The Eighth Witch (43 page)

“Knowing Diana’s history and the fact that her father is reputed to be a demon, my guess is the dog is too. Albeit one of the lesser ones.”

“Could it be Bargest?” Lacey asked.

“Bargest?” Both Jane and Carter turned to look at him.

Lacey shrugged under their scrutiny. “It’s a Yorkshire legend. Bargest the Hellhound. A monstrous black dog that preys on solitary travelers. My gran used to tell me stories about it when I was a kid.”

“I think your grandmother just liked scaring the crap out of you,” Carter said. “Witches, hellhounds. How did you sleep when you were a child?”

“Badly,” Lacey said with a smile.

“Well whatever it is,” Jane said, “we’re going to have to get past it.”

“It’ll be dark in a couple of hours,” Carter said. “We’ll make our move then.”

“You’re the boss,” Lacey said.

Chapter Forty-Six

Diana had left the scissors behind on the trestle table. They glinted in a thin beam of sunlight that slipped in through a crack in the wooden wall. The table was a good eight yards away from where Bailey sat but he could reach it.

He lay down and rolled onto his stomach and then started to move like a caterpillar across the earth floor. Holly and Laura watched him. Small tears still trickled down Holly’s cheeks as she mourned the loss of her hair, but there was the fire of encouragement in her eyes as she willed Bailey on.

He’d covered half the distance when he had to stop. The painkillers were wearing off and his face was aching intolerably. His knees were sore and his shirt had torn. The earth was grazing the skin of his chest every time he pushed forwards. “I’m too old for this nonsense,” he muttered as he lay there. He looked up at Holly and Laura and tried for a smile, but it felt more like a grimace of pain. Both of them gazed down at him sympathetically. “Don’t worry,” he said to them. “I’m not finished yet.” He drew his knees up to his belly once more and pushed on.

By the time he reached the table his chest was bleeding. Small shafts of straw had embedded themselves in the wounds and were stinging like hell. Trying to block out the pains from his face and body, he twisted his body around until he was on his side and then, using his elbow, levered himself up until his head was a foot below the tabletop.

That was as far as he got. He couldn’t get the additional leverage to lift himself up to a sitting position and getting to his feet was out of the question. He lowered himself to the ground again and lay there, perspiring freely and gasping for breath. There had to be another way.

The effects of the painkillers had worn off completely now and his whole body was conspiring against him to inflict as much pain as possible. Driven on by anger and frustration, he kicked out with his bound legs at the trestle table. It rocked slightly. Encouraged he kicked it again. It rocked more. The objects on the tabletop were moving. He could hear them but was too low to see them. He kicked out again and, as the table rocked towards him, hit the legs one last time. Finally the table tilted over and fell on top of him, knocking the wind from his lungs. The effigies of Christ fell to the floor and rolled away. The heavy mallet fell too, missing his head by a whisker. The scissors, the precious scissors, clattered to the ground, landing inches away from him.

He offered up a silent prayer and maneuvered his body so he could at last grab the scissors in his hand. He was crying now with the pain and effort. He sniffed away the tears and looked up again at the women. “Right,” he said, trying the smile again. “Now for the difficult bit.”

He couldn’t be sure but he thought he saw a smile spring to Holly Ireland’s lips and then fade away again.

He fumbled with the scissors, trying to wedge them against the ground so he could saw through the ropes, but they kept slipping and one blade stabbed him in the ball of his hand, just under the thumb. “Bugger!” he said as more pain joined the symphony of agony that was wracking his body. “They make this kind of thing look so easy in the movies. Well, I can tell them first-hand, there’s nothing bloody easy about this.”

It was only then he realized that if he was in pain again then the drugs were no longer working. If that were the case then his neurological pathways would be clear.
 

He lay down again, relaxed his body and concentrated his mind. This time it was easy—he could focus.

He shaped his thoughts into a ball of energy, so fully formed it was almost tangible. Taking a deep breath, he let it fly, sending it spinning from his mind, through the walls of the barn and out into the open air.

Carter clutched at his head, almost crying out, and doubled over in pain.

Jane reached across to him. “Rob, are you okay?”

After a long moment Carter sat back up. His breathing was ragged and his eyes were watering. “Yes,” he said shakily. “I think so. That was Harry. He’s still alive.”

“Oh, thank God!” Jane said.

Lacey looked on. “You people,” he said, incredulity in his voice. “You never cease to amaze me. I take it Harry contacted you telepathically?”

“Yes. He’s in the barn. Laura and Holly are still alive. All three of them are tied up and helpless, waiting for Diana to return and kill them.”

“He told you all that?”

Carter shook his head. “Images,” he said. “All I got were images and impressions. We can’t delay much longer. We have to move on this.”

“The light’s nearly gone,” Lacey said, looking up at the sky. “Ten more minutes.”

Bailey tried again with the scissors. The psychic flash had taken more out of him than the agonizing crawl across the floor. His head was splitting and it was taking all his energy to stay conscious. He couldn’t tell if his flash had been successful, whether or not Carter or Jane had picked it up. For all he knew, Diana might have intercepted it. So he carried on with the scissors. He’d managed to jam one end of them into the earth and was now sawing at the ropes tethering his wrists.

He felt a strand go and flexed his wrists. Movement. Got enough to free himself, but it was all the encouragement he needed to carry on.

The barn doors opened suddenly. Diana walked though them and spent minutes lighting heavy church candles dotted around the barn, illuminating the scene in a flickering light. The table was lying on its side, on top of Harry Bailey, the contents of the table were scattered across the floor and Bailey himself was cutting at the ropes tying his wrists.

She stared at him and frowned, fury blazing in her eyes.

“Very resourceful, Harry,” she said, crossed to where he was lying, bent down and plucked the scissors from the earth. Lifting the table back onto its legs, she retrieved the statues of Christ and lay them down on the tabletop.

Bailey stared up at her. “I guess you win,” he said.

Diana said nothing but stepped over him and went across to Laura and Holly, to check their bonds. Satisfied they were still in place she went back to Harry Bailey, drew back her foot and kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious. Only then did she allow herself a smile.

“It’s almost time, ladies,” she said to Holly and Laura. “Almost time.”

Carter checked his watch. “It’s time,” he said. “I think it’s dark enough. We should go now.”

“Diana’s just gone back to the barn,” Lacey said and set the field glasses down on the bench beside him. “At least they’re all in one place now.”

They left the hide and made their way slowly down the hill.

At the perimeter of the farm they stopped. “That bloody dog hasn’t moved,” Lacey whispered.

“Nor is it likely to while they’re inside,” Carter replied.

“We need a diversion,” Jane said quietly.
 

“I’ll handle it,” Carter said. “You two get closer and be ready to move in. Wait for my signal.” He crept away from them and circled the fence that formed the boundary of the farm.
 

“How the hell is he going to get that brute to move away from the barn?” Lacey whispered urgently.

“I’m sure he’s got something in mind,” Jane said. “Watch and wait.”

At the farm’s entrance Carter paused and took a few deep breaths, and then launched himself forwards and ran towards the house. All the while he kept his eyes on the dog. It was sitting on its haunches in front of the barn doors. When it got to its feet, Carter swerved and ran around to the back of the house.

The dog started to move, to check out the intruder. Jane tapped Lacey on the shoulder. “Now.”

Carter reached the back of the house and tried the door. It was locked. Looking to his left, he saw a sash window that was open a few inches. He’d seen it when he’d first come to the house with Annie and hadn’t taken much notice of it, believing it to be a symptom of the general dilapidation of the place, but it had registered in his mind. He ran to it, pushed it up and threw himself through into the house. After getting to his feet, he ran to the window and slammed it shut and took a few seconds to take in his surroundings. He was in what used to be the kitchen. The place looked much the same as it did when he’d come here yesterday. There was still no sign of habitation, but he no longer trusted what he was seeing. Diana’s spell might still be working.
 

He moved into the hallway. As he did so he heard glass shattering. Glancing back at the kitchen, he saw the dog trying to haul itself though the broken window. What remained of the glass was slicing into the creature’s flanks and blood was beginning to pour from the wounds. It was far too big to get through the opening. It struggled through another inch and then stopped, realizing it was stuck fast. It glared at Carter with baleful eyes and barked once, the sound making the hairs on the back of Carter’s neck prickle.

Carter closed the door to the kitchen, but not before noticing that the dog was beginning to change its form. The head was shrinking. Where there was once thick black fur was now lustrous red hair. From the folds of the dog’s head a stunningly beautiful face was emerging. He recognized it instantly. The demon he’d encountered in Henry Norton’s subconscious was materializing in front of his eyes.

He slammed the kitchen door shut, ran through the house and out of the front door. The barn was only yards away. Jane and Lacey were running towards it. Carter and they would reach it together.

Carter sprinted across to the barn.

Lacey shouted, “Ready?”

“Ready!” Jane and Carter said.

Carter glanced back at the house. The red-haired demon had reached the front door and stopped there. She was staring at them, a cold smile playing on her lips.

Realization hit him like a thunderbolt. “Wait!” he shouted. “It’s a trap!” But Jane and Lacey had already crashed through the doors and were in the barn. He had no alternative but to follow them.

Diana was standing over Harry Bailey, a wicked-looking, long-bladed knife poised at his throat. She smiled at them. “What took you so long to get here?” she said. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

“Another step and I slit his throat,” Diana said.

“How did you know we’d come for you?” Carter said. He was standing just inside the doors, flanked by Lacey and Jane.

“You hero types are so boringly predictable,” Diana said. “I dug into your background as soon as Annie told me, or rather, told Penny you were coming up here. You have quite a presence on the Internet. I was impressed, although your early life leaves a lot to be desired. ‘Little Bobby, the Psychic Wonder’? Really? Tacky,” she said. “No, I guessed you wouldn’t be able to resist trying to save your friends. I thought I had a winning hand when I took Laura and Holly, but then Harry Bailey presented himself to me and it was too tempting.”

“Sorry, Rob,” Bailey said, his gaze never leaving the hand that was holding the knife to his throat.

“It’s okay, Harry. It’s not your fault.”

The doors behind them opened a fraction wider and the red-haired demon glided through, crossing the floor to stand at Diana’s side.

“This is Nyx, by the way. We were introduced by my father and she’s become an invaluable companion over the years.”

“She attacked Henry Norton,” Carter said.

“Yes, she did. As I say, invaluable.”

Nyx said nothing, but smiled slightly.

“Why are we here?” Jane asked.

“To die,” Diana said. “If I don’t kill you all, you’re going to become a perennial thorn in my side.”

“Then why not just do it and get it over with? Or do you want to preen for a while longer?” Lacey said.

With a movement so quick it was just a blur Diana hurled the knife at Lacey. He couldn’t avoid it. The knife buried itself up to its hilt in his chest. Lacey gasped and sank slowly to his knees, his hands clutching at the knife.

“You’ve never been important to my plans,” Diana said. “You’ve just been an irritation with your constant prodding and poking into my affairs. So there, I’ve granted your wish. Goodbye, Mr. Policeman.”

“Ian!” Jane dropped to her knees and held on to Lacey to stop him from falling forwards onto the knife.

Lacey stared at the knife sticking out of his chest, trying to marshal his thoughts. He couldn’t. His mind was spinning. He felt as if he were falling through space. There was surprisingly little pain, just a dull ache where the knife had entered. He felt cold and welcomed the warm blood as it poured down the front of his shirt. He looked Jane in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but a torrent of blood poured out instead, drowning his words.