Dark Seduction (9 page)

“Do you know what Melantha means? Its means dark flower.”

Verity wasn't bothered with what it meant. “Just tell me where she is.” Her voice rose and the barman looked across and frowned.

“You wouldn't be so eager to find her if you could see her black heart.”

“Look, I'm a friend of hers. More than a friend. She’s my stepmother.” She almost choked on the words.

The man snorted. “You're
gadje
. You'll never be a friend of hers.”

“
Gadje
?”

“Foreigner. Not a gypsy.”

“I really need to find her.”

“She's
marime
, polluted and you're best steering clear.”

“I think that's my decision, not yours.”

The man shook his head.

“Is old Leo here bothering you, miss?” the barman asked, standing over the table.

Leo looked up and belched loudly. “I don't bother anyone, Bill. Now bugger off back behind the bar and leave me alone.”

“Miss?”

Verity waved her hand dismissively. “We're just talking.”

“Well, if he gives you any trouble, just give me a shout.” He glared at Leo. “You're not too old to be barred you know.”

“Away with you.” Leo put his hand to his mouth as his teeth slipped out.

“And if you leave those teeth in one of my glasses again, I'll throw them away.”

“Bugger off and leave me be.”

Bill shook his head and wandered back behind the bar, where he sat staring at Leo.

Leo took his teeth out, dropped them in his jacket pocket and slurped noisily on his drink.

“Please, I really need to find her.”

Leo sucked his gums. “She'll only bring you
prikasa
, bad luck, and I don't want it on my conscience. Go back where you came from. This is no place for you. There's a dark cloud hanging over this village. Leave before it's too late. There's a saying: in a village without a dog, a man can walk without a stick.” He swallowed the last of his pint, stood up, grabbed a walking stick that leaned against the wall and walked out of the pub.

Perplexed, Verity stared after the man. Seconds later, she stood and followed Leo outside. He knew where Melantha was.

A strong wind blew, the sky overhead leaden. Apart from the rocky escarpments in the distance, the surrounding landscape appeared barren and windswept, the only sign of life the odd sheep that endured the elements as it hunkered behind crumbling drystone walls.

Although harsh, the landscape radiated an uncommon beauty.

There weren't many houses in the village, and Verity doubted there were more than four hundred inhabitants. Apart from a couple of crofters’ cottages on the outskirts, most of the village seemed self-contained, a small enclave that survived against the worst the British weather could throw at it.

Verity watched Leo stop at the end of the high street and light a cigarette, shielding the flame from the wind. She ducked into the undertaker's doorway, noticing the pallid, hawk-like proprietor eyeing her up from behind the counter as though measuring up a prospective customer. Verity shivered.

What use did a small village have for an undertaker anyway? Surely, there wasn't that much money in death out here. There were hardly enough people to keep the living functioning, never mind the dead.

A couple of hikers walked past, dressed in wet weather clothing. Verity felt underdressed, the wind breaching her limited defences. She hadn't realised how cold it was, the fire in the pub having lulled her into a false sense of security. Gooseflesh peppered her skin.

She walked on, the bangles on her arm tinkling like wind chimes. Afraid Leo would hear them and turn around, she put her hands beneath her armpits, pressing the bangles into her chest.

At the end of the road, Leo walked up a garden path and into a small terraced house. Verity ducked behind a low wall opposite a garage daubed with graffiti and surveyed the house. If Melantha was here, she’d find her.

CHAPTER 12

Zen awoke naked in the woods, feeling groggy and cold. The first thing he noticed was that night had dissolved into day.

Overhead, the sky looked like an enormous bruise, made up of purple and black clouds that fought for dominance.

 Rain beat down, and the trees offered little in the way of shelter from the deluge. He heard it pattering on the leaves above. The air smelt fresh, invigorating, and he started to sit up, flinching at the burst of pain that arced across his back. He reached a hand behind him and ran his fingers along the zip-like crustacean of dried blood, opening the memory of the attack.

Jade. She had tried to kill him. The bitch.

He looked around and tried to spot the mysterious lighthouse, but it was gone, slipped back into whatever realm it had materialised from. He couldn't believe what he was thinking, but there
was
another world, a parallel universe; a dark place, a Shadowland. Whether the fourth dimension, the eighth or the eleventh, he didn't know. Didn't care. He just knew it was there, and that he never wanted to see it again.

Fighting the pain, he stood up and looked around; didn't have a clue where he was.

He could see a rock face rising in the distance, and using it as a landmark, he headed towards it.

Each step caused him to flinch as the cuts on his feet reopened. The skin around the wound on his back felt taut like a bad case of sunburn.

Another recollection struck him. Something Jade said:
Tell him that it's his
mother
you want him to kill
.

He was confused. As far as he knew his mother was still abroad.

What sort of mind games were they playing with him? As if they weren't messing him up enough with dark places and people who wanted to mutilate themselves. Why would Jade say they wanted him to kill his mother?

The money now seemed inconsequential.

The ground sloped down and he heard traffic in the distance. Through the trees, he could see the white painted brickwork of a house.

A low wall surrounded the building, and he followed it, ducking down out of sight. A bird sang in the branches of an oak tree near the gate, but its tune abruptly changed to a shrill alarm and it flew away when Zen approached.

The gate squealed in protest as he opened it. Zen flinched and hurried up the path to stand with his back against the cold wall. The building’s chilled exterior numbed his wound. But
he didn't have time to revel in the momentary relief. He couldn’t feel his feet. If he didn't want to catch pneumonia, clothes were now a priority.

He crept around the house, noticed an open window, cautiously approached it and peered through.

The sound of voices drifted from inside, and he considered shouting for help. But seeing his reflection in the panes of glass he decided not to. If someone came to his house, naked and covered in scratches, he would tell them to bugger off. Out here, they would probably turn a shotgun on him or call the police, and that was the last thing he needed.

He warily lifted the window latch and opened the window as wide as it would go and peered inside. An item of clothing decorated the radiator below.

Zen grinned. Fortune smiled on him. He leaned over the windowsill, plucked the garment off the radiator and held it up. His smile disappeared. It was a dress. He couldn't believe it.

He looked back through the window and saw that apart from a pair of socks, there were no more clothes in sight.

Brilliant, he thought, holding the dress up again. It wasn't even a nice dress, and seemed like something an old woman would wear, blue V-necked with a white lace hem and puffy sleeves.

Zen needed a cigarette, but unfortunately, they were with his clothes in the lorry. He held the dress up again. It looked about his size, and with no better alternative, he pulled it over his head to find that it fit quite well and just covered his knees. In the city, he might have got away with wearing it, but in the country …. Zen reached back in through the window, grabbed the socks and pulled them on his feet. He winced at the resultant pain from the cuts and then quickly ran out of the garden. He wondered whether he would be better off running around naked than in a dress.

But at least it was warm and the socks offered a bit of protection.

A driveway led from the house to a road. Zen followed it.

He heard a vehicle approach and turned to see a grime-covered van.  A young lad leaned out the window. “Hey up love” the lad shouted. Then obviously realising it was a man in a dress, he shouted a few profanities before speeding away.

Zen wondered how he could reach Trinity now. If the albino man could travel anywhere with his bloody lighthouse, why didn’t he just take him there? Who in their right mind would pick him up wearing a fucking dress?

The answer came in the form of a green Morris Minor that pulled up beside him. An old woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose opened the door.

“Do you need a ride, dear?” she asked.

Zen looked at her and wondered how she ever managed to see, never mind drive. But beggars couldn't be choosers.

“Yes, I'm heading for a place called Trinity.”

The woman frowned. “That's a deep voice you've got dear. Do you have a bad cold? Never mind, I had one myself recently. Left me feeling a little hoarse. Well, this is your lucky day. I'm passing through Trinity on the way to visit my sister. Jump in.”

Zen gratefully slipped into the car, wincing as pain flared across his back from the wound. He wondered whether he was doing the right thing accepting a lift after what happened last time. But surely a little grey haired old woman didn't pose a threat, did she?

Then she started driving, crunching through the gears and taking corners at speed. Her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth and a devilish glint radiated from her eyes. Zen put his seatbelt on. Perhaps she
was
trying to kill him after all.

He noticed the grey dress she wore looked nicer than his own did, and he shook his head, wondering how he could think such stupid things.

“I couldn't leave you standing at the side of the road in weather like this. A nice girl like you should have a man to drive her about.” She leaned forward, peering intently through the windscreen as the wipers tried their best to clear the rain.

Zen shook his head and rolled his eyes, his long dreadlocks whipping his cheeks.

The further they travelled, the bleaker the scenery grew. Sheep huddled against the elements. Rocks splintered the horizon. And the rain painted it all in a slick sheen.

A chevron sign indicated a sharp bend in the road, which the little old woman seemed to either ignore or not notice as she took the corner at speed. Zen felt the car begin to slide and he braced himself, but she managed to keep control and he sighed with relief when the road straightened out.

Almost an hour later, Zen noticed a sign at the side of the road: Trinity, and butterflies danced in the pit of his stomach.

They were here.

But now what?

The little old woman wanted to drop him in the high street, but Zen told her to drop him on the other side of town. He would rather get wet again than suffer the ridicule and indignity of being seen in a dress.

After Zen got out, the woman waved goodbye and drove off at speed, the wheels spinning.