The MacGregor (6 page)

It had been a big day but Sean couldn't settle. He was pissed off with himself for kissing Ginny. What an idiot! Now he was faced with the choice of sleeping with her and living with all the crap that went with it, or of not sleeping with her and living with all the crap that went with that. Damn and blast.

Either way he looked at it he was going to lose a perfectly capable head girl. And his temper wasn't improved by the knowledge that it was entirely his own fault.

He stared sightlessly at the TV screen and swirled his whisky softly in its tumbler. Still, the day hadn't been all bad. He'd had a major breakthrough with The Count and he'd had a very positive phone conversation with Campbell. God, but it was great to be the bearer of good news. Campbell was coming next week to watch his charge go through his paces.

Something smashed on the floor in the kitchen. Sean was out of his seat like a jack-in-a-box. He trod carefully across the threadbare carpet and peered through the open door, his heart hammering in his chest. A milk bottle twirled idly on the flagstones, spewing milk into a little lake. Sean's eyes whizzed around the room. Disappointment washed over him as he encountered Sarah's black cat, Salem.

With a curse he carefully mopped up the mess. For one wild moment he'd thought it was her. Megan.

There was no hope of settling in for the evening. He grabbed his jacket and put on his boots and stepped out the front door. He'd already done the horses and he didn't want to disturb them again. His gaze travelled down into the valley to the river flats. And his body stiffened like a setter on the scent when he spotted a small light bobbing across the distant paddock. What the hell?

Minutes later he was hot-footing it towards the stretch of forest that ran down to the water. He could sneak up on whoever it was and catch them unawares. It was probably kids or poachers. As he jogged easily downhill a small black shape raced past. Salem.

At first Sean thought the cat was just out hunting, but as he wound his way through the trees he had the odd sensation that the cat was on some other mission. Which was mad. But he couldn't shift the idea, and he came to an abrupt halt when he realised that
he
was following the black cat. Which was even madder.

Hidden behind the trunk of an elder tree Sean took a moment, his eyes following the cat with some difficulty in the moon-speckled undergrowth. When the cat stopped and turned around, Sean held his breath. Salem's eyes flared gold in the moon rays as he stared straight at Sean. Just coincidence, Sean told himself. But the cat remained stationary, just the tip of his black tail lashing the air impatiently.

Sean stepped out again, and Salem turned tail and trotted steadily through the bracken fern and brambles. Sean followed and tried to remember just how many drinks he'd had. He'd have sworn it was only a couple of stiff ones.

The trees thinned and Sean could hear the tinkle of water as it gushed over its rocky bed. An owl screeched overhead and something small pitter-pattered past his feet. Salem sat down at the edge of the trees, and turned and observed Sean. He sighed and stopped.

For a few moments all seemed peaceful, the landscape going about its secret nocturnal business. The air was clear and crisp, and the lush grass rippled softly in the
breeze. Sean felt ridiculous. He must have been mistaken about the light. Perhaps it had been a vehicle on the road.

But then he froze as Salem stood up, obviously alerted to the same sound Sean had heard. Laughter. Or more accurately, giggling. High and clear as church bells on Sunday. And a light flickered in the distance, bobbing along in someone's uplifted hand. And then someone spoke. A woman. And another replied.

And hand in hand along the riverbank came two women. One old and one young.

Sean stared at them. What on earth were they up to? Not hunting or poaching. He waited, curious to see what they were doing, when Salem burst into a cacophony of purring and broke cover. It was then that Sean noted the two women were attired in a most unusual fashion. Weird or what?

Megan was disappointed when the ride was almost over but she soon forgot in the anticipation of her first venture into the unknown. The Jackal and Hide was on the seedy side of the city. Megan looked with covetous eyes at the rows of bikes glittering beneath the street lamps. Black and chrome, burgundy and gold, green, pink, orange and black, blue. A rainbow of bikes. Some were choppers with low seats; many were old and others brand new. All were clearly loved.

Douglas cruised slowly down the narrow, bitumen street until he found a space. Seconds later Megan hopped off and pulled her helmet off her head. She felt a pang of anxiety and pushed an impatient hand through her hair. She hid a grin as she caught Douglas doing the same. He caught her eye and smiled.

‘You look fine,' he reassured her kindly.

‘You too,' she said.

‘Ready?'

Megan nodded and followed him back up the road, her eyes trying to see everything at the same time. Many of the buildings were old and in danger of falling down. Some were more cared for and lights burned behind curtains. There were a few businesses barred and locked up for the night.

A group of young people huddled together beside a warehouse. As Megan followed Douglas towards them, they all turned and stared with hostile expressions. Then a tall, whip-thin young woman with vivid, kohl-rimmed green eyes nodded in their direction.

‘Watcha Candy,' she said.

Douglas smiled at the girl. ‘How's it hanging, Mulberry?'

She shrugged her leather-clad shoulders. ‘All right. Same shit reheated, you know?' She paused and pirouetted gracefully on one Doc Marten. ‘Who's she?'

Megan bristled. How freakin' rude. ‘She's the cat's mother,' she said succinctly.

The Mulberry girl raised a black painted eyebrow. ‘Chill, sister.'

Douglas stepped up. ‘This here is Megan.'

The rest of the motley crew all eyeballed her like she was a pickled head in a jar. Megan eyeballed them back. Actually, she was glad to have the excuse to check them out. They looked like they'd escaped from Halloween. Despite it all, she was captivated by their costumes. A carnival collection ranging from tutu to top hat. Cool. She felt drab by comparison in jeans, tee-shirt and old anorak.

A young man in a white tutu and outsized ballet shoes curtsied. ‘Pleased to meet you, Megan. I'm Spam.'

Megan giggled. He looked ridiculous. The atmosphere lightened perceptibly.

Douglas grinned. ‘Catch you later,' he said.

The group nodded and returned to their huddle.

Megan was brimming with curiosity, and hurried after Douglas. ‘Why do they call you Candy?'

Douglas ran a hand through his hair. ‘'Cause my hair looks like candy floss,' he explained.

‘Is Spam's real name Spam?'

Douglas shrugged. ‘Who knows?' He pointed up the street. ‘Nearly there.'

Megan looked ahead eagerly but couldn't see the nightclub. In fact, he seemed to be pointing to a vacant block. She hurried up the street after Douglas.

When they reached the block she looked around and tried to dampen down a wave of disappointment. There was no sign of a club, just piles of rubble, squashed coke cans, plastic bags, and what looked suspiciously like several limp condoms curled up like shed snakeskins. Gross.

There was an old grate sunk halfway into the gritty grass. And, to Megan's surprise, Douglas headed towards it. He stopped, reached down and grasped the rusty bars, and with one fluid jerk lifted up the grating. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Ladies first!'

After a brief hesitation Megan slid past him and dropped down into the musty space. Seconds later the grate clunked shut and Douglas stood beside her. She looked up and around. It took a moment to work it out but she got there. ‘Why,' she said, ‘it's an old railway tunnel!'

Douglas nodded. ‘Sure is. Follow me.'

Despite the inky darkness Megan followed with ease along the old track, her eyes swam around the curved brick ceiling. It was damp and water dripped onto her head making her shiver.

After several minutes the muffled sound of music hummed in her ears.

Douglas stopped at an old metal door fitted flush in the curved tunnel wall. He hit the door thrice. A small round hole appeared and an eye looked at them. And the door swung fluidly open.

Megan stepped back in shock as a wall of noise accosted her eardrums.

Douglas grinned. ‘Welcome to the Jackal and Hide!' he yelled. Megan slapped her hands over her ears and followed him inside.

Sean didn't consider himself a judgemental man, but he felt justified in gawping. Both women were attired in long white nightgowns of an old-fashioned design. Cotton, full-length with lace at the collar. Draped over their shoulders, presumably to keep out the night chill, were long, deep red cloaks. And, to top it all, they both sported large black pointy witch's hats. Seriously? Was it Halloween?

The women were close enough now for him to make out their age. The elder was probably high fifties and the younger mid-twenties. The elder spotted Salem, put down an old-fashioned carpetbag and let out a small squeak of excitement. ‘Look, Lydia, it's Salem!'

Lydia smiled. ‘I told you he'd remember.'

Sean's heart missed a beat. Oh dear, they were obviously a pair of escaped lunatics. Maybe he should nip home and call the cops.

But he forgot his good intentions as the younger, Lydia, finished patting Salem and stood up and shrugged off her cloak. The breeze moulded the gown against her body and, even in the moonlight, Sean could see the slenderness of her waist and the supple proportions of her arms.

She turned and looked at her companion with an expression that was both pleading and frustrated. ‘Your turn, Nancy.'

But Nancy just giggled and pulled her cloak around her ample figure. ‘Oh Lydia, I can't. I feel such a fool.'

‘Nancy, don't be ridiculous, it's perfectly natural.'

Lydia shook her head. ‘That's easy to say, but I'm too old to start cavorting naked in the middle of the night. I'll get bronchitis.'

Sean clapped a hand over his own mouth to stifle the roar of laughter that threatened to escape at any moment. He'd always liked mad people.

Lydia pulled off her hat and revealed a long, pale face framed by soft black curls. ‘Well, take off the cloak at least. That can't hurt, can it?'

Nancy giggled once more, despite the scowl offered by her companion, but complied. Her red cloak collapsed at her feet in a dark puddle revealing her face, short greying hair and big wide eyes.

‘Let's do the circle then,' said the younger, Lydia.

Sean watched in fascination as the elder woman untied a bag from around her neck and walked a circle, leaving a shining snail trail in her wake. Chalk or possibly salt, he decided. Soon she paused and inspected the work. She must have been satisfied for she beckoned to the younger woman and they both went to the edge of the trees and picked up dead wood and pine cones. In the centre of the circle they built a fire. Salem entered the circle, slumped down, licked his paws and wiped his face clean.

Once more Lydia attacked her companion verbally. ‘Nancy, we are going to give thanks to the Goddess. It has to be naked. Sarah already told you that.'

Nancy's sweet face suddenly looked sad. ‘But Sarah's not here, is she? And we are only two. Sarah said we had to be three. And I don't think that Salem counts, do you?'

Lydia was silent for a moment. Crickets chirruped in the long meadow grass and the water burbled merrily along its path. She turned around and looked up at the woods. ‘No,'
she said clearly, ‘Salem doesn't count. But I think the young man spying on us over there might.'

Sean was dumbfounded. How the hell did she know he was there? The obvious answer was that he wasn't as well hidden as he'd thought. Embarrassed, he ducked down. But, after an awkward moment, he was forced to admit that he was sprung.

He slipped out of his witless hiding place and moved out into the damp meadow. ‘Hi!' he said. After all, they were the ones trespassing, not him.

Nancy and Lydia looked at him and then at each other. Lydia smiled. ‘Hello Sean, we've been expecting you.'

Sean was lost for words. Which in itself must have been a first. How did they know his name, and how could they possibly be expecting him?

Nancy ran her eyes over him. ‘Better get naked, Sean.'

Sean glared at her. Like hell. ‘What for?'

Lydia moved barefoot across the damp ground, her nightgown clinging to her admirable breasts. ‘Sean, we must worship the Goddess. We three must become one.'

Sean stared at her stupidly. ‘Sorry?' He swung around to find Nancy behind him, her blue eyes wide with mischief.

‘An orgy, Sean!' she whispered. ‘We are going to have an orgy.'

Sean stepped back in shock. Holy crap. They were going to rape him.

Inside, the music seemed to be a tangible living thing. It filled Megan's mind and pumped through her blood. She was in a huge arched space. Like the tunnel but three times wider and twice as high. It was lit by old-fashioned gas flames arrayed around the walls. Shadows boxed and danced around her like March hares.

A large metal stage filled the centre of the old railway yard. On its grey surface a myriad of dancers swayed and stamped. A band played manically at one end. Around the perimeter of the cavern were a number of old shipping containers, either singular or welded in higgledy-piggledy towers. The air was smoky and strongly scented with alcohol and hormones.

Douglas tapped her on the shoulder and Megan followed him to a single container with a wolf's head painted on its faded green surface. The door was pinned back. Megan stepped inside and looked around, curious. The place was jam-packed with leather-clad men and women. Megan was stunned. The majority were her own kind! She'd never imagined there were so many living close by. It awed her, but scared her too. Did they not realise how dangerous it was to collect in such numbers?