Authors: M.J. Hearle
Winter's Shadow (38 page)
How strong Victor’s hatred must have been to survive through the years and be passed down to his descendants. Caleb talked about evil and monsters, but Winter couldn’t help but see his hypocrisy. A father grooming his sons to be killers from birth; brainwashing them to carry on his violent cause, robbing them of all innocence or the chance of a normal life – this was monstrous. This was evil.
‘Even if you’re right,’ Winter countered, ‘even if Ariman was a monster – why punish Blake?’
Caleb resumed his insincere expression of paternal indulgence. ‘Your Blake is every bit the monster his father was.’
Winter was already shaking her head. ‘Blake’s not a murderer. You’re wrong.’
‘Am I?’ Caleb replied. He nodded at his middle son. ‘Bring in the computer, Sam.’
Sam stepped out of the room and his footsteps receded into the house. Caleb pressed his skeletal fingers together as he regarded her thoughtfully. ‘You really believe Blake cares for you, don’t you?’
Winter didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. This man knew nothing about her relationship with Blake. He was a murderous old fool. Sam returned after a few minutes with a laptop, which he handed to Caleb. Caleb flipped up the screen and typed in a few keyboard commands. When he was satisfied with what was displayed, he slid the laptop across the table towards Winter.
‘Perhaps you’ll find this of interest.’
Suspicious of Caleb trying some kind of trick, Winter pulled the computer closer. What could possibly be on here that would change the way she felt towards Blake? There was a folder listing a dozen or so girls’ names in alphabetical order.
‘What is —?’
‘Open one of the files. Any of them,’ Caleb prompted her.
Using the touchpad, Winter clicked on ‘Carol Oates’. After a few seconds of loading, an image filled the screen – a newspaper clipping, scanned from the
Kentworth Chronicle
. The article was dated 5 June 1999, and was of high enough quality that Winter had no problem reading the text. Her eyes travelled over the article, widening in shock as the implications became clear.
Police officers discovered the body of seventeen-year-old Carol Oates in the gully behind Noxton Hill just before dawn this morning. The teenager had been missing for two days after failing to return home last Friday night. What was particularly disturbing about Ms Oates’s death was the state in which her
body was found. Detective Mereson of the Kentworth County Sheriff’s Department was quoted as saying, ‘She looked much older than her seventeen years would suggest,’ adding that if it weren’t for dental records indicating that it was Ms Oates, they would have assumed the body to be that of a woman aged over sixty. While the exact cause of death is still unknown, Detective Mereson is confident that a full autopsy will reveal how and when the girl was murdered. In the meantime, authorities seek to question a young man seen with Ms Oates outside the cinema on George Street. He is believed to be one of the last to see her alive.
Winter looked up at Caleb and demanded, ‘What is this supposed to prove? You don’t know it was Blake —’
Caleb pointed at the laptop. ‘Scroll down to the bottom.’
Her sense of unease growing, Winter did what he said and saw a grainy, black-and-white photograph of Carol Oates. Next to her photograph was a finely detailed police sketch. Winter read the caption below the drawing with a sick feeling growing inside her.
The above sketch was made with the help of Carol Oates’s friends, who saw the two together on the night she died. Any information regarding his whereabouts is to be directed to the Kentworth County Sheriff’s Department, which can be contacted . . .
It was Blake – the artist had captured his features perfectly. Winter pushed the laptop away from her, twisting it around to face Caleb.
‘There are other articles, other girls.’
Winter shook her head, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. ‘I don’t want to see any more.’
She was appalled to realise there was a small part of her that wasn’t completely certain of Blake’s innocence. He’d admitted how strong the hunger was that gripped him after using his powers – was it unthinkable that he’d given in to this hunger again, after Elisabetta?
Caleb closed the laptop and handed it back to Sam. ‘It’s not your fault, Winter. This devil has a way about him that makes young women forget themselves. His father had it too.’
Winter stared down at her hands, as if hoping to find some answer there that would make sense of all this. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – accept that Blake was responsible for the deaths of all those girls. If he was a killer, why hadn’t he taken advantage of all the times they’d been alone together? There had to be another explanation.
Caleb stood up and walked around the table to where Winter was sitting. He bent down to her level and put a hand gently on her shoulder.
‘We need you to help us, Winter. We need you to help us stop him.’
Her throat felt very dry. When she spoke her voice cracked. ‘How?’
Damien moved to where they were sitting and dropped Blake’s necklace onto the table in front of Winter. The green crystal – the lodestone – glinted in the light.
Caleb glanced over at Damien with interest. ‘Does it work?’
Damien nodded. ‘I ran the analysis, keeping a small part for the locator should we wish to track it. It’s defi-nitely from Krypthia.’
Winter’s ears pricked up at the mention of Krypthia. She hadn’t been certain of the extent of the Bane’s knowledge, and was surprised they knew the name of the city at the heart of the Dead Lands. She was more interested in Damien’s allusion to the locator and how it related to them tracking down Blake. As she was mulling this over, Caleb turned his attention back to her.
‘Use it to call him, Winter.’
‘I don’t know how to,’ she replied, lowering her gaze so that he couldn’t see the deceit in her eyes.
‘She’s lying! Let me make her use it,’ Marcus snapped.
Winter swallowed in fear. She had no doubts that left to his own devices Marcus would like to hurt her.
‘Be quiet!’ Caleb snapped.
His eldest son closed his mouth, flushing furiously.
Sighing with frustration, Caleb said, ‘I’m sorry, Winter. Marcus has a quick temper. I understand that you’re still confused. Maybe we can help you with that?’ He stood up and moved away to the back of the room. ‘Damien – she’s all yours.’
‘Really?’ Damien said, the excitement in his tone frightening Winter more than Marcus’s threats of physical violence.
Caleb nodded encouragingly.
‘Outstanding!’ Damien jumped up and left the room. Winter didn’t know what he was going to do to her but she had a feeling it was going to be bad. She turned imploringly to Sam. ‘Sam, please don’t let them do this!’
Sam looked past her, as though ashamed to meet her gaze. She could tell by the regret in his voice that he didn’t want this to happen any more than she did, but was powerless to stop it. ‘You should have helped us.’
Damien returned with a small wooden box. He sat opposite her at the table and lifted off the lid. Winter couldn’t see what was inside, but wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Her imagination exploded with a dozen possibilities of what kind of torture device Damien might be about to use on her – all of them frightening. To her surprise, instead of thumbscrews or needles, Damien withdrew a circular medallion, its centre adorned with a tiny ruby.
‘Lower the lights,’ Damien said as he closed the box and held the medallion in his hands.
Sam dimmed the lights until they could barely see each other. The only source of light spilled in through the hallway. Winter braced herself for whatever was going to happen to next.
‘I was excited to see your necklace, Winter, because I’ve only ever seen ones like it in books. I wasn’t sure they even existed,’ Damien said, smiling at her in a manner which he probably thought was friendly but just came off as unsettling. ‘I’m a collector of rare stones, you see. Not diamonds or sapphires – but other stones much more precious. Much more powerful.
‘This here is a very special artefact. It’s called a Witching Stone,’ he continued, letting the medallion swing in the air like a pendulum. ‘There doesn’t appear to be
anything remarkable about it, but if you look closely at the ruby you can see a light hidden in its depths. Can you see it, Winter?’
Without knowing why, Winter felt compelled to study the ruby in the centre of the medallion as it swung back and forth. She leaned forward, fascinated by the way the facets of the gem reflected her face . . . There
was
a light! She could see it flashing in the depths of the ruby; small bursts of crimson lightning spidering up and down the interior of the tiny prism.
‘Can you see it? Can you see the light?’ Damien asked her in soft, soothing tones.
‘Yes,’ Winter heard herself answer. The ruby seemed to fill her entire field of vision, blocking out Damien, Caleb, the room – everything. There was just the red light and Damien’s voice, compelling her to obey.
‘You’re going to help us, Winter.’
‘Yes,’ she heard a voice say again distantly. It sounded like her, but it couldn’t have been, because she hadn’t felt her mouth move.
‘I want you to pick up the lodestone that Blake gave you. I want you to pick it up and use it to – oh my God . . . I don’t believe it!’
‘What is it?’ Caleb asked, moving across to his son. Their conversation sounded distant, as though they were standing in another room.
‘She’s a Key.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘I think so. If everything in Alistaire’s Grimoire is true, this girl is a Key.’
Vaguely aware of the excitement in Caleb’s voice, Winter couldn’t muster any curiosity over what they were talking about. Nothing seemed more important than the Witching Stone, swinging from Damien’s hand.
‘No wonder he wanted her. I’m surprised the girl is still alive. This changes everything. What do you suppose —’
A doorbell chimed loudly through the house.
‘Dammit!’ Damien cursed, lowering the medallion. Once it was hidden from sight, Winter began to come back to herself. She sat blinking in the gloom, shocked to see that she was holding Blake’s necklace in her hands. She didn’t remember picking it up.
The doorbell chimed again.
Irritated, Caleb frowned at his three sons. ‘Would any of you be expecting guests at this time of night?’
The three looked at each other and shrugged in confusion. Closing his eyes, Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose tightly, as though trying to relieve the pressure of a budding headache. ‘Marcus, go see who it is.’
After Marcus had disappeared into the hallway Caleb walked over to Damien and pointed at Winter. ‘Is she still under?’
Damien shook his head. ‘No, I’ll have to start again.’
Caleb looked sternly at Winter. ‘Please don’t draw any attention to yourself. I’d hate to have to gag you.’
Still confused by what had just happened, Winter picked up Nefertem off the table for comfort.
What was wrong with her?
Why did she feel so . . . violated? Winter looked deeply into the tabby’s eyes, trying to find something there that would make sense of the situation.
She heard the front door open at the other end of the house, followed by the soft murmur of voices. A minute later, Marcus returned.
‘It’s some girl for Sam,’ he told his father, looking at Sam with bemusement. Sam’s cheeks reddened.
‘I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t —’
Caleb stopped him. ‘Just get rid of her.’
Sam pushed past his smirking brothers and out into the hallway.
After he’d gone, Caleb rubbed the back of his neck absently. ‘I apologise for the distraction. We’ll continue as soon as we can.’
‘Continue? What were you doing to me?’ Winter asked, trying to clear her head of the strange fog that clouded it.
Caleb rested his hand proudly on Damien’s shoulder. ‘Just giving you a friendly push in the right direction. I think you want to help us, but you’re holding yourself back out of some deluded sense of loyalty to Blake. Damien might be the youngest of my sons, but he’s also the smartest. He’s trained himself in certain techniques to help us get the information we need.’