The Skeleton Key (14 page)

He frowned. He did not appear pleased with my answer. ‘Have you gone below the basement?'

Now I crossed my arms. My heels were at the edge of the doorway. The door had closed but I could just whip it open and run back to the lift. I'd be in the penthouse in minutes and increasingly, despite this perfectly civil exchange, I felt the need to do exactly that.

‘No. My great-aunt Celia has warned against that,' I said.

Dr Barrett took a step towards me, watching my face carefully. He clasped his hands in front of him, as if in prayer. ‘You really do not know, dear girl? Then I have more news for you than I thought.'

I felt a shiver go up my spine. I reached back for the handle of the door.

‘Pandora English, you need to know that . . .' he began.

I waited for his words but they trailed off and a strange look came over him. Barrett seemed frozen for a moment, like he was in the middle of a gasp, a breath he couldn't quite grab. And he just stayed like that, his mouth open.

And then Barrett's eyes closed and his head fell forward.

Oh no.

I pressed my back to the door, gripping the handle.

Barrett's arms began to move. They bent
the other way
, the suit arms folding back so that in the low candlelight it looked like his arms stopped at the elbows. But I knew what it was.

It was the passenger. Our conversation had awoken him.

Barrett spun around suddenly, and I stood frozen and terrified against the door, transfixed with horror. Here was another being entirely. It wore a suit, much like Barrett's, and I wondered briefly, implausibly, where you could get something like that, a suit with two sides, only this side was a bit tattered and undone, where Barrett had seemed quite impeccable. The being's hair was blown back now that it was awake, haloing its head like it had a finger in an electric socket. The tips of the white hair waved and swayed in the air. And this creature's face was positively horrific to look upon, the skin wrinkled and pulled.

And the eyes.

The eyes glowed green.

Luke
, I thought.

He'd had the same green eyes.

Oh boy. Go! Go!

I ripped open the door and ran down the corridor, somehow finding my way, and up the staircase, not looking back. By the time I reached the penthouse, I was breathless and my legs burned. I hurried inside and closed the casket, and then the door to the antechamber, relieved to lock it behind me. If Sanguine could not enter the penthouse, what about a creature
like that
? Whatever Barrett was, and that thing on his back? Was anywhere safe?

‘Great-Aunt Celia?' I called out. ‘Great-Aunt Celia?'

I rushed into the lounge area, skidding on the hardwood floor. Celia's reading chair was empty. The curtains were closed over the tall, arched windows and only the chandelier above me provided light, the crystals casting delicate shadows across the ceiling.

‘Celia?'

I walked to the kitchen and found it empty, and then I noticed, last of all, that her fox stole was not on the Edwardian hat stand by the door. I should have guessed. She was out.

Somewhat reluctantly, I retired to my room with a fresh jug of water and a glass, wishing for my great-aunt's wise words, and even a cup of her calming tea. There was no one else in the world to share my incredible discovery with. Not even Lieutenant Luke, it seemed. For good measure, I pulled the chair out from the Victorian writing desk and hooked the back of it under the doorknob.

As if that would stop, or even slow down, any kind of nefarious supernatural being.

Behind the veil of all the hieratic and mystical allegories of ancient doctrines, behind the darkness and strange ordeals of all initiations, under the seal of all sacred writings, in the ruins of Nineveh or Thebes, on the crumbling stones of old temples and on the blackened visage of the Assyrian or Egyptian sphinx, in the monstrous or marvellous paintings which interpret to the faithful of India the inspired pages of the Vedas, in the cryptic emblems of our old books on alchemy, in the ceremonies practised at reception by all secret societies, there are found indications of a doctrine which is everywhere the same and everywhere carefully concealed . . .

I looked up from the haunting opening passage of
Transcend­ental Magic
by Eliphas Levi, and tensed. It was past midnight. I had heard footsteps and the door.

But of course it could not be Barrett. He had no feet to make footsteps with.

Quietly, I rose from my bed, where I'd been reading, still fully dressed. I crept to the door and put my ear to it, listening. I could hear the sound of heels on the floor. ‘Great-Aunt Celia?' I said through the door.

‘Pandora?' she called back.

Oh, thank goodness.
I unhooked the chair and opened my door. My great-aunt was hanging up her stole at the entrance. She looked striking in a tailored red skirt suit with exaggerated sleeves and a thin patent leather belt fitted to the narrow waist. As always, her black widow's veil was in place. She regarded me with interest, clearly noting that I had something to tell her.

‘I met Dr Barrett,' I said.

She cocked her head, that beautifully painted blood-red mouth of hers curling up on one side.

‘Dr Barrett. Well.'

I nodded.

‘He is back. And he is alive. Or perhaps not quite.' I couldn't think what he was, actually. In a rush I told Celia about my encounter with Dr Barrett and the thing on his back. ‘I'm very worried. Is it safe here, in the penthouse?'

‘The penthouse is very safe, I assure you.'

I stepped forward. ‘Is it really? Are you sure? I know the Sanguine can't enter here, but Dr Barrett . . . I do not think he is undead. He is something else entirely.'

Celia placed one hand elegantly on her hip. ‘Dearest Pandora, do not worry. There is nothing to fear in this penthouse, and we can perform a protection spell to make sure it stays that way, if you like. Shall we do one now? Together, I think it will hold nicely.'

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Do those work? What is it exactly?'

Celia smiled. ‘Come to the kitchen.'

We went to the kitchen and for a moment I thought she was going to make yet another cup of tea. She put the kettle on while I watched her mutely.

‘Get the salt.'

‘Okay,' I said, and found the salt shaker.

‘That won't be enough. Try the cupboard,' she said patiently, and I found a bag of flaked sea salt. ‘There is a container,' she said, pointing at an empty water jug. ‘We must mix up three parts water with one part salt.'

‘With the boiling water?'

‘The boiling will purify the water. Warm up the jug while we wait for the water to be ready.'

Once the water had boiled and then cooled enough to be poured, I mixed up the water, carefully stirring the salt through. When the jug was ready Celia walked me towards the entrance to the penthouse. ‘Now I want you to think about the word “evil”, and what it means to you in this context. Think about who or what in particular you want to guard against. Hold the image in your mind for a moment and connect it to the word.'

I thought of that terrifying creature on Barrett's back, its wild white hair haloing those vicious, ancient features. And I thought of Luke, with those same strange, glowing green eyes, lunging at me . . .

‘Good.' Celia could clearly see by my face that I was focusing on what frightened me. The tiny hairs on my neck stood on end and I felt a little queasy.

‘Now visualise the area you want to protect, the “safe circle”, so to speak,' she said.

‘Does it have to be a circle?'

‘Traditionally it was, but in this case we can work with the area we have.'

‘The whole penthouse?'

She nodded. ‘We will make the penthouse our safe circle then. We will cast the spell, and as we do, you will remain focused on your intent – the forces you wish to block and the area you wish to protect.'

‘Okay,' I said. I'd never cast a spell before. In fact I'd lived with Celia for a couple of months without even realising that she was a witch. (Did she even agree with that label?) The protection spell she described seemed surprisingly straightforward, if foreign to me.

‘We will begin with the front door and move our way around the penthouse, sprinkling the magick solution, and taking special care at the doors and windows. Remember to stay focused. Although we are not technically creating a circular safe area, we must connect our “circle”, finishing where we started to seal the spell. We will go around the area three times. These are the words:
Thrice around and thrice repeat, all evil does this ring defeat
,' she said.

We stood at the double front doors of the penthouse with our jug of salt water. My great-aunt nodded to me and we began. ‘Thrice around and thrice repeat, all evil does this ring defeat,' we chanted, side by side, sprinkling the doors with the salt solution. We progressed through the entire penthouse, from kitchen and hallway to the locked door of the antechamber, through the lounge and to my room, ending up back at the front entry. We repeated the ritual three full times.

‘Thrice around and thrice repeat, all evil does this ring defeat,' we chanted a final time and stopped.

My great-aunt pulled an embroidered hanky from her pocket and wiped her hands dry. ‘There. That's better, isn't it?' she said.

The jug was near empty. ‘Will that really work?'

‘Protection spells can be very powerful. Besides, you are the Seventh, and I am no slouch.' She held her beautiful chin high. ‘Yes, I think this protection spell will hold nicely.'

‘What about Luke? I don't know if I can sleep knowing he is out there, and that thing on Barrett's back could be controlling him somehow.' I was sure that's who was doing it, now that I'd seen those terrifying green eyes.

Celia considered my concerns for a moment. ‘Let's have a look at your room again,' she said placidly.

My bedroom door was still open and we stepped inside. The ring of salt water had evaporated already, the spell set and invisible. My great-aunt cast her keen gaze from one corner of the room to the other, then tilted her head. ‘What is that under your bed?'

‘Luke's sword,' I said, and bent to get it.

‘No, no, leave it there.'

I straightened.

‘You are very safe here in the penthouse, doubly so in your bed with that iron spell protecting you. Keep the sword there when you sleep at night, as you have been.'

‘Iron spell?'

‘Iron traditionally gives protection,' she explained. ‘It is why some people wear iron bracelets or amulets, sleep in iron beds or use horseshoes for good luck. That sword has kept you extra safe each night as you slept, whether you realised it or not. Keeping a sword under your bed is a traditional iron protection spell. Swords carry much power, so the protection you have chosen – unconsciously or otherwise – has the strongest magick. I dare say it is the most practical as well.'

She was probably right about that. A sword was a lot more useful than an old rusted horseshoe.

‘Do you feel better now?' she asked gently.

I did. And I slept better knowing I was safe, even if the world outside the doors of Celia's penthouse was more strange and terrifying than ever.

O
n Tuesday the hours at
Pandora
went by quickly, the office evidently energised by the internal shake-up. Pepper seemed to revel in her new position, and she was well equipped to lead, too. She designated duties to staff with a fresh directness, and organised aspects of the office that I hadn't even realised needed organising. New computer software was installed. Positions were reshuffled. Even the title font for the magazine was subtly changed, the alteration announced to all of us as part of another ‘team meeting'. Pepper seemed real keen to make her mark without delay. And there seemed to be no resistance to all the changes, either. Not one person mentioned Skye DeVille, perhaps because she'd been so absent lately, or perhaps because I wasn't the only one she'd been unkind to. It was as if Skye were already dead to us.

In the afternoon I had some fashion shoots to organise for the upcoming issue and I had to put out casting calls to various modelling agencies, which I'd never done before. That was a kind of highlight. Anything I hadn't done before beat the constant grind of grinding coffee beans, putting the kettle on again and again, taking calls and culling emails. (I made no fewer than three Chai teas and four coffees with the new coffee machine.) And anything, I found, beat the idea of heading home. The closer it was to the end of the working day, the more anxious I became, I realised. Sure the penthouse was safe, if Celia was right, but what about the rest of Spektor?

For perhaps the first time, I didn't really want to go home.

What are you so afraid of, Pandora?

Sure, it was natural to be spooked by the apparent return of Dr Edmund Barrett, who seemed to have had a rather sordid history when he was alive and by my calculation had died a hundred years earlier. But it was not him that had given me such a scare, I knew – it was the thing on his back. I'd never seen anything like it, and it disturbed me deeply. What about the way Barrett had fallen unconscious just when it had woken? And he'd been trying to warn me of something, but what? What had he come back to tell me and where had he come back from?

I'd suffered aggressive bloodsuckers and armies of arachnids, yet somehow that creature on Barrett's back haunted me the most, with those awful green eyes – that and Luke's sudden change from the beautiful ghost I knew into a monster. It was the thing on Barrett's back doing that as well, wasn't it?

Hmmm.

At four o'clock I felt restless at the thought of heading home. I placed my ballpoint pen in front of the keyboard on my desk and found myself staring at it. It was lightweight, but if I could really control it, if I could make it move even an inch, then I would have harnessed some of the telekinesis I supposedly had.
Mind movement
. Celia had convinced me I had the ability and it seemed I'd used it before without thinking. But consciously using it – rather than instinctively – was proving difficult. I'd made the skeleton key move once, but I'd thought my head might explode in the process. I'd been unsuccessful since.

Come on.

The pen was still.

I focused on it, my eyes wide, tapping my foot impatiently. I held my temples and squinted, my eyebrows raised. It was a good thing no one was observing me.

Nothing.

‘Blah,' I exclaimed under my breath and gave up.

I sat back in my chair, twiddling the pen between my fingers and contemplating what to do. If I were to get ahead in this magazine I'd have to show some more initiative. Perhaps Pepper would be more receptive to my writing pitches than Skye had been? Though of course Pepper had basically stolen my breakthrough piece exposing the
BloodofYouth
skincare scam with barely an acknowledgement, so there wasn't a lot of trust there.
Hmmm.
I was feeling more than a little cooped up in Spektor, especially now that Luke was not . . . Luke. Yes, this whole double life thing was hard sometimes. It all made me, much to my surprise, truly reluctant to hang around Spektor and explore Celia's mansion.

New York needs exploring, too
, I reminded myself.

Raising myself up in my chair, I scanned the office, and on seeing that Pepper was out of earshot, I pulled out Jay's business card.
Should I?
I bit my lip and after another moment of inner struggle, I dialled his number from my mobile. (The reception was pretty awful in Spektor. Actually, it was nonexistent. So it made sense to call now. It wasn't because I was keen or anything . . .)

The call was answered in three rings.

‘Hello?'

Jay's deep voice made me sit up in my chair. ‘Hi, Jay. It's Pandora. Pandora English.'

‘I'm so glad you called,' Jay said, and immediately a part of me relaxed. Of course, he hasn't been erased again. Of course, Jay remembered giving me his number.

‘I hope you're going to let me take you out,' he said.

‘Yes. I am,' I replied, feeling more than a little guilty now that I was actually going to do it.

What about Luke? Would he mind?
I felt like I didn't even know him anymore.

‘How about Friday? Something casual? There's this great little restaurant in Little Italy,' Jay said.

Oh goodness.
That was the area we'd dined in on our first date.

‘Um, sure. That would be nice,' I said, wondering if I should propose another spot. Perhaps something in SoHo or Greenwich Village? The problem was, I didn't really know the local restaurant scene. And it had been lovely last time, after all.

‘I could pick you up if you like,' he suggested.

I imagined Jay trying to find Spektor again. Not a good idea.

‘I could pick you up from work?' he ventured.

I bit my lip. ‘Maybe that's not such a good idea,' I said, thinking of Pepper's reaction. ‘Why don't I meet you . . . next door?'

‘Next door? That's Evolution, right? The freaky store with all the skeletons and things?'

‘That's the one,' I confirmed.

There was a pause. ‘You have kind of a dark side, don't you?'

‘Life has a dark side,' I said, and thought,
You have no idea.

He laughed good-naturedly. ‘Is seven okay for you?'

‘Sure,' I said. Then I thought about hanging around SoHo until then, on a Friday night. It wasn't particularly appealing. ‘Actually, why don't I just meet you there?'

‘Or at my place? That way you don't have to worry about parking.'

Seven o'clock at Rockwell Mansion?
‘Okay,' I said.

I hung up the phone and smiled. I'd done the right thing in reaching out, I decided. Why should I stay cooped up in Spektor all the time? I'd been in New York three months now. I had to make new friends.

And reacquaint myself with not-so-new friends, too.

When I left work I wasn't terribly surprised to find Celia's car at the kerb. My great-aunt was worried about me, it seemed. Or if she wasn't worried, exactly, then she was at least acutely aware that I was. I weaved between the throng of pedestrians on the footpath and into the open car gratefully, and thanked Vlad for coming – unperturbed by his usual lack of response.

Traffic was bad, and by the time we entered Spektor, the sun had given over to a waning moon and another stretch of night. As we emerged from the fog on the other side of the tunnel, Vlad hit the brakes suddenly, causing me to lurch forward, seatbelt straining. I looked up, surprised. In the headlights ahead, two figures crossed the street only a few feet in front of us, mist curling around them like smoke. Bones jutted out through gaps in their formal clothes, which were tattered to the point of dirty rags.

I gasped.

That shambling gait was unmistakable. These two were walking corpses – zombies of some kind – and the sun had barely gone down. We'd nearly hit them.

Dark magick is gathering
, I thought.

I hesitated before getting out of the long black car at the kerb outside the mansion. Vlad opened the door and after licking my lips anxiously, I slid my satchel over my shoulder and scurried past him up to the entrance as quickly as I could, keys in my hand. I waved as Vlad pulled away, noting with some relief that the street just outside the house was quiet and the strange couple we'd almost run over had wandered off to some other misty corner.

I was about to mutter my usual welcome to the old door so that the house would let me in when suddenly the door opened itself, my hand hovering aimlessly at the lock.

Oh, hell.

A tall figure appeared in the doorway. Despite being caked with soil, this creature was terrifyingly beautiful. And smiling. She had her hand on the door.

Athanasia.

I grabbed a handful of rice in my pocket, my heart pounding.

Athanasia was wearing leather pants and a sleeveless top. I couldn't imagine choosing such an outfit for a therapeutic rest in a grave, but then I never had been able to figure her out. She was my Sanguine nemesis. Oh, hell, she was a
vampire
. The V word may have very negative connotations but it suited her from her fangs right down to her stilettos. (Which weren't looking so hot, I noticed.)

‘Pandora English,' she said, still smiling. She wiped her face with one hand, pushing her filthy dark hair back. ‘I'm so glad to see you. Please come in.'

I stood my ground at the threshold.

‘You look . . . better,' I said. The last time I'd seen her she'd had a face like dropped pie. With boils. Garlic was not kind to Sanguine skin.

A second figure appeared in the doorway next to her. I recognised her immediately.

‘Skye?'

Skye DeVille was wearing the same long black outfit she'd been wearing at Rockwell Mansion. She smiled a horrific smile at me, flashing a pair of big ivory fangs. Her hands were dirty. So, Athanasia had called her when the time was right for her to rise.

Oh dear.

I swallowed. I'd been right about my former boss and that gave me no joy at all. At least I no longer felt bad about pulling her off that young man at the party. I'd most likely saved his life.

‘Don't be worried. All is forgiven,' Athanasia said, and took a step back, welcoming me into my great-aunt's home with one extended arm.

This was a most peculiar scene – Athanasia and Skye just standing there, waiting for me to step inside, each smiling. I wondered if I'd ever seen Skye smile when she was alive. I doubted it. They both looked suspicious, though Skye was the only one with her fangs out, perhaps because she had so little control as a fresh Fledgling.

I narrowed my eyes, feeling the rice in my pockets. Thank goddess I'd remembered to bring some. ‘So what's going on here, exactly?' I asked.

‘Whatever do you mean?' Athanasia said in a saccharine tone that did not suit her in the slightest. ‘Oh, you mean my new friend Skye? I believe you two have met.'

‘Yes. We have.'

She kept smiling, urging me inside. Then her eyes flicked to something behind me and I whirled around, fearing an ambush.

‘Who is that?' Athanasia said, seeming genuinely surprised.

It was one half of the zombie pair – the woman in her trailing white burial dress, her head slumped to one side. Under the light of the streetlamps I could see that there wasn't much left of her body except the skeleton that supported it. The woman – if that was still the right word for her – seemed directionless, drifting along the centre of the pavement on Addams Avenue. Her eyes were empty sockets, her fleshless lips pulled back in a deathly corpse grin.

‘I think you'd better come inside,' Athanasia said, and suddenly I found myself agreeing with her. I stepped into the lobby and she let the door shut behind me.

‘So everything is cool between us. No hard feelings?' I said, though I couldn't believe it for one instant.

‘None,' she said, smiling oddly. And now I could see that the rest of Athanasia's merry little gang were in attendance – Blonde, Redhead and poor, sad Samantha. The two Sanguine supermodels gathered around their leader and their new pack member Skye, evidently doing their best to appear friendly. Samantha stood behind them, so still on those mezzanine stairs that she could barely be detected.