The Children Of The Mist (31 page)

Softly, softly he prowled around the castle. Finally convinced there was only one entry, a massive, solid oak door, he paused. All the windows on the ground floor were
sealed tight. His eyes slid upwards to the shining lights of the upper floors. Where there was light, there was hope. He'd just have to climb and break in on the upper stories.

With a plan finally formulated, Zest relaxed a little.
Morven, I'm coming
, he vowed. At a half run he leapt up the cold, hard surface, fingers and toes scrabbling for a hold. And found them. Uplifted by his success he reached out more confidently for the next step. The hand that locked around his ankle was as unexpected as it was unwelcome. His tentative grip crumbled, and with a howl of protest he fell, somersaulted and landed on his feet, backed up against the wall. Quickly he assessed the damage. Three to one.

One of them took a step toward him. ‘Well, well, well, look what we have here. A dirty, dirty dog.'

Zest glared at the girl but said nothing, too busy calculating his next move. More than anything, he wished it was a full moon.

A man stepped up beside the girl. ‘We could smell your doggy stink a mile away.'

Zest knew they were trying to rile him, but he forced himself to be calm. Capture was a disaster. Both for himself and Morven. His eyes bored into their black ones. ‘Where is she?'

The girl laughed. ‘Oh, you could say she's a little tied up at the moment.'

Zest felt sick. ‘Let her go.'

The third man spoke. This time Zest had a name. It was Eddie Macabre. ‘Oh, I don't think so.'

Zest tried again. ‘You've got what you want. Just let her go.'

The girl shook her head. ‘She's a lycan lover. A traitor,' she hissed.

Zest knew it was hopeless. Escape was the only option. He did not think, he jumped. Their over-confidence was their undoing. He took them by surprise. With wings on his feet he sped toward the water. Seemed he was going to get wet after all. A horrid sound stalked him. It was not the speeding bullet that his twitching skin expected. It was a soft whirring, like birds' wings. The net swirled around him and he let out a yell of protest. ‘No!' As his legs gave way, he swore that when he was king of the universe, nets of all persuasions would be banished.

The three grinning vampyres sauntered over, and leaned above his prone body. It was hard to say who was most shocked, them or Zest, when a shot rang out. The girl vampyre blinked. ‘I've been hit,' she said and sat down softly in the snow. A pool of blood stained the virgin white around her. Both the men turned around and saw what was clear to Zest already. A small, saturated girl, draped in a big, dripping coat, holding a huge black gun.

She jerked the gun at them. ‘Let him go, arseholes.' Her hands shook so badly it was a wonder she'd hit anything at all. ‘Let him go, you sons of Satan. I've got two more silver bullets with your filthy godforsaken names on them.'

Zest couldn't take his eyes off her. Not just because he sincerely hoped she didn't shoot him by mistake. But because he knew, with every atom of his body, that she was one of his own. A werewolf. Maybe the very same Meg MacGregor that Morven had spoken of. It was almost too much to take in.

His aggressors half turned and glanced at him. Obviously considering the request. Zest felt a wave of hope. But then panic galvanized him, and he struggled to his knees. ‘Watch out!' he screamed.

The girl turned. Her eyes opened wide at the sight of an older woman with a huge crossbow in her hand and a finger on the trigger. The finger squeezed and the arrow travelled true. But it hit air. The girl had vanished. Only the gun remained as a reminder.

Zest's only consolation was that his enemies seemed as perplexed as himself. His exhilaration soon dissolved like day old lemonade. Reality bit. Things were not looking good.

The shooting and the stranger had a subduing effect on the Campbells. All sense of playfulness vanished. They were all business. The older woman and Eddie tended to the wounded girl, while the two men dragged him unceremoniously to the gaping mouth of the castle.

As he bounced and banged up the steps and through the huge doorway, Zest had the feeling of being eaten alive. He heartily hoped that the wounded girl died a horrible death. Ironically, he was close to Morven now. As he strained and fought at his bonds he began to yell. ‘Morven! Morven!'

But there was no reply.

Morven knew it was evening because she'd slept deeply. It was the only time she was sure of. If she were right, she'd been banged up for nearly two days. Since cousin Caractacus's visit she'd been left alone. Not that this was much consolation. Indeed, with each agonising hour she became more and more sure that they would never return. And, though she hated herself for it, she was afraid. It was not just the thirst and the hunger that tortured her, but also a bladder the size of Lake Eyre. She shifted restlessly and her foot hit the bucket with a hollow thud.

‘Morven Smith does not do buckets,' she told no one, firmly. She was jolted by the weight and volume of her own voice. It was reassuring. Morven Smith was still there. To distract herself she stood up and shook the chains. They chinked and laughed at her. She scowled. Right, she thought, one more time. It took longer to summon her strength now. But she gave it all she had. She raged against her bonds. But when she collapsed to the ground, she knew it was futile. There was no doubt about it, her strength was waning.

And suddenly she realised how precious life was. How precious was the love of her family. Of Zest. And Dog. How incredible was the world around her. She remembered the heat of the sun on her face. The purple carpet beneath the flowering Jacaranda tree. The silver moon bathing Zest in magic light. Their wild ride on the train.

When she heard his voice, she thought she was hallucinating. Crazy seemed fitting, under the circumstances. It was only when she heard the harsh slamming of a door that she let her pleasant dreams go. Someone was coming. She stood up and listened.

And then she heard it clearly. ‘Morven!'

Morven frowned. ‘Zest?'

‘Morven!'

A sob slipped through her lips. Joy at the sound of his voice duelled with the horrible prospect of his capture. ‘Zest!' she called, until her voice broke. She coughed and recovered. ‘Zest, I'm here!'

More sound. Feet echoing off the walls and angry voices. Sounds of violence leeched through the walls. Morven took a grim kind of satisfaction at the thought of Zest's resistance. Give ‘em hell. She rushed forward, forgetting she was restrained. The chains snapped her back as she strained toward where she knew the door to be.

‘Morven, where are you?'

He was close. Just metres away. She was sure she could smell aniseed. Her pulse quickened. ‘Here I am. I'm here!'

‘Are you alright?'

‘I'm fine,' she lied. ‘How about you?'

‘I'm freakin' fabulous. I'll be with you shortly. I'm — '

There was a horrid smacking sound and a heavy thud. And a brief silence. Then cold laughter and a dragging noise.

And she began to cry. The sound of Zest's brutal treatment breaking her like nothing else could. ‘You leave him, you bastards! I'll kill you. I'll bloody well kill you. Do you hear me, Calix, you piece of human excrement. I'm going to kill you.' But the threats sounded empty even to her own ears.

She slumped to the ground and listened. There was nothing else to do. The noise diminished until she could only catch the soft murmur of conversation and then a metallic bang, closely followed by a rusty whine. Cold dread soaked into her soul. She did not know what they were doing to Zest, but it wasn't good. In fact, it couldn't be worse.

The whining whirring seemed to go on forever. But finally it ceased. Footsteps returned. She held her breath, wondering if they were going to stop. She wasn't sure if she wanted them to or not. When the bolts of the door shot back she jumped. Light flooded the room. She was still blinded when they unlocked the shackles at her wrists and manhandled her out of the room.

Her tormentors half dragged, half carried her down the corridor. Morven's eyes recovered and she saw they were heading to the dungeon. Hope stirred softly in her blood. She looked up at her captives. Calix met her gaze with a sneer. Caractacus seemed disinclined to see her.

Morven hissed at him. ‘Hypocrite,' she said. Caractacus flinched slightly.

Calix shook her viciously. ‘Shut your mouth,' he snapped.

Unable to resist, Morven wobbled around like a puppet on a string. It really hit home how weak she had become. But as the tunnel opened out into the cave she forgot herself. Her eyes were searching frantically for any sign of Zest. To her horror, she came up empty.

Her eyes grazed a row of axes hung on a wall. As if he read her mind, Calix fixed his fingers in her hair and dragged her over to the far wall and shoved her head down until her face was centimetres from the edge of the well. Not surprisingly she could smell water. And something else — something achingly familiar. Aniseed. And Zest.

The truth hit her like a hammer on an anvil. Her eyes followed the rusty chain down into the bowels of the old well. She thought she could just make out the top of the cage. Her heart felt as if it was caught in the coils of a carpet snake. Zest was in the well. In a cage.

Calix pushed her head down sharply. Her forehead cracked on the dull stone. ‘Well, cousin Morven, I believe introductions aren't necessary. I thought it a kindness to give you the opportunity to say goodbye to your dirty dog. You're probably not aware, but the loch is tidal. In four hours' time it will be high tide. Not a king tide. But enough to push the water level high enough to cover the cage.' He turned silent. Possibly enjoying the moment.

A tear brimmed over Morven's eyelashes. It raced down her nose and fell.

Calix primed her hair again and continued. ‘So, ding dong dell, lycans in the well,' he sang cheerfully. And so saying, he jerked her head back and pulled her away.

Panic seared through her with each stumbling footstep. She was desperate to put off her impending incarceration. There was no hope in that cell. ‘Calix,' she said, ‘if you let us go, I'll sign over my share of the company to you.'

To her surprise he stopped and relaxed his hold a fraction. She saw him exchange a calculating look with Caractacus. Then he looked at her. ‘Would you indeed?'

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I'm not interested in big business. If you let us go, you'll have a half share. I swear we'll go away. You'll never see sight nor sound of us again. I promise.' For a moment she thought she had him. But then he laughed.

‘You will sign over your share, Morven. By the time you've been in that cell for a year or so you'll sign anything I ask you to.'

Morven blew a derisive raspberry. ‘I doubt it. I'll be dead.'

It was Calix's turn to be amused. ‘Dead? I think not. You don't die, Morven. No, no, it's just not that easy. You'll just rot in there until the hunger drives you mad. And then, you'll be ripe for the picking. Our kind have been known to survive for almost 100 years
without food or water.' He lifted a long, elegant finger and brushed it softly over her cheek. ‘You won't be so pretty then, will you?'

Morven shook her head in bemusement. ‘Why can't you just let him go? He's done nothing to you.'

Calix gave her a sly, knowing look. ‘Mmm, nothing to me?' He shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But you — that's a different matter.'

Morven felt as if she were wading through, hot sticky, tar. She didn't want to hear any more.

But Calix ploughed on, his enjoyment quite apparent. ‘You see, Morven, it was lycan that killed your parents and took you from your cradle. It's why we couldn't find you for so long. It was just one of those weird quirks of fate that you ended up together. So Morven, that's not an argument that you can win.'

She reached out a hand and gripped Calix's arm. ‘Please, I'm begging you, let him go.' But she knew she had lost. While it was impossible to know the truth of the matter, she had nothing else to wager. Then a reckless mood swept over her. There was nothing more to lose. Fuelled by desperation she flicked her head violently upward. Calix's nose made a satisfactory crunch and he let her go. In a single bound she made it to the far side of the wall. Her goal, one of the axes. She reached out and grasped the nearest timber handle. And then let out a squeal of outrage. An arrow poked through her wrist and effectively skewered her to the axe handle. Although she knew it was futile she heaved back. The arrow quivered, and she arched back once more. She never knew what hit her.

When she came to, she was back where she began. Wearily she pushed herself up against the cell wall. She barely had the strength to move. She had no idea of how long she'd been out of it. And then it all came rushing back. Zest. The well. The tide. It was more than she could bear. ‘Zest!' she cried. She waited. Perhaps he'd not heard her. She tried again. Louder. She refused to acknowledge that the tide might already be in.

Morven would have welcomed insanity. She would have welcomed death with open arms. Grief flattened her like a sapling in a storm. Guilt dug furrows into her soul and her imagination whipped her with unrepentant cruelty. In her mind's eye, she could see the water rising. She could feel Zest's terror and turmoil, feel the water slip up into his unresisting nostrils. Hear his last choking, desperate breaths. She could not cry. She could not speak. She could not.

Time was as elusive as a desert mirage. The only thing she
did
know was that she was awake. And cold. A frisson of air wafted under the invisible door. But Morven barely noticed. She shivered a little and returned to her tortured thoughts. It was only as the bolts were drawn that she stirred. Listlessly she turned away her head, anticipating the blinding light. But none came. She turned and stared. There was someone there. But she didn't care. Whatever unkindness they had in store, nothing could compare to the loss of Zest. She just sat. And waited.