Scenting Hallowed Blood (20 page)

With tangled hair, and
leaf-strewn clothes, they ambled down the pavement towards the
Assembly Rooms, beneath the shuttered eyes of the dark, looming
buildings. Few words had passed between them. They had stood up,
brushed themselves down, and resumed their walk home. Their
communion had seemed a necessary thing, an act of love for the
world, something which ensured the sun would rise tomorrow. She
would sleep with Israel tonight, and before they slept, they would
make love again and again.

When Lily saw the dim lights in
the windows of the Assembly Rooms, alarm stabbed unexpectedly
through her belly. The light looked different, although she
couldn’t understand how. She sensed danger, and without realising
it, became rooted to the spot.

‘What is it?’ Israel asked.

‘There’s something... something
feels
wrong.
’ She wondered why Israel couldn’t sense the
strangeness all around them. He was pure-born Grigori and should
surely be more sensitive than she was.

Israel only peered at her,
waiting for her to explain.

Lily tried to find the words,
but found that the feeling had ebbed. It had been like a brief
waking dream. She shrugged and began walking again. ‘I don’t know
what it was,’ she said lamely, but in her head was a blazing image
of Owen. She felt worried about him. They had left him alone.

Once they reached the side
alley, Israel retrieved his keys from his jacket pocket, but after
he put the first of them in the lock, he made a sound of
consternation. ‘The door’s open.’ He glanced at Lily, and she felt
her skin crawl with dread once more.

‘Owen,’ she said, and pushed
past Israel into the building.

The moment she stepped into the
place, she felt the change. Something had happened here, or was
still happening.

‘Wait, Lily.’ Israel’s hand
clamped on her arm. His voice was low.

‘You sense it?’ She was
shivering now.

‘Let me go first.’

‘Owen’s room,’ Lily said.
‘Please!’

Israel glanced back at her,
made a soothing gesture. ‘OK.’

They went up the back stairs.
On the second landing, Lily stifled a cry of disgust. There was
blood on the threadbare carpet, wet and shiny in the dim light.
Israel swore softly. ‘Is this because of your friend Shem, do you
think?’

‘I don’t know.’ She risked a
partial honesty. ‘Probably.’ She wondered how much Israel had
worked out about her and her companions.

Israel shook his head and
padded up the next flight of stairs, Lily following some distance
behind. She felt very much afraid now; her fear condensing in her
chest, clogging her breath. She wanted to turn around and run from
the house, but the image of Owen held her feet to the climb.

The strangers dropped down upon
them before Lily and Israel even noticed they were there. Uncanny
creatures; their bodies as skinny as birds, and their floating hair
like feathers. They seemed to drift down from the dark corners of
the ceiling, or from an upper storey, like webs of gauze, but once
they struck they became hard teeth and claws, possessed by the
strength of eagles.

Lily uttered a cry of horror.
She saw the flash of white faces, with dark, burning eyes, but they
moved so quickly, she could barely isolate their images. She was
aware of slender limbs encircling her body with preternatural
strength. They did not attempt to hurt her, but their smell was
unliving and it frightened her.

Israel gasped out a cry of
pain, and Lily realised the creatures were not being so solicitous
with him. She tried to utter a protest and struggled to go to his
aid, but the blurred, shimmering assailants held her firmly in
their grip. She could not see Israel for his body was completely
covered in the flickering creatures. ‘Don’t hurt him!’ Her cry was
ignored. She realised then that the sinister pursuers, whom Emma
had always feared, had become a hideous reality. These creatures
had come for Shem. Lily cursed herself. If both she and Daniel had
been here, their heightened awareness would have felt these
creatures coming. As if sensing her thoughts, one of them stopped
shimmering before her eyes and she was able to look into his face.
He was beautiful, with small features, heavy-lidded dark eyes and a
pointed jaw, but he was slightly less tall than Grigori normally
were, and silent. ‘Who are you?’ Lily murmured, her voice a husky
fragile sound.

The creature’s lips did not
move, but she heard the word, ‘Emim. We are the Terrors.’

There had been blood upon the
stairs. Whose?

Israel was still trying to put
up a fight — she could hear him cursing — whereas she was capable
only of standing against the wall, helpless. She understood there
was no point in fighting.

‘Lily!’

Her body stiffened at the sound
of her name. She looked up and saw Johcasta running towards her on
the landing above. Her clothes were in disarray and her face was
bruised and bloody. Behind her came a pair of grinning Emim. They
stalked her without haste, aware she had nowhere to run.

The Emim around Lily broke away
from her, and swarmed up the stairs to engulf Johcasta in a melee
of dark limbs. ‘Lily!’

Lily put her hands over her
ears. She felt utterly numb, incapable even of fear. Johcasta
managed to struggle free a little and threw something down the
stairs, which landed at Lily’s feet. It was a small leather pouch.
Lily stared at this object for a few moments, unable to identify
it. Then she realised it contained Johcasta’s divining stones. She
glanced up the stairs as Johcasta uttered an agonised, despairing
groan. There was no clear sight of the Grigori woman now, just a
dark, twitching huddle, and the pale heads of the Emim, dipping and
swaying above their victim. One white face came up and snarled
silently at Lily. Blood dribbled from its mouth. Lily felt nausea
rise within her, yet she couldn’t be sick. This was all too unreal.
Her limbs had become sluggish. She could not decide what to do,
although she did not feel as if she was in any physical danger
herself. These creatures had come for Shem, they had come for all
of them. Slowly, she sank down the wall, and squatted against it,
with her hands still clasped around her ears. This did nothing to
blot out the hideous sounds around her: the bubbling cries of
Israel and Johcasta, the crunch of bone and the tear of flesh. She
closed her eyes and began humming loudly to herself, in an attempt
to isolate herself from what was happening. She did not think of
Israel. He was lost to her now: she knew that. Hadn’t the intensity
of their love-making in the garden somehow foreseen this moment?
She couldn’t feel shock or grief, because in some way she had known
this was to happen. The price for loving her was death. She thought
of Ishtahar again, and a blue calm came into her mind.
I am
going mad,
she thought.
Madness is no pain.
But it
didn’t feel like madness.

Gradually, everything subsided
to quiet. Lily, with her eyes screwed tightly shut, wondered
whether she had stepped out of reality. If she opened her eyes now,
would she find herself somewhere completely unknown? Something
nudged her foot, and she flinched, reluctantly opening her eyes.
One of the pale-skinned Emim stood over her, his hands and face
seamed with blood. He gestured for her to rise. Holding the Emim’s
eyes with her own, Lily reached out and grabbed hold of the pouch
Johcasta had thrown to her, which she slipped into one of the deep
pockets of the red gown. Then she rose slowly to her feet. She
didn’t want to look to left or right for fear of seeing what had
happened to Israel and Johcasta. The Emim nodded in apparent
approval, then began to ascend the stairs. Lily shrank against the
banister and followed him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a
splash of bright, gold-embroidered fabric on the floor; the corner
of Johcasta’s skirt.

Lily followed the Emim into one
of the rooms upstairs. It was a bare chamber, furnished only by an
ancient table, which still gleamed with French polish beneath the
light of the street-lamps coming in from outside. Here, a tall,
red-haired figure sat, his legs crossed casually, his pale,
long-boned hands resting gracefully upon his raised knee. Even in
the dim light, his features were plain to see, as if his skin
glowed from within. She knew he was Grigori. No humans were ever
that beautiful.

‘You are Lily Winter,’ he said.
His voice was soft yet sharp, like light dancing upon ice
cubes.

Lily nodded. She knew then that
these creatures had not found Shem, and were about to question her
about it. Shem had gone. He had abandoned her, and there was
nothing she could tell his pursuers that would help them.

The red-haired man blinked
slowly, as if he’d heard her thoughts. ‘You don’t know where he
is.’ There was no hint of enquiry in his voice.

Lily shook her head. She felt
too numb to speak, and yet if she said nothing, they might kill her
because she was of no use to them. Her only thought was that at
least Daniel was safe somewhere, and because of this she was not
totally alone. If she could only survive this night, she too would
be safe. ‘Who are you?’ The words came out separately, as if they
had no meaning.

The red-haired man re-crossed
his legs and drew in his breath through his nose. ‘I am Salamiel,’
he said. ‘A friend of Azazel, whom you know.’

She shook her head. ‘No I
don’t. Who is he?’ She knew she was playing for time, but it was so
difficult because her mind felt disconnected from the present
moment.

Salamiel laughed, but made
almost no sound. His head simply went back and his mouth dropped
open. A series of coughing sighs came out of him. ‘You
do
know him
,
’ he said. ‘He has touched you, enfolded you. You
are his.’

Lily frowned. ‘I don’t know
what you mean.’

‘You call him Shemyaza,’
Salamiel explained. ‘That is one of his names, but he has many.
Shemyaza means, literally, the name of Azza, and that is but a form
of Azazel, the scapegoat.’ He pulled a scornful face. ‘But you know
none of this, of course. You simply accept what you see, and have
no interest in the truth behind the name.’ He smiled and held out
his hands. ‘To me, he is Azazel, and always will be. It is his dark
side, and one that the Parzupheim wish dearly to contain. But I am
his brother, and his dark soul calls to me. I seek him because of
this yearning. You are his creature and you must lure him to
me.’

‘I don’t know where he is,’
Lily said helplessly.

‘The boy, Daniel, will know.’
Salamiel’s eyes burned with a vivid orange light. He had the eyes
of a red cat.

Lily felt she was witnessing
the true face of the Grigori, more so than those she had met
before, like Israel and Johcasta. This was Shem’s equal.

‘Azazel will not abandon his
vizier,’ Salamiel said. ‘He will summon him, one way or
another.’

‘Daniel’s not here,’ Lily said
lamely.

Salamiel stood up and made a
gesture of irritation. ‘I know that, as I know exactly what he is
doing at this moment. Oh, it is all of no consequence! The
Parzupheim will take Azazel to their sanctuary in Cornwall. Of
that, I have no doubt. It is the only place to take him, because
that is where his work must begin.’ He turned and looked at Lily.
‘It is an inconvenience that he’s been taken by them, not least
because some of my Emim have suffered. Still, at least I have
you...’

Lily could not prevent an image
of Owen flashing through her mind.

Salamiel smiled. ‘And the
damaged boy, of course.’ He gestured towards the door, where two of
his Emim were waiting. ‘Would you like to see him?’

Lily felt a thrill of alarm
course through her belly.
I must guard my thoughts.
But of
course, it was too late.

‘How little you know of the
history of your race,’ Salamiel said in a conversational tone, as
he led the way to Owen’s room. ‘Have you no curiosity about
it?’

Lily shrugged. ‘Yes. I haven’t
had time...’

‘I have seen so much about
you.’ Salamiel placed a cold hand on her shoulder. ‘The little
village, your little life, and what happened to you when Azazel
came upon you. Don’t you realise how privileged you are?’

Lily wanted to say, ‘Nothing
good happened,’ but kept silent, realising Salamiel would not want
to hear that. ‘He told us very little,’ she said.

‘We have all the time in the
world,’ Salamiel said. ‘Do you know that? And yet we have no time
at all.’ They had come to Owen’s door. Salamiel put one hand flat
against the flaking paint and said, ‘Your brother is sacred.’ Then
he pushed open the door, splintered the wood, shattered the rim
lock.

Inside, the room was a forest
of candles. Here they had built a temporary shrine. Owen sat naked
upon his mattress, his eyes staring sightlessly at the door. His
flesh was scored as if by the point of a very sharp knife, with
swirling patterns and hieroglyphs. The blood had not run, but lay
in beads along the cuts, catching the light. One of the Emim lay
with his head in Owen’s lap, sucking away at the fruit of maleness
that grew there.

‘O!’ Lily made to run to him,
but Salamiel held her back.

‘You must not disturb them,’ he
said. ‘Azazel has absorbed part of the boy into himself. Therefore,
part of Azazel resides within the boy. A small, silent part, but
present nonetheless. We pay homage to this residue and draw out the
essence of Shemyaza with flesh.’

Lily saw Owen’s body convulse,
his head thrown back. He made a wordless noise, which sounded
almost like a question. The Emim rose from his lap and spat into a
glass vessel that was held out to him by one of his companions.

‘We must keep the seed,’
Salamiel said casually, ‘for it has great power.’

Lily made a disgusted sound and
turned her head away.