Nic woke bleary-eyed and pissed-off. Puny concerns over exams and rowing paled into insignificance compared with this latest slew of calamity. Sam needed a visit or fifty with the shrink, probably an economy box of anti-psychotics, and he contemplated a couple of sessions himself given the hallucinations. Nic had slayed something, but in the harsh reality of day wasn’t positive what. Running feet and loud whoops of joy shattered the early morning silence.
“Twins! Wake-up, Nic.” Sam pounded wood and the door flew open, its lock still indisposed due to assault by boot. “Ebon had twins!” Nic grinned, desperate for this fleeting happiness. His mouth was out of practice. “A girl and a boy. Dad says we’re keeping the boy. For you.” Sam’s smile faltered. “If it’s too soon... You’ll be ready when he’s old enough. He’s a bit runty, but beautiful. You wanna’ come see?”
“I’ll go up to the Arkadys first, then we can spend the afternoon together with the foals. Is Ebon all right?”
“It’s like she didn’t even give birth.” He looked devious. “I’ll see you there later.”
Sam vanished before Nic had a chance to ask where, exactly, his brother meant. The foreboding that had nagged since the arrival of their insane neighbours returned with a vengeance. The barn would be packed with people, and he’d have to acquire the bloodied shirt and knife later on. Without a body, there was no conviction, all evidence washed away with that morning’s stable muck-out.
It was odd that Anatoly lied for him. Or had Katya’s body magically dissolved and returned to her pen? Perhaps, Mira was the only one with the facts. In any case, Nic no longer wished to know the truth, preferring the secure, rational haven of denial.
The occasion had come to make himself clear: he’d return the amulet and the bike, collect his own, intending to cart it home in parts if necessary, and demand in no uncertain terms they cease interfering in his life. He’d level stalking charges at Sasha, if they didn’t leave him alone. Once he’d retrieved those dreaded images, of course. Grudgingly satisfied with the less-than-foolproof plan, the Suzuki hastened the ride. Nic arrived at the Arkady mansion barely half an hour later. He wasn’t sure how to sever Sam’s connections here, though.
There was no sign of Elmas and Kolb. In fact, although the place was already in its usual state of flawless wonder, absent any indication of last night’s merry hordes tramping the gardens, not a soul rushed to greet him. The contrast was both welcome and unsettling. He took a rallying breath and stalked up the stairs.
“Hello?” Nic called via a slight gap in the patio slider.
“Come in,” Hanna said.
Her voice was ominously quiet and his stomach took a dive. She draped a wing chair by the cold hearth fussing over a pot of tea and platter of cakes, gesturing at a spot on the adjacent settee.
“Breakfast while we wait, Nicholas? Mira shall be down promptly and we’ve had so little opportunity to chat.”
“Why not?” Did Hanna know what he had done? There was no hint in her elegant cream-suited demeanour, yet the feeling of threat refused to abate. “Look, I’m really sorry --”
She raised a hand to stop him. “The fault belongs with us.” She sighed sadly. “My husband has handled this appallingly. You are the one owed a profound apology. How do you take your tea? Let me guess, black with lemon.”
“Bang on. How did you know?”
“You have much in common with my recalcitrant daughter. Not to mention the extensive dossier we’ve researched on you and your family since your birth.”
Nic’s jaw dropped. He felt violated -- yes, that was the word which best described his antipathy towards them. She passed over his cup and a saucer holding a dainty pastry. He received them mechanically, sipping scalding liquid in a vain delay to form a reply that didn’t contain too many offensive words. He stuffed the pastry in whole, its centre bursting with delicious vanilla custard that thankfully tamped the vitriol and soothed the blisters developing on the roof of his mouth.
“Anatoly has manipulated my poor nephew into doing his dirty work.” She shook her head and frowned, as if bothered by a gnat. “You see, we have never met anyone not swayed by our money or the possibility of elevated status with the powerful elite. Anatoly does not understand you in the least, which is why I have stepped in to dictate proceedings. Before more innocents get hurt.” She watched avidly as he ate and drank. “Sasha is too much of a loose canon to complete the task efficiently.”
Nic nearly slopped tea in his lap. “Pardon?”
“If anyone has played the fool in this, it is me. I should have known the curse would have its way, in spite of Mira’s efforts to thwart it. She did not want to come here and had accepted her fate. To be like the others, who cannot come back from the change.” Hanna shrugged, as if to stress how natural her logic was. She leant forward with a beseeching expression. “You understand, Nicholas? A parent’s love for their child. We refuse to let her go without a fight.” She stared absently out the window. “Or perhaps, we are addicted to the gifts Bast bestows for a righteous sacrifice.”
“Will Mira be long?” he asked, thoroughly non-plussed with the direction of this conversation. His voice sounded thick, mental faculties abruptly sluggish. It was a mistake to come into their territory. If he’d asked, Mira would have brought the phone to his house. He cursed the detriment of hindsight. Vulnerability and another decidedly unpleasant sensation coursed his flesh: he was mortally afraid.
“Anatoly swears you are the one to refresh the Felid and bring us back from our dwindled power. His belief borders on the fanatical. Still, meeting you, observing you, it is difficult this time not to hope.”
Perception blurred and he leaned to place his cup on the table. The narrow void proved a severe threat to stability. Nic tried to blink away splotches obscuring sight and wobbled his head to dislodge an unpleasant buzz. Then realisation crash-tackled and he wilted to the horizontal.
“You...drruggged...mee.” He couldn’t lift his head from cushions, too insensate to panic. Nic closed his eyes and surrendered to oblivion.
He roused an indeterminate time later, feeling no worse than waking from normal sleep and relieved to discover he wasn’t staked over a pyre, or boiling alive in a vat of stock. Nic was however, shackled. Although, the cuffs were lined with sheep-wool and allowed unimpeded movement, to a degree. The light was an odd luminous green, which he recognised from his first time in this place.
The Arkady bathroom, its significance ironic as the first occasion he’d beheld Mira’s smile. A smile to drag him to doom. He crushed the memory. From the strength of light, Nic estimated it was late afternoon. He sprawled on the bottom of the huge sunken bath, which now constituted a prison-pen. And he was naked with glittering runes painting his body.
“Excellent!” The perpetually cheerful Anatoly loomed large from the side. He beamed down at Nic, rubbing hands together. “Our esteemed guest awakes.”
“Christ,” Nic muttered. “How do you treat your enemies?”
“There would be no need for theatrics, if you assured cooperation,” he said, reasonably. “How are you feeling?” The crackpot was attired in some sort of ritual gown emblazoned by Egyptian glyphs, the sphinx prominent with the pelt of a snarling leopard for a head-piece.
“Jubilant.” Nic couldn’t help himself. “Not Katya, I pray?”
Anatoly faltered briefly. “That was my fault, not yours. But it was for the best in the end. She had suffered so, for far too long.”
“How magnanimous.”
He took no heed of the facetious tone. “Shortly, we shall begin. I have great hopes for you, Nicholas.”
“What, that I’ll taste good with garlic? Worried there’s not enough of me to go around?”
Anatoly narrowed in confusion, before awareness dawned. He broke into enthusiastic laughter. “Ah, that old rumour. I am sorry, but you look a tad human for my tastes.” Now, it was Nic’s turn for confusion. “And please, when you see your father, do not be concerned. We will remove the hand-cuffs i
n due course, upon his full comprehension. Forgive me.”
From the folds of his robe, he brought out an atomiser and sprayed Nic in the face. He passed out again, rousing groggily to low echoing chants. It wasn’t English. The tiles flickered with candle-lit ambiance, devotees filing around the periphery in cat- themed costume. Lotus blossoms fluttered in aromatic rain and he caught murmured ‘Good lucks’ and ‘Bast be with you’. The procession eventually diminished, a familiar youth trailing the end.
“Sam?” Nic tasted peppermint. Had someone cleaned his teeth?
“Bast be with you,” his brother intoned with a happy wave, a skinned ocelot draping his shoulders.
Bloody little traitor! “Get back here, Samuel! Dad is going to flay you for this!”
Kolb and Elmas traipsed by, Jonathon between them with his wrists bound. He squinted in befuddlement, clearly under the influence of Anatoly’s blasted spray-bottle. “Dad!” Nic yelled and struggled. “Dad! Call the riot squad. I’m a hostage!”
Acknowledgment flitted his face, quashed by the stupefied expression which descended like a yanked blind. The Arkady parents materialised in the dim illumination. Sasha was not present, but they were accompanied by a large black jaguar on a chain. The animal issued a sullen growl. Anatoly’s mantra stopped and they peeled apart. Mira glided from between them and Nic’s mouth fell open.
Wrapped in a shimmery gossamer sheath that concealed nothing, her body was gilt-tinged and magnificent. Despite the utter inappropriateness, the horror of the situation, his eyes devoured her. Her long hair fell in a loose braid down one shoulder and she was breathtakingly lovely, even with eyes glazed by drugs, chewing distractedly on her bottom lip.
A key swung low on a chain in her ample cleavage, next to the feminine version of Kafele’s amulet, but no matter how tempting, Nic resisted the urge to ogle more than he already had. This public nudity embarrassed plenty, without a more obvious display of how much her presence thrilled him. Anatoly and Hanna exited with the cat, the clang of a bar locking them in together.
***
Chapter Thirty-Three