Scenting Hallowed Blood (43 page)

The post-mistress moved with
insulting lethargy to comply with Emma’s request. Emma felt very
uncomfortable standing there, fixed by the unsmiling stares of the
women. Perhaps a direct question wouldn’t go amiss, although she
doubted she’d get a satisfactory reply.

‘I’m looking for a friend of
mine. I don’t expect you get many visitors at this time of year, so
he’d stand out a lot. He’s a tall young man with long fair hair,
very striking in appearance. Have you seen him?’

If anything, the silence around
her intensified. The post mistress put a packet of cigarettes down
on the counter. ‘That’ll be two pounds, fifty-three.’

Emma delved into her purse,
discovered she’d only got a fistful of change and spent several
awkward moments sorting it out.

‘You from High Crag?’ one of
the customers asked unexpectedly.

Emma glanced at her, noticed
the grey wisps of hair escaping beneath the pale blue hat, the soft
pink skin of the face. ‘I’m staying there with friends, yes.
Why?’

The old woman said nothing. Her
eyes were unnaturally bright. Shuddering, Emma handed over the
money, picked up her purchase and fled.

Outside, she withdrew a
cigarette from the packet and lit it with relief. Weird old
biddies! Unthinkable to remember she had once been like that. She
began to amble down the main street of the village, which was lined
by gift shops and cafes, shut up for the winter. Pausing to browse
in an antique shop window, she became aware that someone was
following her. She took a nervous draw of the cigarette but did not
turn round, keeping her eyes fixed on the window. She would see the
reflection of her pursuer in it.

Don’t be ridiculous,
she
told herself.
This isn’t like you, Emma Manden. You’re a hard
bitch, remember? Frightened of nothing.

Why had those old women
unnerved her so much? Perhaps whoever followed her wasn’t human.
She remembered the hideous attackers at the Assembly Rooms with
dread, and just had to turn round and see who was there. It was the
customer from the shop, who’d asked if she was staying at High
Crag.

Stupid!
Emma thought.
She isn’t following you. She just left the shop after you,
that’s all.

She waited for the woman to
walk past, but when the crone drew level with her, she stopped
walking. Emma couldn’t help recoiling. The old woman pulled herself
to her full height and stuck out her chin.

‘Yes?’ Emma asked, rather
belligerently. She had the distinct impression the old biddy was
about to spit at her.

‘You’re not one of
them,
are you?’ It was a statement rather than a question.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘What’s your name?’

Emma uttered a small, dry
laugh. ‘Excuse me? What business is that of yours?’ She made to
walk away, but the old woman grabbed her arm.

‘You’re Emma Manden, aren’t
you?’

Emma’s voice came out in a
hiss. ‘How the Hell do you know?’

The old woman’s stern face
broke into a slow smile. ‘Oh, I have my ways.’

‘So what if I am? What’s it to
you?’ Emma pulled her arm away roughly from the woman’s
surprisingly strong grip.

‘You’re the Shining One’s
follower. We know that.’

Emma glanced to left and right
up the street. She didn’t know whether to run away or find out what
the woman wanted to say to her. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh yes you do. You want to
talk to me.’

‘Do I?’

The woman nodded. ‘Aye. I’m
Meggie Penhaligon. We have interests in common. You’re looking for
him today? Well, we’ve been waiting for him a long time. Now, carry
my shopping home for me, will you? You’ll be coming with me.’ She
held out an ancient tartan bag, bulging with tins.

Emma stared at this object in
amazement. ‘I don’t think...’

‘Be sensible, girl! We must
talk. I’ll not harm you.’ She shook the bag. ‘Take it.’

Emma paused for a moment,
pursed her lips, then took the bag. ‘All right.’ Her curiosity was
aroused. There was no way she could walk away from this woman
now.

Meggie led Emma to the other
side of the village. They walked in silence, as whenever Emma began
to ask a question, Meggie said, ‘Quiet! Not here! Just wait
on.’

When they reached the cottage,
Meggie opened the front door, which was unlocked, and preceded Emma
into the dark, cramped hallway. Moth-eaten stuffed heads of foxes
yawned down from the walls. Meggie took Emma into the kitchen,
where she methodically unpacked her shopping. Then, she opened a
can of chicken soup and transferred it to a saucepan, which she
placed over the range. Emma sat down at the enormous table without
asking and lit another cigarette. Without comment, Meggie placed an
old saucer in front of her, which Emma presumed she was to use as
an ashtray.

‘This is a lovely house,’ Emma
said as Meggie prepared a pot of tea. The cottage was much bigger
within than it had appeared from the outside. Through the back
window, Emma saw a large lawn, where several picnic tables
stood.

‘It’s fine for our needs,’
Meggie said. ‘Been in our family a long time.’

‘I can tell,’ Emma replied,
flicking ash into the saucer.

Meggie smiled wryly, but said
nothing. Emma wondered what connection this strange old woman, who
was very clearly human, had with Shemyaza. She presumed by ‘Shining
One’ Meggie had meant Shem. She’d assumed, from comments Aninka had
made, that the local community had no interaction with the Grigori.
She glanced around the spacious kitchen. Dried herbs hung on the
walls and various ornaments on the dresser were of a certain occult
appearance. It was easy to infer Meggie was an old witch.

Meggie placed a large cup and
saucer beside Emma’s makeshift ashtray. Into this she poured a
stream of dark tea from an enormous china teapot. Then she busied
herself with transferring her soup from the saucepan to a bowl.
‘You want some?’ she offered.

Emma shook her head. ‘No thank
you. I’d just like to know what it is you want to talk to me
about.’

Meggie set her soup bowl down
on the table. ‘The Watcher Shemyaza.’ She sat down and began to
pour herself a cup of tea. ‘There’s no point beating about the
bush.’

Emma laughed. ‘I’m intrigued.
What interest have you in such an — er —
eastern
concept?’

Meggie set the tea-pot down on
the table, covered it carefully with a cosy. ‘The Grigori are very
much a part of this land, as were their ancestors. You know this.
We’ve been waiting for Shemyaza to return, and now he has. He will
reawaken the power of the land.’ She took a spoonful of soup,
holding her cutlery with a daintily cocked little finger.

‘How many of you know about
this?’ Emma asked. ‘The Grigori have no idea people around here are
aware of what’s going on, never mind that you have an interest in
it.’ She took a sip of tea.

Meggie shrugged. ‘We’ve kept
ourselves to ourselves, as have they. But Shemyaza’s light is for
all, human and Grigori alike.’ She drank more soup.

Emma watched her in a daze. The
juxtaposition of this bizarre conversation with the banality of
consuming a tinned lunch seemed virtually unreal. ‘So where do I
come in? As you obviously know, I am staying with the Prussoes at
the moment. I don’t think they’d approve of me talking to you.’

Meggie smiled. ‘I can see
you’re not a woman to bother about that. Now, at the moment, I’m
following my instincts and the advice of my goddess, and I have to
trust you. It goes against my principles to reveal my business to
an outsider, but this is a crucial time and the fact is, we have a
problem.’

Emma listened while Meggie gave
her a sketchy picture of how Tamara had cut herself free from them,
and also how she’d appropriated their oracle.

‘We know the Grigori will balk
at using a human seer, even if he is Shemyaza’s vizier, but we have
no such reservations. The reason I’m talking to you is this: we
want Daniel Cranton to work with us. At this time, all factions are
working to awaken the serpent, and there is room for Grigori and
Pelleth involvement alike. But Daniel belongs with us. He is
human.’

‘I don’t think the Prussoes
would agree with you.’

‘Then why should they find
out?’

Emma frowned. ‘I don’t know.
I’d have to speak to Daniel. The truth is...’ She paused. ‘I’m
afraid Shemyaza has gone missing.’

Meggie pulled a puzzled face.
‘Missing?’

Emma nodded. ‘Yes. When we all
woke up this morning, he’d disappeared, left the house. Enniel’s
people have been looking for him since then, but there’s no trace.
Daniel thinks Shem might’ve gone off alone to begin awakening the
serpent.’

‘Then we should speak to Daniel
as soon as possible.’

Emma tapped her lips with the
fingers of one hand. ‘You don’t suppose Shem’s disappearance could
have anything to do with this Tamara woman you told me about?’

Meggie considered. ‘No, she
doesn’t have that much power, I’m sure. She couldn’t work alone so
effectively.’ She paused. ‘Can you bring Daniel to me tonight, or
tomorrow?’

Emma smiled. ‘Have I agreed to
help you?’

‘You must. It is vital.’

‘Oh, all right, I’ll see what I
can do.’ She pursed her lips. ‘But what incentives can I offer him?
He’s beside himself with worry for Shem. The Grigori are giving him
a hard time. I can’t make any promises to you on his behalf.’

Meggie’s face was stony. ‘Tell
him he must fulfil his part of the great destiny. That’s all. He
must come because it’s ordained he should. He must follow his
master into the underworld, but he shouldn’t attempt it without
support. We, the Pelleth of Cornwall, have been waiting centuries
for this time. We are the ones who must stand beside and behind the
boy of our blood, who is the astral channel for the Fallen King.’
Her eyes took on a feverish light. ‘When the Shining One comes out
of the earth, all shall be reborn!’

Emma took a last drag from her
cigarette, studied the old face before her. Were the Pelleth hoping
that Shemyaza would give them extended life? Were they his nuns,
awaiting a second coming and the night of holy marriage? She
glanced down at her arm, her own tanned, young skin. If the Pelleth
got hold of Shem, they might well eat him alive.

He awoke with the perfume of the sea
filling his head, but he was not exposed to the elements; his body
was warm.

Shemyaza opened his eyes. He
lay naked upon a window-seat, covered by several tartan car
blankets, which scratched his sore flesh. The curtains beside his
face were drawn, but he could see it was day-light outside. A fire,
well built-up, roared in the hearth, and soft music was playing,
something on flutes and hand-drums. The sea-smell, he realised, was
a salty incense.

A woman glided into his line of
sight. She was dressed in a long green caftan and her fair, curling
hair was tossed up onto her head and confined with a stretchy
velvet band. Talismans adorned her large breasts. Her face was
round, her eyes rather staring, but despite the fact she was no
conventional beauty, her body oozed a sense of sexuality and power.
She carried a small, earthenware bowl in her outstretched hands,
bearing it with a reverence that suggested it contained something
holy.

Shemyaza raised his upper body
a little and rested his weight on his forearms. His whole body
ached. He could remember nothing of what had happened to him or how
he had come to this place. His throat felt raw as if he’d gulped
salt water, nearly drowned.

The woman knelt beside him, and
placed the bowl in her lap. She regarded him with her watery, round
eyes, which were the palest shade of sea green. ‘You are awake, my
lord.’

‘So it appears.’ He looked at
her in puzzlement. Was she a menial of his? He didn’t recognise
her. Where was this place? It had a northern feel. Even though the
fire burned high, he could tell the air of the land was damp.

‘Then I must anoint and soothe
your flesh.’

‘Thank you, but I’d rather have
something to drink.’

The woman blinked slowly. ‘All
your needs will be gratified, but first I must anoint you.’

Shemyaza could tell she would
have her way. He felt too weak and drained to argue. ‘Very well. If
you must.’ He lay back down on the window seat.

Tamara, kneeling before him,
was suffused with love and desire. It was hard to believe this
creature,
this perfect being, lay submissive before her. It
had been difficult to get him back to the cottage unseen. After the
ritual of the night, she and Delmar had fallen asleep in the cave
at the bottom of the cliff. Neither of them had seen Shemyaza
appear, but when they awoke and went out onto the beach, they had
found him lying in a stupor at the tide’s lip. Delmar, whom Tamara
had been relying on for physical assistance, had appeared to be
still in trance, caught up in the vision that he was a sea-born
vizier for the Prince of Light. Dismissing the fey boy with a
gesture of irritation, she had set about dragging Shemyaza back to
her car. It had exhausted her hauling him back up the treacherous
cliff face. The guardians had been thrown into euphoria by his
proximity, and had wanted to hold him to themselves. Their strong
grabbing limbs had only accentuated the dead weight of Shemyaza’s
body. By the time Tamara had managed to pull him onto the road at
the cliff-top, she’d been near to tears and her whole body had been
shaking with fatigue. Summoning the last of her strength, she
bundled his tall frame into the back seat of her car and pushed the
semi-catatonic Delmar into the front passenger seat. He’d been in
such a state, she hadn’t dared risk taking him home, and he now lay
unconscious in her spare room. On the journey back from Mermaid’s
Cove, she’d been alert for signs of the Pelleth. They must not know
she had Shemyaza. Perhaps it was a sign of the limit of their power
that they had not sensed what had happened. Tamara was tortured by
visions of finding Meggie Penhaligon crouched on her doorstep when
she reached her cottage, but it seemed the Pelleth had no inkling
of what she was doing. None of them had been in touch with her so
far.