The Children Of The Mist (29 page)

Morven did not think. ‘No!' she screamed. Mustering every atom of strength she possessed, she launched herself toward them. A single shot rang out as her feet smashed The Mater between the shoulder blades. They both landed in a jumble of limbs on the freezing ground.

Morven struggled to free herself. She was just scrambling to her feet when a pair of hands locked around her waist. Vaguely, she became aware of The Mater rising up, brushing snow from her clothes. For a moment Morven felt a pang of regret. But then an arm slid around her throat. Oxygen deprivation did not improve her mood. Any thoughts of contrition were effectively erased. As someone grabbed roughly at her left leg, a ruby red rage imploded inside her. Primeval outrage kicked in and she went crazy. ‘What the hell are you doing? Let me go!' she said, each word a clove of acidic assault.

As the Campbells swarmed in around her, Morven went berserk. In the struggle, a piece of pale flesh foolishly pressed against her cheek. In a flash Morven whipped around and sunk in her teeth. Blood spurted and she hung on like a pit bull terrier. Fury gave way to a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred. She shook her head furiously and felt the muscle go taut and tear. And she felt a thrill of satisfaction. But, it was short lived; the arm around her neck tightened and the red gave way to black spots. Her scalp began to burn as someone laboriously pulled at her hair. Fists pummelled and feet kicked. Despite her determination she had to come up for air.

As her lungs sucked in crisp, cold mountain air she could taste the blood. Hunger clawed at her belly. Frustration and fear fought for pole position. She shivered, suddenly
cold. As she re–oxygenated, Morven fixed onto the Campbells who leaned over her, anchoring her body to the freezing ground. Calix straddled her knees, Celeste pinioned her right arm and Eddie her left. She could not see The Mater whose hands manhandled her hair and neck.

She did not speak but wished she could spit fire.

Celeste spoke first. ‘Didn't I tell you? The reports were right; she's a dirty little lycan lover.' She positively gloated.

Morven felt something subside within her chest. Alarms bells rang. Lycan lover. Everyone knew what a lycan was. Just another word for werewolf. A vision of Zest riding the train engulfed her. And she realised she'd made a terrible mistake. She should never have come to Scotland.

Celeste's face screwed up in disgust. ‘Look, the little skank can't even deny it! Eew.'

Her cousin Calix looked down at her and his lip lifted in disgust. He spat in her face. The warm globule slid slowly down her cheek. Morven spat back with deadly accuracy. Straight in his eye. She laughed. A brittle sound like snapping ice stalactites. But it was pure bravado.

Celeste giggled, which earned her a venomous look from her brother. Celeste smiled dreamily down at Morven. ‘Well, soul sister,' she whispered, ‘where is your mangy companion?'

Morven glared up at her. ‘Go swivel on a screwdriver, sister. ‘

Celeste slapped her. The sound echoed eerily around them, as if the trees were applauding with skeletal, twiggy hands.

Morven looked at Eddie, who so far seemed relatively neutral. At least his grip on her limbs lacked some of the enthusiasm of his family counterparts. ‘Eddie, this is crazy. This morning I'm being inaugurated into the business and the bank, and now I'm being assaulted. You'll forgive me if I'm a tad confused.' Morven figured she'd nothing to lose by playing dumb. ‘Look, I'm sorry. I got a dog at home. I love him. I don't want to kill dogs. Not even Scottish ones.'

Eddie's black eyes dilated for a moment. His lips pursed. He shifted back onto his haunches for a moment and his eyes wandered up and down the length of her body. ‘Aaah, Morven, how I want to believe you.'

Morven felt a spark of hope.

‘But,' Eddie continued, ‘I think in this case that it may pay to err on the side of caution.'

The spark died.

The Mater spoke for the first time. ‘Morven, perhaps a little solitude may help you to reflect on where your loyalties lie.'

Morven stared defiantly around at her audience. ‘I freakin' doubt it, you bunch of pointy-toothed perverts,' she said emphatically. A hand flashed. Pain swathed her body from tip to toe. And the world flickered…and went out.

When Morven awoke, she wished she hadn't. Everything hurt. Even breathing. At first she couldn't work out where she was. It was so dark. Even her Batgirl eyes were blind. She thought about sitting up, but discarded the idea instantly. She felt like junket. Instead, she tried to recall her last waking moment. Something stirred in her brain. Amber eyes. Not much help. Besides, thinking made her head throb like a V8 engine. She let out a small groan and lifted her hand to her head. But her hand didn't seem able to cooperate. Too heavy. She tried again. Same thing. Confused, she let her hands drop back down. As she did she heard a dull metallic clicking. And, more distantly, a sullen, drip, drip, drip, of water.

And then she knew where she was — and she wished she didn't. Again she lifted her hand and the heavy links clattered and clinked and the cold bracelets around her wrists bit in. Fear wedged in her throat like a fish bone. Beneath her, the stone floor felt cold despite the fact she still wore her thick jacket and jeans. The air was cold and damp. Slightly salty. ‘Help!' she shouted. Even though she knew that down here, deep beneath the castle, no one would hear. ‘Someone, please help me!' But the only response was a deep, angry rumble in her belly.

Morven took in a deep breath, held it, and let it slowly back out. Mustn't panic, she reminded herself. Someone would come. If they wanted her dead, she would be. And then her heart plummeted to her stomach with a sickening thump. What a blithering bloody idiot she was. She ran the sentence through her head again.
If they wanted her dead, she would be.
Emphasis on
they.
What if the Campbells were the illusive
they
? It all made sense. After all, like Zest had proffered,
they
had to be rich, powerful and secretive. Who fit the bill better than her illustrious birth family? Who better than the powerful vampyre clan with their money and global company and super bat powers? Her brain buzzed into overdrive. It would explain the death of Zest's family, if you just extended the historic aspects of the clans' feud.

Zest. The blood in Morven's veins froze. She felt as if she would vomit as an insidious idea blossomed in her brain. Oh God. What if this weren't about her, Morven Smith, at all? What if this was all about Zest? Some obsessive component of the attempted genocide of his race? Even as the thought formulated, Morven sensed that she was close to a terrible truth.

She shifted. Uncomfortable. There was something making a bedsore on her bum. And then it clicked. It was her mobile phone, still in her pocket. Everything rushed back. She'd gone hunting, seen the wolf and ended up having fisticuffs with the family. Such as they were. None of it was very comforting. In fact, all in all, things looked pretty grim. To add insult to injury, Morven's insides spasmed and gurgled in hungry protest. This served as an unwelcome distraction. Just how long had she been asleep? Had it been minutes, hours or days. What time was it? There seemed no way of knowing. The only thing that was clear, was that she had to get out of there. And warn Zest.

She took another deep breath and sat up. Her head felt as if it floated in space. Still, at least she had a head. Tentatively she reached out with her hand. She touched a rough wall. Carefully she shuffled over, and using the wall as a support, stood up. Her head still remained disconnected, but from the neck down she seemed intact. She assumed that she was in one of the tiny cells. If so, there was only one way in and one way out. The door. As
far as she could recall there had been no other apertures. No windows, for sure. Nothing. Not so much as a rat hole. Logically, the chains at her wrists were attached at the back wall. She gave her right ankle a shake. Her spirits rose a notch. Her feet were free. Good for Morven. Bad for any son of a bitch that got within range.

It was then that the significance of the phone hit her. God, she should have been born blonde. Almost hyperventilating with excitement she reached around for the mobile. With a few seriously impressive contortions she managed to ease it out of her back pocket. She flipped it open. ‘Shit.' The phone was maggoty dead. Frustrated, she threw it and heard it smash. She wished it was Calix's head.

After some time, it could have been minutes or seconds, Morven set about exploring her boundaries. While common sense told her that her boundaries would be extremely limited, she refused to give in. As she groped her way around the corner she tripped. She swore profusely, pulled herself together and felt around to try and find what she'd tripped over. It was a bucket. For a moment Morven was nonplussed. A bucket? Then, as realisation flooded her, she scrambled away. Eew! Please, let it be a new bucket. At worst, a clean bucket. As her laboured breathing settled, Morven felt a squeeze of anger in her chest. Morven Smith did not do buckets. She'd eat her own arms off before that happened. As her stomach ground and coiled in agreement, Morven smiled grimly to herself. Shouldn't joke.

Still, the small hissy fit seemed to help. Her head felt better. What she needed was a plan. Thoughtfully she turned around and backed away from the wall as far as her bonds allowed. With her hands grasping the chains, she leant backwards until her full body weight rested on the invisible bolts somewhere in the wall. Nothing. The chains tightened and squeaked a little, but Morven could not detect an inch of give. It seemed that stronger measures were called for. For a moment she rested and tried to visualise the cell, herself and the chains lying like shed snakeskins at her feet. Her fingers twitched and she could feel heat rising from her core. She could do this. She was Batgirl.

When her metabolism had reached a foaming head of readiness, Morven let out a high scream and went bananas. Blood surged, muscles swelled and tendons strained. With every ounce of her being, Morven fought the metal links. Failure was not an option. Even when her body screamed for release she did not give in, but battled on.

When she collapsed on the floor she refused to believe it. Hope sparked anew as she realised that there was blood, hot and slick at her wrists. Maybe she could slip free. But after several minutes of agonising sawing she was forced to quit. Her hands were just too big.

Frustration made her snap. Completely out of control she fell on the chains and bit and worried at them. When she finally calmed down she sat, her head resting on her knees. And with every ounce of her being she hated the Campbells. She lost the plot for a while, imagining all kinds of terrible revenge. She'd hunt them down and literally rip them limb from limb. She'd start with cousin Celeste and cut off her nose, so she couldn't poke it into other people's business. She'd burn their house down. She'd raise her own army and raze the Campbells off the face of the planet. Oh yes, she'd make them sorry they ever crossed Morven Smith

This pleasurable diversion waned as a raging thirst gripped Morven. The drip, drip of water seemed to mock her. It did not improve her mood. Soon they would come, she told herself. Soon they would come, and then she'd find a way. Yes, she would. She'd find a way. The words unrolled like a mantra in her bruised mind and, utterly exhausted, Morven slipped into an uneasy sleep.

Morven did not know why she awoke. Time had no place here. She lay still, ears alert. Then she stiffened, sure she'd heard something. After some time she was certain — she could hear the distant but distinct tap of shod feet. And getting louder. Someone was coming. She sat up and firmly pushed down the terrible hunger and thirst that threatened to consume her. Time for that later.

Her earlier rage burned like hot embers in her chest. The desire to destroy her enemies fuelled her. Somewhere a door slammed. Morven stood up and backed carefully toward the rear wall. She reached down and picked up the bucket. A pathetic weapon, but she reckoned she could get at least one good whack in. Excitement simmered gently as the footsteps became sharper. Only one set of feet, she felt sure. Either they were very confident or very stupid. The feet were close, the heavy tread of boots. Then silence. A strong scent drifted under the tiny gap of the door that Morven couldn't see. Vampyre. Well-fed vampyre. How unfair.

A rattle at the door. Bolts sliding free. A draught of cold, fresh air. And light. An agonising stream of white light. Morven's eyes shut involuntarily and she lobbed the bucket with all her might. There was a gasp of surprise. Blind and bound, Morven snarled and spat, willing her protagonist to get in range.

‘Morven! Be quiet, please! It's me, Caractacus; I've come to help.'

Morven opened her eyes a fraction, shading her face with a hand. As her eyes adjusted, she saw that it was indeed, Caractacus. She watched him carefully, trying to weigh up the truth of his statement. ‘Water,' she said. Her voice sounded like a scouring pad.

Caractacus stared at her for a minute and then turned and left. For a moment she thought he'd chickened out but shortly he returned. In his right hand he held an old-fashioned ladle. The water dripped tantalisingly over the lip. It smelled divine. He crossed the small space and handed Morven the drink.

She gulped it down and held out the empty vessel. Her cousin rushed away, soon returning with another scoop. This time she drank a little slower, her eyes boring into his. It did not escape her notice that he kept a respectful distance. She tossed him the empty spoon and winced. In the light she could see that her wrists were puffy and raw. Still, not for long. She was Vampyre. ‘Hi, cuzz,' she said.

Caractacus smiled. ‘Hi, Morven.'

Morven held out her hands to him. ‘So, let's get on with this thing, shall we?'

Caractacus made no move. ‘I can't. The Mater has the key.'