Winter's Light (9 page)

Hearing the sound of teacups clinking in the kitchen Winter stealthily crept into the hallway towards her room. Sam’s clothes and weapons were still on the floor where she’d dumped them.

‘Sam?’ she whispered into the empty room. No reply came. She got down onto her knees and checked under the bed in case he’d slid under there at the sound of Lucy’s approach. Nope, there were just a few stray socks and her clarinet case covered in dust.

Frowning, she stood up and went back into the hallway. Maybe he’d jumped out of the window? The idea of him skittering down the side of the house in just a towel was almost comical, an image straight out of the old British comedies her dad had loved.

Winter was just about to check the bathroom when she noticed the hallway cupboard was slightly ajar. She went and opened it slowly revealing a wet and shivering half-naked Sam. Winter averted her eyes from his glistening torso.

‘Is it safe?’ he whispered through chattering teeth.

Chapter 14

Blushing madly, Winter led Sam quickly to her room, making it back into the living room just as Lucy and Dominic were returning with the tea. The three of them sat and talked pleasantly for the next fifteen minutes or so – Winter was able to hold up her end of the conversation without too much difficulty now that Sam was safely hidden. Lucy seemed visibly delighted that Winter and Dominic were getting along so well. Of course she didn’t know it was because they shared something of a conspirators’ bond. Winter still wondered why Dominic had chosen to bail her out.

Perhaps it was an effort to win her over? If this was the case, then Dominic could consider her well and truly won over. Now, if he could just keep Lucy occupied while Winter smuggled Sam out of the house then . . .

‘How about we let Winter get some sleep? It’s been a big day,’ he said during a lull in the conversation. Winter could have hugged him. The man was psychic.

Lucy looked over at him and read the look in his eyes. It said quite plainly,
It’s time for us to be alone.
‘Um . . . sure,’ she said, and Winter saw her sister’s cheeks turn pink. It had been a long time since Lucy had had a guy stay over.

Smiling shyly at Dominic, she glanced over at Winter. ‘Are you tired?’

‘Oh yeah,’ Winter said, trying to muster up a fake yawn. ‘Bone tired.’

‘Okay then, we’ll leave you to it.’ They both stood up and moved towards the hallway.

‘Goodnight,’ Winter said, smiling supportively at her sister. ‘Night, Dominic.’

He smiled at her, and they shared a brief moment of eye contact that cemented her feelings for him. Lucy was in safe hands.

Before they left, her sister paused in the doorway and asked, ‘Have you been burning incense or something? There’s a funny smell in the air.’

‘Um . . . no.’ She’d grown accustomed to the elderflower, but it was still there, smelling as strongly as ever.

A slight crease appeared in Lucy’s forehead. ‘Weird.’ That look of suspicion crept back into her eyes, but Dominic was already pulling her gently away. Before she disappeared down the hallway, she said to Winter, ‘Turn off the lights before you go to bed. And open a window.’

Winter sighed in relief, marvelling that she’d made it through the ordeal. It had been a close call. She stood and with Nefertem trailing in her wake, made her way through the house flicking off switches (she made sure the windows were shut and bolted). As she headed for her bedroom, the image of Sam’s muscular body, slick with the water and pink from the heat, floated near the forefront of her mind. She had to pause a moment before opening the door to compose herself. Her cheeks were feeling unusually hot.

Sam had hidden himself in the corner so he wasn’t visible until she’d stepped into the room. She saw with relief that he was fully dressed now, having squeezed into Beanpole’s sweater, which hugged his chest and arms tightly.

‘That was close,’ she said, keeping her tone low just in case their voices carried.

Nodding, Sam let out the breath he’d been holding. ‘Is your sister —?’

‘In her room,’ Winter finished for him. ‘It’s safe for you to leave now.’

Sam picked up his crossbow and slung it around his back. ‘I’ll stay in your backyard tonight. In the shadows out of sight. The elderflower should keep Benedict away but if something happens, if he manages to get in somehow, I want you to signal me.’ He pulled a torch with a thick rubber handle, the kind police officers carried, out of his duffle bag and gave it to her. ‘Just flick it on if there’s trouble.’

‘So you’re going to spend all night outside? When will you sleep?’

He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘But what if Benedict —’

‘He won’t.’ Seeing that she was far from convinced, he glanced around her room then walked over and picked up a red scarf from the few she had hanging from a hook next to her wardrobe. ‘I’ll tie this around one of the tree branches outside before I go in the morning, so you’ll know I’m alive and well.’

Winter was still unsure of this plan. She didn’t like the idea of Sam outside in the dark alone all night but she couldn’t very well let him stay in the house with Lucy and Dominic around. ‘Don’t forget,’ she said, pointing at the scarf for emphasis.

‘There’s something else,’ Sam said, his expression growing curiously bashful. He knelt over his duffle bag again and rummaged around inside before withdrawing a book; a weathered, leather-bound journal that looked oddly familiar. It took a second or two to remember where she’d seen it before – the Velasco Place. When she’d gone to the house to drop off the jacket Blake had left with her, she’d come across a box full of such journals. Blake’s diaries.

‘Is that —’ she asked, her pulse racing. She’d been sure all the journals had been destroyed in the fire lit by Sam and his brothers, the fire that had claimed the Velasco Place.

‘Yes,’ Sam said, handing it to her. ‘I stole it from his study, the night we . . . took you.’ His face reddening further, he continued in a rushed, awkward manner. ‘I don’t know why. Father told us to burn everything. It was lying on a desk in his study and I just took it. Later, after everything that happened on the mountain, I was feeling so confused, mixed up about everything. I was hoping there might be something in here that might help me understand the point of it all. All the death.’ Sam’s eyes met Winter’s, and she saw the deep remorse in them. ‘What I read didn’t change my mind completely, the Demori are dangerous – even you have to admit that – but I learnt enough to figure out not everything Father told us was true. They’re not all evil monsters. Blake wasn’t. You were right about him and we were wrong.’ He knelt down again and started searching through the duffle bag. Winter could only stand there and watch him silently, shaken by his confession. By his apology.

‘I was going to send the journal to you,’ Sam continued. ‘Anonymously. Except it’s written in French and I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to read the words. So I started translating it a few weeks ago.’ He stood up again with another book in his hands. This one was a plain blue exercise notebook. He cautiously held it out for Winter to take, as though worried she might throw it back in his face.

‘I’m not finished yet, but I thought you might need something to keep yourself distracted tonight. What with everything that’s happened.’

‘You speak French?’ she asked, taking the book gently from his hands. It was much easier to ask a question, focusing on this superfluous detail, rather than put into words the complex emotional reaction she was experiencing.

Sam shrugged modestly. ‘Yeah. I spent the first ten years of my life living just outside of Paris.’ He gestured at the two books in her hands, his expression growing achingly sincere. ‘It doesn’t make up for anything that happened. I know that. I just want you to believe that I’m sorry for what my family did to him. And to you. It’s been —’

‘Blake’s alive.’

It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Sam’s gift and heartfelt speech had left her reeling, temporarily unable to filter her thoughts or emotions. She needed to tell somebody about Blake, and any misgivings she’d had about trusting Sam no longer seemed justified. Not after everything he’d just said.

‘What are you talking about?’ he said, a deep crease appearing between his eyes.

‘Blake’s alive, Sam,’ she repeated, her heartbeat quickening as the words left her lips. Saying it aloud somehow made it seem even more fantastically real. ‘Before you found me tonight, the lodestone —’ she placed the books down on her bed and pulled out the lodestone, holding it out for Sam to see. ‘It started glowing. And then I saw him. I saw Blake. He was alive, but in terrible pain.’

Sam shook his head slightly, regarding her with deepening concern. ‘Blake died on the mountain, Winter.’

It was like Jasmine all over again.
Why wouldn’t anyone believe her?

‘I know what happened, Sam,’ Winter responded, her voice raw with emotion. ‘I was there. But somehow he survived. Not here, but in the Dead Lands.’

‘The Dead Lands?’ Sam frowned at her, but at least that maddening look of pity had left his eyes.

‘I think so.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know for sure. It was over so quickly. He’s being held prisoner by something. Some awful creature in a red robe.’

That seemed to get Sam’s attention. ‘A red robe? You’re sure of this?’

Winter nodded enthusiastically, encouraged by his reaction. ‘Yes, do you know what I’m talking about? Have you ever heard of this happening before? Someone being reincarnated? Surviving death.’

Sam hesitated before answering. ‘No. I haven’t. It’s impossible.’

Winter felt the hope that had swelled within her start to sink, but then she noticed something strange about Sam’s oddly blank expression.
He was lying to her.

‘Sam —’

‘I’m sorry, Winter. Dead’s dead. Not even a Demori can come back to life.’

‘But how do you explain what I saw?’ she asked, studying him closely. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her stare.

‘I can’t.’

‘So you don’t know for sure? If I’m right, if Blake’s alive. Will you help me?’ There it was, a simple desperate plea.

Sam swallowed drily, turned and opened her bedroom window. ‘If I can. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.’

He picked up the duffle bag and threw it out of the window. She heard it land softly on the grass at the foot of the tall tree outside her bedroom. Winter stared at him, waiting for him to say something else. Something that would scour this feeling of uncertainty she now had. This new sense that her hope was a fool’s hope.

‘I’ll see you at six-thirty. Just before sunset,’ Sam said, ignoring the disappointment in her eyes. For a moment, Winter didn’t know what he was talking about and then she remembered Benedict.

‘Don’t be late,’ he continued, and she had the impression he was almost eager to be out in the dark. ‘You should be safe during the day as long as you stay in the house. Try not to go anywhere alone.’ Stepping out onto the window ledge he looked back at her, a half-smile playing on his lips.

‘Crazy night, huh?’

‘You could say that.’ Winter couldn’t muster a smile. With one furtive glance Sam had managed to compromise the trust she’d awarded him.

He seemed to sense this, his expression conflicted as he turned and leapt agilely onto the branch of the tree outside her bedroom. It sagged a little beneath his body weight but held firm. Winter watched him grip the branch and skilfully lower himself down. He hung suspended over the ground for a moment before dropping soundlessly onto the grass. In an instant he was up and scurrying into the shadows.

Still upset by his reaction, Winter nevertheless felt a pang of concern as soon as Sam disappeared from view. Was he really going to spend all night alone in the dark? She wished they’d established some kind of signal Sam could use if Benedict showed up. Staring out of the window pensively, that secretive look in Sam’s eyes haunted her.
We’ll talk about it tomorrow
, he’d said, and she would make sure they did. She didn’t care if they were being hunted by a vengeance-crazed, soul-sucking monster. If Sam knew something about where Blake was, she would poke and prod him until he gave up his secrets.

Winter closed the window and sat down on her bed. Picking up the journal and notebook Sam had given her, all her concerns and anxiety fell away. These were Blake’s words, his story. Reading them wouldn’t be the same as holding him in her arms, but it might make the vast distance between them seem smaller somehow. She opened the leather-bound journal and fanned slowly through the yellow pages, her fingers tracing Blake’s neat, flowing script. Though the words didn’t make sense, it made her happy to imagine Blake sitting at his desk writing them.

Reverently she placed the journal next to the lodestone on her bedside table, touching the leather binding one last time, then lay back with Sam’s notebook. His handwriting seemed much coarser than Blake’s perfect calligraphy, but she could read it with little trouble.

The first entry was dated August thirteenth, less than a month before Blake came to Hagan’s Bluff. She felt a cold shiver creep down the back of her neck as her eyes scanned the opening sentence.