Spellfall (8 page)

“Oh Timothy.” Her hand touched his smooth scalp – the weirdest sensation, sending shivers through him. “I already know you lied.”

He blinked. “You know? Then… you’re not angry with me?”

His mother sighed. “I’m not pleased you lied to the police, no. That was stupid. But I was stupid, too. I heard the door go that morning and assumed it was you coming in. If I’d checked, I might have stopped Natalie myself.” Her voice broke and she sniffed before continuing. “Thanks for the offer of help, love, but the police have already got people searching the woods, and it’s been on the news. I’m sure they’ll find something soon.” She gave him a brave smile. “Be good for your father, now. You might take him something to eat if you remember.”

“But—” Tim scowled at the closing door. If he went into the garage he’d only get his head bitten off.

But his stepfather must have been listening. No sooner had his mother’s car pulled away, than Mr Marlins came into the kitchen. He gave Tim a speculative look. “So you want to make up for your stupidity, do you? That makes a change.”

Tim frowned at his stepfather. Something was different but it took him a moment to work out what.

Mr Marlins had shaved off his beard.

Tim fiddled with his jacket zips. “Julie says we’re to get our own supper,” he mumbled. “D’you want me to put a pizza on?”

“How about we go out for a takeaway?”

Tim stared at him in disbelief. “She’s taken the car.”

A comradely hand rested on his shoulder. “We’ll take my car. You haven’t had a ride in it yet, have you?”

“No...” He blinked a few times, trying to understand what had brought on this change. Not only had Mr Marlins shaved but, for the first time Tim could remember, his stepfather’s breath didn’t smell of beer.

“Come on then if you’re coming.”

Still bemused, Tim followed Mr Marlins into the garage. He’d never seen his stepfather’s car close-up. It looked sporty and he’d have liked more time to examine its sleek black curves. But Mr Marlins had already opened the garage door and was in the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition. Tim hurried round to the passenger side. The seats were real leather and creaked against his jacket. The engine spluttered, then roared into life. Despite the circumstances, he couldn’t help being excited by the deep, powerful throb. This was a
real
car.

He reclined the passenger seat, feigning casualness. He considered himself rather good at this, having hung out with the Death Heads so long. But Mr Marlins saw through it at once.

“Put that seat back straight,” he snapped. “Strap yourself in. And don’t touch anything else unless I tell you.”

“Sorry, Mr Marlins.” He quickly returned the seat to its original position and eyed the fog. It was already dark outside. Street lamps cast misty orange cones, reminding him of the morning Nat had vanished. He shivered.

Mr Marlins revved the engine, more like a joyrider than a middle-aged dad. Tim felt uneasy. He shifted in his seat and glanced at the door handle. But before he could change his mind and get out, the car leapt forward, wheels spinning sickeningly for a moment before they screeched out of the drive. Tim was thrown against the door as Mr Marlins took a hard right. He fumbled desperately for his seatbelt.

“Warned you, didn’t I?” Mr Marlins said. By this time, they were hurtling through town, weaving in and out of traffic and swerving dangerously around corners. Somehow, Tim got the seatbelt fastened. He swallowed his stomach.

“All right?” Mr Marlins asked.

“Fine,” he managed in a croaky voice. “But where are we going? The pizza place is back that way.”

“I know.”

“Are we going to eat somewhere else, then?” Tim’s unease was growing by the second. They had left Millennium Green and were speeding along an unlit country road, black tree trunks looming out of the fog on each side and vanishing behind them. Every time the car squealed round a bend he thought they were going to die.

“You hungry?” Mr Marlins said, after a few minutes of pure terror.

“Not really.”

“Good, because I’ve a better idea. Why don’t we go rescue Nat?”

Tim sat very still. He eyed his stepfather’s profile.

“You think I’m still drunk, don’t you?” Mr Marlins said.

“No.”

“Yes you do. You’re thinking I wouldn’t be driving like this unless I’d had a few.” They roared into a right-hand bend and Tim’s side of the car glanced off the crash barrier. He shut his eyes as sparks hissed against the passenger window. Mr Marlins smiled grimly. “If I’d been drinking, we’d have been upside-down in that ditch by now. Relax. Enjoy the ride. You told your mother you wanted to help search the woods, didn’t you? Well, now’s your chance.”

Tim swallowed his stomach once more and considered his stepfather. “Does that mean you know where Nat is?”

“Let’s say I’ve a very good idea.”

Anger rose. “Why didn’t you tell Mum? She’s been going frantic!”

“I have my reasons.”

Finally, it dawned on Tim what must have happened. “Oh, I get it! Nat’s been kidnapped, hasn’t she? You’ve had a ransom note that warned you not to say anything to the police! That’s why they told us they hadn’t found anything.”

His fear vanished, replaced by a shivery thrill. At last someone was
doing
something. Mr Marlins really did seem to know what he was doing with the car. Obviously he wouldn’t have told Julie. This sort of thing was man’s work. Tim felt a glow of pride that his stepfather thought he was grown-up enough to help, and another glow at the news that Nat was still alive. When all this was over, he’d have something really exciting to tell Gaz and the gang, much better than spraying their names on toilet walls. Then he remembered what he’d done to Gaz last time they’d met and his excitement subsided slightly.

Mr Marlins gave him a sharp look. “Maybe,” he said. “Sit still and do what you’re told.”

Tim cupped his hands to the cold glass and watched the trees race past. At the speed they were going, in the dark and with all the fog, it was difficult to read the signposts. At some point they left the main road and wove their way along deserted lanes with no white lines or catseyes to guide them. Mr Marlins drove with intense concentration, both hands gripping the steering wheel. Tim stayed silent for as long as he could but when they turned off the lane and headed down an unmade track into the woods, he couldn’t keep quiet a moment longer.

“Where does this lead?”

“To where I used to work.”

Tim took his eyes off the trees to glance at his watch, then shook it in frustration. The stupid thing had stopped. “Aren’t offices usually shut at this time of night?” he said, frowning because he was sure his watch had been working earlier.

“The people I work for don’t have offices.”

“But what about Nat? I thought we were going to get her back?”

“We are.”

Mr Marlins spun the wheel and an impressive spray of mud splattered the windscreen. The fog was thicker under the trees. Tim thought he saw a pair of amber eyes caught in the headlights but before he could open his mouth to yell a warning, the eyes had gone.

“Are we nearly there?” he ventured.

Mr Marlins grunted. “Don’t distract me. I’m trying to remember the way.”

Tim turned up his jacket collar. For all its looks, it was cold in the car. He thrust his hands into his pockets and hunched lower in his seat. He was beginning to see the disadvantages of having a shaved head. Hair had been a lot warmer.

He was still trying to work out what Mr Marlins’ old employers could possibly have to do with Nat, when without warning his stepfather jammed on the brakes.

The car skidded to a stop and Tim sat up. They were in a clearing surrounded by dense, drifting fog. An articulated truck, no less, was parked in the middle, being unloaded by ghostly figures in long cloaks. Silver dogs the size of Alsatians padded around as if on guard. One came to investigate the car, put its nose to the passenger window and stared at Tim with bright amber eyes. He shuddered.

“Scared?” Mr Marlins said.

“Not me!”

“Perhaps you should be.”

Tim peered at the truck, trying to see what they were taking out of it. Sacks? The harder he looked, the less he could make out. The cloaked people kept walking into the fog at one side of the clearing and vanishing. So did the dogs. He wiped his window and squinted after them. Was that a standing stone over there? He pulled his jacket closer.

“Something wrong with your eyes, is there?” Mr Marlins said.

Tim scowled. “It’s dark,” he said, fed up with all the mystery. “No one can see in the dark.”

There was a tense silence.

“All right,” his stepfather said at last. “I owe you an explanation. This is how it is. We’re at one of the gateways in the Boundary between worlds. Over there, on the other side of that stone, is a place called Earthaven, which is where I think they’ve taken Nat. My employers control the gate and those hounds you can see guard it. It’s not open all the time, of course, only when they need to make a transfer. Took me a few days to find out when they’d be here, but I still have my contacts.”

“Who are your employers?” Tim asked, not sure he wanted to know.

“We call them Spell Lords. Nat’s mother came from Earthaven and that’s why they’re so interested in her. They think she’s inherited her mother’s power, which is nonsense of course.”

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What power? I thought Nat’s mother was blind.”

“Only in our world. In Earthaven, she could see better than you can now.”

Which wouldn’t be difficult, Tim thought, squinting at the ghostly shapes around the truck. If it hadn’t been for Nat’s disappearance, he’d have thought Mr Marlins was playing a huge joke on him. Except, Mr Marlins and jokes didn’t go together. “What does that make you, then?” he mumbled, wondering if he could hitch a ride home in the truck.

His stepfather gave him a dark smile. “I’m a Thrall.”

The very word made Tim shiver all over. He stared at Mr Marlins, uncomfortable yet unwilling to ask.

“You don’t know what that is, do you?”

Tim shook his head.

“If you’d read your history books, you’d know.”

Tim kept quiet. He never read
any
book unless he had to. Piles of them were sitting upstairs in his school bag right now, waiting for him to get around to his half-term homework.

“Technically, it means slave,” Mr Marlins went on calmly. “Though these days, travelling salesman would be more appropriate for what I do. Some of us work on the recycling side, as you can see.” He indicated the truck.

Tim wet his lips. “Does Nat know you’re a... one of these Trawls?”

“
Thralls.”
Mr Marlins’ face darkened. “No, she doesn’t. And don’t you go telling her, my boy.”

Another shiver passed down Tim’s spine. “I won’t tell her,” he promised quickly. “But I don’t understand. Is she here, then?” None of the cloaked figures looked small enough. “What’s in the truck? What do you sell?” Visions of illegal contraband flashed before Tim’s eyes.

Mr Marlins smiled mysteriously and got out of the car. The silver dog that had been circling outside sniffed at him but didn’t attack. “Wait here,” he said, then slammed the door and walked away.

Tim twisted in his seat in alarm. Now the engine had stopped, the car was freezing. He began to feel quite panicky. He slid across the seat and felt for the keys but Mr Marlins had thought of that. The dog put its huge paws on the bonnet and stared at him through the windscreen. He scowled at it but didn’t dare get out.

Over by the truck, Mr Marlins was exchanging angry words with the people doing the unloading. Then a tall man dressed in shades of green like shifting leaf shadows shimmered out of the fog and strode across. Tim stared. The man’s white hair reached down almost to his knees and was full of twigs and thorns as if he’d just crawled out of a thicket. Mr Marlins subsided at once, bowed his head to the newcomer and pointed to the car.

Tim caught Nat’s name and wound down the window a fraction so he could hear, but the men had lowered their voices and he only caught fragments.

“...don’t know what Lady Atanaqui was thinking of...”

“...Casters must have her...”

“...neglecting your duties...”

Mr Marlins called the man “Lord”. This made Tim smile. But his smile soon died when the Spell Lord raised his head and stared at the car with eyes full of pale green light. A chill rippled through Tim as the Spell Lord came striding across the clearing, Mr Marlins hurrying behind. Before Tim thought to lock it, his door was wrenched open.

“No!” he yelled in terror as the dog closed its jaws on his arm.

“Get out,” said the Spell Lord.

Tim got out, trying to see if the animal’s teeth had ripped his sleeve. Relieved they hadn’t, he turned on its owner. “Call your dog off!” he demanded. “This jacket’s brand new.”

The Spell Lord smiled coldly. “I can see why you brought him here,” he said to Mr Marlins. “The question is what do we do now? We can’t just let him go home.”

“But if you haven’t got my daughter...”

“Even if we did have her, do you think we’d trade her for this surly specimen?” The Spell Lord’s lip curled.

“Hey!” Tim said, realizing with a sudden chill what Mr Marlins must have meant when he’d said Tim could make up for his stupidity. His stepfather meant to swap him for Nat! Forget the jacket – he could save up for another one. He braced himself and tugged as hard as he could, kicking the dog. Its snarl turned ugly, and the Spell Lord’s eyes blazed emerald fire.

“Stop that!” he snapped.

Tim subsided as Mr Marlins caught his employer’s sleeve. “Let him go. Please. We ought to be looking for Nat.”

In any other circumstances, Tim wouldn’t have dreamt of sticking up for his stepfather, but this was different. Gritting his teeth, he said. “That’s right! I’m helping search the woods.”

The Spell Lord gave him an amused glance. “Easily fooled, aren’t you?” He turned back to Mr Marlins and his tone hardened. “You were supposed to bring your daughter to us on her twelfth birthday so she could bond with her mother’s hound and decide for herself. Now she’s not only in enemy hands but I assume she knows nothing at all about us. If the Casters harm her, you’ve only yourself to blame.”