into his mouth and his screams as raw electricity flowed through his convulsing body. Susan Grant pinned down in the deckchair while Diana forced a gushing hosepipe down her throat.

And there were more, countless victims of Diana’s evil. The images filled Carter’s mind. He vomited once, violently, the muscles in his stomach going into spasm, making him pull his legs up tighter to his body.

“Get up!”

“You have to fight her.”

“There are more deaths than we’ve shown you.”

“There will be more in the future. Many more.”

“She has our sisters. If she gets us too her power is complete.”

“You’ll never stop her.”

“Make her leave us alone!”

Women’s voices were shouting in his brain, shrill and strident.

“Make her stop!”

“Leave us in peace!”

“We’re not coming back!”

“We’ll never come back!”

Wiping away the tears with the back of his hand, he struggled to his feet. Someone was standing in the shadowy corner of the barn, a small figure, dressed in a long, ragged, gray skirt and a torn linen blouse. The brown hair was long and matted, hanging halfway down her back. The face was filthy, streaked with mud and blood. A woman, ageless. As he watched another woman stepped out from behind the first, similarly attired, the only difference being the hair that looked like it had been hacked from her scalp with blunt shears, leaving untidy tufts and small patches of bleeding skin.

“Who are you?” Carter asked, but he knew the answer to his own question.
 

Rachel and Rebecca Yardley, the two young women who were murdered right here in this barn, were standing now just feet away from him. He could feel their pain, feel their despair. They stood, gazing at him out of dead, sunken eyes, not moving, not speaking.

“How can I help you?” he said softly.

“You have to stop her.” The words rang clearly in his mind, although neither of the women moved her lips.

“How?”

The image of the two women was beginning to lose form, rippling in the stagnant air inside the barn.

“How?”

“Make her stop!”

This time the words were screamed, reverberating inside his skull. The pain was ferocious. He shut his eyes and clamped his hands to his head, trying to get the noise under control, but already his nose had started to bleed. His teeth were aching and the pain in his ears was excruciating. He managed to keep on his feet but when the noise stopped he was swaying. His balance was off and he staggered to the door, crashing against the splintering wood. The door swung open and he fell through.

Annie caught him before he hit the ground. “What happened?”

“I met the Yardley sisters, the twins,” he gasped. The pain in his head was ebbing away. He pressed the balls of his hands to his eyes.
 

“And?”

“Give me a moment.” Carter took several deep breaths, filling his lungs and expelling the air in a steady, calming stream. Finally he took his hands away from his eyes and met Annie’s questioning gaze. “They want us to stop Diana,” he said.

“Pardon? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand.”

“No. I didn’t either. When we first got the idea that Diana was trying to raise her family from the dead I just assumed that she was doing it out of some sense of grief, bringing the Yardley sisters back because she wanted to be reunited with them. I don’t believe that anymore.”

“Then why is she doing it?”

“Power,” Carter said simply. “She’s bringing them back to use their powers.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He jerked his thumb back at the barn. “It’s why Rebecca and Rachel Yardley want me to stop her. They showed me what we can expect if Diana succeeds.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

“Shouldn’t we have taken a left there?” Laura asked as they passed a fork in the road.

“Road works,” Penny Chapman said, not taking her eyes from the road.

“Even so, I’m not sure we can get into town this way.”

“Laura, you worry too much.”

Laura spun around in her seat. “Are you kidding me?” she said angrily. “I’ve just escaped from Diana and whatever she had planned for me. Believe it or not I loved that woman, really loved her. When we were together I felt whole. For the first time in my life I felt like a complete human being. Can you understand that?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “We connected on so many levels, from our musical tastes to the amount of milk we liked on our breakfast cereal. So many levels it was uncanny. And now I discover it was all a charade, an act. She was just playing with me, stringing me along. She betrayed me, Penny. Betrayed me.”

“Oh for pity’s sake, Laura, shut up!”
 

Laura reacted to the words as if she’d been struck. She flinched and sank down in her seat. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

“I told you to shut up.” Penny made a zipping motion across her lips.

Laura opened her mouth to say something else but nothing came out. She struggled, trying to force the words out, but there was nothing there. She’d been struck dumb.

Penny glanced around at her and smiled. “That’s better,” she said. “Now sit there like a good girl until we get to where we’re going.”

It was that smile, the way it connected with her eyes. A mixture of mischief, arrogance and contempt. She knew it so well now.

She mouthed the name silently. “Diana.”

“Full marks, sweetie. Perhaps you’re not as stupid as I thought.”

As she fell back into her seat, Laura’s mouth opened and she screamed silently.
 

“How could you tell Diana was a witch?” Jane asked.

“The same way I knew he was police,” she said, pointing at Lacey. “Some people give off certain vibrations. Ever since I was a girl I’ve had the gift of picking them up.”

“A gift,” Harry Bailey said.

“Or a curse. I’ve never worked out which. It’s got me into hot water a number of times, I can tell you.”

“So with Diana you knew immediately?”

Florence Tibbs shook her head. “No, she was very guarded at first, and I was thrown by the fact that she and Laura were a couple. As I said I’ve known Laura since she was a babe in arms, and I had no idea she was gay. So seeing them together the first time rocked me. I wasn’t expecting it. Still they seemed very happy and I’ve no objection to people finding love, in whatever form it comes.” She took a sip of her tea. “I didn’t even pick it up the second time they called. Mind you it was only a flying visit to drop off some photographs Laura had unearthed of Edith and me when we were in our twenties. Laura wanted me to have them because she didn’t think her mother would appreciate them, given her condition.”