Second Night (20 page)

‘I've been waiting for you, Ghost Rider! You're late!'

He grabbed her around the waist and pushed her up against the wall. Thrilled, she saw gleaming eyes as he tipped back her head and fastened a ravenous black mouth onto her neck. The devil loomed over them, cackling into the microphone.

‘Happy birthday, Titan!' he shouted, waving to the skeleton to turn down the music. ‘Gather round, grave robbers!'

Caz lifted his head, snarling and licking his lips with a black tongue. The gorgon writhed ecstatically, held at arms length and pinned to the wall by her throat.

‘It's too early for that!' a voice called out.

‘It's never too early!' shouted the devil. ‘Tonight's the night!'

‘Blood, blood, blood!' chanted the skeleton and the ghoul.

‘Blood, blood, blood!' howled the mob.

A female voice objected. ‘Be nice to her!'

Caz stared in the direction of the voice.
Sacrifice her? Who said that? She is not worthy!
Abruptly he let go his hand.

Lauren fell sideways on top of the ghoul with the guitar. The devil picked her up. His voice boomed over the sound system. ‘Make way for the cake!'

The crowd parted. Sara and Kerys bore the three-tiered gothic tower, dripping black and red icing, to the front of the stage. Julia followed, clutching a carving knife. Jemima stayed in the kitchen with Julien.

The ghoul plugged his guitar into an amplifier. The devil lit the candles. ‘Grave robbers!' The ghoul twanged the intro. The devil waved his trident. ‘After three! One... two... three! Happy birthday, Ti-tan, time you had a man.'

The grave robbers faltered after the first line. They looked at each other. ‘What?'

‘Sizzle happy, sizzle snappy,' sang the devil, not one to miss out on the chance of a solo, ‘happy nuclear bang!'

Party poppers exploded out of the cake. Puffs of green smoke enveloped the room. Jemima and Julien came out of the kitchen. The devil roared. ‘Group snog! She's all yours, grave robbers!'

Lauren screamed and disappeared, delighted, under a frenzy of sweaty hands and faces. The devil gave the ghoul a smacking kiss on the lips. ‘Universal snog!'

Caz kissed the blue witch and gave her his drink. ‘Get rid of this, will you, Mel?'

She tipped it into her own glass. ‘Good as done.'

‘Are you staying over?' he asked.

She gave him her shrewd look, slightly sideways and wise. ‘No. Kerys has got a taxi. Julia's coming too. Need a lift?'

‘No, but you may have to finish the show for me.'

She put her arms around him. ‘No problem, but only because I love you.'

‘I love you too.'

‘But not enough to marry me one day?'

‘Marry Tris.'

‘Okay.'

Lauren reappeared, dishevelled and excited, and dragged him out of Melanie's arms. Lightning strobed over their heads. Gigantic flames flickered up the back wall. Red smoke billowed up around the devil as he ripped off his jester's hat. His bare white skull glowed blue under the strobe. He waved a light under his chin. The black mouth contorted in a death's head grin. He leapt to the front of the stage. The trident glowed luminescent green.

‘Ghouls and vampires!' he screamed. ‘Ghosts and fiends! Dead and undead!'

The denizens of unholy night whooped and yelled. The floor shook. A vase crashed off a shelf on the other side of the house. The devil raised his right fist. ‘Grave robbers! This is the night! The night of death! The night of steaming, sweltering, scorching sex! Can you take it?'

The shout was deafening. ‘Yes!'

‘Can you do it?'

‘Yes!'

‘Are you sure you can do it?' yelled the devil.

‘Yes!'

‘So let's do it! Let's get wild!' A crashing chord exploded a spotlight over the devil's head. ‘Free!' The ghoul winked into existence flashing luminescent fingers on invisible frets. ‘And stoned!' Both spotlights blanked out in a deafening thunderclap. The skeleton materialised, seated centre stage, spinning the magic mushroom as he thrashed a pair of laser light-sticks around a gigantic set of intangible drums.

The red spotlight tracked the devil capering stage right, head-banging, executing impossible fingerings along undetectable frets. The green spot flashed over the ghoul writhing stage left, strumming an invisible guitar behind his back, over his shoulders, before throwing himself forwards, apparently sawing the instrument at inconceivable levels between his legs.

The grave robbers stomped and roared. Another vase crashed off a table in another part of the house. The devil slid centre stage on his knees, throwing himself flat on his back for his celebrated neck-breaking showpiece, strumming frantically though a series of breathtaking contortions while pivoted on his skull. The skeleton scooted the mushroom across the stage straight into the green witch.

‘Is that it then, Jem?' he said, jabbing a shining stick at the zombie beside her. ‘Are we finished?'

‘Yes. We need space.'

‘Fine!' He shot centre stage, spun the magic mushroom once around the devil still gyrating madly in a state of unholy ecstasy, and took a direct line for the purple-lipped vampire operating the ghoul's camera in the corner. The zombie put his arm around the green witch and whispered in her ear while the devil leapt to his feet to take a howling ovation. The ghoul twisted his arms and legs in a renewed agony of frenzied, head-banging strumming while the skeleton took centre stage for the drum solo. But Caz forgot to start the smoke. A sea of glittering eyes flashed in diabolic faces. The rasping voice reminded him:
‘You are pursued.'

The spear was left in the vault at the manor house. He was caught out, unarmed and unprepared on the field of battle. His hands fell useless at his sides. The devil waved frantically at Melanie. She climbed between the speakers and bent over the consoles, letting Caz slip into the gorgon's welcoming arms.

‘Let me help you,' she whispered.

Her eyes shone silver-bright under the lights.

CHAPTER 34

Caz followed his shadow-haired lady up the stairs, drinking in the warmth of her perfume and blinded to all else by the sweetness of her smile and the love in her glowing, silvery eyes. She led him through a door, nailed all over with decapitated heads, into an ethereal hall that was lit with starlight, glimmering soft blue and yellow and red through perfumed mist. It appeared to be pillared on three sides with white columns of living wood rising out of the vaporous, crimson-coloured floor. Shards of white wood burned on the central hearth before a capacious bed, richly caparisoned and raised on a dais overlooking what seemed to be a mist-covered pool of gently bubbling, clear water.

Seven ravishingly beautiful blonde, red-headed and chestnut-haired women stood ready to serve him, their flowing tresses bound back from their foreheads with bands of white gold shining with runes, their fingers laden with yellow, white and red gold rings. They bathed him with warm water from the pool and dressed him in fine linen. They brought fragrant wine, cool and sweet upon his lips, succulent meats dropping tender from the bone and golden honeycomb.

When his hunger was sated, they led him up the steps to the bed on top of the dais, laid him on white linen and covered him with elaborately embroidered quilts, feather-light as down. One among their number sat at the foot of the bed, her fine white fingers plucking the strings of a golden harp, while the bliss of an age of sleep fell upon him, their soft voices chanting him into dream.

Your name is sung in the hall, Heartbiter,

you are worthy, most worthy.

Sleep, Spear-Bearer and Rune-Winner,

you are favoured, most favoured.

Sleep, Heartbiter, sleep,

you are the favoured of the High One,

your name is sung in the Hall.

The swirling mists parted over the lake and he saw Bryn standing at the foot of the span of an immense sweep of glittering, rainbow-coloured ice stretching beyond the stars. She called out and would have come to him, his beloved mare who had given her life to save him – but for the rush of power and light and thundering hooves that came swiftly between them.

Seven magnificent grey mares, the Galdramerar in all their legendary glory, barred the way. They ran free, their riders' raven-feathered cloaks spread black-winged about them, starlight streaming in their manes and tails and flashing under their mighty hooves. The peerless Choosers of the Slain, the Battle Maidens of the God, rode with runes blazing in their hands and burning at their brows. Greatest of them all, the lady of his dreams and vision stood over Caz, her shadow-hair falling around her like cloud, her white hands bearing a crystal chalice filled with fragrant mead. Her voice was bewitchingly sweet.

‘No mortal may pass over Bifrost, Heartbiter. No mortal may pass the doors of mighty Valhall until they have tasted the Mead of Heidrún.'

She bit into the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. Bloody drops sparkled against the pure white skin. Smiling, she let the blood flow into the cup. The mead glowed, golden-red.

‘Drink and be comforted, Heartbiter,' she urged. ‘The High One welcomes you to the Hall.'

Her eyes were irresistible, star-bright and wise with the mystery of the heavens. She was his lady, the Rune-Giver, the beloved of his dreams and vision. Mesmerised by her white beauty, he put his lips to the rim.

Bryn called out. He heard her clearly – warning of betrayal, challenging the betrayer.

You are pursued.

He had no memory of where the words came from but the scent of the bloodied mead was suddenly putrid in his nostrils. The scar on his left hand cracked open, oozing yellow pus and rotting matter dripping from his fingers.

He slapped the crystal cup aside, screaming, ‘Stinking spooks! You killed Bryn! You won't get me! You'll never get me!'

The woman's face shape-shifted, her brilliant eyes dissolving into seething black holes, sucking him into the uncharted depths of her malice. Her voice hissed, cold and venomous. ‘We await you, Heartbiter! You will burn in the fires of Múspell, and we will drive you into the flames!'

The lake boiled, spewing jets of sulphurous steam. Drums throbbed, shaking the bed where he lay pinioned by the weight of a hideous dwarf in a diaphanous black dress straddling his chest. Ragged-haired hags spurred great, snarling wolves, leaping red-eyed onto the dais to tear at his hands and clothes. Serpents writhed in the dwarf's matted hair. She opened a cavernous mouth filled with the broken stumps of rotted teeth, laughing as she put a cup of curdling green liquid to his lips.

Boiling rage tightened every muscle in his body. The dwarf gasped at his strength as he arched his back, unseating her and sending the cup crashing to the floor. He sat up, gripping a handful of her dress and lifted her bodily, ready to throttle her and put an end to this evil farce. The serpent crown fell off. The wig slipped down over her nose. Her heart pounded, oddly human, and he remembered where he was.

Lauren's eyes were wide with terror. Her dress was torn. She looked like a doll, small and fragile and just as easily broken. A champagne bottle was tipped over and leaking into the red silk sheet beneath them. Fragments of shattered glass pierced the scar on his palm. Thumping music shook the walls. Horrified, he dropped her onto the bed, grabbed up his cloak and boots where they had been thrown on the floor and left, slamming the door she had so painstakingly decorated with paper roses behind him.

Cosy under a blanket on the sofa in the summerhouse, Jemima heard footsteps running across the lawn. She leaned over to the window and rubbed at the misted glass. A flash of white shone between the trees. Hoofbeats echoed away down the road.

Julien sat up beside her. ‘Is someone riding a horse in the night?'

‘This is England,' said Jemima, in her most matter-of-fact tone. ‘People exercise horses all the time here. Surely you must know that?'

CHAPTER 35

The Council Chamber door had been left ajar. Caz arrived a few minutes after one o'clock. He let the latch fall with a loud click. The five robed and hooded figures remained motionless. Five jewel-handled knives were laid unsheathed on the grey flagstones with the hilts towards the rune circle and the softly glowing sea-blue stone. A shining blade pointed at each of the uniformly disguised individuals seated on the chairs.

Caz recognised each of them by their heartbeats, except for the one who sat to the left of the figure in the high-backed chair at the head of the circle. He took the opposite seat, overlooked by the Goddess, putting back his hood to reveal the white and black painted face. Intense irritation pounded the unknown heartbeat and bolted the bearer rigidly upright.

Caz looked at each figure as he named them. ‘Sir Jonas… Alan… Daisy… John. No surprises after all then.'

Sir Jonas revealed his face and motioned to the others to do the same. The dark face of the man beside him appeared impassive but Caz could sense his frustration and disapproval.

‘And you're the Bank,' he said, deliberately insolent.

‘I am Charles Fordham-Marshall,' the man replied stiffly. ‘Finally we meet, Caspar.'

‘We do.'

Charles Fordham-Marshall stood up. He was a tall, elegant figure with a close-cropped head of wiry grey hair. Everything about him exuded an unmistakable air of authority. In matters of procedure he considered himself unrivalled.

‘Master, do I have your permission to continue?' he asked formally.

‘You may proceed,' said Sir Jonas.

‘Will the Candidate for Initiation please rise?'

Caz gripped the spear and stood up slowly. He wore the mail tunic openly for the first time and faced the dark, disapproving man squarely, every subtlety of movement calculated to emphasise his superiority to all of them in height and strength. He might be the youngest but not one of the Guardians could match his horsemanship or his experience.