Resurrectionists (35 page)

So the young woman had genes other than Sybill’s coarse witchiness. “Very interesting.”

“Why are you going to call them?”

“None of your business, Lester.”

“If you need me –”

“Thank you. You’ve done a great job.”

He put the phone down and sat back looking at the number, making calculations in his head: it would be early evening over there. This task had to be done just right. He had never made a threatening phone call in his life, and wondered whether the person on the other end of the line would find his thin, trembling voice comical rather than menacing.

Once more, he reached for the receiver. Soon, in a far distant land, the phone was ringing.

“Hello?” A male voice. The father.

“Hello. Roland Fielding?”

“No, it’s Adrian.”

Adrian? This threw him. Who was Adrian? “Are you Maisie Fielding’s brother?”

“I’m her boyfriend. Who is this?”

Her boyfriend. Perhaps this was even better. “This is somebody who cares about Maisie’s safety. She’s a long way away from you and there’s nobody to protect her.”

“What are you talking about? Is Maisie okay?”

“She won’t be for long. If you don’t get her home soon, something very bad may happen to her.”

“Who is this?” Good, he could hear desperation in the young man’s voice now. “What are you talking about?”

The Reverend’s finger wavered for a moment,

then pressed the button down. The line clicked. He replaced the receiver, aware that his heart was thumping violently. Was it excitement or fear? What if the young man made a complaint, and they tracked him down? He had visions of Interpol closing in on him, looking into his affairs, finding out his secrets.

Tony Blake opened the door, jolting the Reverend out of his morbid fantasy. “Sorry, Reverend,” he said.

“Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

The Reverend put his hand over his heart as though that could still it. “It’s all right, Tony. What can I do for you?”

“Have you heard back from Lester, yet?”

“Yes, and I’ve called Australia. I think we can expect something to give soon.”

“But you can’t shrink from your other promise, now.”

“What other promise?”

“When she gets back, you’ll have to send the Wraiths.”

The Reverend shuddered. He couldn’t stand to have that word used in the friendly light of morning. “Tony, you know I can’t send them. I can only ask and wait upon the providence of a greater power.”

“But you will ask?”

“We’ll see if it’s necessary. Now don’t mention it again. It unsettles me so.”

Tony gave him a look that said he grew weary of trying to understand the Reverend’s motives. “Why do you do it, Reverend?”

“Because it’s what my father and my father’s father did. That’s not so surprising, surely. Your father was a policeman, too, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“We none of us fall so far from the tree that bore us,” said the Reverend, not meeting Tony’s eye. “I’m just fulfilling my destiny.”

***

Maisie was in the wood behind the house again. Why did the dream always start here? A submerged terror was rising up through her body.

Am I dreaming now?

Yes, she was, and she refused to have this horrible dream again.

She stopped running and asked, “Why am I having this dream?”

In front of her, Reverend Fowler materialised, attempting a friendly smile with those misfitting false teeth. “How did your grandmother die?”

“She was sick. She went for help. She didn’t make it.”

“You should run. They’re coming for you.”

Reverend Fowler disappeared. The sounds of the chase were approaching. But she was dreaming, nothing could hurt her. She turned and stood her ground. Two dark shapes were moving in the distance, darting between trees. She breathed out and saw her breath like fog.

“I’m not afraid of you. I know I’m only dreaming.”

Then why did her heart begin to pound, her knees begin to quaver?

The ringing phone woke her up. She lay in bed, grateful for the bland comfort of a ceiling and four walls. She could hear Sacha in the lounge room, answering the phone. In a few moments, he was knocking at her door.

“Yes?” she asked cautiously.

“Telephone for you. It’s Adrian.”

Adrian? She checked her watch. It was only seven o’clock. She threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and went out to the lounge room. Sacha had left the phone on the table and gone back to bed.

“Hi, Adrian.”

“Maisie, are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why are you ringing so early?”

“I tried to ring last night. Where were you?”

“Sacha and I went to the pub, then we had a late dinner,” she said, wondering why she felt guilty. “You sound frantic. What’s the matter?”

“Somebody phoned from England last night, saying that you were in danger.”

“What?”

“He said if you didn’t come home soon, something bad was going to happen to you.”

She was temporarily dumbstruck. Eventually she said, “Who was it? What did he sound like?”

“He sounded like he was putting on a fake voice –

kind of soft and high. Maisie, I want you to come home.”

Home? Now? “Who would do this? Why are you

so sure it’s somebody from England?”

“I . . . ah . . . I guess he didn’t actually say where he was from. But it was probably the same lunatic who put a brick through your window.”

Was this typical Adrian, overreacting? “Adrian, you’re not making sense. Sure the people of Solgreve are a bit mad but they’re not dangerous. They’re all fundamentalist types –”

“Who think you’re a witch.”

Maisie leaned her elbows on the table. “You know, Adrian, how would somebody in Solgreve get our number? For a start, it’s silent. How do you know it wasn’t someone else, someone in Brisbane, someone who knows I’m away and wants to upset you?”

“Like who?”

“I don’t know – our family has hundreds of

enemies. Mum’s not the most popular human being on the planet.”

“Maisie, listen to yourself. You’re being ridiculous. Just come home.”

“I’ll be home soon enough.”

“Come home
today
.”

Don’t tell me what to do.
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t be intimidated. I’m not finished here yet. I have to find out how my grandmother died.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It just seems impossible. You’re trying to tell me that the people of Solgreve, a bunch of dumb, backwater hicks, are international criminal masterminds who can find silent numbers in foreign places when they don’t even know my parents’ names. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’d be happier if you were back here,” he said softly. And it was his softness of voice, reminding her of all the reasons why she loved him, which moved her where his desperation couldn’t. She gave in a little.

“Okay, as soon as I get back to Solgreve I’ll phone and bring my return flight forward a couple of weeks. I’ll sort out a few more things, and I’ll try to be home around the same time you’re home from New Zealand.”

“And in the meantime, get somebody to come and stay with you. Cathy, or even that Sacha guy.”

“I’m sure Cathy would come for a while. And my grandmother’s house is like a fortress, believe me. Trust me to be smart enough to stay safe. And in the meantime, try to think of who else might be trying to upset you. Or Mum.”

“I can be back from Auckland on the eighteenth.”

“All right,” she said, even though it hurt her to say it. “I’ll be back the same day.” Less than a fortnight, a distance in time which was countable in days. Not really enough time for Sacha to fall in love with her, or for her to become a powerful psychic. Back to reality.

“I’m going to call you every day from Auckland. If you don’t answer I’m going to panic.”

“There will be no need for panicking. Have a good time at the summer school.”

“I love you, Maisie. Sorry if this has ruined your trip.”

Maisie said a half-hearted, “It’s okay.” The sky was gradually growing lighter outside. She watched rain drip off the eaves.

“It’ll be good to have you home,” Adrian

continued.

Home. The word closed around her and stuck to her skin. She felt as though she’d just been told that she’d spend the rest of her life colour blind. “Yeah,”

she said, not caring that Adrian would pick up her insincerity. “It’ll be good to be back.”

Janet listened to the whole story, nodding in that controlled, intellectual way she had. They sat in the airconditioned music room, a tray of tea between them, taking refuge from the unbearable humidity which clung to the walls in every other room of the house.

“What do you think?” Adrian asked. He had to get on a flight to Auckland in less than twelve hours, but couldn’t stop worrying. Perhaps he should cancel and rush over to England.

Janet tapped a fingernail thoughtfully on her knee.

“I think Maisie’s right to be sceptical about who called. It is far more likely that it was somebody who already has our number. We made it a silent number in the first place because of harassment calls.”

Adrian felt his tension ease a little. Janet could always see things clearly – at least, things that didn’t relate to her. “So you’re not worried?”

“Oh, yes, I’m worried. But the whole trip has been a terrible worry to me. If, as you say, she’s going to have a friend staying with her and she’s coming home early, I think you can head off to Auckland without too much heartache.”

“I thought about cancelling the summer school, going over to be with her.”

Janet sniffed dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re not serious. Your profile will be lifted enormously by teaching this school. It’s probably one of the reasons Churchwheel’s have contracted you. You have far too much riding on it to cancel it at the last minute. Professional musicians must be professional.”

“You’re right.”

She leaned forward and refilled his teacup. “I’ll call my mother’s solicitor in York and tell him to keep an eye on her. Would that make you feel better?”

“Much better.”

“Then consider it done. Now, when is she coming home?”

“Around the eighteenth. Less than two weeks.”

“I’ll have a word to the director of the City Symphony, see if she can have her old job back. I don’t think they found anybody permanent to replace her, and her hand must be better by now.”

Adrian spooned sugar into his tea and stirred it absently. “What’s wrong with her hand?” As soon as he said it, he remembered the fake injury. He could feel his heart pick up a beat as Janet scrutinised him.

“Oh, that. I’d almost forgotten. Yes, I’m sure it’s much better.”

Janet’s eyes narrowed. “Adrian? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Adrian felt as though he were being examined on the end of a pin. Nothing got past this woman, nothing. What now? Lie more and really dig his own grave? Or admit everything? “I … I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t sound convincing and he knew it.

“Adrian, you’re lying to me. You live in my home, I treat you like a son, and you’re lying to me. I’d expect this from Maisie, but not from you.” Incredulous, accusing.

Adrian gulped.
Don’t get anxious.
“Janet, I . . .”

But he already knew he was defeated.

She smiled tightly, nodded once as if it had already been decided. “It would be better if you told me everything.”

“Should I try to contact my grandmother?”

Sacha looked up from his coffee. They were sitting in a crowded patisserie in Soho. A rowdy group of South African backpackers had taken over the table next to them, trapping them in a corner. From Maisie’s vantage point, there seemed to be no escape.

“That’s not too weird to ask, right? Trying to speak with the dead?” Maisie continued. She was so unused to talking about these things she always expected laughter or accusations of insanity. Sacha didn’t respond with either.

“You could try. I doubt if she’s still around. Sybill was very ambitious about her Afterlife.”

“What does that mean?”

The group next to them burst into loud laughter. Sacha waited until they had quietened down before proceeding. “Sybill spent a lot of time communicating with the dead.”

Maisie didn’t know why that made her feel queasy, but it did. “Is that so?”

“She had a theory about what happened after death. There are three places you could go. First, you could be earthbound, through psychic or emotional trauma.”

“Like a ghost?”

“Exactly. She spent a lot of time working on helping earthbound spirits into the next life. Because that’s the second option, to be born again as somebody else.”

“Reincarnation.”

“Right. But it’s not an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Not according to Sybill. When you’ve collected enough psychic lessons, you go beyond that cycle. To a realm of perfection: heaven, or nirvana, or whatever you want to call it. Most people plug away at it for centuries, life after life, learning all the facets of humanity. Sybill was hopeful that she was approaching the end of the cycle. And to speed her passage, she was doing everything she could to develop her own psychic powers. With enough energy, she thought she could drive herself all the way across. She wanted her life as Sybill Hartley to be her last life.”

“Do you think she managed it?”

“If anyone could, it would be Sybill.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Or you.”

“Me?”

“Sybill believed that intense psychic ability was a sign that the cycle was closing down.”

“You’re scaring me. I don’t want to think about dying.”

“Sorry.”

“You mean that I’m on my last life?”

“Sybill would say so. But let’s not think about it.”

“I don’t feel particularly enlightened. I don’t feel like somebody who has learned everything.”

“I thought you didn’t want to think about it.”

“I’m so unprepared for all this weird stuff.” She looked down at her half-finished caramel tart. “Last night, I lay awake most of the night all panicked and bewildered. It’s overwhelming, the things I’ve seen and done. Dream-travelling, and evil spirits in my grandmother’s house, and finding out I’m psychic.” She raised her head, met his gaze. “You know, my family and Adrian aren’t just on another continent, they’re in another universe, one with different rules and laws of reality. They wouldn’t understand any of this.”