Scenting Hallowed Blood (11 page)

Tamara could feel the power
oozing from stones of the cove. The cliffs and the surrounding
rocks were all of pure serpentine. In daylight, they would be red,
gold and green, but at night, the stone appeared densely black. The
rocks seemed to be full of giant faces, grimacing out upon the
night. Delmar stood trembling upon the wind-lashed beach. The house
was not visible from here for the cliff over-hung the shore. The
black ovals of cave entrances could be seen; places where the
Grigori undoubtedly conducted their own rituals at certain times of
year. Tamara would have liked to explore these places, but knew
that time was short. She must conduct her work and hurry away.
Lingering too long might alert the Grigori to her presence.

She crouched down upon the sand
and removed from her coat pocket the pouch of herbs. Hastily, she
broke the contents into small pieces and placed them within the
hollow of the cowry shell. Then, without hesitation, she picked up
a sharp stone from the beach and made a shallow cut across her
wrist. Delmar uttered a sound of distress at the sight of her
blood. He was clearly unfamiliar with some of the more gruesome
magical practices, and remained rigid and staring as Tamara
squeezed a few drops of blood into the cowry shell. This
accomplished, she spat onto the mixture, then finally added some
sea-water gathered from a nearby rock-pool. Slowly, still crouching
down, she began to agitate the mixture within the shell, making it
move in a spiral. After a few moments, she leapt suddenly to her
feet. Delmar whimpered and cringed away from her. Tamara ignored
his fear. She held the shell before her, her spine erect, her hair
blowing around her face from beneath her hood. ‘Now, Del! Send the
image of Ishtahar to me!’

His jumpiness and fright were
beginning to annoy her, although she could tell he was trying to
overcome these feelings, so that he could concentrate on her
request. His instinct now was to obey her.

‘We are safe now,’ she told
him. ‘Just relax. No-one knows we’re here.’

He nodded, although he still
looked terrified. Tamara closed her eyes. Soon, the image came
through: the figure of a woman, clad in blue veils, which curled
around her body like smoke. Her ears and neck were hung with heavy
gold jewellery and her eyes were painted thickly with kohl in the
Egyptian fashion. Tamara visualised this figure standing upon the
beach directly in front of her. Then she opened her eyes and,
holding the cowry shell aloft, poured the potent libation around
them in a small, tight circle, all the while chanting in a guttural
whisper: ‘Sitar, Ishtahar, Abdur Sitar, Ashur Sitar, Ishtahar.’ She
spiralled lithely around the circle, each step executed with the
purpose and precision of a trained dancer. Then, she halted in the
centre of the circle and poured the residue of the libation onto
the sand, breathing heavily. Gripping the shell in one hand, she
held out the talisman in the other, and willed the carved serpents
to release their breath, so that the form of Ishtahar could take
shape within it. Within her grasp, the talisman began to grow hot.
Fine, snaky fronds of smoking energy rose up from the serpents’
open mouths and slowly crept upon the air, until they found the
serrated folds of the cowry shell and slipped within it.

Satisfied her intentions were
taking effect, Tamara asked Delmar to dig a hole in the sand
between them. She sat down opposite him, and watched his fingers
scrabbling away, until he had dug down for about eighteen inches.
Then she placed the shell in the hole, and together she and Delmar
filled it in once more. There would be no outward sign that the
shell was buried there. The tide would wash away all signs of their
libation. If Tamara wanted to remove the shell, she would have to
use psychic means to locate it. She reached for Delmar’s gritty
hands, and instructed him to meditate further on the image of
Shemyaza’s woman. Tamara was unnerved by the thought of closing her
eyes for the meditation. Her heart had begun to beat quickly; she
would not be sorry to leave this place.

A sudden gust of wind blew
Tamara’s hood back from her head and sprayed her hair across her
face in stinging tendrils. She heard the howl and roar of the sea
grow momentarily furious and wild, and could not help opening her
eyes quickly, convinced that an enormous wave was about to crash
down upon her. But the sea was merely restless and seething, its
waves lashing fretfully at least twenty yards from where they
sat.

‘Come Del, we must leave.’ She
was on her feet in an instant, the flesh along her spine crawling
in apprehension. The knowledge that she would have to empower the
thought-form of Ishtahar a few more times yet did not please her.
It wouldn’t be so bad if they could work by daylight, but the risks
attached to that were too great.

On the climb back up the cliff,
Tamara felt the guardians’ presence around them. Their clawed,
spectral fingers reached for her coat as she struggled and
scrabbled on the treacherous path. Delmar uttered a monotonous
keening sound, and by the time they crawled back onto the concrete
surface of the lay-by, he was twitching and gibbering like a
lunatic. Tamara had never seen a person so afraid. Now that the
deed was done, she herself felt light-headed and disorientated with
shock and fear. They had dared to invade Grigori territory! Her
unease was blended with a sense of triumph. With shaking fingers,
she unlocked the car and bundled Delmar into the passenger seat.
She dared not look back over her shoulder as she threw herself in
through the driver’s door. Her car skidded on the tarmac as she
turned it back onto the Hill Road. Delmar had put his face in his
hands. When the lights of the village were visible below them,
Tamara reached out and pressed her cold fingers on the back of the
boy’s neck.

‘Hush,’ she soothed. ‘It’s
over.’

For now.

On the day following her initial
meeting with Daniel, Aninka arrived at the cafe near Red Lion
Square very early, around six-thirty in the morning, convinced the
boy would call in again. She sat there all the way through until
nine, earning suspicious looks from the waitress. Perhaps her
tension was evident in her posture. Had she frightened Daniel off
the previous morning? She couldn’t remember saying anything too
pushy or interrogative, but the boy was psychic, after all. Perhaps
he’d guessed who and what she was, and Shemyaza and the others had
already fled the Assembly Rooms.

Standing at the threshold of
the cafe, Aninka considered walking boldly up to the main entrance
of the Assembly Rooms, and simply knocking on the door. Shemyaza
knew
her, she had been his lover. Would he attack her now?
It was impossible to guess his state of mind. She kept reminding
herself that Peverel Othman was no more. What lived in his body now
was alien and ancient, and perhaps would not even recognise
her.

Back at the flat, she confided
her fears to Taziel. ‘Have we missed our chance?’

He scoffed at her question. ‘I
wouldn’t put it that way. If Shemyaza has fled London, it’s a
narrow escape for us, if anything.’

‘
Can you tell if he’s
still around?’ Aninka sprawled on the sofa and lit a
cigarette.

Taziel shrugged. ‘I think so. I
don’t think Daniel guessed who you were, otherwise I’m sure there
would have been more...’ He grinned. ‘...
impact.’

‘
What do you mean?’
Aninka asked stiffly.

‘
The Anakim would have
had us,’ he answered shortly, then grimaced. ‘Perhaps a gentle prod
or two won’t go amiss. I’ll see what I can do.’

‘
Gentle prod?’ Aninka
sounded unsure.

‘
Perhaps your friend
Daniel needs to be reminded it’s a good idea to get out of the
house now and again.’

Daniel had in fact thought
about going to the cafe again that morning, but had decided against
it at the last moment. It was mainly inspired by a fear that his
new friend Eve would not be there. As he’d roamed the house in the
grey pre-dawn, he’d come across Lily, barefoot and wraith-like. It
was as if they hadn’t seen one another for years, but it had been
only two days. She asked if he’d been to see Owen at all, to which
Daniel had to reply that he hadn’t. Lily obviously felt they should
talk and insisted on dragging him to Naomi’s room with her, where
the hours sped by as they sat around drinking tea and chatting. He
realised how easy it would be to end up frittering away his life in
this place.

Daniel went to bed early,
feeling lethargic and bored, unable to think of anything
interesting to do. He tossed and turned for what seemed like hours
on his lumpy mattress. Noises from outside intruded into his
dreams, calling him to wakefulness, ordering him to sleep. He
awoke, or thought he did, to sense a presence in the room. This was
not unusual in the Assembly Rooms: it had already happened to him
several times, and on each occasion, he’d ignored the visitor and
returned to sleep. Awareness of presences was something he’d lived
with all his life; it did not unnerve him particularly. But this
time, as he turned his back against the darkness between himself
and the blanketed window, his spine crawled with unease. He
resisted the urge to turn over and open his eyes, willing himself
to relax.

There was a pressure on the
bed.

Daniel was instantly alert. It
felt as if someone had sat down beside him. He froze, wondering
whether another member of the household had crept into the room
without him hearing, although in his heart he sensed this was not
the explanation. The presence was not corporeal, but was it
threatening or not? In his mind, Daniel conjured a glowing caul of
protection around himself, a cocoon of light. He formed a silent
question:
What do you want?
There was no immediate response,
although he sensed a quickening of interest behind him, and an
intensifying of the pressure against his protective ether as if a
hand was pressed against it. He sensed the presence did not intend
him harm. Reassured, he turned over, but could see nothing in the
faint light seeping between the ragged curtains. He closed his
eyes, willing an image to form in his mind:
Who are you?
The
Assembly Rooms might be haunted by dozens of spirits. Perhaps one
of them had homed in on him. He felt very calm.

Without warning, a rush of
sensation assaulted Daniel’s mind and body. He felt as if he’d been
caught up in powerful arms, held against a body of light and cloud,
absorbed by it. He was flooded by a hungry desire and an awareness
of heat and strength. His breath came out in a gasp of pleasure and
shock. At first, he thought it must be Shem, giving in to the urge
for contact, but nothing about this entity was redolent of
Shemyaza. Neither was it a ghost. He could sense, however, that it
was male; a tall Grigori, eager with need. Daniel opened his eyes
and the air was full of blue sparks. He felt he was suspended a
foot above the bed, gripped in the invisible arms.

The sensation fled as quickly
as it had come. Daniel found himself panting and gasping upon the
bed, gazing up into a spiralling void that was closing in on itself
even as he looked at it. Whoever had come to him had vanished.
Daniel sat up. Who had it been, and why had they come? He had seen
nothing physical, but felt sure he would recognise the visitor’s
face should he ever find it.

He got out of bed and walked
over the window, looked out over the square. He didn’t know what he
expected to see.

In the shadow of the trees,
standing against the railing was a line of dark shapes. He could
make out no detail of their features or clothing, only that they
were very tall.

Daniel let the curtain fall
back. His first instinct was to go and tell Shem what he’d seen and
experienced, or perhaps Emma, but as nothing had threatened him, it
seemed like more paranoia. Emma would leap on it, and Shem would
scoff. Easier to remain quiet. Sighing, he went back to his bed and
crawled under the duvet. Perhaps the visitor had been nothing more
than a manifestation of his own desires. His body throbbed with a
need to be held close by enfolding arms. His lips burned because no
other lips pressed against them. A fierce and reckless thought sped
through his mind: he wanted freedom, the liberty to explore the
world and find himself a lover, someone who, at the very least, was
aware of his existence. Owen was dead to him. Strange how easy it
was to think that, now. Almost comforting. Daniel turned onto his
side and closed his eyes.

In the dream, Daniel opened his
eyes to find that he floated upon calm water. Moonlight fell down
upon his naked body and the sea-perfumed air was warm against his
skin. In the distance, he could hear a call, like whale-song. He
bobbed upon the thick waters, utterly relaxed. The shore was about
a mile away: he could see rugged cliffs, which reminded him of the
Cornish coast, where he had spent summers as a child. He turned
over, wallowing in the womb-like waters, and saw a shape against
the moon; a tall, sinuous figure walking upon the moonlit water
towards him. A woman. Even though the light was behind her, he
could discern her features, for it seemed as if she was full of a
soft cerulean shimmer, which radiated out from her. She was
beautiful, clad in wafting blue veils and her long dark hair
seethed around her head as if she were underwater. Upon her belly,
visible through the veils, was the image of an enormous eye. He
realised then that he knew her. It was the goddess who had appeared
to them at the High Place in Little Moor on that fateful last
night. Shem’s woman. ‘Ishtahar!’

At the sound of the name, she
held a slender finger to her lips in a request for silence.

Daniel dog-paddled in the
water, trying to reach her. She was walking towards him, but seemed
to draw no closer. ‘Ishtahar, I need your help!’