Dawn of the Demontide (16 page)

‘Who is your friend, Edward?’ she asked.

‘This is Jake,’ Eddie said, brushing past his mother. ‘Dr Harker’s son.’

Mrs Rice focused on Jake. Trembling hands covered her heart.

‘May God preserve and keep you, Jacob Harker,’ she murmured.

* * *

Dr Holmwood blew cigarette smoke down the receiver. The phone rang three times before someone picked up.

‘Saxby residence.’

‘Malcolm? Gordon here. You’ve reached the Hollow safely. Good. Now, we’re sure this is a secure line?’

‘Absolutely. There’s only Rachel in the house and she’s still asleep. No risk of anyone overhearing us.’

‘Excellent. Have you had a chance to assess the situation?’

‘Yes, and I’m afraid the initial reports were accurate, sir. The first Omen
has
arrived.’

‘Toads,’ Holmwood grumbled. ‘I hate the bloody toads! Almost as bad as the monsters, but at least
their
activities are restricted to the cavern. So, anyone outside the village see the beastly things?’

‘No one other than Jacob Harker—if you can call
him
an outsider. Apparently Susan Daniels and a few others made a bit of a scene in the post office, talking about omens and portents … ’

‘Oh God,’ Holmwood groaned.

‘Drake tried to cover it up as best he could. I don’t suppose it really matters: the boy must have guessed a lot of the story by now.’

‘I heard he was injured.’

‘One of the toads bit him,’ Saxby confirmed. ‘He managed to make it back to Joanna’s cottage. Alice Splane removed the poison and dressed the wound while he was sleeping. He won’t suffer any further effects. Must have had a few unpleasant dreams, though.’

‘Hmm. He’s damn lucky that a magical infection expert was on the scene.’

‘It was lucky for all of us. If his blood had been contaminated … ’

‘There is still hope that we may not need his blood, Dr Saxby.’

‘A
very
slim hope, sir—and growing slimmer by the hour. We’re expecting the second omen some time today; the third possibly tomorrow. This means we have only about three days until the Demontide.’

‘And with that in mind, I am bringing Adam Harker to the Hollow.’

‘What? Sir, I would strongly urge you to reconsider. Adam is not stable. What if he escaped and found the boy? What if they disappeared together? Then all would be lost.’

‘Adam
must
be there,’ Holmwood insisted. ‘He is the second-in-rank Elder. Whenever the Demontide falls, all of the Elders have to be present. You know the rules.’

Saxby grunted. ‘Very well. But he must be kept drugged and out of the way. Especially if we need to … take desperate measures. How will you bring him?’

‘In a convoy of three armour-plated vehicles. We’ll have standard issue weapons as well as magical protection and … ’ Holmwood stopped. He thought he had heard the faintest of clicks on the line. ‘Saxby, you’re sure no one is listening in?’

‘Positive.’

‘Hmph. Probably just my nerves. Anyway, we’ll bring Adam across country via back roads. There is only one place on the route vulnerable to attack. Wykely Woods. I want several Elders to meet us at Steerpike Bridge and escort the convoy through the forest.’

‘When will you bring him?’

‘Midnight, the day after tomorrow. Be ready. Oh, and one last thing: you’d better spread the word about the second omen. Although its effects will be limited to the Hollow, we must make sure the villagers have taken the traditional precaution. God help anyone still outside when the mist rolls in.’

Holmwood hung up.

The doctor stubbed out his cigarette. He left his office and took the lift down into the bowels of Hobarron Tower. Leaving the lift, he walked along a long, grey corridor with fluorescent strip lights buzzing overhead. At the end of the corridor he stopped, took the keycard from his pocket and pressed it against the panel on the wall. A cobwebbed door marked—

—groaned open.

The doctor paced around the old laboratory. Floor to ceiling, the room was filled with scientific equipment, all of it switched off, shut down, and covered in plastic sheets. The doctor thought to himself:
this place is full of ghosts.
He could remember Claire and Adam Harker as young scientists, working happily here. In those days they had loved each other very deeply, but the gradual pressure of their work had destroyed that love.

Holmwood turned and faced the box.

It stood on a metal table in the centre of the room, numerous cables and wires snaking out of its back. The doctor approached and ran his fingers over the transparent lid. This machine had once contained their only hope of defeating the Demontide. Now Holmwood saw that it had always been a false hope. The weapon had failed, and so only one option remained.

‘Saxby’s right,’ Holmwood said aloud. ‘There is no other way.
Jacob has to die
.’

Eddie led Jake into a large hall decorated with faded portraits and tatty old tapestries. The floor had been pieced together from a jigsaw of roughhewn stone. A wooden staircase made a rickety path up to the first floor. There was something familiar about the layout of the place.

As if answering an unasked question, Eddie said, ‘Years ago, this was the Holmwood manor house.’

Of course. Although the construction materials were far more traditional and ancient than those used in Dr Holmwood’s luxurious house, this place had obviously been the blueprint for Green Gables.

‘Dr Holmwood’s family home,’ Jake said, as if speaking to himself.

‘He still comes here sometimes,’ Eddie nodded. ‘Says he likes to remember his roots, where he came from.’

Holmwood, Dr Saxby, Walter Drake, my dad—they all visited this place regularly
, Jake thought.
The old families coming home. I wonder if the Institute organized bus trips!

‘That’s the man who built the house. Tiberius Holmwood.’

Eddie pointed to a portrait at the head of the stairs. Jake immediately recognized the cropped beard and hooded eyes of the first of the Hobarron Elders. At that moment, sunlight dazzled through the windows that overlooked the great hall and shone on the dusty painting. Fascinated, Jake climbed the stairs.

‘After my dad left us, Dr Holmwood let me and my mum stay here rent free,’ Eddie said, following Jake up the stairs. ‘He’s been very kind to us. But … ’ Eddie blushed. ‘But I don’t … ’

‘You don’t trust him.’

‘How did you know?’

Jake didn’t answer. He had reached the top of the stairs, his eyes rooted on the portrait.

The trill of a telephone echoed around the great hall.

‘I’m just going to see if mum’s OK,’ Eddie said. ‘She’s a bit uncomfortable around strangers.’

He trotted down the stairs. From somewhere far away, Jake heard Mrs Rice’s voice.

‘Holmwood Manor … Oh, it’s you. What do you want … ? Yes, I’m fully aware of what happened in the square yesterday … ’

A door slammed and Mrs Rice could no longer be heard. Had Jake been less obsessed with the portrait, he might have sneaked within earshot of the conversation. As it was, he could not tear himself from the picture.

The painting appeared to be an exact match for the one hanging in the corridor at Green Gables. The expression on Tiberius Holmwood’s face—prim and haughty—was the same, as was the period costume. The colours may have faded a bit, making the scene significantly darker, but that was only natural considering the painting’s age. Jake figured that this was the original from which the Green Gables version had been copied. However, there was one major difference.

This had once been a portrait of
two
people.

The second figure stood to the left of Tiberius Holmwood. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, a plain shirt, and a three-quarter length jacket. Behind the man stood a tall box, like a magician’s cabinet. That was all Jake could make out. Someone had vandalized the portrait, using black paint to mask the stranger’s face.

Eddie bounded up the stairs.

‘Mum’s cool. So, you want to see my room?’

‘Eddie, who was this man?’ Jake pointed to the ruined face.

‘Beats me. I’ve asked Mum and Dr Holmwood, no one knows. Least, they say they don’t. Anyway, history’s dead boring. Come on!’

Eddie’s room was in the attic where the servants had once slept. There was a skylight in the roof and, on a glorious summer day like this, the bedroom was warm and cosy. Jake could only imagine what it was like in the winter, with a cold wind howling off the sea and rattling the roof tiles. Apart from a bed, an old wardrobe, and a wash basin there was a plasma TV, a DVD player, and a stack of films in one corner. The modern appliances looked very out of place in this musty, cobwebbed room.

Jake sat on the bed while Eddie dragged boxes of comics from the wardrobe. A few movie posters tacked to the wall caught his eye.

‘
Nightmare on Slaughter Avenue
,
Psycho Town
,
All Hallow’s Eve
,’ Jake said. ‘Your mum lets you watch this stuff?’

‘Sure,’ Eddie grinned. ‘Well, to be honest, she doesn’t know I watch ’em. She doesn’t take much interest in what I do.’

‘They’re a bit scary for a ten year old.’

‘Hey, I’m twelve.’

‘Sorry. But even so.’

‘I bet you’ve seen them.’

‘Well, yes, but I’m fifteen.’

‘And those movies are eighteen certificate. So we’re both too young.’

‘Touché,’ Jake smiled. ‘So, your mum. Has she always been … ’

‘Strange?’

‘I wasn’t going to say that.’

‘It’s cool. It’s like I said, she never got over Luke being murdered. She was only eight when it happened. They were inseparable, her and her brother, and then, one day, he wasn’t there any more. And he didn’t just disappear. He was killed in just about the most horrible way you can imagine.’

‘And you say they never found out who did it?’

‘I think my mum knows.’

‘What?’

‘I think it was someone close to the family. Sometimes I even think Dr Holmwood might have had something to do with it.’

This kid’s as sharp as a tack
, Jake thought.
No wonder he doesn’t trust Holmwood … Must be scary for him, all alone in this house, surrounded by memories of his uncle.

Jake imagined himself as a young kid, curled up in that bed, alert to all the strange noises of the old house. He wondered if Eddie stayed awake at night, watching the bedroom door, waiting to see if the handle would turn. One night
they
might come for him—the killers who had abducted and sacrificed his Uncle Luke. It struck Jake as a lonely, fearful kind of existence.

‘Look at these! Pretty wicked, right?’

Eyes agleam, Eddie displayed his comics like a pirate showing off his treasure trove. Jake was quite impressed. There were a few nice reprints of
Chamber of Darkness
, a couple of
House of Mystery
editions wrapped in plastic, and a full boxed set of the
Haunt of Fear
. For the next hour, the boys chatted about their shared passion.

‘It’s a great collection,’ Jake said, picking up a copy of
Haunt of Fear
.

‘Thanks,’ Eddie beamed.

‘Are your mates into comics too?’

‘Don’t have many friends.’ Eddie’s smile died. He concentrated hard on packing his comics back into their boxes. ‘Kids at school don’t seem to like me very much. They call me names—think I’m creepy because I like horror stuff.’

No friends. A distant, emotionally detached mother. Even an absent father. The likeness was not lost on Jake.

The clock of St Meredith’s church struck noon. Jake swore under his breath. He had allowed himself the luxury of believing, just for a moment, that he was a normal kid again. In truth, his life was no longer normal, and he couldn’t waste time pretending that it was. He had to focus on stopping the Demontide.

‘Sorry, Ed, I’ve gotta make a move.’

The boy’s face fell. ‘Really? I thought we could get some lunch and then go down to the bay. I could show you Crowden’s Sorrow.’

‘That’s not a bad idea. What about tomorrow?’

Eddie’s grin flashed back into place. ‘Sure. Where are you off to now?’

‘The Saxbys.’

‘Are you going to see Rachel?’

‘You know Rachel?’

‘Course. She’s my cousin.’

Eddie explained as they climbed down out of the attic. Rachel’s mother, who had died giving birth to her, had been Eddie’s aunt. They weren’t all that close, but Rachel always popped in to see the Rices whenever she visited the Hollow.

The boys left the dingy chill of Holmwood Manor and strode out into the sunshine.

‘How often does Rachel come here?’ Jake asked.

‘Once every three months maybe. I don’t think she likes the Hollow much. I guess it
is
a bit boring here … ’

‘Eddie, this place is anything
but
boring.’

They came to the end of the dirt track and headed along the road. The sun tingled pleasantly on the back of Jake’s neck. Looking down over the little white cottages, the pinkish-red cliffs and the sparkling sea beyond, it was difficult to imagine that anything bad could happen in such a place. Jake only had to turn west, in the direction of two dark stone structures, to feel that certainty slip away. Like a pair of evil eyes, Holmwood Manor and St Meredith’s church glowered over the village.