“Parked in the front room, watching TV.”
“OK. I’ll go and talk to her in a minute. Liz is unchanged, by the way. I sat with her through the night to give Arthur a rest. He’s with her now.”
“And Gwillan?”
“In the den, still asleep, I imagine. I sent Gretel up yesterday afternoon to make sure he didn’t get up to any mischief overnight. I’ll have her wake him shortly. Do you know if Alexa spoke to him?”
Zanna opened the teapot and dropped in two bags. “She said he was ‘making friends’ yesterday. He’s become good pals with Groyne, apparently. They spent the afternoon playing hide-and-seek. She also told me that at one point Golly opened his tool box and brought out some sort of board game for them.”
“A version of Mousetrap,” David said, bemused. “I heard about it from G’reth. Gwillan won every time, he said. Hide-and-seek? None of them mentioned that — slightly unfair if Groyne was ‘it’?”
“I find it creepy,” said Zanna. “Just a bit surreal. I’m not sure I like the idea of Alexa spending so much time with him.” She shuddered and set her black hair dancing against the bare skin of her pale white shoulders. She was wearing a red-striped, scooped-neck top and a pair of blue jeans with decorative stitching on one rear pocket. “Pass me the milk, will you?”
David dragged his eyes away from her and opened the fridge. He said a quick hurr of greeting to the listening dragon, which gave a sleepy blink and barely raised its ears. “Tell me about unicorns.” He gave her the milk.
“White horses — flowing manes, horns. What about them?”
“There’s one on Scuffenbury Hill.”
“What?” She put the kettle down.
“I had a phone call from Tam. He and Lucy were on the hill at dawn when they witnessed the restoration of the Glissington cairn, he thinks by a sibyl who’s staying at the guesthouse he’s booked them into.”
“Another sibyl?”
“One sniff of a dragon and they’re out of the ground like worms — no offense.”
She resisted a caustic comeback. “What happened?”
“Nothing. The sun came up, shone through the eye of the cairn, and moved on around the sky. Shortly afterward, Lucy saw the cairn disappear. Tam thinks the sibyl may have cloaked it to prevent unwanted attention from locals or tourists.”
“And the unicorn? Where does that fit in?”
“The sibyl used magicks to draw the cairn stones from the countryside around them. A bunch had been used to hide the unicorn’s horn. That, Tam says, the sibyl hasn’t cloaked.”
Zanna frowned darkly and started plonking mugs onto a tray.
“So, unicorns are good, right?”
“Unicorns,” she said, “are generally taken to be the most wholesome, spiritual creatures in the universe. That doesn’t mean they’d be a pushover in a fight.” She opened another cupboard and took out some sugar. “They’ve been romanticized by storytellers for centuries, generally dressed up as icons of purity by children’s books and the film industry. The chaste white horse is the image that’s become fixed in people’s minds; the carving on Scuffenbury would seem to support that. But if you look back far enough the picture wasn’t always quite as rosy. In ancient Greek texts you’ll find unicorns described as having the feet of elephants or the head of a lion.”
“Not an animal you’d want to mess with, then?”
“Definitely not. I think the horse depiction is generally accurate, but if provoked they can probably appear as ferocious as a lion or as daunting as an elephant. Maybe they physically change. I don’t know.” She nodded at Bonnington, who had just swaggered in, crying for food. “Maybe they’re like him? Interesting hosts for the Fain, wouldn’t you say?”
David chose not to comment. “What about magicks? What abilities do they have?”
Zanna flicked the kettle on to boil. “Unicorns were persecuted, one assumes to extinction, because it was believed that their horns could enable spells, usually medicinal ones — there’s a theory that magic wands are really just dried and shriveled unicorn horns. The literature I’ve read always suggests that the creature can’t wield any power of its own, but can be made capable of acts of healing if it’s first tamed by …” She stopped and stared at the wall. Bonnington wrapped himself around her ankles.
“Go on,” David said.
“A red-haired maiden.”
“Lucy.”
“Yes. She fits the profile perfectly. If it’s there and Lucy gains its trust, she would be an extremely powerful young lady — and an instant target for anyone, or any ‘thing,’ with malevolent intent.”
The conversation swerved into silence for a moment. Zanna busied herself with brewing the tea and feeding Bonnington while David stood by the window, musing. It was Zanna who eventually spoke again. “This sibyl. If she’s anything like Gwilanna, she’s up to no good. Is it possible that she was the woman who was seen in Africa?”
David ran his hand across his mouth. “I don’t know.”
“Well, she knows about the Glissington dragon and now she’s got the bonus of a unicorn, too. That’s a dangerous mix, David. Maybe you should go and check it out?”
He turned away, tumbling his phone through his hands. “I daren’t leave here till I’m certain there’s no threat to you from the dark fire. Lucy’s in safe hands with Tam. Tell me something: Why do you think the sunrise had no effect when it hit the cairn?”
Zanna crouched down and put a spilled piece of Chunky Chunks back into Bonnington’s bowl. She went to the sink, looking down at the water as she washed her hands. “Legends are the worst form of Telephone; they change over time until the truth is barely recognizable. I’ll do some research for you on Lucy’s computer, but my guess is the sun has nothing to do with waking the unicorn.” She turned, drying her hands on a towel. “They’re traditionally associated with the moon.”
David nodded, taking this in. “Can you find out when the moon rises over Scuffenbury?”
She shrugged. “Late afternoon, at a guess. Arthur’s got an almanac. I’ll look it up.”
“Good. Let me know — to within half an hour, if possible. As long as everything here remains stable, I’ll stay with you till then. I want to catch this sibyl in the act. Right now, though … I’m going to take a shower.”
“Hmph, none too soon,” she muttered. She opened his jacket and let it fall. “Don’t you have anything else to wear besides this sharpshooter outfit? You look like you just got off the Deadwood stage.”
“What’s wrong with the gunslinger look? I’m told all the goth girls go for it.”
She gave him a cheesy grin. “Leave your stuff on the landing, I’ll put it in the machine. Borrow one of Arthur’s robes for now. Maybe some fresh underwear, too, mmm?”
He made a gun barrel with his fingers and fired a blank shot. “Thank you, ma’am. Hold the fort. I won’t be long.”
In the bathroom, he piled everything outside the door except his waistcoat, which he draped across the back of a chair, lest there be any messages from the North.
The shower was warm and relaxing. David closed his eyes and let the water pour down, allowing himself these moments of comfort in which his worries could temporarily drain away. But as the bathroom filled with steam, he was unaware that underneath the window, on the soft cork lid of the utility box where Liz kept her spare supply of toilet rolls, something small had suddenly punctured the mist: a dragon, materializing. It looked warily at the silhouette behind the shower curtain, saw it raise its hands to its head and start to rub. The visitor tapped its foot. Cleverly adapting its eyes to the increasing density of water vapor, it shifted its gaze around the room. Its eyes widened when it spotted the waistcoat. It spread its wings and flew to the chair. Silently, it reached into the pocket and pulled out the watch, freezing as the silver chain clinked against the casing. It looked sharply at the curtain. The silhouette rubbed on and even began to sing. Taking no more chances, the dragon pulled the waistcoat over itself. Then it f
licked the watch open.
The star patterns began to form at once, but they were far from complete when the dragon flipped its tail, dug its isoscele into a port on the side of the casing, and twisted it. There was a flash and the screen went from green to gray. The dragon frowned and twisted its tail again. Something whirred (quietly) and although no image appeared on the screen, the streaks of light converging at its center were a clear indication that information was crossing the airwaves — or the thought planes. Had Gwendolen the IT dragon been present, she would have identified the data as coordinates. She would have pinpointed them also, and probably reported her findings to Lucy. And she would, most certainly, have raised the alarm. For the dragon in the bathroom was none other than Gwillan, though how he’d been able to get through a locked door would surely have puzzled any dragon other than Groyne. But aside from this, the thing that would have truly disturbed Gwendolen was the image waxing like a shadow in the watch face: first dragon, then darkling. Darkling then dragon. Bone for bone. Scale for scale. Jeweled eyes; blueberry eyes. Interchangeable. It was just as if Gwillan — or more precisely the boy, Joseph Henry, controlling Gwillan — could not decide which of these creatures appealed to him the most….
33 A CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE FURRED KIND
Cats. They had always been the one creature the Pennykettle dragons were wary of. Unlike the vast majority of humans, cats had an uncanny sense of spotting a dragon’s movements or knowing they were alive — even in their solid state. Not that a cat was any real threat. Bonnington, for instance, had learned long ago that if he pounced on any of the Pennykettle dragons his reward would be a sharp spike of clay in his paw. And Groyne often told an amusing story about the time he’d been forced to scorch a kitten’s whiskers when he’d been on a mission at Tam Farrell’s apartment. Even so, cats were best avoided, which was why Gwendolen found herself slightly miffed to be left in the guesthouse at four in the morning and told to keep a lookout for “that cat” when Tam and Lucy had gone to explore Scuffenbury Hill.
She didn’t expect to see the cat, of course, and after ten minutes of guarding nothing but dust she’d grown weary of the task, closed her eyes, and gone to sleep.
So it was quite a surprise when she woke suddenly to see the cat standing on Lucy’s pillow, its smoky gray face looking directly into hers. It was studying her carefully and must have seen her eyes blink open, for it drew its nose back with the slightest of jerks and the pupils of its green eyes widened like saucers.
Gwendolen froze as solidly as she could, but when the cat stretched a leg and tried to paw her snout, her only option, she believed, was to defend herself. She issued a jet of smoke. The cat spluttered, reared up, and hissed in anger. This time its paw was not so gentle. It flashed at Gwendolen with claws extended. But by then, Gwendolen had flown to the mantelpiece, too high, she thought, for the cat to jump up.
With an irritated sneeze, the cat turned its head to see where she had gone. It found her on the mantelpiece and glared. Taking as much time as it needed, it trod across the bed, leaving deep and purposeful prints in the bedspread, then dropped to the floor and stalked toward the fireplace. As it reached the hearth it tilted its head back to check on Gwendolen’s position. Gwendolen leaned forward and waved at it, then put her shoulder to the cairn stone Tam had examined the day before and pushed it off the shelf. The cat leaped sideways, just in time to avoid its head being crushed. The stone bounced on the hearth tiles and rolled onto the carpet. The cat stared at it and swished its tail.
Then something quite extraordinary happened. The cat’s eyes turned purple and the stone lifted slowly off the floor. When it reached a height level with the mantelpiece, Gwendolen panicked and flew to the mini chandelier in the ceiling, fearful that the cat was going to hurl the stone at her. Instead, she saw the stone wobble slightly and travel back to its place on the shelf, where it was set down with an awkward clunk. The cat then jumped onto the foot of the bed — and started to wash itself.
Gwendolen was confused. Did the cat want to attack her or not? She changed position to get a better view of the bed and gripped one of the chandelier’s candle-shaped bulbs. A string of glass diamonds underneath it tinkled. The whole thing tilted and began to swing. The cat raised its eyes but continued washing, as though it had now become bored of the chase. But a moment later it turned its gaze to the light switch on the wall and the chandelier suddenly lit up. Gwendolen fled to the window shutters, rocking precariously on the top of one. The cat yawned, then focused its glare at the shutters until the one next to Gwendolen banged itself shut. Shaken, Gwendolen returned to the mantelpiece, where the cat fixed her with an imperious gaze.
What do you want? Gwendolen hurred, confident the stupid creature wouldn’t understand. But the cat jerked violently and pricked its ears.
Me-ow? it said, at length.
Gwendolen twizzled her snout. Now she was really puzzled. The cat’s meow had come from genuine feline vocal cords, there was no question of that. But there was something more familiar mixed in with the sound. She’d had enough practice at home with Bonnington to recognize certain catty inflections, but this was different, more advanced. And whereas Bonnington never progressed beyond a few random snorts and chunters, this cat seemed to know she was speaking a language and not just grunting. It was trying to communicate.
Hrrr? she said. Can you speak dragon?
The cat tilted its head and meowed again, this time in a lower register.
Still the sounds made no obvious sense, but an idea had now occurred to Gwendolen. She was famed for her powers of translation, most commonly employed in transferring digital data into human words on a screen for Lucy. When this happened, Lucy had a habit of speaking the words out loud as they appeared. Gwendolen had learned the language of humans by matching the shapes Lucy made with her lips to the downloaded data. For that reason it occurred to her to watch the cat’s mouth.
Speak again, she hurred, making mouth movements with her paws.
Downstairs, a door slammed. The cat sat up. Its fur stood on end. It poured off the bed like molten lava. It trotted to the door and was clearly going to pass right through like a ghost when it stopped, looked over its shoulder, and meowed one final time.
Though the creature was slightly farther away, Gwendolen could still identify the shapes its mouth was making. The words were unpolished but the sentence was clear: My name is Bella. Spoken like a human, out of the body of a cat …
34 TIPPED OFF
What do you mean, it’s not a cat?”
While Gwendolen was explaining, there was a knock at the door. Lucy raised a finger to her lips and called, “Who is it?”
“Hannah. I wondered how you were this morning.”
Lucy glanced at her mud-stained raincoat and quickly took it to the bathroom and dropped it in the tub. She checked her hair hurriedly then opened the door. “Hi. I’m fine, thanks. I slept OK once you’d gone.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Hannah, a picture of middle-aged efficiency in sharply creased slacks and a plain beige T-shirt, smiled and looked the girl up and down, her gaze coming to rest on the last two inches of her sodden jeans. “Have you been out already?”
“Erm, yeah,” Lucy said, wondering if this was some kind of honesty test. After the incident on Scuffenbury Hill, she and Tam had quickly gone back to the car and driven around the area of the Tor for a while, eventually returning to the house about seven a.m. No one had seen them come in, but Hannah (or Clive) could easily have spotted their shoes in the foyer. “Me and T — Uncle Tam went to see the sunrise.”
“Really?” Hannah’s shrill voice dropped to a whisper. She looked toward the upward flight of stairs. “Did you see what happened?”
Lucy, playing dumb, lifted her shoulders.
“You haven’t seen the change in the horse?”
“We weren’t on the Tor,” Lucy said truthfully. “We just … went for a drive.”
Upstairs, a door banged shut.
??
?That’s Ms. Gee,” hissed Hannah. She gripped the girl’s arm and drew her close. “I can’t explain now, but be wary of that woman. She’s not what she seems. I need to speak to you and your uncle privately after breakfast. It’s terribly important.” She touched Lucy’s hair and pulled the door closed.
Lucy quickly pressed her ear to the wood, listening to the women making small talk on the stairs. When the voices dwindled, she slipped out onto the landing and burst into Tam Farrell’s room without knocking.
“Hello, niece,” he said calmly. He was barefoot, but dressed, and buttoning up his shirt. Lucy allowed herself one blushing peek at the contours of his chest before sitting down quickly on the edge of the bed with her hands tucked firmly between her knees.
“I got quizzed by Hannah.”
Tam folded back a sleeve. “What about?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t tell her anything, but she warned me to stay away from Ms. Gee. And she knows about the unicorn, I think.”
“You think?”
“There wasn’t time to talk. The old bag was coming downstairs. She obviously got back before us. And while we were out, the cat was here again.”
“I thought we’d established that —?”
“Tam, just shut up and listen. It came to my room to check out Gwendolen. It’s got magicks. It can move things about. It’s not a cat.”
He turned to the mirror to comb his hair. “Then —?”
“It’s a girl.”
“What?”
“Her name’s Bella. She and Gwendolen almost talked.”
“Almost?”
Lucy spread her hands. “It’s a cat.” How many meaningful conversations did anyone have with Bonnington? She sat back, allowing Tam time to think. As he did, her gaze toured his square-cut chin and handsome profile, the shining spikes of wetness in his hair, the perfect indent his throat made at the neck of his shirt. When her eyes arrived at his muscular forearms she could bear it no longer and blurted out, “This is scary. We should tell David.”