Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) (27 page)

“Mr Nelson,” she said icily,
“Columbo was a TV detective. He wasn’t real. Everyone knows
that.”

“Ya don’t say?” he said in his
best Columbo voice, raising one eyebrow at her. “Ya learn somethin’
new everyday.” She looked at him coldly and he sat back, eyeing her
with interest.

“Mr Nelson, unless you have
anything to tell me, I’m wasting my time.”

He said nothing, just carried
on watching her.

Leaning forward over the desk,
she whispered through clenched teeth, “I thought you had something
for me.”

“All in good time,” he said,
enjoying her discomfort. And he grinned at her, until she began to
wonder if he was mentally deficient. Suddenly, his grin vanished
and he pulled a small, torn notepad out of his pocket and carefully
leafed through it.

“Aha,” he declared. “Here it
is.”

“Yes?” she demanded, trying to
see.

He looked up at her and grinned
again. “Fee first, information second. Do you have the cash?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, patting
her handbag, “but it’s ‘no information, no fee’.”

Two could play at that game. If
he wanted to play hardball, he’d get it.

He regarded her for a second,
then said, “Compromise. Half up front, the remainder when you’ve
verified the information.”

“Deal”, she said, satisfied,
reaching into her large red Jimmy Choo hand haversack and pulled
out a thick brown envelope. She tossed it over the table to him.
“£25k. Now, what have you got for me?”

At the sight of the money, he
snapped into professional mode.

“As I understand it, you were
looking to acquire trade secrets of up and coming new health and
beauty products; new recipes, latest formulations, herbs, plants,
vitamins, minerals, anything, I believe, to help you push back the
ageing process?”

“Carry on,” she demanded.

“Oh, we have it all here. Amino
acids, Alpha Hydroxy acids, Omega fatty acids, Hyaluronic acid,
Glycolic acid, Beta-Glycyrrhetic acid … Green Mussel, Brown Algae,
Black Cohosh, alfalfa, allantoin, horsechestnut, calendula,
ginseng… Locust Bean Gum seeds, yeast extracts, Grape polyphenols,
anthocyanidins, ubiquinol, pycnogenol, bisabobol, silicon … There
are creams and peels, serums and scrapes, masques, milks and
moisturisers, treatments, toners, cleansers, concentrates, lotions
and gels …”

He paused to draw breath.

“There’s ultrasonic cavitation,
micro-dermabrasion, radio frequency… mesotherapy, thermotherapy,
LED light therapy… micro current therapy, 24 carat gold therapy…
not forgetting Far Infra Red therapy for increasing atomic
activity, and Cryolipolysis Fat Freezing, with anti-freeze to stop
you getting frost bite. Jesus, do you women really go for all this
stuff? They used less than this to create Frankenstein.”

He fixed her with a world-weary
expression.

“Need I go on?” he asked.
“There are a million different products out there, and a million
more being researched, each claiming to keep you young, reduce
wrinkles, tighten skin, boost collagen, plump you out, firm you up,
improve pigmentation, increase density, enhance elasticity, fight
ageing… nurture, nourish, soothe, oxidise, repair, replenish,
support… and so on and so on and so on.”

“Is that all you’ve got for
me?” she asked scornfully. “I know all this. You've told me
nothing.”

“Precisely, my dear,” he said,
making a revolting popping noise with his pipe. “I could have
brought you any manner of new formulations from the latest
laboratories in LA, claiming this, that and the other. Industrial
espionage is my second name. But d’you really think it’s going to
do anything for you? D’you really think a cream or a potion or a
lotion is going to halt the ageing process? My dear, you are
subject to the laws of physics, as are we all. There is no magical
potion that’s going to stop you getting old, other than the
surgeon’s knife. And that’s only superficial. Won’t stop your
organs ageing.” He leered at her triumphantly.

She smashed her fist down on
the table.

“Then what am I paying you for,
idiot? To sit there and tell me the bleedin’ obvious? I wanted
something new.”

He watched her closely with
rheumy, bloodshot eyes. He might go under the guise of an idiot,
but he had the survival instincts of a sewer rat and the morals of
an alley cat.

“You want something new, Wendy
Tubbs,” he rolled the name around on his tongue, “or should I say
Kimberley Chartreuse, Queen of the Falsies?” he leered at her
suggestively.

“How dare you…” she began, but
he cut her short once again.

“I’ll give you something new,
lady. Something so unbelievable, it’ll blow your mind, let alone
stop you ageing.”

“Really?” she snarled at him.
“I doubt that.”

“What if I told you I’d found
something that would stop the ageing process altogether, give you
eternal youth and beauty so you never need think about using one of
these potions ever again?” He had a glint of satisfaction in his
eyes.

“I probably wouldn’t believe
you,” she admitted. “It sounds too good to be true.”

He smiled. “I’ve had my spies
out and about, on the ground, underground, looking, listening,
learning… And word has it there’s a cult of people who have found
the secret of eternal youth.”

“Really,” said Kimberley in a
sceptical voice. “Do you have any proof?”

Mr Nelson didn’t answer.
Instead, he took a large brown envelope from his desk and opened
it.

“Viyesha and Leon de Lucis,” he
said, pulling out a photocopy of a yellowed old press cutting and
placing it on the desk. “Tel el Amarna, Egypt, 1955.”

He placed a photocopy of a more
recent press cutting next to it. “The same couple. Tel el Amarna,
Egypt, 1995.”

Then he placed two colour
photographs alongside the press cuttings. “Viyesha and Leon, taken
a week ago in the UK.” Looking at Kimberley, he said, “Notice
anything strange about these photographs, Wendy Tubbs?”

She gasped and said in a
whisper, “They haven’t changed.”

The colour drained from her
face and she felt a tremor of excitement in the pit of her
stomach.

“Exactly,” said Mr Nelson,
triumphantly.

“What more do you know about
them?” she demanded.

Mr Nelson sat back and plumped
out his chest. “They are wealthy hoteliers. Recently renovated a
large country house in the village of Hartswell-on-the-Hill, set to
open as a luxury hotel and conference centre in two weeks time.
They have two children, Violet seventeen years old, and Theo two
years older, plus a nephew staying with them, Joseph, early
twenties.” He threw down photos of each on the desk as he spoke.
“These photos were taken last week using a telephoto lens. But this
picture,” he threw down a third photocopy of another old press
cutting, showing a family group, “was taken twenty-five years
ago.”

Kimberley looked at them, then
raised her eyes to meet Mr Nelson’s. “Even their children haven’t
aged,” she said excitedly. “How do they do it?”

Mr Nelson leant forward and
said conspiratorially, “Something to do with crystals. I’m still
working on it.”

“Sounds like new age
gobbledegook,” said Kimberley disdainfully.

“Oh, this is the real thing, I
quite assure you,” he said seriously.

She sat and thought for a
moment, letting her brain compute the information, then turned back
to the private detective.

“Mr Nelson, I’m no fool. Images
can be manipulated. These pictures are not proof. I’m going to need
something more than this.”

He looked at her without
smiling. “Dear lady, one thing I would never take you for is a
fool. You have been more successful in turning base metal into gold
than any living creature. Perhaps you’ll let me continue?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve taken the liberty of
booking you in to Hartswell Hall as soon as it opens. Second week
in May. Giving you the opportunity to see the de Lucis family for
yourself. The proof you seek will be in front of your very
eyes.”

“Then what?” she asked. “If
they truly have discovered the secret of eternal youth, they’re not
just going to hand it over to me, crystal or otherwise. What we
need is leverage. Some means of forcing them to share their
secret.”

“All in hand, dear lady,”
smirked Mr Nelson, and threw his last photograph on to the desk.
“Emily Morgan, seventeen years old. Lives in the village. An
ordinary college student…”

“Hm. Pretty, I suppose. But
what’s she got to do with anything?” snapped Kimberley.

Mr Nelson smiled horribly. “A
few weeks ago, Theo started a relationship with Emily. They are, by
all accounts ‘in lurve’. It would seem that Theo would do anything
for Emily.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air.

“You mean trading the family
secret to ensure her safety ….” said Kimberley softy.

“Dear lady, you read my mind,”
he said.

“Mr Nelson, you are brilliant.
I could kiss you.” She thought for a moment, and said, “But I
won’t.”

Mr Nelson sat back in his
chair, puffing on his pipe and feeling pleased with himself. He’d
found the proverbial goldmine and could see large rewards coming
his way.

* * *

As the last of the guests left
Hartswell Hall just after midnight, dark shapes and figures could
be seen gathering in the fields around the mansion and a strange
hissing filled the air. To the uninitiated it sounded like a
hundred airbeds were being deflated.

To those who were attuned,
words could clearly be heard, carried on the breeze,
“Crysssssssstal… cryssssssssstal… cryssssssssstal. Give usss the
crysssssssstal …..”

A large black panther with
yellow saucer-eyes bounded down Hartswell Hall steps and made its
way speedily through the grounds, dropping to its belly as it
approached the fields, every sinew and every muscle tensed in
anticipation.

Overhead an eagle flew, wings
outstretched and talons at the ready. Together they struck: silent,
ferocious and deadly.

For a few seconds, the air was
rent with screaming and thrashing as teeth and claws, beak and
talons did their worst. The black figures were torn to pieces
without discrimination or mercy, fronds and shards of dark matter
littering the grass or picked up by the breeze and dispersed into
the hedgerows and trees, where they snagged on branches like flimsy
black rags, flapping in the cold night air. Such was the ferocity
of the attack, it was over in minutes.

Surveying the massacre and
ensuring all were destroyed, the predators retreated as speedily
and silently as they had attacked. One to the air, the other back
into the undergrowth.

Slowly but surely, the pieces
of dark matter were absorbed into the atmosphere, each becoming
gradually more transparent before disappearing entirely, leaving
not a shred of evidence that minutes earlier the field had
resembled a battlefield.

Only one small shadow remained,
hidden in the undergrowth, wounded and flailing but not destroyed.
Once the predators were gone, it cautiously broke cover, looking
around for other survivors. Finding none, it crawled to the edge of
the field and lay waiting, weak and wounded, silently watching for
some life form to appear. A sheep or dog would do, but a human was
preferable.

The battle had seriously
depleted its strength, and its energy was all but gone. It needed
to feed quickly if it were to survive. As if in answer to its
prayer, old Grace Wisterley stepped obligingly into the field, shot
gun at the ready, eyes peering through the darkness. She’d heard
noises and was determined none of her sheep would die that
night.

“
Come out, yer blighter,”
she said into the night, “show your face. I’ll make short work o’
thee.” She shone a torch around the field but could see nothing out
of place. “Just as well I penned the sheep up las’ night,” she
muttered to herself.

The shadow crept up silently
behind her, and in an instant it attached itself to her back like a
limpet, feeding off her energy field. Grace walked on, unaware of
the parasite she’d picked up, flashing her torch and peering
through the dark for any sign of the predator she knew was out
there. She checked the pen and finding all her sheep accounted for,
walked back to her house, feeling suddenly heavy and tired and
old.

“
Crikey, Grace Wisterley,
yer age is catchin’ up wi’ thee,” she muttered to herself.

The shadow continued to feed,
getting stronger with every mouthful of energy it consumed.

* * *

Back at Hartswell Hall, in a
small underground room beneath the Clock Tower, a door opened and
Theo stepped over the threshold, cautiously looking around him.
Fortunately for him, he hadn’t been missed.

25.
Granddad

At 6.30am, I opened the church
door and once again ran down the hill towards my house. I’d spent a
cold, difficult night in the church, trying to sleep on one of the
pews. It had been a futile exercise. The heating was switched off
over night and I was freezing.

On the few occasions I managed
to drop off, my fevered imagination created such horrors, I woke
within minutes, heart beating rapidly and bathed in a cold sweat.
In one nightmare, a blue crystal hovered before me, but when I
reached out to touch it my hand turned black, and stumbling
backwards I felt a black beast sink its teeth into my shoulder.
When I turned round, I was faced with three luminous beings firing
bolts of lightning from their fingers, each one searing and burning
my skin.

In another, I saw Theo ahead of
me in a dark passageway and ran to keep up with him, but always he
was one step ahead and I just couldn’t reach him. I called his name
again and again, and when finally he turned round, his face looked
different. Blood-red eyes shone through the darkness and when he
smiled at me, he revealed huge white vampire teeth stained with
blood. At one point when I woke, I could swear I heard screaming
and crying somewhere outside, but as I strained to hear more, all
was quiet and still, and I decided it was yet another nightmare.
Eventually, not wanting to risk sleep any more, I sat in the cold
until I saw the first rays of dawn break in the sky.