Dawn of the Demontide (12 page)

Jake crossed to the window and raised the sash. Shoulders thudded against the door. Jake took one last look at his father and slipped through the window.

His memory of the house had served him well. A trail of ivy ran along this side of the building. Jake grasped the trellis frame beneath and used it as a ladder. He was halfway down when he heard the door splinter and the guards rush into the room.

‘No one here.’

‘The window, you fools!’

Jake jumped to the ground. His ankle twisted beneath him but he had no time to feel the pain. A shot rang out. The bullet kicked up the gravel a few inches from his foot. Bloody hell, did they want to kill him? No time to think. He ran.

Jake sped through the deep, velvety shadows of the rose garden. As he ran, he could hear the chaos of a house shocked from its slumbers. Windows whistled open and a confusion of voices bellowed across each other. The whole household had been roused and was now on the lookout for the intruder. Engines spluttered into life. Jake remembered the dirt bikes he had seen resting against the guard’s hut.

Reaching the woods, he heard a sound even more frightening than the roar of the bikes.

The dogs’ howls echoed between the trees.

Shuck and Cerberus had joined the hunt.

Three more shots cut through the air. The bark of the birch tree near Jake’s head exploded into splinters. Glancing back, he saw Brett and the other security guard standing astride the dirt bikes. They had stopped for a moment to take aim. Now they holstered the rifles behind them, stomped down on the kick-start and resumed their pursuit. Jake remembered all those silly conversations he had had with Brett over the years. All the jokes and playful backchat—would their friendship count for anything if he was caught?

Bounding ahead of the bikes, the hellhounds had not slowed
their
pursuit. Their great heads nodded as they ran, as if to say—
Oh yes, we’ll catch you soon, my friend. Then it’s chow time!

Jake raced on. His legs ached down to the bone and tears stung his eyes. Up ahead, he could see the shimmer of the river. All at once, the morning sun blazed across the tops of the trees. The forest came alive with shadows, the river burned with a fiery light, and Jake was blinded. He tripped down the bank and hit the water with a flat smack. The cold knocked the wind out of him. He had just managed to get to his feet again when he heard the scamper of paws on the bank.

Cerberus was the first to arrive on the shore. The dog’s lip curled back to reveal a mouth stuffed with vicious teeth. The hackles on its back rose as it fixed its gaze on its prey. From somewhere nearby, Jake could hear the whine of the bikes. He was either going to be gunned down or torn to pieces. Maybe both.

The dog fired off a few short barks that hit Jake like bullets in the chest. He held out a trembling hand and staggered back into the water. Cerberus padded forward, face low to the ground, spine arched, hind legs poised to pounce. Thick strands of drool slipped between his black lips and foamed around his muzzle.

Chow time.

Cerberus yelped and collapsed to the ground.

A more timid creature than his partner, Shuck had been scrambling on the bank above, trying to find a safe route down. His weight had been too much for the loose earth and it had crumbled beneath him. The dog had fallen through the air and landed heavily on Cerberus’s back. Now they rolled over, legs entangled, mouths snapping.

Jake took his chance. He shrugged the backpack from his shoulders and tossed it away into the river. Then he filled his lungs and dived. Blades of frosty water stung his body. Swimming with his trainers on was difficult, but the adrenalin made sure he kept up a frantic pace. He had reached the end of the chain-link fence when the bullets started cutting through the water. It was no good—he couldn’t hope to get back to the shore before the guards had made it through the gate. He would have to abandon his bike. Turning his body, he started to swim across to the opposite bank.

In the middle of the river, the underwater currents strengthened. However hard he swam, he could not fight them. He felt himself being turned this way and that, the currents flipping him like a plastic bag caught in a breeze. They swept him downriver and kept him pinned beneath the surface. His lungs burned and his blood screamed for oxygen. He kicked hard, pushed with his hands, but the pressure was too strong. Reeds rose up like silky green tentacles and locked Jake in a deadly embrace. Bubbles erupted from his mouth, his eyes bulged and his vision darkened.

Then, in the darkness, he heard his father’s voice—

Remember the power. Feel it
…

It came in a rush—power unbound. The fire exploded from his hands and the underwater world boiled like a cauldron. The reeds snapped away from his legs and Jake felt himself flying backwards through the water. With the speed of a torpedo, he broke the surface. The river raged beneath him, as if a whirlpool had awakened in its depths. At the base of this vortex fish lay flapping on the dry ground of the riverbed.

Jake soared into the air. The men and the guard dogs on the bank, no larger than toy soldiers now, did not seem to notice his flight. Their eyes stayed fixed on the river while Jake hurtled higher and higher. He could see the bend of the river as it curled around the woods. The trees themselves appeared tiny, a green tapestry woven around the doll’s house that was Green Gables.

Higher. Higher.

Below him, the cluster of houses that made up Hobarron Fields. Beyond, the grey sprawl of New Town and the grid of black streets that sliced through it. Masterson High, the canal and the fields. And there, glinting like a new pin, the great Institute itself. A place of science, magic, and mystery. All of it falling away from Jake as he flew into the cold, blue sky.

Voices.

‘ … washed up on the riverbank. Just a few scratches and bruises … ’

‘Damn lucky he wasn’t killed. Those men of yours ought to be better trained.’

‘Brave though, to try to rescue his father.’

‘What now?’

‘The plan remains the same. Soon as he recovers, I’ll take him to Hobarron’s Hollow.’

Only death waits for you there
…

Darkness.

Mother Inglethorpe stood once more inside the Veil. That realm of nothingness was as chilling as ever. If the witch concentrated on the horizon, she could see a host of white shapes passing like mist between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Esther came to the end of her report.

‘As to why Dr Holmwood has imprisoned Adam Harker, I cannot guess.’

‘Surely that is obvious,’ Crowden said. ‘There has been a disagreement between Dr Harker and the other Elders. It must be something to do with the weapon.’

Crowden stood back from his favourite witch and eyed her carefully. As ever, his demonic black cabinet swirled behind him. Mother Inglethorpe tried not to think about those ten minutes she had spent inside the nightmare box.

‘And you say something else happened last night?’ Crowden asked.

‘Yes, just before dawn.’

‘You saw it?’

‘No. I was at home, sleeping.’

‘And your familiar?’

‘Miss Creekley was with me. I have been following the boy and his father twenty-four hours a day for the last six months. I have crossed continents with them.’ Mother Inglethorpe panicked. ‘I am not like you. I-I must sleep sometimes.’

‘Do I detect a disrespectful tone, madam?’

‘No. It’s just, I’ve tried my best.’

‘Tut-tut. You know the price of failure.’

The door of the nightmare box opened a crack. Hungry for Esther Inglethorpe, its voice called out. The witch shivered.

‘I will spare you,’ Crowden said, ‘this time.’ He snapped his fingers and the cabinet slammed shut. ‘Now, tell me what little you
do
know.’

‘Something to do with the boy,’ the witch gasped. ‘I spoke to a wood sprite that lives in one of the trees surrounding Green Gables. His story was rather nonsensical, you know what these forest imps are like. He told me that the boy had attempted to rescue his father and had been chased from the house. He’d tried to swim the river but got into trouble. That’s where the story breaks down. Something frightened the imp and he hid in the trunk of his tree.’

‘What frightened him?’

‘“Oldcraft”. That was all he would say.’

‘
Oldcraft
… ’

The Coven Master’s face darkened. Mother Inglethorpe waited, her hands twisted together, her eye on the cabinet.

‘Where is Jacob Harker now?’ Crowden muttered.

‘They left for Hobarron’s Hollow this morning.’

‘Stay with him, Mother—watch him.’

Crowden waved his hand and conjured a grey mist into the air. Inside the vapour, a picture started to take shape. Mother Inglethorpe could make out the short steeple of a church and a road running down to the sea. She recognized the place immediately.

‘They will flock there soon enough,’ Crowden purred. ‘All the old families, every one a descendant of traitors. They will go in the hope of denying us the Demontide yet again. But we shall be waiting, my Coven and I. This time, demonkind
will
be set free … ’

The rumble of the road brought him round.

‘Are you awake?’

Jake groaned. A steady current from the car’s air conditioning cooled his hot skin. He blinked the world into a kind of focus. He saw yellow cornfields—shreds of violet cloud—a speckle of birds dusting the sky.

‘Don’t worry,’ the driver said, ‘we’re nearly home.’

Jake’s head rolled to the right. He could just make out the red hair of the driver and her big hands on the steering wheel.

‘Home?’

‘That’s right.’ The hair bobbed. ‘Then we’ll get you straight to bed. You’re still very poorly. Now, go back to sleep.’

‘Dad. W-where?’

‘Shhh. Be a good boy and close your eyes.’

Exhaustion sapped Jake’s resistance. His eyes drooped. Before sleep reclaimed him he saw a sign growing larger, larger, larger—

The squabble of the chaffinches in the chestnut tree outside his window roused Jake early. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he gazed around the unfamiliar bedroom. It was comfortable but poorly furnished, with only the bed, a chair, an old wardrobe, and a full length mirror that leaned against one wall. Jake threw back the bedclothes and stood before the mirror. He flushed red. Aunt Joanna must have undressed him. At least she had stopped short of stripping his underpants.

Fresh underwear, a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and trainers sat on the chair. As he pulled on the clothes, his stomach gurgled. It felt as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He opened the bedroom door and stepped out onto the landing. Mouthwatering aromas—crisp, salty bacon and hot, fresh bread—wafted up the stairs. They led him down to the kitchen.

Aunt Joanna stood at the oven, an apron wrapped around her ample stomach.

‘Morning, sleepyhead, you look famished. Bacon sarnie and a cup of tea, I think. Sit down—it won’t be a jiffy.’

The kitchen was like the rest of the house: small, homely, a little untidy. Pots and pans were stacked in a tottering pile beside the sink; bills and letters had been pinned to the sideboard with a large bowie knife. On the windowsill, a fat ginger tomcat dozed in the early morning sunshine.

Aunt Joanna placed two doorstep sandwiches in front of Jake. Now that he came to look at her, he could see the similarities between this woman and his father. They had the same deep brown eyes and coppery red hair. She also possessed her brother’s big frame.

‘My name’s Joanna, in case you were wondering. I’m your dad’s sis—’

‘I know who you are.’

‘Clever lad. Thought you’d have forgotten me. We only met the once.’

‘My sixth birthday,’ Jake said, remembering his aunt’s whisky-flavoured breath.

‘That’s right. Well, it’s good to see you’ve got an appetite. A fever like that can … ’

‘How long have I been ill?’

‘A week. I kept you at home until you were stronger. Had your GP pop in now and then to make sure the fever was under control. Yesterday he gave me the OK to bring you down here. Glad to have you.’

‘Where’s “here”?’

‘Stonycroft Cottage. My home. Home to your father, too, when he was a boy. Been Harkers at Stonycroft since—well, heaven knows when.’

‘I can’t remember much about getting ill.’

‘Just a freak fever. Maybe you stayed out too long in the rain.’

Aunt and nephew held each other’s gaze. Jake decided to play along, for now. Against his father’s wishes, he had come to Hobarron’s Hollow to find a way to stop the Demontide. If he was going to be able to move about the village freely then he would have to keep his aunt’s trust.

While he sipped his sugary tea, a question niggled. How
had
he escaped the river? There was really only one answer. Half-drowned, he must have been dragged out by Brett and the other guard, then taken back home. His exposure to the freezing water had resulted in a fever. And his memory of flying above the river? A hallucination caused by lack of oxygen to the brain.

‘So, where’s my dad then?’ he smiled.

‘Called away on business. Didn’t have time to say goodbye. Asked me to look after you. I’ve got my work here, and so I’m afraid you’ll have to spend your summer holiday with me.’

‘Can I call him?’

Joanna shook her head. ‘He’s somewhere in the wilds of South America. No satellite phone.’

Again, a lie that could not be challenged.

‘I’d like to get a breath of fresh air.’

‘But you haven’t finished your sandwich.’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘All right. Don’t go too far, you’re still weak. Lunch at one.’

Jake left the table and ducked into the low corridor. He was at the cottage door when Joanna called out.

‘Welcome to the Hollow!’

Stonycroft Cottage, thatched and whitewashed, stood by itself at the end of a wooded lane. Jake stepped back and breathed in the atmosphere of the place. This was where his father had grown up. Years ago, Adam Harker had played in the cottage garden, climbed these trees and cycled this pathway. Jake found it hard to imagine his dad as a boy. All he knew of Adam’s past were the few things his dad had let slip—he had grown up in a village on the east coast of England; he’d had one sister, Joanna, who had teased him about the gap between his front teeth; his mother and father had died in a car accident. Apart from his love of horror comics, that was about it.