Chapter Eight
Meeting at High Crag
A long, green limousine stood in the rain before the columned portico of High Crag House. The Cornish weather was at its most fierce, battering the long windows of the house with spears of rain. There were no stars visible in the sky, but merely the shadows of boiling cloud. Wind howled about the chimneys. The limousine had brought a visitor to High Crag; a seat of Grigori power, home of the Prussoes, where Aninka had grown up.
Enniel Prussoe received the woman, Sofia, in his office, where the long curtains were drawn against the night, fretted only slightly by the most persistent of breezes which fought their way in around the window-frames. Warm light bloomed discreetly from a number of Tiffany lamps, and the fire was banked high. The room smelled of leather and pine, its high walls adorned with tapestries and paintings. Enniel stood before his desk, a perfect example of the cream of his race; tall, his long, red hair confined neatly at his neck, his clothes casual yet expensive. He appeared to be a man in his early thirties, yet he had lived through two centuries already and was still young in Grigori terms. His fine-boned face was composed in a bland expression. He was not looking forward to this interview.
Sofia was ancient, a tall matriarch of Grigori. Her clothes were of a classic cut and could have fitted comfortably into the haute couture of any period during the last thirty years. She wore a long, cream-coloured coat of soft wool, gloves and a hat, which she removed with stately precision, and placed into the waiting hands of one of Enniel’s staff, who stood quietly at the door.
Enniel was slightly unnerved by her. He was himself a salient figure within the inner circles of Grigori administration, but Sofia outranked him in experience, and he suspected her network of contacts was far more comprehensive than his own. It was rumoured she dipped her fingers into the most distant, hidden pools of Grigori knowledge. For the past two weeks she had been working on a problem for Enniel — namely discovering the whereabouts of the erstwhile Peverel Othman. Enniel had been given this task some months before, when his ward, Aninka, had unwittingly become involved with the Anakim, thereby finding herself in an unsavoury position and implicated in murder. The Parzupheim, of which Enniel was a member, were the governing body of the Grigori. They were anxious to secure Peverel Othman. They had their suspicions about him, which they needed to prove or refute once and for all. The Parzupheim were far from impressed that Enniel’s plan to capture the Anakim had failed. After all, Enniel’s agents had had Othman in their sights. It was clearly Enniel’s choice of operative that had jeopardised the mission. Enniel could not find it within himself to blame Aninka or Taziel Levantine for this failure, although he was furious with Lahash Murkaster, whom he had trusted. Since then, the Parzupheim had designated other agents to work on the problem, and Enniel was working with them only as advisor. He was unused to embarrassment, and was still pondering how best to punish Lahash for his incompetence. Lahash, as a member of the disgraced Murkaster family, was indentured to the Parzupheim for a millennium. This blot on his performance would do little to change anybody’s mind about his worth.
Sofia, aside from her considerable political influence, was also one of the most powerful psychics known to the Grigori community. Enniel knew little of her other than her status, and that she was rumoured to have a base in India. He wondered whether his Parzupheim colleagues had deliberately sought her help, or whether she’d decided to become involved herself. It was unlikely she’d admit to either. Now, she sat composed on a leather sofa alongside Enniel’s desk, and politely inclined her head when he enquired whether she wished to partake of a measure of brandy.
‘It is an inclement night,’ she said, as if to stem any risk of Enniel concluding she drank alcohol for pleasure. She was a frightening creature to behold — her skin white and as translucent as tissue paper, her brows highly arched and sketched lightly as if with an artist’s finest brush. Her lips were thin and coloured with matt, dark-red lipstick. Her teeth, when she chose to bare them in a smile, were faintly yellow. She carried her centuries with her and around her like a stole, and her beauty was fragile, like that of a fabulous relic discovered in the tomb of a king who had lived long before the Egyptians had learned to be civilised.
Enniel poured out the drinks into cut crystal globes, treating himself to a generous measure.
Sofia sipped delicately but quickly from her glass. Then she placed the empty globe on a table beside the sofa and put her briefcase onto her lap. From this, she withdrew a sheaf of papers. The whiteness of the pages was dulled by the proximity of her bloodless skin. With the fingernails of one hand, she tapped the pages. ‘This is my report.’
Enniel nodded. ‘Good, good. May I ask what conclusion you have reached?’
Sofia frowned a little, pulled down the corners of her mouth. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that the Grigori known as Peverel Othman carries within him the psychic profile of the one named Shemyaza. I have made several avenues of investigation into this matter to reinforce my findings. First, I read the transcript of the interview with your ward, Aninka Prussoe. It seems quite clear that Peverel Othman was attempting to reopen the stargate, to gain access to the Source, the ancient and lost knowledge of our people. The stargate was closed to us over ten millennia ago, entirely because of Shemyaza’s misconduct.’
‘I am aware of the history,’ Enniel interrupted.
Sofia clearly did not approve of the interruption, but chose to ignore it. ‘I have had a team of psychics working on investigating the periphery of the stargate, at considerable risk to themselves, and it does appear to have been tampered with. They were able to approach it quite closely and noted a great deal of etheric disturbance. However, none of them were able to pass through it. Two days ago, I put myself in trance and sought to witness a re-enactment of what might have happened. Whoever had been there had been careless. There were no safeguards and no erasure of events. I was able to pick up times and even names. A human boy named Daniel Cranton freed the soul of Shemyaza from bondage in the constellation of Orion. It was plain to see. Residue of what had occurred was left floating around all over the place.’ She grimaced. ‘Very messy. The ritual Cranton had employed was crude, and entirely sexual in nature. He worked with a Grigori half-breed named Owen Winter, who we have since discovered is related to Lahash Murkaster. You sent Murkaster to Little Moor to deal with the problem, didn’t you?’
Enniel frowned. ‘Neither I, nor Lahash, know of this connection. Perhaps you’d better explain.’
‘Of course. Twenty years ago, the Grigori family Murkaster was resident in Little Moor, the place to where your operatives tracked Othman down. It is common knowledge what happened to the Murkasters, namely that a human woman sought to re-enact certain ancient rituals, which coincidentally involved the legend of Shemyaza, his human mistress, Ishtahar, and the opening of the stargate. Naturally, this ritual failed, and the Murkasters were dealt with by the Parzupheim for their transgressions. However, the human woman was never taken into custody, and it appears she bore twins, of whom Kashday Murkaster was the father. These twins lived hidden in Little Moor for nearly twenty years. When Othman fled there, escaping what had occurred in Cresterfield, he naturally sniffed them out, and sought to use them, and any other Grigori dependants, for his own purposes. A young psychic human named Daniel Cranton was involved. We are as yet unsure of the exact details, but it seems that while in Little Moor, Othman was made aware of exactly who and what he was. There is no doubt that Othman performed profane rites in the Little Moor area, for my people have visited it, and have picked up much of what went on, although it all seems very confused. We do know that Othman — or Shemyaza as we must now refer to him, I suppose — escaped Little Moor with the Winter twins, Daniel Cranton and someone else who is most probably a human dependant of his. Physically, they have hidden themselves well. We could trace no financial transactions. But psychically, none of them are trained, and Shemyaza himself seems not to care about precautions. We have tra
cked them to an establishment in London, long regarded as a hideout for Grigori misfits and renegades. I have examined Shemyaza as best I can, and can only conclude he is no threat in his present condition. He is apathetic, confused, his energies scattered. He is a great maelstrom of potential, however, and I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that we must secure him as soon as possible, before someone else takes an interest.’
‘Is that likely?’ Enniel enquired.
Sofia directed a scornful glance at him. ‘But of course. There are many cabals and factions within the Grigori community around the world, who would covet Shemyaza’s power. It is highly probable that at least some of these groups are already aware that something is afoot. They will have their own psychics scanning the etheric world. Some of these groups are very dangerous, and there’s no telling what might happen should they get their hands on the Anakim.’
Enniel, who had business dealings with some of the darker cabals of Grigori society, was unsettled by Sofia’s remarks. ‘Then what do you recommend? Shall we simply march up to this establishment you have discovered and take Shemyaza into custody, or is it likely we will meet resistance, and will need to employ more subtle means?’
Neither Sofia nor Enniel had to say aloud that some sort of skirmish was undesirable, especially in a city centre where humans abounded.
Sofia nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have been considering this dilemma. If it wasn’t for the urgency of securing Shemyaza, I would suggest infiltration of the group by one of my operatives. I would prefer to gain the trust of one of Shemyaza’s followers, and use them to lure the Anakim out. However, we don’t have that much time. Most of the buildings around the Moses Assembly Rooms are offices. Therefore, I propose a night-time convergence on the premises by Parzupheim personnel. We must take Shemyaza, and take him soon. Can you organise your agents by tomorrow night?’
Enniel realised the situation was more urgent than Sofia was admitting. Tomorrow? That soon? ‘Who exactly do you suspect is after Shemyaza?’ Would she dare to keep the information from him?
Sofia considered for a moment, then came to a decision. ‘Old vendettas can persist for millennia, Enniel. You can imagine that, all those centuries ago, when the business with the renegade Watchers blew apart, there were many casualties at very high levels within the Grigori community. A nest of corruption was uncovered, with many respected Watchers being implicated. Shemyaza, in comparison, did not hold that much power. He was a romantic and adored by many. His death sentence was contentious at the time, although no-one dared speak for him. The High Lord Anu was enraged, and all feared for their lives. Shemyaza died horribly, as an example, but many others lost their power and their lands, and were driven into exile. Their children were murdered by Anu’s militia. Others were driven mad and destroyed one another. We can only imagine what those times must have been like, but there are others, older even than myself and my peers, for whom those days of war and disruption are actual memories.’
‘Is that possible?’ Enniel snapped. ‘You’re telling me there are still Grigori around from those days?’
Sofia blinked slowly and nodded. ‘That is exactly what I am telling you. And those people have been waiting a long time to regain their power. The centuries have embittered them. They care nothing for Grigori or humankind. Shemyaza, a foolish idealist in life, has become a spiritual icon in death, more powerful as an archetype than he could ever have been as a living entity. The stargate, once his prison, is also his domain. He can be used to control it. Our enemies want the ability to reopen the stargate and seek out the Source, in the hope of discovering some vestige of Anu and the cosmic power, over which only he held dominion. Then, they will exact their revenge, and you can be sure this will have fatal repercussions for this world and its civilisation.’
Enniel took another sip of brandy, then tapped his lips with steepled fingers. He was frowning. Sofia waited politely for his response. ‘I appreciate the urgency,’ he said at last. ‘But one thing has occurred to me. If these enemies exist, they are unlikely to cease searching for Shemyaza once he is safe with us. I assume we can expect trouble from this direction?’
Sofia nodded. ‘Precisely. The only course of action we have is to take Shemyaza to a safe house, keep him under surveillance, and coax him into fulfilling his role. Once he has acquired a sense of responsibility and some control over his potential, the enemies will be no match for him.’ She raised a hand before her face and slowly clenched it into a fist. ‘He must be ours, Enniel. Entirely ours. The end of the millennium approaches and great changes are heralded. These changes must be beneficial for our race, rather than otherwise. The responsibility is upon us, the agents of the Parzupheim, to ensure that no other influence takes control.’
‘Lahash Murkaster is in London,’ Enniel said. ‘I shall contact him immediately. He is hoping for a chance to redress his failings.’ His hand was already reaching for the telephone.
‘No!’ Sofia said. ‘No Murkaster is to be trusted. They are tainted by the same base urges that caused the Fall of our race in the first place. We can use only the purest, untouched bloodlines in this venture. Call upon your Serafim, no-one else.’
Later, in the elegant guest-room, to where Enniel’s staff had conducted her, Sofia lounged upon the canopied bed, before a hungry fire that illuminated the frowning faces of the stone angels that supported the mantle-piece, in an otherwise darkened room. Thoughtfully, she kicked off her shoes and caressed one long shinbone with a silk-sheathed foot. She put her hands behind her head and stretched. High Crag. At last. She had already organised a residence for herself in the area, but Enniel did not know about that. Neither did the other members of the Parzupheim, who believed they employed her. Not even Sofia’s true employers knew all of her activities. She liked to believe that ultimately she was governed solely by herself.
Outside the wind wrestled with the chimneys of the house, sent mournful, elemental notes careering around the high towers. Sofia knew that down the coast road, on the outskirts of the village, her unwitting protégé dreamed before her own high-banked fire: Tamara Trewlynn dreaming of gleaming serpents of the sun and a lover with a shining face; dreaming of a friend named Barbelo, who would lead her to an angelic lover. Sofia smiled and writhed in secret pleasure upon the thick quilt. Tamara believed her, as Barbelo, to be a young Grigori woman of the Prussoe clan. She would never learn the truth.
Sofia’s plans were like a garden in spring. She had planted and fertilised and was now awaiting the first delicate shoots. Shemyaza had so much more potential than Enniel, or any of his pompous confederates, imagined. Sofia had a fecund imagination. She had been preparing for this time for centuries. The power of the Shining One would be hers, and in their greed, all the others who hungered for him would let her use them. They would be blind to anything but their desires.
Chapter Nine
The Dance of Desire
Aninka waited in the cafe, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. She felt nervous, as if waiting for a lover. Today, surely, Daniel would show up. If he didn’t, then he never would, and some other tactic would have to be adopted.
She hadn’t seen Lahash since they’d met for lunch, and she sensed he did not wholly trust her. Perhaps she was foolish to become involved in his schemes. Shemyaza had escaped them once, and was quite likely to do so again. She realised that what really drew her to the cafe each morning was the chance to speak to someone who had spent time with the man she had known as Peverel Othman. Was Daniel his lover now? Taziel had sensed many presences around Shemyaza. Any one of them could be warming his bed. Aninka, in moments of cold stability, rebuked herself for wondering about these things. Othman had abused and used her. As far as he was concerned she might well have been dead, another naked body amongst all the other bodies in the house in Cresterfield, where Othman’s dark ritual had gone awry. Or not. Maybe he had planned the whole thing. Aninka shrank from re-experiencing that night and refused to replay her memories. It was all too vile. And yet O
thman had been such a good lover to her, undemanding, intelligent, inventive. As a companion, he was equally as entertaining in a restaurant as he was in bed. Do not think of his hands, she told herself as she signalled the waitress to order more tea.
Daniel came in just as she was about to pour herself a fresh cup.
Aninka didn’t notice him at first, then registered that someone was standing at her table. She was sure that, when she looked up, her face had coloured. She tried to appear normal. ‘Well! We meet again.’ Feeble. Couldn’t she have thought of something more intriguing to say?
The boy sat down, brushed his hair from his forehead. If Aninka leaned forward, would she be able to smell Pev on him? Her hands shook slightly as she set down the tea-pot. He still hadn’t said anything. She smiled at him, a smile that felt too tight and strained. He was watching her carefully, wondering what she was after. She could sense it on him.
The waitress came over and Daniel ordered toast and tea. ‘Do you want anything?’ he asked Aninka.
She shook her head, and gestured at her cup on the table. ‘Too late.’ It was difficult to think of something to say. The first time had been easy, but now, knowing too well who he was, her conversation had dried up.
Daniel, sitting opposite, thought that Eve was far from pleased to see him. She appeared chilly and unwelcoming. He should have known better than to come here again. His first instincts had been right; his last meeting with her had been a one-off. Events in the night had unsettled him, to the point where he really wanted to get out of the Assembly Rooms and breathe some fresh air.
‘You look tired,’ Eve said at last, looking at him over her tea-cup. She was dressed, as before, in a smart, dark suit, but this time there was something dishevelled about her appearance, something that came from her eyes and posture rather than her clothes or hair, which lay like hanks of black satin around her shoulders. Daniel picked up a sense of tension within her. Perhaps it was nothing to do with him. She might have had an argument with a lover, a friend or someone she worked with. Perhaps she was dreading going to work that day.