The Whitby Witches 3: The Whitby Child (39 page)

The girl gripped the handle tightly.

"STOP!" bellowed a fierce voice behind her.

Jennet wavered as Nathaniel glared beyond her to where two figures came charging from the shadows of the Abbey.

A wooden smile lit the warlock's face as he recognised Alice Boston and the boy at her side.

Fuming indignantly, the old lady raced up to the girl and knocked the dagger from her grasp. The blade spun in the air then speared harmlessly into the mud.

"The boy!" shrieked the fishmonkey furiously. '"Tis he—destroy the whelp! Kill the maggot!"

Ben eyed the creature in disgust and kept close to Aunt Alice as she tried to rouse his sister from Nathaniel's power.

"Jennet!" Miss Boston cried, peering into the girl's eyes and shaking her. "You're safe now—return to us!"

A low, mocking chortle came from Nathaniel as he regarded his old adversary with undisguised scorn. "Well, well," he muttered. "Still interfering and tampering in schemes too great for you? You're wasting your time with her, you know—she's besotted with me. Once they've tasted my charm, my dainties can't escape."

Miss Boston scowled at him. "What devilment is this?" she stormed, undaunted. "I saw you perish before the might of Morgawrus! The world was a gladder place for your passing—creep back into your unholy grave! You and your infernal brood ought to be wiped from this earth, damn you all! This has gone on for far too long—I won't permit it to continue a second longer! Jennet, in the Name of the Father I release you!"

Aunt Alice's hands grabbed the wooden beads at the child's throat and with a strenuous yell, she tore them free.

Jennet fell against her as the warlock's influence was wrenched away, then she cried out and cowered from him in terror.

Miss Boston patted her mud-clogged hair. "Don't you worry," she consoled, "he can't get at you now—his dominion over you is gone forever."

Behind Nathaniel the coven murmured at this unheard of defiance and the fishmonkey cackled shrilly.

"A sorry display hath this demonstration been thus far!" it squealed. "Slit the boy's throat and be done—these others are unimportant."

The look on the warlock's face equalled the grotesque ugliness of the fishmonkey. The old lady and the girl had made him look inept and his wrath boiled behind those glittering eyes.

"That was the last time," he rumbled, "the last time you meddle in my affairs. The hour of your death is long overdue, harridan! I will take great pleasure in settling that account."

Raising his hand he pointed at Miss Boston and the children, but she gave an impudent laugh and reached swiftly into her cloak.

Into the driving rain she flourished the tattered pages of the Book of Shadows and, as a crackling spiral of lethal magic came battering from Nathaniel's outstretched fingers, she held it before her like a shield.

The loose binding melted under the savage attack, Aunt Alice stumbled backwards from the terrible forces that blasted against the book and black sparks flew in all directions. The lifetime's work of Patricia Gunning was burning in her hands; all the spells of healing were devoured, the blessed formulae were rapaciously consumed and, with a pitiful splutter like a damp firework, the charms and incantations fizzled and were quenched.

Miss Boston sucked her cheeks in worriedly then, shouting out a string of Latin words, flung the dissolving volume straight at the warlock's head.

In a blinding explosion of silver fire, the Book of Shadows erupted and a ball of brilliant flame cannoned into Nathaniel Crozier, dazzling and singeing his eyes. Then, as the fiery stars sputtered and perished, he stared at the place where the old hag had stood. Both she and the children had vanished.

Wintry hatred froze on the warlock's face and the fishmonkey screeched its derision.

"It was but the simplest of conjuror's tricks!" the creature bawled. "The crone is already escaping from this place and heading for the Abbey steps. Stop her and bring the boy child to me before it is too late—my master's wrath increases."

Nathaniel snatched the ceremonial dagger from the ground and gave it to Meta.

"Get after them," he snarled. "I don't care what you do—just kill them all."

The golden-haired woman brandished the knife proudly and with a lingering look at her beloved, raced through the ruins.

"Meta!" Pear shouted in dismay. "No!"

"Persephone!" Nathaniel barked, but the girl was already tearing after her mother.

In Hillian's arms the fishmonkey waggled its repulsive head and, in a condemning tone, muttered, "Thou hast failed, thou and thy rabble have reneged on the bargain. Thy part has not been honoured, the boy lives still."

"Not for much longer!" the warlock retorted vehemently. "Meta excels as an assassin."

"Empty words," the wizened creature denounced. "Too often hath much been promised and all for naught. Thou wert given new life, yet you have dared cheat the Allpowerful."

Nathaniel had heard enough from the ugly monster and made no reply. Instead, Hillian gazed at the deformed object in her hands and laughed dismissively.

"What matter is that to us now?" she scoffed. "The Lord of the Frozen Wastes has given us our High Priest—that is all we ever wanted. I pray the boy does indeed grow to bring about the demise of the Lord of the Frozen Wastes. I am sick to my teeth of his demands and your constant puling squeaks!"

The fishmonkey glared up at her, then with a raging screech it wrested free of her grasp and launched itself upwards, shrieking in a frenzy of hate.

Hillian's spectacles were thrown to the ground as the webbed claws tore into her flesh and the witch screamed in alarm and pain.

Gouging deep into her skin, the creature squawked and slashed out bloody rents. "A curse on the day thou wert contacted!" it cried. "Thou hast used my master for thine own ends—fie on you, Drab of the East!"

The needle-like teeth lunged for Hillian's neck but they snapped only the rain as Nathaniel dragged it from her and threw it to the ground.

"I think we can dispense of your services now," he muttered in a threatening voice filled with menace.

The fishmonkey wormed and bolted through the mud, dragging itself by its emaciated arms, but Nathaniel came stomping after and with a vile laugh he brought his foot fiercely down upon the creature's humped and bony back.

A piercing squeal blared from the gaping mouth as the brittle body shattered and the scaly, papery skin burst into a flurry of tiny fragments.

"Master!" it gibbered, writhing and twisting like a headless snake.

Grinning, Nathaniel crushed the creature's limbs, snapping the bones until they hung pathetically from the shoulders, twitching helplessly. Above the splintered remains of its misshapen body, the domed head gasped its last and the yellow eyes stared balefully upwards.

"Dost thou... thou truly believe..?" the servant of the deep rasped, "Didst thou think my... my mighty Lord would be so... so unwise?"

The light dimmed behind the eyes but the fishmonkey managed a final sneer and with a cackle gurgling in its broken neck, scorned Nathaniel and the rest of the coven with consummate loathing.

"No... no trust did he have in thee and thine!" it wheezed. "Ha! The Lord of the Frozen Wastes shall not be chea..."

The ugly head rolled to one side and the flimsy eyelids closed as a rattling breath groaned from the gawping mouth.

Nathaniel kicked the shattered fragments aside and turned to the others. The witches had gathered about Hillian, who was whimpering from the agonies 
that seared her flesh.

"My face!" she howled. "My face!"

From the ragged wounds her blood was flowing freely but the warlock looked at her without compassion. "Be quiet," he rebuked. "The scars will heal—I didn't recruit you for your beauty."

Obediently Hillian stifled her cries and the others stood away from her.

"Time to leave this place," he snorted. "Heel!"

The witches trailed after him but suddenly the night was torn asunder as a blinding bolt of lightning forked from the churning clouds and flashed over the surface of the pool behind them.

For a brief moment a layer of livid flame blasted across the dark water, and when it dispersed and only the smouldering gloom remained, Nathaniel stared back suspiciously.

"Miserable weather for such a long-awaited reunion," observed a pert, arch voice.

The warlock stepped forward and his face fell.

From the rain-splashed water a figure was rising. Her short, strawberry-blonde hair was held back by a black band, accentuating her fine-boned features, and a seductive smile played over her thin lips.

Dumbfounded, Nathaniel stared at the newcomer, whilst around him the witches muttered in surprise and through her bloody tears Hillian felt her new position as priestess slip hopelessly away from her.

The woman in the pool stretched her lithe frame and straightened the black robes that covered her. Then she gazed steadily at her speechless husband and with a mocking, girlish laugh, asked, "Have you nothing to say, darling Nathan? Am I so unwelcome?"

"Roselyn!" the warlock growled, his rising anger dispelling all bewilderment. "Why are you here?"

Wading through the pool, with her garment billowing around her, the woman who had lived in Whitby as Rowena Cooper spoke in soft, treacherous tones and her face was wreathed in a dangerous, deceitful grin.

"Surely you must know by now," she murmured darkly, "that wherever you go, my dearest heart's blood, your wife must follow. I too have torn through the veil! We are united at last!" And she strode stealthily towards the bank, with faint derisive laughter trickling from her lips.

***

Down the one hundred and ninety-nine steps the children and Aunt Alice tore. The driving rain pelted in their faces and over the wet, slippery stairs they slithered and scrambled. Far below them the drenched rooftops of the town glistened and the streets rippled like rivers as the rushing deluge gushed from the drain-pipes and flowed over the cobbles.

Clinging to the dripping handrail, Ben hurried as fast as the perilous, glass-like steps allowed, while just behind, Aunt Alice lumbered with Jennet still clutching on to her cloak.

"Hurry," the boy called, too busy concentrating on the hazardous way to turn around. "They'll be coming after us!"

"Come along, Jennet!" Miss Boston cried. "Exert yourself, child!"

Still in shock, the girl blundered aimlessly after her. Half stumbling, half falling, she was beyond caring what would happen to them. The loss of the necklace and Nathaniel's malevolent influence had left a ghastly hole inside her. It was as if she had suffered a tragic wounding that left her bereft and empty within.

"We're not even halfway down!" Aunt Alice blustered, pulling her by the hand. "Quickly!"

Jennet skidded to a defeated standstill and leaned heavily against the rail. "I can't," she protested wearily, "there's no point."

"No point?" Aunt Alice repeated furiously. "At any moment that devil and his harpies will come charging after us!"

"I don't care," the girl insisted. "Can't you see? I've had enough—I just want it to end."

Miss Boston gripped Jennet's muddy uniform and scolded her furiously. "You listen to me, madam!" she cried. "It's time you stopped thinking about yourself! Was there ever such an ungrateful and selfish child?"

Jennet flinched before Aunt Alice's withering scorn, but before she could respond the old lady pointed down to where Ben's sopping figure was hastily descending.

"Look at him!" she rapped. "Your brother needs you—he always has. Are you going to abandon him now? If we escape this night there are worse dangers in the world."

Jennet blinked the rain from her lashes, and as she listened to Aunt Alice's tirade she began to emerge from the apathy that the shock had wrought.

"Ben!" she called suddenly. "Wait for us!"

The girl darted down the steps and a pleased grin lit Miss Boston's face as she hurried after.

At the summit of the Abbey steps two points of hellish light shone in the darkness, glaring through the slanting rain at the three figures fleeing below. With a wild snarl, Meta tucked the dagger into her belt as her jaws trembled and formed a ravaging snout.

The witch-hound's golden hair streamed behind her as she bounded in pursuit. Her elegant hands tapered into bitter talons and she dragged the sharpest claw over the railing until the metal squealed and screeched.

Nearing the bottom, Miss Boston and the children heard the dreadful clamour and they glanced hurriedly upwards.

"Meta!" Jennet exclaimed.

The frightful squealing grew louder as the misshapen woman raced towards them. Her gleaming eyes blazed with malice and hatred, and from her transformed head she let loose a terrible, bestial shriek.

"Quick!" Aunt Alice shouted. "Don't turn round, don't look at her. We still have a chance."

Baying into the squalling night, the witch-hound chased her prey. Galloping like a gusting wind, she could smell their fear, and the scent heated her blood as the savage side took absolute control and she slobbered with evil greed.

In some remote region of her barbaric mind a familiar voice called her human name—but it was too late now.

Coarse fur was already bristling down her neck as her hair shrank into her skull and her claws came clattering over the stone. In a tangled knot of cheesecloth and cotton, her clothes were cast aside and on all fours Meta stampeded down.

Hearing the awful yammering blare behind them, Miss Boston and the children flew into Henrietta Street and the old lady threw herself against the door of the nearest house.

"Help!" she bawled, hammering with her fists. "Open up! Help us!"

Holding on to her brother, Jennet turned as the great black hound with fiery eyes came leaping and she screamed in terror.

"Open up!" Aunt Alice demanded, punching and kicking the front door.

Ben heard the muffled sound of footsteps within the house and the lock turned, but his attention was fixed upon the monstrous creature which came prowling towards them. The great jaws lolled open and a row of jagged teeth were revealed as the lips curled and the hideous beast uttered a guttural growl.