Ruins (7 page)

Summer had returned in all its suffocating glory. Even in just shorts and a T-shirt, he was boiling. He’d slept restlessly, Jessica and Esus’s words somersaulting in his head. Could everything they’d said be true? That he was meant to resurrect the Trinity? And could some mystery girl really help? Nicholas felt like something had taken a bite out of him.

His present discomfort was nothing compared to Isabel’s, though. He smiled faintly, watching the cat in the rear-view mirror. She clung to the back seat, ears flat against her skull.

“Just go easy on the upholstery there,” Sam said to the animal’s grumpy reflection. Isabel’s eyes narrowed into slits.

“Just think of it as a cart being drawn by invisible horses,” Nicholas told her.

“How does it move?” Isabel demanded.

“Magic,” Sam and Nicholas replied in unison.

“Infernal contraption,” Isabel muttered, stumbling as they turned a corner.

Sam flipped the visor down to shield his eyes from the sun. Nicholas did the same and peered at the old man. He’d barely seen him since all of this had begun. They’d not had time to talk after the festival. The last time they’d talked properly was on the bus, and that hadn’t exactly gone well – especially as Sam had evaded all of his questions.

“Sentinels, huh?” Nicholas murmured.

Sam concentrated on the road. He nodded.

“And demons.”

Nothing.

“And her.” Nicholas jabbed his thumb at the creature fixed rigidly to the backseat.

“Yes,” Sam breathed.

“Would’ve been nice to have had a head’s up,” Nicholas said.

“Nicholas–”

“I know, I know. I get it. Big secrets and blah blah blah. Still can’t get my head around it, though. My parents. They... they were, you know...”

“Indeed,” Sam said. “Just as their parents were before them, and theirs before them before that. It’s a birthright. We know things that other people don’t and it’s our duty to keep them safe.”

“They all looked so... ordinary,” Nicholas said, recalling the Festival of Fire. “Last night. All the others.”

“Ordinary!” Isabel snorted. “The gall of it.
Ordinary
people do extraordinary things every day. What were you expecting? Suits of armour?”

Sam chuckled. He winked at Nicholas. “But more seriously, that’s partly the point. We’re supposed to look ordinary. When a Sentinel comes of age, she or he has two options: enlisting with special operations based on a particular skill, or being assigned to what’s commonly called the mortal sector. We couldn’t exactly go unnoticed there if we looked like what’s his name, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mortal sector workers like me and your parents are, for lack of a better term, ground-level spies. Your father was a publisher, but he also served as a Sentinel, watching for signs of emergent evil. You’d be surprised where the cracks appear.”

Nicholas nearly scoffed at the idea of his parents as spies.

“And the special operations?” he asked.

“There are Sensitives,” Sam explained. “Or those particularly adept at research. There are experts on the Trinity and mythological profiles. The most physically capable often become part of an elite set of Hunters. Our friend Lash is of that crop.”

“Don’t remind me,” Nicholas muttered, glowering at the mention of Jessica’s new bodyguard. What about Jessica, though? She’d been the leader of the Sentinels for five-hundred years. Had she ever left Hallow House? She’d said it was protected by her magic. Perhaps that prevented her from leaving; she couldn’t abandon ship.
She’s not exactly stable, either
, Nicholas thought. Was Jessica confined to Hallow House for her own safety? Or was the world a safer place with her locked away in there?

He shook himself free of his thoughts. “Wouldn’t it make more sense just to get it out in the open? Let the world deal with demons and all that bad stuff? Surely having the army on your side would be a bonus.”

“You’re assuming it’s never been attempted,” Sam said.

“It has?”

“Of course. On many occasions.” Sam squeezed the steering wheel between liver-spotted hands. “There are those who believe it should all be out in the open.”

“Preposterous,” Isabel spat.

“It has been tried,” Sam continued. “The last time I know of was in 1980. A town in North Yorkshire. There was something in the water. A dead
jaruka
demon was rotting in a reservoir and contaminated the water supply. Hundreds fell ill. The authorities were called in and the cadaver was discovered by the national health body, aided by local Sentinels who had infiltrated the water company. Instead of revealing the
jaruka
and causing an international catastrophe, the authorities stamped on the story. It never leaked to the press and it was never recorded in any official documents. The body was destroyed and the authorities moved on.” Sam paused, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, there are people in the know. People high up. There have been far too many occurrences for them not to be aware. But they’ve enough on their plate as it is. As long as
somebody’s
dealing with the problem, that’s good enough for them. Fewer dirty hands and
far
less paper work.”

Nicholas’s head felt like the whirring drum in a washing machine. “But... that’s nuts! Why didn’t anybody try again? Who did they speak to? It doesn’t make any sense that they’d just ignore evidence like that.”

“That’s the way it is.”

“Child.” A feline voice probed from the backseat. “Man is a creature twisted into knots by fear. If a blind eye can be turned, you can rest assured it will be. Never was there a being more self-serving than Man. Nor quick to bury a truth too difficult to bear.”

Sam laughed. “To put it lightly.”

Nicholas slumped in his seat. “I’ll never understand any of this.”

“In time,” Sam said. “Once we begin training...”

“That’s another thing,” Nicholas interrupted. “What exactly is this training going to involve?” He couldn’t even begin to imagine. Was he going to have to jump through flaming hoops and track demons? Shave his head like they did in the army and navigate back from some remote spot using only the sun’s position in the sky and his own wits?

“Your training has already begun,” Sam said. “Or it will today. Best way to learn is by doing. You’ll help with the Snelling investigation.”

“You think investigating Snelling will help you find out what happened to the Sentinels in Cambridge? The ones who got turned?” Nicholas asked. Just saying the name made him want to spit. The shopkeeper he’d befriended in Orville – the one he’d assumed was another Sentinel – had been nothing but a duplicitous fraud. Nicholas was glad he was dead. He rubbed his chest, remembering the concussive blast that had barrelled into him, unleashed by the strange metallic gauntlet that Snelling had wielded as a weapon.

“It’s a start,” Sam said. “There may be something useful in the house. We know he was working with Malika and Diltraa, but where did the gauntlet come from? And if you hadn’t stopped them, what would they have gone on to do?”

“Malika.” Anger rumbled in Nicholas’s chest.

“Other Sentinels are attempting to track her down. The Hunters are out there tracing her scent. We may find that our paths converge. If she’s allied herself with somebody new, she must be stopped.”

Nicholas brooded on that thought. He doubted Malika needed new allies. She seemed perfectly capable of wreaking havoc on her own.

“What about the girl?” he asked. “How am I supposed to find her?”

“We’ll get to that,” Isabel said.

They trundled through the countryside and conversation turned to brighter things as Sam recalled his boyhood years in Bury St Edmunds. “It’s a special place,” he said. “You’ll see. Full of history. Did you know witch trials were held there long before they happened in Salem? Or that there are tales of a huge network of ancient tunnels beneath the town? Or that Edmund The Martyr himself is said to be buried there, hence the town’s name? Legend has it that a wolf still guards his severed head.”

Nicholas had heard some of the tales before, but he hadn’t visited Bury since he was young.

“You sure you want me tagging along?” he asked.

“Why ever not?”

“Our track record isn’t exactly great. Especially when it comes to things with wheels. I’m a bit of a demon magnet, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m sure we’ll cope,” Sam said evenly. If he was nervous about having Nicholas at his side, he wasn’t letting on.

They chugged on, passing through one quaint village after another. Nicholas was surprised by how similar they were to Orville. Every one seemed stuck in time. These villages didn’t give him the creeps the way Orville had, though. Orville was a cursed place, and he was the reason for that curse. Another thought to push away.

“Ah!” Sam exclaimed, relieving Nicholas of his guilt-ridden thoughts. “Almost there.”

A sign on the dual carriageway announced BURY ST EDMUNDS – 3 miles. A train ran alongside them momentarily before swerving to the other side of a field and disappearing. On the horizon, twin caterpillars of white vapour crawled lethargically into the sky, emerging from an ugly concrete monolith. The sugar beet factory, Nicholas recalled.

They left the dual carriageway and drove into the town. The roads were narrow, busy and old. Sam steered the car down a particularly grubby street and parked at the kerb.

“Welcome to Bury St Edmunds,” he said, popping open his door and shrugging on a satchel as battered as his fedora.

Nicholas didn’t remember the town being quite this rundown. They were on the outskirts, he supposed. When he’d visited with his parents, they’d never strayed much beyond the town’s bustling centre. He stepped out onto the street. To his surprise, Isabel scrabbled out after him and leapt onto his shoulder. She wasn’t as heavy as he’d expected.

The cat didn’t say anything, but her whiskers quivered. She coiled her tail about his neck, and Nicholas felt oddly comforted, despite the heat. It was like she’d been doing it for years.

Sam locked the car and strode purposefully down the street. Nicholas followed him around a corner, wondering why they’d parked so far away from their destination. A Sentinel trick, he imagined. As if reading his thoughts, Sam winked at him.

“Never be placed at the scene of the crime,” he said secretively.

The house was a workaday semi-detached with a front garden that had gone wild from neglect. The sullen midday sun exposed windows that were blackened with chipped paint like so much parched earth, and the roof had holes pecked in it as if by some monstrous beast.

Sam paused at the gate, eyeing both the house and its dilapidated neighbour. Neither showed any signs of life.

“What a dump,” Nicholas muttered. He nudged the fence with his foot and it creaked drunkenly. “Shouldn’t be surprised considering who owned it.”

Sam said nothing, instead pushing the gate inward. It crashed from its hinges.

“Delightful,” the old man murmured under his breath.

Isabel jumped noiselessly from Nicholas’s shoulder and was the first to reach the door.

“And how do you propose we make entry?” she asked dourly.

Sam gave Nicholas a look and he shrugged.

“She has a point,” he said. “How are we going to get in?”

Sam approached the door, ran his hands down the flaking wood and pawed at the brass lock thoughtfully.

“Just you keep a look out,” he said to the cat, rummaging in his satchel.

“You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do...” Nicholas began uncertainly.

Isabel looked up from the doorstep as the old man set out a leather pouch on the nearest windowsill and drew a shining brass instrument from it. It looked like a tool for removing debris from teeth after a meal.

“I’m fraternising with a criminal,” the cat muttered, but she didn’t blink as she watched Sam insert the metal stalk into the lock.

Nicholas scanned the neighbour’s house. There was no movement behind the net curtains. No slinking shadows. The street was deserted, too. This was a part of town that he suspected most people avoided. Just down the road, he glimpsed the unmistakable tableau of red bricks and satellite dishes that signalled a council estate. He hoped they’d be gone by dark. Demons were one thing, but he didn’t fancy going up against a band of knuckle-cracking teenagers.

You fought a demon and lived
, he told himself in an attempt to settle his nerves. But he couldn’t lie to himself.
You survived, but only just
.

Click
.

“There,” Sam breathed. He sounded relieved. Nicholas wondered how long it had been since that particular skill had been put to the test. Nicholas felt far from relieved, though, especially when Sam pushed the front door open and he spied what lay in wait.

The hallway was dark as a tomb. The stench of burnt wood and plastic lingered. Nicholas instinctively put a hand to his mouth as they crossed the threshold.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “You think he actually
lived
here?”