Dark Seduction (10 page)

Relieved to be alive, Zen clutched his chest as though to check his heart still beat.

From where he stood, he could see down into the town. The grey slate houses looked drab, the roofs wet and gleaming like crab shells. Behind the wall on his left, he heard a sheep bleat, making him jump.

Now what was he supposed to do?

“I'm here,” he said, feeling foolish talking aloud with no one around.

The wind carried his voice over the peaks, but no reply came back.

A Land Rover approached, and the wind playfully lifted the hem of Zen's dress. He smoothed it down, trying to retain as much dignity as he could.

The Land Rover slowed down and a bemused man wearing a flat cap peered out the window and shook his head before accelerating through a puddle, spraying Zen with muddy water.

“Thanks,” Zen shouted. He wiped mud from his face and watched the vehicle disappear around a corner.

None of this helped him.

He looked around, contemplating a course of action when he heard the
clip-clop
of horse hooves striking the road.

Where the Land Rover had disappeared around the corner, a large, dapple-grey horse appeared pulling a brightly painted caravan.
The person at the reins wore a long skirt, cardigan and a blue scarf that hid her face.

Almost level with him, the driver reined the horse in and it stood there, snorting twin bursts of mist from its double-barrelled shotgun nostrils.

“So you’re here,” the woman said.

Zen frowned and looked up at the woman. “Do I know you?”

The woman lowered her scarf to reveal a hideously scarred face, and Zen recoiled as though punched.

The woman nodded. “Not yet. But I know you, son.”

CHAPTER 13

Zen’s stomach churned. He looked at the woman and shook his head. A hot flush spread across his cheeks and he opened his mouth to suck in more air. He couldn't breathe.

The woman grinned.

Intricate scars decorated the whole of her face. Some of the scars looked like strange symbols; others were scars on top of scars, accentuating the worm-like paths of lacerated flesh.

He noticed further scars running from the back of her hands up her arms, and he surmised that intricate patterns decorated her whole body.

Who was this monster?

Had he heard her right? Did she just call him son, or was it a colloquial term? In the distance, lightning flickered and a celestial drum roll reverberated across the fields.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I'm your mother, Melantha.”

“Do you think I’m stupid? Don't you think I know who my mother is? What are you playing at?” He didn't understand what was going on. Was it a trick? Was the albino man testing him in some way? Or was it someone else sent to kill him? A monster perhaps?

“You
think
you know. The people you call your mother and father, they're not your real parents.”

“Bollocks.”

“I don't care what you believe.” The horse whinnied in agreement and nodded its head. “I just want you to leave me to go about my business.”

“What's happened to you? Those scars ...” He shook his head. She looked hideous.

“That's none of your concern. Now how much did they offer you?”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re playing at—”

“I’m not playing at anything. If you weren't my son,
they
wouldn't have sent you to kill me.”

“Kill you!” Was this who he was supposed to kill? Although ugly, she hardly seemed to pose a threat.

“Don't play the fool.”

Lightning flickered overhead, a forked tongue that licked the sky. The image burned itself on Zen's retina, and as his vision returned, he thought he saw faces coldly regarding him from behind the caravan’s colourful motifs; dark faces that looked cruel and menacing.

“So how did you find me?” Zen asked.

Melantha cracked a smile; the scars on her face made it look more like a grimace. “I have my ways.”

“What, you got a crystal ball?”

Melantha pinched her lips. “Look, you don’t mean anything to me, so I’m warning you, don’t interfere with things that don’t concern you, otherwise you’ll regret it.”

Zen smiled to himself. He couldn't see this hideous woman posing any real threat, no matter what power she purported to have. Compared to the inhabitants of the Shadowland, she was a clown.

“You think that’s funny? Then I think it's time you saw for yourself what you're dealing with.”

“So what are you going to do? Hex me?” Zen laughed, but he faltered when he thought he saw Melantha's face change, the scars twisting like snakes. Putting it down to a trick of the light, he shook his head. What was he going to do? Why would they want him to kill someone who looked as if she couldn't hurt a flea? It didn't make any sense. He needed a cigarette.

“Climb up here. Come with me. I'll show you.”

Zen hesitated.

“Don't worry, I won't bite. Or are you scared of me?” She grinned.

Zen spat on the ground. At least the overhang on the front of the caravan offered a bit of shelter from the rain, so he hoisted himself up and sat beside her.

Melantha flicked the reins and the horse started trotting towards Trinity.

“There's a saying,” Melantha said. “
Te na khutshos perdal tsho ushalin
. Try not to jump over your own shadow. Do you know why?”

Zen shook his head.

“Because if you do, you'll find the Shadowland.”

Zen tried to stay impassive, but he couldn’t stop his heart racing. “The Shadowland?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been there.”

“Well, I didn't go bloody jumping over any shadows to get there.”

“That's because they need you. They can open the door using nuances of light, the tower a beacon to illuminate the path; it's the source of their power.”

“Well why do they need me?”

“You already know why. Because they want you to kill me.”

Zen looked away and bit his lip. “But why me, and why do they want you dead?”

“Because you’re a blood relation, the Glamour doesn't affect you.” She held a hand up to interrupt his next question. “The Glamour’s a power that enables me to influence people. What other people see isn't what you see. My clan folk are similarly unaffected, but their bloodline has been thinned over the years, and their resistance isn’t as good.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re crazy?”

Melantha didn’t react.

Zen shivered. He wanted to believe she was madder than he thought, but he didn't think she was. “So why don't you just give them this Glamour thing back?”

“Because there’s nothing to give back. The Glamour’s a part of me.”

Zen didn't like the sound of this. “Look, I’m not stupid. What's this all about? Really?”

“I don’t care what you believe. The only reason I haven’t killed you is because you’re my son, and believe it or not, that means something. When you’ve lost everything, family’s all that remains.”

Zen didn’t understand.

 “So how much did they offer you?” Melantha asked.

“Offer me?”

“To kill me.”

“Two hundred grand.” He felt guilty and he blushed. Even though he hadn't done anything, it sounded like a confession of guilt as he said it.

Melantha nodded and turned around in her seat. She dragged a plastic Asda shopping bag out from behind her and opened it. “Here's more than that if you'll join me instead.”

Zen looked at the money and licked his lips. He felt a bizarre echo of déjà vu. He'd been here before ...

“They said they'd kill me,” Zen said, feeling sheepish. He'd never welched on a bet in his life, but then he'd never put his life up as the stake before, either.

“They wouldn't dare risk anything if you're with me. As for the others:
Te potshinen penge lajav
. They must
pay
for their shame.” Her expression looked hard and cruel.

“Others?”

“The sons and daughters.”

Zen frowned. “You'll have to explain it to me in plain English.” He looked at the bag of money sitting between them and wondered if it was counterfeit. Why else would Melantha have so much money and yet be travelling around in a caravan. If it was real, she could afford to buy a bloody palace.

The horse trotted along, the melodic sound of its hooves as they struck the road almost hypnotic. The rain hid the vista, nature's watercolour painting, a hint of colour, the outline of a building, and the semblance of a figure running for shelter.

“My people have been persecuted throughout history. Do you know what it's like to be shunned wherever you go, called a vagabond and a thief?”

“Yeah, actually I do.” He gritted his teeth.

“It's not the same. They hunted, branded, hanged and mutilated my people, all because they were Roma. We’re still the only race of people that don't have laws protecting us.” She spat on the ground. “Do you know how that feels?”

“Look, you're missing something here. Look at me. The way I dress, the way I look. I'm different.”

“Yes, I guess dressing in women’s clothing is a little strange.”

“This isn’t mine. It’s a long story, but I lost my clothes.” He hesitated. Swallowed. “Did you send Jade to kill me?”

Melantha shrugged.

“Is that it? No remorse?”

“She didn’t succeed, so take that as a bonus.”

Zen clenched his fists as anger boiled in the pit of his stomach. “I've been attacked just walking down the bloody road because my face didn't fit. Gangs of lads have chased me out of pubs; that's if the bouncers let me in the pub. I'm covered in tattoos which people take as a sign that I'm a hard case, and they want to try their luck, impress their mates ... So don't tell me I don't know what being persecuted is like.” He pursed his lips. Even remembering some of the things felt painful.

Melantha nodded. “And what if you could pay those people back?” She looked at him, her green eyes sparkling. “How would you like to get revenge on those people?”

“Too damn right I’d like it.”

Melantha smiled. “Then we're more alike than you think, Zen.”

Although still unsure about everything, he saw where she was coming from, and he felt a connection. His adoptive parents always turned the other cheek, Zen couldn't. Perhaps that’s because they weren’t really his parents, but if he believed that, could he really believe the strange woman beside him was his real mother?

He sat with his legs parted, but as they rode into town he realised he offered an eyeful to anyone who looked up, so he closed his knees together. The fewer reasons he gave people to stare, the better.