Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) (19 page)

“Grey Boy,” sobbed Violet,
grabbing his tiny body from Theo. “Wake up, please wake up.”

Her father gently took her arm
and looked at the kitten.

“Violet, it’s no good. He’s
gone. Give him to me.” He took the kitten in his hand and Viyesha
led Violet, sobbing and shaking into the house, murmuring words of
comfort. I watched helplessly, aware that there was nothing I could
do, and that our gesture of friendship had been instantly erased.
Aquila scowled horribly and stormed into the house after them,
muttering, “How did I know she had a kitten? And whose heap of junk
is this parked here? If I didn’t have to swerve, it wouldn’t have
happened.”

“It’s best you go, Emily,” said
Leon, holding the tiny grey ball of fur in one hand. “I’ll deal
with this. Theo, walk Emily home, this has been a shock for all of
us.”

Theo took my hand, leading me
silently across the courtyard. As we walked down the main driveway,
he put his arm round me, drawing me close.

“Don’t worry, Emily, Violet
will be fine. Remember, we come from a country where death and
disease are commonplace. She’s seen worse than this. It’s not as
bad as it seems.”

I looked up at him, tearfully,
hardly trusting myself to speak.

“What a horrible end to a
lovely evening. Poor Grey Boy. He didn’t deserve that. He was only
little. And poor Violet, she had him for less than an hour. If only
I hadn’t brought my car over. This is all my fault. You were trying
to make things better and I’ve spoilt it all. ”

“Listen, it was my idea to
bring your car here,” said Theo, “and it wasn’t your fault the
kitten bolted. If anyone’s at fault, it’s Aquila. As usual, he was
driving too fast.”

“I still feel responsible.”

“Emily,” said Theo, tenderly,
“trust me. Things will be all right. I promise.”

He kissed me gently on the
lips.

16
. Surveillance II

The large black bird skimmed
through the night sky, riding the thermals and surveying the
village below. Its wingtips were outstretched and flight feathers
spread, smaller contour feathers overlapping to smooth the flow of
air and ensure optimum performance. Its beak curved downwards in a
cruel arc, ready to tear apart any fresh meat, while its sharp
black eyes scoured the air and fields looking for prey.

The nearly new moon was
momentarily hidden behind a lone cloud, briefly concealing its
light, so that fields, woodland and village were cloaked in
darkness. The air was crisp and cold, and a light frost had already
begun to coat grassland and trees, pavements and road surfaces,
creating a sugared finish that twinkled faintly under the misty
glow of the street lamps.

The bird was hungry and needed
to eat, and flew high over the fields to the south of the village.
Spying the white bobtails of a rabbit family below, as the moon
emerged, it swooped on its unsuspecting prey, silent and deadly,
gathering speed as it neared the ground, talons outstretched and
ready for the kill. Attacked from behind, the rabbit knew nothing
and death came quickly, the bird rapidly gaining height with its
bloodied meal suspended below. Carrying its prey to the safety of a
large old oak tree, it quickly tore away the flesh with its large,
hooked beak, forcing huge pieces of fresh meat down its throat
until all was consumed.

Then, satiated and
re-energised, the bird took once more to the skies, flying upward
with fresh intent, focused on its mission ahead. Like a dark
shadow, it flew over the honeyed walls, slated roofs and turreted
towers of the sleeping hall, circling twice as it scanned all
below, then flying to the east for a short distance until it spied
its target.

Gliding through the night air
on silent wings, it came to rest on the slim branches of an
ornamental cherry tree that stood in the garden of a village house.
The bird manoeuvred itself precariously, almost too heavy for the
willowy branch on which it perched. Still bare after winter, with
small brown buds only just appearing, the tree provided little
camouflage or cover, but the bird seemed unaware, its attention
rapt as it gazed through an upper window of the house. The curtains
fortunately remained open, giving the bird a perfect view of the
room within, where a girl lay sleeping on the bed. The bird’s eyes
narrowed, and curling its beak down unwittingly, it gazed with
dislike at the sleeping form.

Inside, the girl tossed and
turned in the throes of a disturbing dream, peace of mind destroyed
by dark terrors within. As she threw her head back on the pillow,
arms flailing backwards, the bird saw with a jolt the necklace that
came to rest on her breastbone. It was a necklace the bird
instantly recognised and had seen before many times; a silver chain
bearing a pale blue crystal…

In the dark grey, pre-dawn
light, the crystal began to glow intensely, until its clear blue
light was shining brightly. Nightmare over, the girl slept calmly,
a serene expression on her face. The bird eyed the crystal with
anger and loathing, only too aware of the protection it afforded
the wearer. Gathering its wings closer to its body, it tightened
its grip on the branch, sunk its head into its neck and prepared to
watch.

For the moment, intervention
was prevented, but surveillance and patience would soon provide a
chink in the armour, of that it was sure.

17
. A Beast in the
Fields

Watching from an upper window,
which afforded the best view of the sheep and the field in which
they grazed, Grace Wisterley took a sip from her hip flask and
looked at her watch. Midnight. By her side lay her husband’s
12-bore shotgun, unused for the last five years, but with a full
chamber should the need arise.

“Just try it one more time, you
horror, and I’ll have ya, see if I don’t,” she muttered into the
night. “That’s the last of my sheep you’ll be taking. X-ray vision
that’s what I’ve got, see better in the night than I do in the
day.”

She pulled on an old red
woollen hat, making sure her ears were well-covered and tucked back
straggling grey hairs with hands that were protected with
fingerless black knitted gloves. Her ancient Drizabone coat covered
her like a huge brown autumn leaf, making her look like a vast,
overgrown toad, and her Hunter wellingtons left fragments of dried
soil on the threadbare landing carpet.

Picking up the shotgun and
checking the hipflask was in her pocket, she walked down the
stairs, along the hallway and into the old farmhouse kitchen. The
ancient Aga kept things nice and warm, and for a second, she
hesitated, unwilling to exchange the cosy warmth for the cold
darkness. Then with sudden resolve, she quietly opened the back
door and let herself out. The night around her was silent and dark,
shrubs and bushes creating strange, eerie shapes, like tortured
souls that raised their misshapen limbs in silent supplication to
the sky. She shuddered involuntarily and tightened her grip around
the shotgun.

Purposefully, she strode down
through the garden, out of the rear gate and into the field that
adjoined her house. As the moon emerged from behind a cloud, she
could see the silent shapes of the sheep, like small blocks of
wood, dotted around the field.

“It’s alright, my beauties,”
she said under her breath. “Don’t take any notice of me. I’m here
to protect ya. Nothin’ll attack ya while I’m in the field. An’ if
they do, they won’t last long.”

She sat down on an old upturned
milk crate that lay in a corner of the field and settled herself
in, pulling her hat down and her coat around her. This was going to
be a long night, but she had to be ready. Slowly, she scoured the
field, looking for any sign of movement, but all appeared still.
Perhaps the creature wouldn’t come tonight. In a way, she hoped
not. But if it didn't come tonight, it might come tomorrow, and
sooner or later she had to take action. She couldn't go on losing
sheep, that was for sure. How many of her prize Jacobs had she lost
now? Too many. Four in the last week, three the week before. The
flock was diminishing in front of her eyes and so far, she’d done
nothing to stop it. The council had assured her that putting up
posters would solve the problem, advising dog owners to keep their
animals on a lead or pay the consequences.

“I’ve seen sheep that’ve been
attacked by dogs,” she’d told them, “and this ain’t the work of any
dog. This is somat much more powerful, with far bigger jaws. Them
sheep weren’t just savaged, they were torn apart, like somat ‘ad
picked ‘em up in its mouth, shook ‘em around and ripped ‘em open.
They were partially eaten… the remains were tossed around the field
like old rubbish. That’s not the work of a dog, that’s a major
predator.”

But they’d refused to listen
and now, rather than lose any more of her prize beauties, she was
taking the matter into her own hands. Let the beast attack now and
she’d blast it to kingdom come. She stroked the barrel of the
shotgun, comforted by the cold, dark metal. “Don’t let me down, old
friend,” she said quietly. ”I’m relying on you.” Once again, she
surveyed the field, her eyes straining in the moonlit darkness to
see the slightest movement. But all remained still and quiet.

Out in the fields two yellow
eyes watched her, saw her come into the field, muttering to
herself, and sit down in one corner, holding the old gun. Two wide
nostrils inhaled deeply, taking in the scents of the night, the
damp hedgerow, the stench of the cowpats, the fresh blood of the
sheep, pulsing through their veins, waiting to be taken. Saliva
dripped from its mouth in anticipation, the lips pulled back
revealing jagged white teeth, and a low growl emitting from its
throat.

Sensing an alien presence
approaching, and their instincts warning them of impending danger,
the sheep reacted, calling loudly to one another, legs stumbling in
their panic to escape, desperately trying to form a group. Grace
Wisterley moved quickly, raising her gun and looking across the
field. She could see nothing, hear nothing except for the sheep’s
noisy commotion.

“Come on, show yersel, yer
coward, get out in the open,” she muttered into the night. This was
going to be harder than she thought, and possibly more dangerous.
Old Tim Mastock from down the road had offered to help her but
she’d turned him down, telling him she could manage quite well on
her own. Now she began to wonder if her confidence had been a
little misplaced. She knew something big was out there and had
heard the low growl, but whatever it was, the beast was keeping a
very low profile.

Hidden by the hedge surrounding
Grace’s field, the creature slunk along on its belly, its black fur
rendering it virtually invisible. Slowly and silently it crept,
circling the field until it was positioned alongside her. It
watched her walk into the centre of the field, the sheep bleating
and cowering to her left, and saw her raise the gun. Keeping low,
the creature continued around her, until it had Grace’s back
clearly in sight. Slowly it crept, dropping to its haunches and
getting ready for the kill, its yellow eyes never leaving its prey,
every muscle in its sleek black body taut and tight, its
concentration absolute.

At the crucial moment, just as
it prepared to pounce, it lifted its ears, detecting an almost
inaudible sound. The animal cautiously raised its head and looked
up, ears pricked, hearing once again the summoning call. With a
regretful glance towards the field of crazed sheep and the woman in
the centre, it turned round and bounded silently across the fields,
intent now on one thing only, getting back to the voice that called
it.

Standing stock still, every
cell in her body on high alert, Grace Wisterley sensed movement
behind her and turning rapidly, swore she saw something large and
dark moving speedily across the fields and she knew she’d missed
her chance.

“Yer’ll be back,” she muttered
under her breath. “I might have scared y’off this time, but yer’ll
be back. And I’ll be waiting for yer, whatever y’are.”

She stomped back into the
house, pulling off her old red woollen hat and kicking off her
wellington boots. She carefully placed the shotgun in the cupboard
and warmed her hands against the old Aga. She felt chilled through,
and it wasn’t just the temperature of the night air.

18. Party Preparation

“I won’t be able to see you for
a few days,” said Theo, sitting opposite me in the cafeteria,
gauging my face for a reaction.

“Why not? Are you going away?”
I asked, a little surprised.

“No, it’s not that. We have a
big function coming up at Hartswell Hall, and it’s all hands on
deck. I need to be there to help my mother and father.” He spoke in
the matter of fact voice that I’d come to recognise. There would be
no changing his mind, although I decided to have a go anyway.

“What kind of function? Can I
come and help you?”

“Sorry, Emily, not allowed,” he
said firmly. “It’s a private party for friends, colleagues and
acquaintances of my parents, before we open to the public. … All
very boring, but Violet, Joseph and I need to be there to help.
Believe me, I’d much rather not be involved, but I’ve promised.
Sorry.” He laughed nervously, and I knew he hadn’t been looking
forward to telling me.

“When is it?” I asked.

“Two days’ time. We need to
prepare the house.”

“Must be some party if you need
to spend the next two days getting ready.”

“It’s important to my parents.
They have friends coming from all over the world. Some are well
known and expect total privacy. We can’t let it be known that
famous people will be visiting, otherwise we’ll have the media
swarming all over the place. So, I’m afraid it’s strictly no
visitors until it’s over.”

“Famous people?” I questioned
him. “Like who?”