Once...

  The great tide began its surge and Thom almost screamed with its intensity; and as it came, as his juices broke free to pour into her, Jennet did scream, a shuddering sound that sent birds from branches into the air, caused animals in other parts of the woods to pause and look towards its source, drove the faeries surrounding the two naked writhing bodies into a last wild frenzy, their vibrancy brightening the shaded parts of the glade.

  And with the mutual orgasm and the magic – ‘The strongest magic of all,’ Jennet had whispered breathlessly to him – that was involved with it, combining in creating an ejaculation that was both spiritual and physical, senses, thoughts and feelings joining in one brilliant illumination of perception, Thom once again glimpsed the rapture of before and understood that this vision was the death experience. He had briefly perceived the beginning of life’s end, the first stage of a new yet timeless and inevitable journey for his kind and every kind, an image of what was to come.

  He had glimpsed the next doorway and the message was clear: there was so much more beyond.

  THERE WAS something wrong with the cottage, but he could not tell what it was. Thom paused at the edge of the clearing, thick woodland at his back and all around. From where he stood he could see the other path that led to Castle Bracken, a bed of shaded bluebells crossing it, and on his left was the wider, rutted lane leading to the main road. His Jeep was parked in front of the cottage; nothing wrong there. The front door to Little Bracken was open, but then he was sure he had left it that way when he had followed Jennet into the woods earlier that day.

  It was late afternoon now and Thom was tired from walking, from making love with Jennet, from all the new thoughts that besieged his mind. Reluctantly, he had left Jennet by the lake, their parting sadly sweet in the way of new-found lovers. He had wanted her to return to Little Bracken with him, but she had said it was too soon, she could not be free of the lake just yet, that nothing could be rushed. If he had been confused and mystified before this day, his thoughts were now in total disarray, some answers only leading to more questions, some questions – such as why Jennet believed he had returned to Bracken to help the faerefolkis, or why his mother had made him forget everything he had learned of them as child – remaining unanswerable, even by Jennet herself.

  However, none of this bothered Thom too much on this warm late afternoon, for his day had been filled with extraordinary things, with love and insights into other realms that a few days ago he would have thought impossible. His whole concept of life – and death – had been irrevocably changed and there was no going back, no retreat into the normal world of reason and commonplace things.

  He frowned as he looked across the clearing at the turreted cottage. What was it, what was wrong? The place had an air about it that was cold – not lifeless, but somehow hostile, as if its very nature had changed. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe his nerves were on edge because of what had happened earlier. Or maybe he, himself, had changed a little – maybe circumstances had made him more perceptive. There was something wrong, he could feel it in his marrow.

  Cautiously, he crossed the clearing, approaching Little Bracken as if it were some strange new place to him, one that held danger within. Although tired, his senses became alert and even his vision seemed to sharpen. He passed by the Jeep, glanced inside, checked no one lurked there. It was empty.

  When he reached the short cracked flagstone path, grass growing through the breaks, he stopped once more and looked towards the cottage door. An area of kitchen was visible inside and all seemed normal. Yet still he felt a coldness about the place.

  Then he saw the spots of blood on the stone path before him. A deep crimson colour as if almost dried out.

  Thom went to the first stains and knelt by them, examining them closely without touching to feel their viscosity. There were more spots on the next flagstone, and the next, a trail in fact, as if someone had walked or run along the path, perhaps fleeing from something inside the cottage. He looked back at the open door again.

  What if that something was still inside?

  He thought of the night creature that had tried to steal his fluids, the succubus. Was it that, a night – a nightmare – creature, a monster that could only skulk in the hours of darkness? Maybe something else had been sent against him, another monster commissioned, so he was led to believe, by Nell Quick. Even as he felt the dread, another thought struck him. Why did he think the blood was leading away from the cottage? Why couldn’t it be leading into Little Bracken? Perhaps someone had been injured in the woods and had sought refuge inside. It might even be old Eric Pimlet, seeking his help after some kind of accident. Eric had a good few years behind him now, was well beyond retirement age, his legs not as strong and steady as they once were. That had to be it.

  Thom rose to his feet and went warily, despite his sound reasoning, towards the front door, avoiding the blood on the flat stones. When he reached the open doorway he paused again, one foot on the step, a hand on the door’s stout frame, unsure whether to call out or not before entering. He wouldn’t want to alarm anyone inside nor alert an intruder. Mentally shrugging, he strode in more boldly than he felt.

  The kitchen was empty, but there were new flowers resting in the sink. Orchids. He skirted round the table to reach them, his puzzled frown deepening. Who could have brought them in? Rigwit? Had the elf decided to brighten up the place? Thom doubted it, for the little man had shown no such inclination before. He looked down at the pretty flowers in the sink and saw that they had been plucked from the earth whole, tubers and all. But the tubers – the bulbs – had been split open for some reason, the mushy stuff inside oozing out, much of it lying in soft gobs in the bottom of the sink and on the draining board. Why would anyone do such a thing? Who would have done such a thing? Nell Quick immediately came to mind. What was going on here?

  ‘Rigwit!’ he called out as he turned to face the room again. ‘Are you here, Rigwit? Can you hear me?’

  There was no answer, not even the creak of floorboards, the movement of a cupboard door, tiny padding feet. Just the silence, the eerie silence.

  Thom looked up at the ceiling and wondered. Could someone be hiding upstairs? Could Nell be up there, waiting for him? He felt anger beginning to burn. Was she playing tricks on him? Or did she have other ideas up there in his bedroom? Did she honestly think she could seduce him now? For Christ’s sake . . .

  He skirted the table again to get to the open doorway to the stairs, a firmness to his stride. Enough was enough. If it was Nell up there, she could take a hike, the faster the better.

  But when he reached the small landing outside the bathroom and broom cupboard, he saw the white trainer on the first step of the spiral staircase, then its mate a few steps further up. Both were pointed forward, as if the person who had discarded them had been ascending rather then descending.

  ‘Katy!’ he said aloud. How could he have been so stupid to have forgotten? True, so much had happened that was way out of the ordinary he might have been forgiven for forgetting such a mundane appointment with his therapist, but he should have realized sooner. It had to be Katy, he’d seen her in these white trainers with the blue logo before.

  ‘Katy?’ This time it was a call. ‘Are you up there?’ He took the stairs two at a time, using the narrower end of the wedge shape, fingers curling round the centre newel to help hoist himself up. The drag of his left leg slowed him only a little.

  Thom rushed into his bedroom and immediately took in the rumpled bedsheets – he had left the bed unmade that morning, but it had not been as untidy as this – and the white cotton panties lying close by on the floor. There was also more blood near the open door.

  For a while, he could only stare, comprehending nothing. Why had Katy been in his bedroom? Had she arrived at the cottage to find no one downstairs, but the front door open wide? Had she thought he might still be in bed and called up to him? On receiving no reply she might have suspected he’d had another, follow-up stroke and gone up to
investigate. But why the blood on the floor, the panties by the bed, the tangled sheets? And why the orchids in the kitchen sink? The dread he’d felt before even entering Little Bracken grew even heavier, weighing him down, draining his strength. What the hell was going on?

  ‘Rigwit!’ he shouted again. ‘Can you hear me? You’ve got to help me, Rigwit?’

  Only that cold foreboding silence still.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ he muttered to himself.

  Going out on to the landing, he yelled some more, this time for Katy Budd as well as the elf. Before descending, he glanced back into the bedroom, looking around the walls, the windows, the furniture, as if for some clue, taking in the panties, the speckles of blood on the floor, even the rumpled bed again. What did it mean? Had someone attacked Katy when she’d arrived for their appointment, some stranger who’d wandered in from the woods? But wait, hadn’t Katy left her card with him? It had her home number and cell phone number. He was about to return to the bedroom for his own mobile phone left on the sideboard/dressing table when a noise caused him to hesitate.

  He listened, holding his breath. It came again, a snuffling, whimpering sound. Thom held on to the centre post and peered down the staircase, stretching forward to see around the bend. Once more, he listened. The sound. A quiet weeping. And it came from above, not below. Thom pushed himself back on to the landing, the old boards creaking under his bare feet.

  ‘Katy? Is that you up there?’ he called, this time his voice softer.

  He stepped towards the second flight of winding stairs, took a few steps up, treading lightly lest the boards creak again.

  ‘Katy?’

  Thom peered into the gloom of the false belltower, trying to see through the shadowy rafters that criss-crossed the open space there. He thought he caught sight of a tiny face peering down at him, but it was gone in an instant, ducking behind a stout descending beam.

  ‘Rigwit – it’s you, isn’t it?’ Thom tried to keep his voice level, afraid he might alarm the little elf, who seemed scared enough already. ‘It’s me – Thom. What’s wrong, why are you hiding up there?’

  Still there was no reply and Thom climbed, going to the landing just outside the rooftop door. From there he had a clearer view of the fake belltower’s interior, but it was still too dark and the beams too thick to see if a figure lurked there.

  He softened his tone even more, speaking soothingly, coaxingly. ‘Come on, Rigwit. You know me. It’s Thom, Thom Kindred. No one’s going to hurt you.’

  There was movement among the shadows. The little face appeared again.

  ‘Shecomeshecomeshecome,didbadbadthings!’

  ‘Take it easy.’ Despite the frustration, Thom kept his voice placid. ‘I can’t understand you when you talk so fast. Look, come down, let me look at you. It helps me understand your words.’

  The elf was reluctant, but did as he was bid, swinging first from a crossbeam, then sliding down the centre post. When he arrived at Thom’s feet he was shivering so fiercely Thom thought he might be having a seizure. He quickly knelt before Rigwit and took him gently by the shoulders.

  ‘Turribleturriblethings,shedidshedid!’

  ‘Try and calm yourself,’ Thom urged. ‘I need to know what you’re saying.’

  Eyes wide – as wide as tilted eyes could be – Rigwit stiffened, forcing himself to gain control. He continued to shiver, but he began to speak a language Thom could comprehend.

  ‘She-did-terrible-things.’

  ‘Who did, Rigwit? The lady with blonde . . . with light-coloured hair?’

  Rigwit shook his head violently, but bravely kept control. He was growing smaller before Thom’s eyes though.

  ‘Not Katy, not the fair-haired lady?’ Thom willed Rigwit not to shrink any more and for the moment, it seemed to work. ‘Who, then?’ he asked, but was sure he already knew.

  ‘The hellhagge,’ Rigwit said with a sob in his voice. ‘The hellhagge did bad things to the other lady.’

  Thom’s face was set grim as he climbed into the black Cherokee Jeep, his tiredness forgotten. He now wore soft boots and had pulled on a V-necked sweater over his T-shirt. He switched on the engine, reversing a little, then brought the Jeep round in one practised sweep into the lane leading towards the main road. He pressed down on the accelerator, picking up speed, going as fast as the deeply rutted track would allow.

  A few minutes before he had tried calling Katy Budd on his cell phone, tapping in both her home number, and then her mobile, but, as he already knew, he was in a bad area for reception and all he got was heavy static. It occurred to him that if there was no link mast in the vicinity there probably should have been nothing at all, not even interference, but now wasn’t the time to wonder about it. What Rigwit had told him had shocked him and although the elf had not used the word ‘rape’ – perhaps there was no such word in his vocabulary – from his description of events in the cottage that morning, rape was what it had amounted to. Female rape of another female. Weird, degenerate – and evil.

  Rigwit had spied on the two women as they had shredded the orchid bulbs between them, the juices of the root a powerful love potion apparently, and Thom had began to understand. Nell Quick had brought the flowers to the cottage expecting to find him all alone. She’d found Katy Budd instead. But why use the extract from the orchid on the physiotherapist when it was meant for him? If it was her devious way of collecting his seed, some kind of aphrodisiac to turn him on, why use it on Katy? It didn’t make sense. But then, what did make sense since he’d returned to Bracken? It could be that Nell Quick swung both ways as well as being an opportunist. She’d had the aphrodisiac on hand (so to speak), he hadn’t been home, and Katy Budd had turned up out of the blue. Could Nell really be that crazy, that sick? Something told Thom she could.

  Leafy branches lightly brushed the side of the Jeep as he sped along the narrow unmade lane and his hands remained firm on the steering-wheel as it tried to twist in his grip. He was angry, angry that the woman, whatever her gripe was with him, could use an innocent like Katy Budd in this way, and angry that someone who, until a few days ago, had been a complete stranger, could bear such evil intent towards him. What the hell had he ever done to Nell Quick? Had it anything to do with his new-found friendship with the little people, the faerefolkis who inhabited the Bracken Estate’s woods? According to storybooks, weren’t witches supposed to be the mortal enemy of faeries? He shook his head, still making no sense of it, bewilderment feeding the anger. There was only one way to find out and that was to confront the lady herself.

  Yet another thought struck him. Hugo! Was his friend aware of the true nature of this woman? Thom was sure there was more to their relationship than employer and nurse – he’d sensed a frisson of some kind between them when he first saw them together – but was Nell using Hugo in some way? Thom’s eyes narrowed as he continued to explore this fresh avenue. Hugo was single and the heir to a considerable fortune, even if these days it mostly amounted to the value of real estate. And what real estate! Castle Bracken and all its land, thousands of acres of pastures and woodland. Even if only small pockets of it were sold off, it would easily provide wealth to run the rest of the estate. And although Sir Russell’s various business ventures were no longer the source of high revenue that they once were, selling his personal shares in them would yield sizeable capital. But again, what had this to do with Thom, why should he be any part of Nell Quick’s plans? As an illegitimate grandson to Sir Russell – and not even acknowledged as that by the old man! – he was no threat to Hugo’s inheritance. Thom thumped the steering-wheel in frustration. Whatever the answers, he had to confront Nell, if only over what she had done to Katy. Then, he would warn Hugo. He’d have no real proof about anything, but his friend surely trusted him enough to take his word. Maybe he was a little bit addled sometimes, but Hugo was no fool. Not a complete one, at any rate.

  Up ahead, Thom saw the gap in the crowded woodland that meant he’d nearly reached the main road and he eased of
f the accelerator pedal, bringing the Jeep down to a safer speed. Traffic seemed even heavier than usual there and he noticed it was also quite slow, passing the gap almost bumper to bumper. He decreased his own speed even more.

  When he finally reached the lane’s junction with the main thoroughfare, he brought the Jeep to a complete stop, puzzled by the build-up of traffic blocking his way. First he looked right, the direction in which he intended to continue, and saw only the stretch of slow-moving vehicles; but then he glanced left – and froze.

  A huge transport-carrier was parked by the roadside, red and white cones placed behind and along its right side, a patrol cop patiently waving on oncoming traffic. But from where Thom sat in the Jeep at the entrance to the lane, he could see beyond the carrier along the verge. A green-coloured car was angled in the ditch, its bonnet and part of its roof caved in as if it had bounced off a tree. He recognized the little two-door Volkswagen immediately.

  ‘Katy!’ he said aloud and quickly switched off the Jeep’s engine. Then he was out and running – limping – towards the scene of the accident.

  The transport-carrier was so close to the roadside’s grass verge and ditch that Thom used its length to keep his balance along the uneven ground, careful not to slip into the shallow ditch itself. He saw that the front of the big carrier was badly damaged, but nowhere nearly as badly as the smaller vehicle, whose bonnet and side were completely smashed, although only the front of the roof was crumpled.

  ‘Katy!’ This time it was an anguished shout, and a figure who had been watching a blue-overalled man attaching a grappling hook beneath the wrecked vehicle, its twisted-iron cable running to the nearby breakdown truck, turned to look in Thom’s direction. Another mechanic and a second policeman who were among the group of men hidden, along with the truck driver, from Thom’s view by the transport-carrier, also looked towards the sound of his voice, but quickly returned their attention to the job in hand when they saw him.