‘Fair exchange. Her life for the Grimoire,’ Parsons added, nodding towards Julie.
‘Why does it mean so much to you?’ Donna asked, taking a step backwards, the book in her arms.
Dashwood advanced a pace, his eyes fixed on the Grimoire.
‘Give it to me,’ he rasped. She heard the anger in his voice but there was something else there, too.
Fear?
‘Give him the book or I swear I’ll kill her,’ Farrell said, looking first at Donna, then at Dashwood.
Donna moved back another step.
‘Tell me why it’s so important,’ she demanded, opening it at the first page, smelling the musty odour that rose from the parchment-like paper. She closed her hand on the top sheet.
‘Don’t damage it,’ shouted Dashwood. Now Donna was sure it was fear she heard in his voice. He moved closer to her but she merely held her ground, one hand poised to rip the page free. ‘Don’t damage the book,’ Dashwood repeated.
‘You can both go, just don’t damage the book.’
‘Let her go, or I’ll rip this page out and all the others,’ Donna said defiantly, looking at Farrell.
He kept his grip on Julie, the gun still pressed to her temple.
‘Shoot her,’ Parsons snapped.
Dashwood shot up a hand.
‘No,’ he hissed.
‘I’ll destroy the book,’ Donna threatened. ‘Let her go.’
‘You couldn’t rip up a dozen pages before I killed you both,’ Farrell said, not impressed by her show of bravado.
‘Let her go,’ snarled Dashwood, glaring at Farrell.
He hesitated a moment then released his grip on Julie, pushing her away from him. She stumbled and fell to her knees, one hand massaging her bruised throat.
‘Drop the gun,’ Donna said.
Farrell did as he was told.
‘Now back off, all of you,’ she continued, moving across to her sister, the Grimoire still held in her hands.
Dashwood didn’t move but his rheumy eyes followed the book.
Farrell, Ryker and Kellerman, still clutching his knee and the wound just below it, moved out of the chamber, leaving the two women to face Parsons and Dashwood. The stench seemed to grow in intensity.
‘We made a bargain,’ said Dashwood. ‘Give me the book.’
Donna glanced quickly to one side and saw the .45 that Farrell had dropped. It was a couple of feet to her right.
‘Give me the book and I’ll tell you why it’s so important to us. You said you wanted to know.’
She edged closer to the automatic.
Julie was leaning back against the wall, her head spinning, her eyes filled with tears of pain and fear.
‘A bargain, Mrs Ward,’ Dashwood continued.
Donna dropped to one knee, snatched up the .45 and then straightened up with the barrel pointed at Dashwood.
He chuckled.
The sound echoed around the chamber. Donna felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.
‘Take the fucking thing,’ she hissed and hurled it at Dashwood.
He grabbed it and pulled it close to his chest, his eyes blazing.
Donna raised the .45 until it was level with his head and steadied herself to fire.
‘Stay back,’ she said, teeth gritted, her finger resting on the trigger.
‘I have what I want now,’ Dashwood told her, moving towards the exit.
‘They’ll kill us,’ Julie croaked.
‘No, not
us,’
Dashwood smiled.
‘We
will not touch you.’
Donna frowned.
What the hell did he mean?
She had the sights directly over Dashwood’s forehead; all she had to do was tighten her finger and she’d spread his brains all around the chamber.
Perhaps she should.
He was still hugging the book to him as if it were a nursing child.
‘Your husband was inquisitive, too,’ he said, smiling, showing his array of blackened teeth. ‘Perhaps you’re like him. You want to know about the Grimoire?’
She nodded slowly.
‘Then I’ll tell you.’
Eighty
Kill him.
Donna felt as if a tiny voice were whispering in her ear. She kept the automatic raised as Dashwood ran his hand over the cover of the Grimoire.
Blow the fucker’s brains out.
‘You killed my husband,’ she said quietly, the words sounding more like a statement than a question.
Dashwood shook his head.
‘It was none of our doing,’ he said. ‘He brought about his own death because of his betrayal.’
‘You murdered him.’
‘Is that what the police told you? That he was murdered?’
‘They said they were reasonably sure he
wasn’t.
That his death
was
an accident.’
‘Then why don’t you believe them?’ Dashwood asked, smiling thinly.
‘I don’t know what to believe any more,’ she said, keeping the gun trained on the other man. ‘All I know is his death is linked to that book.’ She nodded towards the thick volume.
‘Possibly. As I said to you, it is very important to us.’
‘And just who are you?’ she wanted to know.
‘Surely you must know by now. We are The Sons of Midnight.’ He spoke the words with reverence. ‘And always will be.’ Again that smile. ‘At least now we have our Grimoire back we can be safe again. Safe from men like your husband, who sought to expose us.’ He eyed Donna impassively. ‘Do you have any idea of the power this book contains? No, you couldn’t. Your mind isn’t capable of comprehending such power. The power of life. The power to give life.’
He looked down at the cover of the Grimoire and touched the crest lovingly. Even in the darkness Donna could see his eyes blazing with a ferocity that belied the appearance of the rest of his body.
‘Edward Chardell, the author of this book, believed that life was immortal. Not so much in
time
, as in
essence.
This book,’ again he held it up, ‘was published as Chardell was dying. It contains his theories and his researches. The sum total of knowledge he’d spent years accumulating. He says that life exists outside and independent of Creation, and independent of birth too.’
Donna looked puzzled.
‘He says that life can, and does, attach itself to inanimate as well as animate objects. Organic life can exist, can be
made
to exist, anywhere and within everything. Within the bricks and mortar of a house. Within a jewel.’ He smiled. ‘Within a car.’ He paused a moment. ‘Do you believe in ghosts, Mrs Ward?’
Donna shrugged.
‘As far as Chardell was concerned, a ghost was merely living consciousness without a body to house it. The body can function without consciousness, in a state of coma or sleep. Why should consciousness not function without a body? It becomes a separate entity, able to enter objects at will, or if guided. Guided by men like myself. I’m not saying I can bring the dead back to life; there are limits even to my abilities.’ He chuckled. ‘But I have studied the words within this book and I can bring life to what were otherwise lifeless objects.’
He pointed at the gun.
Donna felt something pulsing in her hand, as if she held a beating heart. The sensation was vile. As she looked down she saw the .45 moving slightly, the butt throbbing in her grip.
She did see it, didn’t she?
The barrel seemed to twist, snake-like, the muzzle opening up like a mouth, growing wider.
Donna dropped the weapon and stepped away from it.
The .45 lay at her feet.
She blinked hard and looked at it again.
‘No, you didn’t imagine it,’ Dashwood said. ‘The Church would call it a miracle.’ Both he and Parsons laughed aloud. ‘Fascinating, isn’t it?’ Dashwood said, smiling. ‘Your husband thought so, too. That was why he sought us out, why he wanted our knowledge.’
‘He was going to destroy you,’ Donna said. ‘He knew you needed the book to survive; that was why he took it from you.’
Dashwood raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘He wanted knowledge. He wanted to learn and he would do
anything
in order to gain that knowledge. He threatened to expose us, yes, but in order to expose us he first had to join us. To learn about us. The best way to destroy is from within. Your husband knew that.’
Donna felt her heart beating more rapidly.
No, this couldn’t be.
‘He wanted what we had,’ Dashwood said. ‘He wanted to
be
one of us.’
‘No,’ Donna murmured, shaking her head.
‘How well did you know your husband, Mrs Ward?’
Donna was quivering.
‘How do you think he knew so much about us? Why should we consider him such a danger unless he could damage us?’
‘He took the Grimoire. That was why you wanted him dead,’ Donna said.
‘But how do you think he got close enough to take it in the first place?’
Donna shook her head.
‘What did he tell you?’ Dashwood asked. ‘Did he tell you he was one of us?’
Donna didn’t answer.
‘No. He didn’t, did he?’ Dashwood said, smiling.
‘He couldn’t have been,’ she shouted. ‘I know about you. I know about what you do. You kill.’
‘Some things are worth killing
for,’
Dashwood told her. ‘Some knowledge has a high price.’
‘He wasn’t one of you,’ she said defiantly. ‘He wouldn’t have done the things he ...’
‘What things, Mrs Ward?’
‘The initiation rites. I read about them.’
‘What
wouldn’t
he have done?’ Dashwood chided.
‘He wouldn’t have killed . . .’ The sentence trailed off.
‘Killed a child?’ Dashwood smiled broadly. ‘He wouldn’t have killed a child, is that what you were going to say? He wouldn’t have fornicated in front of us, he wouldn’t have taken the life of a child, he wouldn’t have urinated on the cross. You think he wouldn’t have pissed on Christ.’ Dashwood bellowed the final words, the noise echoing around the chamber. ‘How well did you know your husband, you bitch? How well did you know him? Could you see into his mind? You ignorant, stupid bitch.’
Donna leapt forward, grabbing the .45.
She rolled over, aiming it at Dashwood, squeezing the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He merely stepped back, away from her through the exit.
As he did she saw him raise his hand, the index finger pointing at something behind her.
Donna kept squeezing the trigger until, finally, she hurled the automatic away with a wail of despair.
The door of the chamber was slammed shut. She and Julie were trapped.
They ran to the door but it was firmly closed, unyielding despite their frantic efforts to open it. Julie turned, sliding exhausted down the damp wood, her back to the door. Donna continued thumping at the recalcitrant partition.