The Eighth Witch (39 page)

“God, this is harder than trying to get into MI6,” Crozier said.

“What are a few state secrets compared to the reputations of a club full of inveterate skirt-hounds?” Bailey smiled. “He’s coming back.”

The young man was all diamond-lit smiles again. “I’ve consulted with the club’s owner and of course you may enter. Free of charge, I might add.”

“You’re too kind,” Crozier said and waited for the concierge to open the door for him.

“The basement?” Bailey said.
 

“Along the corridor and turn right down the stairs,” the concierge said. “Enjoy your evening with us.” As Bailey passed him he said, “Your friend chose well. Naomi, she’s…”

“Hot,” Bailey said, cutting him off. “Yes, I know.”
 

“Why are these places always so dark?” Crozier said as they walked along the dimly lit corridor.

“I wouldn’t know,” Bailey said. “I’ve never been to one before.”

“Well, neither have I,” Crozier said defensively. “I just imagine they’re all like this.”

Bailey laughed. “No, Simon, I can’t imagine you getting your rocks off to a few topless girls.”

“The concierge though. Very pretty.”

Bailey shook his head. “You never change, Simon.”

“It’s heartening to think that some things in this life are a constant.”

“A constant what though?” Bailey said.

The banter was very necessary. It relaxed them and helped them to prepare themselves for whatever they might face once they reached the basement.

Martin Impey was seated at a table in the far corner of the room. It was slightly lighter in here than in the corridor, but the lights were colored red, blue and green, making everyone in the room look either demonic, ice-cold or nauseous, depending on how the lights changed. The music was loud and pulsing, issuing from hidden overhead speakers, and all the tables in the room were occupied. A young girl writhed in front of Martin, naked apart from a G-string. As she danced, she fondled and stroked her well-oiled breasts, all the while keeping them tantalizingly just out of Martin’s reach. On the table in front of him was a half-empty bottle of champagne and several flutes.

Crozier and Bailey crossed the floor to his table and stood in front of the dancing Naomi. Martin looked up at them through alcohol-glazed eyes. “Get out of the sodding way,” he slurred.

“Time to go, mate,” Bailey said affably.

“Sod off. Naomi’s only halfway through her second dance, and I’ve booked three.”

Crozier stepped forwards. “Now then, Impey, pull yourself together. This is no way for a member of the department to behave.”

Martin squinted up at his boss. “Mr. Crozier, I never expected to see you in a place like this. Have a drink.” He reached for the bottle, but instead of pouring the champagne into one of the empty flutes, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and swung it. Crozier stepped back quickly but not in time to avoid being hit. The bottle caught him a glancing blow on the temple, opening a small gash. Martin swung again but this time Bailey grabbed Crozier’s arm and pulled him out of harm’s way.
 

As Crozier stood there, stunned and swaying slightly, Bailey moved in.

At the sight of the blood dribbling from Crozier’s cut temple Naomi stopped dancing and screamed. Bailey pushed her out of the way. He threw himself forwards, overturning the table, and grabbed Martin by the front of his shirt. The younger, lighter man let himself be hauled to his feet, threw his head back and brought it crashing forwards into Bailey’s face.

Bailey listened to his nose crack and felt the blood as it began to gush, but he held on to Martin’s shirt with one hand. The other hand curled into fist and he punched Martin in the mouth with all his strength.
 

Martin shrugged off the blow and twisted his bloodied mouth into a smile. “Is that the best you’ve got, old man?” he said and moved in close, bringing his knee up into Bailey’s groin. As the air rushed out of him and he began to sag, Martin kneed him in the face, doing more damage to the already damaged nose.

Bailey sank to the floor, finally letting go of Martin’s shirt. The younger man vaulted over him and started to run towards the door. Crozier stuck out a foot and tripped him, sending him crashing to the floor, but within a second Martin was up and running again.
 

“He’s getting away, damn it!” Crozier yelled. “Somebody stop him!”

All the girls had stopped dancing and were watching the fight. Naomi was crying noisily.

Martin was almost at the door when Danny and his partner stepped through. The sight of them stopped Martin in his tracks. He turned his head from right to left, looking for another way out. He found it in a pair of fire exit doors on the other side of the room. He spun around and started to run in the opposite direction.

The doors opened by pressing down a steel bar that released bolts in the doorframe. Martin reached the doors, pressed down the bar, yanked the door open and stepped through.

The next thing Crozier saw was Martin staggering backwards, clutching his head. He fell back into the room and lay there unconscious. The doors swung open again and the concierge stood there, slapping a small, black cosh into the palm of his hand. He smiled widely, the lights turning the diamond in his tooth from diamond to sapphire, to ruby and, finally, to emerald.

Crozier ran across to Martin’s supine body. “Call an ambulance,” he snapped at the concierge.

“But sir has only a small cut to his temple. A sticking plaster, no more.”

“Not for me, you fool! For him!” Crozier pointed down at Martin.

“Ah,” the concierge said and pulled his mobile from his pocket.

Later, back at Crozier’s flat, the two men sat, once again looking at the passing traffic on the River Thames.

“Do you think Martin will be all right?” Bailey asked.

“This time we’re doing it right. He’s in a secure room, at a secure facility, strapped to a bed for his and everyone else’s protection. But no, I don’t think he’ll be all right until this Diana business is over.”

“Then it’s best I head on back to Ravensbridge in the morning.”

“Good God, man, you’re in no condition to drive all that way. Your face.”

Bailey grimaced. The paramedics had patched him up well enough, but his face was badly bruised, a rainbow of yellow, red, purple and black, and his nose was covered with a thick bandage. “I’m up to it. Besides, I think they’re going to need me. Martin fought like a man possessed tonight, which is exactly what I think happened to him. He was possessed, like the girl in the library was possessed. It may have been Diana herself, but more than likely it was a demon of some kind doing her bidding.”

He sat back in his seat and closed his eyes for a moment, reached into his pocket and produced a small vial of painkillers. “One of the paramedics gave me these. He said that they give them to cancer sufferers. Pretty powerful drugs. He said I shouldn’t drive, and even walking might be hazardous. So if I could beg a bed for the night…”

“Of course,” Crozier said. “There’s a bed made up in the spare room. You’d be welcome to use it.”

“One thing tonight’s taught me,” Bailey said, shaking a couple of pills from the vial and tossing them into his mouth.

“What’s that?” Crozier asked curiously.

“It’s time we stopped underestimating Diana. Potentially she could be the most dangerous adversary Department 18 has ever faced.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Robert Carter tossed and turned in bed, his dreams filled with nightmare images.

He was back in the barn at Pett’s farm. Rachel and Rebecca Yardley were there but very much alive, not ghosts. They’d been strung up from one of the cross beams with thick hemp robes that bit into their wrists, making them bleed. Men were milling around them, rough men, with brutalized faces who leered and spat at the women.

One of them punched Rachel repeatedly in the stomach while another hacked at Rebecca’s hair with a hinged pair of blades best used for sheep shearing. Both women were crying, begging for mercy, but there was no mercy to be found in the barn that day.

Another man stood in the corner of the barn, watching the scene play out with a look of wry amusement on his face. He was dressed differently than the others, the clothes finer, made from better, more expensive material. Clasped in his hands was a bronze effigy of Christ, the size of a man’s forearm. Not a crucified Messiah, but a gentle, beatific Christ, hands pressed tightly together in prayer.

The man crossed the barn in four easy strides and stood before Rebecca Yardley. Rebecca stared at him, blood from her scalp trickling down her face, her eyes contemptuous.

“Do you repent your sins, witch?” the man said. “Do you embrace the spirit of Christ and accept him into your heart so that your soul may be cleansed?” He stepped closer. “Do you admit that you worship at the feet of Satan and do his bidding?”

Rebecca Yardley lifted her chin defiantly. “It is you who does Satan’s work for him here today, Jacob Barker, not I.”

“Then you refuse to repent?”

“I have nothing to repent. You are the one with wickedness and evil in your soul.”

Jacob Barker took a step away from her, still clutching the bronze effigy in his hands. “You heard that, men. The witch refuses to renounce her evil ways and still embraces the work of the Devil.”

The men murmured agreement.
 

“I will bring Christ to this woman. If she won’t take Christ into her soul then, by God, she will take Him into her body.” He took another step away from Rebecca and pointed to two of the men. “Spread her.”
 

The two men exchanged glances but stood, one on each side of Rebecca, and pulled her legs apart.

“Bring me the Hammer of God!” Barker yelled.

Another man approached, carrying a large and heavy wooden mallet.

“One last chance,” Barker said.

Rebecca raised her head and stared at her sister, their eyes meeting. Something passed between them. Rebecca turned back to her tormentor and spat in his face.

With her saliva dripping down his cheek he slapped Rebecca hard, his heavy gold signet ring opening an inch-long gash in her cheek. He crossed to the man holding the mallet and took it from him, handing him the effigy of Christ. “Lower her to the floor and hold her there,” he said to the others. “You two, keep her spread.”

Barker glanced back at Rachel who looked on helplessly as her sister was positioned on the floor. “Watch very carefully,” he said to her softly. “You’re next.”

He signaled to the man holding the effigy who scuttled across to where Rebecca was being held and laid the statue down between her outstretched legs, the head pointing towards, and almost touching, her vagina.

Barker stood over her. “You bring this upon yourself,” he said, and then stood astride her and raised the mallet above his head. “May Christ forgive you!” he shouted as he brought the Hammer of God swinging down with all his might.

The scream broke Carter’s dream and he sat bolt upright in the bed, perspiration dripping from his body. It was not yet morning. A half-moon spilt its light through the bedroom window, casting random shadows on the walls. He sat there in the bed watching them, trying to cool his sweating body and forcing the images from the dream away to the back of his mind.

First one of the shadows moved and then another, detaching themselves from the wall and floating into the room. The shadows rippled in the moonlight and gradually took form.

Rachel and Rebecca Yardley manifested a yard away from the foot of the bed.

Carter stared at them from the bed. “I’m trying to stop her,” he said quietly.

“We know.”

“Where is she? You have to tell me where she is.”

The twins exchanged looks. “We do not know. She hides herself from us.”

“Then why are you here if you can’t help me?”

“So you don’t forget us.”

“I won’t forget you. I want to help you.”

“Don’t forget us, Robert. We need you.”

Gradually they faded back to shadow and sank back into the wall.

Carter flicked on the bedside light and threw back the duvet. He pulled on his robe and padded downstairs to the kitchen.

Annie was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea.

“Any more in the pot?” Carter asked.

“I’ve just made it. Help yourself. Couldn’t sleep?”

“No. Dreaming. It woke me up.”

“I couldn’t get off,” she said. “I just laid there thinking about Penny, about Laura.” She rubbed her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry, Rob.”

“For what?”

“For getting you involved in all this. I feel I’ve taken advantage of our friendship.”

Carter reached out and took her hand. “You were right to involve me. Diana is dangerous. I suspect the department would have crossed swords with her somewhere down the line. At least now we get a chance to deal with her before she reaches the peak of her powers.”