Burn Mark (36 page)

He was standing over the keyboard, sheet of dust in his hands, when he heard brisk footsteps in the corridor outside. He froze, waiting for them to pass.

The feet didn’t pass. They stopped outside. Keys jangled, the door opened. And Lucas made his first serious mistake.

His only instinct was to get out of there – back through the window, across the yard, and into the catacombs. But there was no time to think anything through. The fae, already unspooling through his body and brain, was at his fingertips. It took a hold of him. And as the door opened, he backed away in the direction of the window, and blew the dust he’d gathered – the dust of Silas Paterson’s office, and the grime of the catacombs – into the air.

He’d had some muddled idea about covering his retreat. The result exceeded all expectations. The fae-blown dust was suffused with the alarm of the moment, the dread he’d felt in the catacombs, and the grime of their ancient cells. The small grubby puff gathered into a vile-smelling fog that rolled in billows across the room.

Under cover of the cloud, as the unknown inquisitor cursed and flailed, Lucas dived for the window. He might even have made it, if he hadn’t stumbled over the wastepaper basket and got tangled in his cloak. The inquisitor blundered through the room after him, and made a grab for his sleeve. Both of them fell to the floor, thrashing about blindly in the toxic dust. Coughing and choking, Lucas’s captor dragged him to his feet.

In his worst-case imaginings, Lucas had wondered what he’d do if Silas Paterson returned early from Lady Merle’s ball. The reality was almost as bad. He was staring into the face of Gideon Hale.

Chapter 30

About the same time as Lucas took his first steps into the catacombs, WICA Agent Connor was sitting in Senior Witch Warden Branning’s car in a deserted car park. The film that Lucas had recorded in the Radley was playing on Jonah’s laptop.

Zoey’s face as she watched it was a blank, taut mask. It was Jonah’s second viewing of the material but, if anything, his horror of it had only increased. When the footage came to its end, a dull flush spread under his freckles.

‘On behalf of . . . that is . . . as an inquisitor, I feel I should – that it is my responsibility to –’ He swallowed painfully. ‘There are no words. But I want you to know I am truly sorry. This must confirm all your worst suspicions of us.’

‘I judge people as I find them,’ Zoey said at last, and with effort. ‘But I don’t judge a community only by its criminals. Witchkind’s history has shown us the danger of that.’

Jonah didn’t think of the Inquisition as a community, but perhaps that was because he didn’t feel like he fitted in. It was a vocation, though, and his faith in that vocation had been badly shaken.

‘Do you know where Lucas is now?’ she asked him.

‘No. He’s cut off all contact. I can’t get hold of Glory either. I’m worried the two of them have taken matters into their own hands.’

‘Well, Lucas was right to be cautious about contacting me. The Inquisition has too heavy a presence in WICA for us to make use of its resources without alerting the enemy.’

‘Can you find a way of warning Rawdon?’

‘Jack’s been away at a conference but he’s due back tomorrow. I’ll get word to him. It would help if we had some idea of what the next target is likely to be.’

She logged on to her smartphone. After accessing Rawdon’s schedule, they agreed the most likely target was a parade in Windsor for troops returning from peace-keeping duties abroad. The Director of WICA would be there to highlight the role of witch-soldiers in the armed forces. The event was taking place tomorrow and would attract large crowds. It would be the perfect opportunity for a terrorist outrage, followed by a spectacular arrest.

‘I’ll tell Jack to cancel all public engagements,’ Zoey said. ‘In the meantime, we need to deal with our teenage runaways. I know they’re trying to help, but it’s likely they’ll just make things worse. And get themselves into a hell of a lot of trouble along the way.’

Jonah rubbed his face tiredly. ‘At a guess, they’ll try to get in touch with Lady Merle. That would be the obvious place to start. But Lucas has a lot of insider info about the Inquisition. I’m worried he might try to act on it, without really knowing what he’s dealing with.’

Zoey was just about to respond when her phone rang. ‘Hmm. Not a number I recognise.’

She hit the answer button. ‘Connor,’ she said crisply.

‘Hello? Hello?’

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Glory. Glory Starling. Lucas gave me your number – I didn’t –’ Her voice was a raw whisper. ‘I didn’t want to call you. But it’s an emergency. We’re at Lady Merle’s country place. It’s all kicked off. She – he – I think he’s dead. We’re going to –’

The line cut out. When Zoey called back, it went straight to voicemail.

‘You were right,’ she told Jonah grimly. ‘Lucas and Glory must have gone to see Lady Merle. And now they’re in trouble. We need to get to them, fast.’

Chapter 31

Troy and Glory had followed Lady Merle out of the marquee to a small and inconspicuous door at the side of the house. They strolled arm in arm, trying to look as if they were merely admiring the grounds. But this entrance also had a staff member hovering nearby, ready to usher guests away from the family’s private quarters.

‘What shall we do?’ Glory whispered, as they backtracked round the corner.

‘I’ll get him distracted so you can sneak in. You’re the witch-damsel in distress – Lady M’s more likely to respond to you. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.’

Troy strode across the grass. ‘Look here,’ he said to the footman or bouncer or whoever he was, ‘I went to get something from my car, only to find some git’s keyed it. The car next to ours too. I thought I saw a kid skulking in the drive, but when I yelled at him he ran off.’

The flunkey was flustered. ‘I’m terribly sorry, sir. Would you mind coming along with me to show us the damage?’

As soon as their backs were turned, Glory nipped along the terrace and through the door that Lady Merle had used. She found herself at the foot of the back stairs. They took her up to a corridor, lined with paintings covered in dark varnish and lit by small hooded lamps. The doors along it were all closed. It was dim and warm and utterly silent. Her wig was itching, and she took it off and bundled it into the cashmere wrap. She wanted Lady Merle to see her as her real self, roots and all.

There was a second set of stairs at the north end of the corridor, steeper and pokier than the last. She climbed them too and found herself on a small landing, with a bathroom to her right and another door in front of her. She hesitated, straining to hear sounds of life. Had she lost Lady Merle already? She’d thought she’d heard voices on her way up the stairs, but all was quiet.

When she opened the door, she found herself in a long low attic. It had been converted into a bed-sitting room, comfortably but sparsely furnished. The furniture that was there was soft and padded. Sitting in an armchair in front of a folding screen was a girl of about seventeen. When she saw her, Glory came to a confused stop. Hair like fire, skin like snow, eyes the colour of violets . . . It was like looking at a picture in a fae-tale.

‘Um, hi,’ said Glory.

The girl turned her head, very slowly. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. Glory realised that she wasn’t so perfect after all. The skin on her right hand was shiny and puckered, like a scar that had healed badly.

‘I . . . don’t . . . know . . . you,’ the girl said at last. There was no alarm or curiosity in her voice, or on that frozen, lovely face. She spoke in an empty monotone.

But Glory knew who she was: Rose Merle, the girl in the riding accident. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I’m looking for your mum.’

‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

It was Serena Merle herself, who had come in from an adjoining room. She didn’t appear as wasted as she had in the marquee, but she didn’t look well either. Her eyes wandered and her hands twitched.

‘’Scuse me for the interruption, Your Ladyship, but my name’s Glory Starling and –’

‘Starling?’

‘That’s right. I really need to talk to you. It’s about what you told Charl—’

‘No.’ Serena put her hands over her ears. ‘No, no,
no
. I don’t want to hear any of it. It’s too late. Too much has happened.’

There was a knock on the door, and a mild-faced woman in a nurse’s uniform entered the room. ‘The car’s here, milady.’

Serena shot Glory an agitated look. ‘I don’t care who you are or what you’re here for. None of that matters any more. My daughter is leaving, and I have to – to –’ She took a deep breath, and made a visible effort to pull herself together. ‘I have to say goodbye.’

She went over to Rose, and helped her out of the chair. ‘You’re going to go and stay in a safe place,’ she told her. ‘The people there will look after you much better than I can.’ Then she took Rose by the shoulders, and looked searchingly into her blank eyes. ‘Remember how much I love you, always. Try to understand. Try to remember.’

‘Always,’ Rose repeated tonelessly. ‘Always.’ Her expression didn’t change. She moved in stiff, precise movements, like a wind-up doll. The nurse took her by the hand and gently led her down the stairs.

Serena watched them go with such anguish on her face that Glory had to look away. But the next moment, the woman rounded on her. ‘How
dare
you invade my house? On this night of all nights!’

‘I didn’t have no choice! I heard about your talk with Charlie in the Radley, and the plot what you discovered. Somebody’s got to act. So I’m working with Charlie’s son Troy, and we’ve got help from WICA. I’m not giving up. I can’t. I’m – I’m a witch too.’

‘A Starling, you said.’ Serena suddenly softened. ‘Like mother, like daughter . . . Did you see my Rose, how beautiful she is?’

‘Er, yeah.’

‘Talented too. And so popular! Rose was destined for great things. All the lovely, lovely things I never got to do because I turned witchkind.’

Her eyes had glazed over again. She’d definitely been drinking, Glory decided. Or taking pills of some kind. ‘Because I was going to be a star, you know. Everyone said so. But nobody wants a bridled witch on their sets and screens. Or in their centrefolds. The fae stole all that away from me.

‘So when Rose – my beautiful, talented Rose – when it happened to her . . . I was ready to try anything.
Anything
. Whatever it took.’

‘Rose is a witch?’

‘Not any more.’

‘But . . . once you turn witchkind, the fae’s a part of you. For ever.’

‘Well, we cut it out.’ Her voice was brittle. ‘There’s a clinic that does it. Experimental psychosurgery.’

‘I don’t get it.’ The idea was too appalling to be true. Glory was increasingly disorientated by Lady Merle’s abrupt changes in manner. It was like talking to three or four different women at once. ‘The fae ain’t a piece of your brain. There’s more to it than that.’

‘Like a “ghost in the machine”, as the philosopher said? Maybe so. But the US Inquisition conducted research on witch-brains, back in the fifties. As did the Nazis, in their camps. And in witches, they found a difference . . . a different kind of neural connection . . . “abnormal circuitry”, they called it. I read the research papers, I heard the testimonials. But there wasn’t much time. The surgeon told me the procedure only worked if the fae was caught early. We had to do it quickly, and secretly, before Godfrey found out.’

She was twisting her hands, as she had when making her appeal to Charlie. They looked red and rubbed.

‘It was my idea, but later I began to be afraid. Rose wasn’t, though. She begged me to let her do it. If she was a witch, her life would be ruined, just like mine. How could I refuse? And then when she came out of the operation, and her fae had gone, we were so happy we cried. Imagine that! We thought we’d beaten it. We thought we were safe. And then . . .’

‘Then . . . ?’

‘Then one morning, out in the garden, Rose collapsed. She was unconscious for only a few minutes, but afterwards . . . she was blind. Blind, deaf and dumb. This lasted for twenty-four hours. And although she recovered her three main senses, her memory had gone. She can’t hold a thought for more than a few minutes at a time. Perhaps it’s a mercy, considering what she has become . . .

‘You might have seen the scar on her hand. It’s from when she put her hand into boiling water and didn’t realise it. Rose, you see, has lost the ability to feel pain. She could bleed to death and never notice. That’s why she has to be watched every minute of every day. My daughter is never hurt or scared, but she doesn’t feel anything else either.’ All Rose’s lost emotions flooded into her mother’s voice. ‘When we cut out the fae, we cut out the heart of her. I betrayed my daughter. I betrayed our kind.’

Glory’s body crawled with horror. She wanted to get away from this wild-eyed woman, the memory of the ruined girl, away from this mausoleum of a house. But she had a job to do.

‘Is that why you started helping the covens?’ she asked.

Serena’s hands twisted and turned. ‘I didn’t plan it that way, but soon after Rose’s . . . after Rose . . . I crossed paths with Charlie Morgan. I’d been friends with him and Vince once upon a time. Far away and long ago . . .’