Ruins (34 page)

“You really like fighting?”

“I guess I got a taste for it,” Merlyn said. “You do something long enough, it sort of becomes hard to stop.” Nicholas recalled how swift Sam had been on his feet during training, a result of a life spent on the demon front-lines. He couldn’t believe that only a few days had passed since Sam trained him in the garden. It felt like months. So much had happened. So much had changed.

“You fought many things?” Nicholas asked.

“Bury’s pretty sleepy, but some of the villages round here are nasty. Ever hear of a krypost?” Nicholas shook his head. “Two heads, six legs, and more teeth than I’ve ever been able to count. They’re attracted to farmhouses, no idea why. This one time, Dad took me out to Ixworth. We fought three of them. I killed one and its mate took a bite out of my thigh. Wanna see?”

Merlyn began unbuttoning his jeans.

“I’m good,” Nicholas said, waving his free arm and laughing.

“Knew I could break you out of that mood.”

They exchanged a look that Nicholas couldn’t quite understand. Something flickered in his belly and he got to his feet, trying to ignore it.

“What was it like when it bit you? What were you thinking?” he asked.

“I don’t really like thinking. I like doing. So, fight?”

Nicholas didn’t think he had the energy for more training. He looked up as a shadow fell into the garden, finding Nale in the kitchen doorway.

“Time to stick pointy things in bad guys?” Merlyn asked.

Nale nodded.

And just like that, training was the least of Nicholas’s worries.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

On The Water

G
ULLS CHATTERED ABOVE THE WATER, PAINTING
rippling white reflections across the surface as Sam pulled the Morris Minor up to the docks. He and Liberty got out of the car, and Sam took a breath of the salty air, surveying the moored boats. He felt heavy. Weighed down by ghosts.

Attempting to focus on the task at hand, he pushed the memory of Nicholas’s sullen face from his mind. Pitying the boy wouldn’t do him any good. Nicholas was tough, but he’d need to toughen up even more if he wanted to survive the coming days.

Sam strolled beside the water with Liberty, looking for the boat that Merlyn had directed them to.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Pretty place,” Liberty commented.

“I meant about this wild goose chase, and you know it.”

Liberty flashed him a smile. “I don’t mind chasing a few geese if it brings Laurent down.”

“Well said.”

Sam tugged at his shirt collar. The midday heat was unbearable. He attempted to brush his natural suspicions aside. He hated that it had come to this: questioning the intentions of other Sentinels. Malika’s plan to corrupt them had worked, even without the gauntlets. Paranoia was slithering through the community, infecting it with disquiet and fear.

He clutched the satchel at his side, reassured by the pouches huddling inside. They may not have stopped Malika, as far as he knew, but her screams had been sign enough that they inflicted horrendous pain. He’d use them against her again without hesitation, and this time he’d make sure she didn’t have anybody to feed on to replenish her strength.

“That Nale chap,” he said. “What do you know of him?”

Liberty took a moment to answer. “He’s tough to get a read on,” she said eventually. “I’ve only caught snatches. He’s got a strong mind. You know how he doesn’t say much? That’s what his head’s like.”

“But... snatches...?”

“Just images, really. A few feelings.” Liberty glanced at him. “Something scared him.”

“A Hunter? Scared?”

“I know. Look out for the flying piglets. But he was scared. And there was an image of a well. Sort of half-glimpsed, though, like one of his eyes was sealed shut.”

“What do you think it means?” Sam asked.

“I’ll ask him,” Liberty said, her eyebrows arching mischievously.

“You think he’d mind? Considering how you got that information?”

“About as much as I’ll mind when he crushes my skull with his bare hands.”

Sam was about to reply when he spotted a narrow boat set a little apart from the others. The chipped silver paint bearing its name gleamed against the surrounding maroon panels.

Darling Cassandra.

Lights came through the windows. Thin curtains glowed. Plants cluttered the roof. It looked cosy; almost like somewhere a gnome might live.
If gnomes existed
, Sam thought.

They approached gingerly and Sam rapped on the door.

It burst open immediately. A small, mole-like face blinked out at him. The man’s eyes were a little too far apart and surprisingly dark. His nearly-hairless head gleamed in the sunlight and his round face quickly split into a bucktoothed grin.

“Gosh, is it that time already?” the man said. “You forget, don’t you? How short the days can be. Even in the summer. Not that we’ve had much of a summer this year, eh?”

Sam was taken aback. Who was this odd-looking gentleman and what could he know about Laurent?

The man on the boat craned through the door to peer briefly at the sun.

“Helios,” he greeted cordially, before turning to Sam. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to come back later, I’m very busy.”

“Solomon?” Sam asked before the man could disappear back inside. The dark eyes scrunched up in contemplation. Sam could swear there was uneasiness there, too, as if the man had been caught in headlights.

“I really am very busy,” he said.

“It won’t take a moment. Please.”

The man relented, vanishing into the boat. His voice sailed through the doorway: “Tea? I only have herbal, caffeine’ll rot your gut. Come on inside, then! Keep the door open too long and the sun himself will try to join us, and he’s terrible company on a hot day like this.”

Pausing a moment to gather his wits, Sam reminded himself that first appearances could be deceiving, especially nowadays. He ducked through the tiny door, Liberty close behind.

The boat was narrow, and the interior was a veritable mare’s nest. Sam was struck by the light. Coloured handkerchiefs were draped over lamps and the effect was part jazz bar, part carnival. Small mirrors and figurines all crowded onto perilously narrow shelves.

The man’s head appeared from behind a partition where Sam assumed the kitchen lay.

“It
is
Solomon, isn’t it?” Sam called.

“Take a seat,” the man said, ignoring his question. “Kutu will keep you company for the moment.”

Sam hoped he wasn’t referring to the stuffed rabbit on the table, though there was nothing else in the vicinity that seemed appropriate. Eyeing the animal, he had barely sunk into a rickety wooden chair before the stranger bustled into the room with a tray. Liberty lingered by the door. Her keen gaze roved from one odd trinket to the next and Sam hoped she’d sense any imminent danger.

“Kutu does witter on a bit, but his heart’s in the right place,” the man said conversationally, setting the tray down and pouring them each a handle-less cup of something hot. “Rabbits,” the man tutted. “They do make a fuss. Marvellous at keeping secrets, but
skittish
, you know.”

Sam could sympathise – he suddenly felt twitchy himself. Why had Merlyn sent them here? Though the stranger didn’t appear dangerous, it was becoming increasingly difficult to tell. Sam’s hopes for a lead on Laurent were rapidly fading, and he resolved to sip the tea (or whatever it was) and then be on his way.

“There,” the man sighed. Sam noticed for the first time that he was wearing a bow tie. It was turquoise and paired with a shiny silver trouser suit. The cuffs of his orange shirt glittered. “It’s Jasmine, by the way. The tea. Night-blooming, which always struck me as rather lovely. A flower that comes out in the dark. I can appreciate that sort of quirkiness, can’t you?”

Sam nodded. “Yes, I suppose I can,” he admitted.

“Sam,” the other man said. “Samuel. A Hebrew name, originally, if I’m not mistaken. You’re a good judge of character, aren’t you? And though you have power, you’d much rather share it with others. Funny how names can dictate who we are.”

“I didn’t realise I’d come here to be read,” Sam murmured. So this man was a psychic? A Sensitive, perhaps? Or, by the looks of his outfit, a one-time fairground worker who’d sufficiently honed his natural observational skills to convince people he had mysterious powers.

Oh, Merlyn
, Sam thought.
Have you been duped by a talented con artist?

He couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Liberty could probably tell him more about Laurent than this man.

“You’re the judge, why don’t you tell me what you read in me?” the man said.

He gave him an encouraging smile, buckteeth protruding more than ever.

Sam drew a breath. “You like animals.”

The man shook his head. “No, no, no,” he reprimanded. “Too easy. Something else. Go on. Something that actually
means
something.”

Sam’s patience was dwindling. He cast around the boat, looking for clues about this odd little man. There was a framed magazine cover.
Paranormal Times
. This man beamed from the cover, a silly magician’s hat on his head. It wasn’t the only frame, either. There were more, most of them photos of the little man with bleach-teethed people who looked famous. The one of him with Prince William stood out.

Sam frowned. Had he seen this man before somewhere?

He looked at Liberty. Amusement played on her lips and she shrugged at him.

“You like to collect things,” he suggested, noting the accrued paraphernalia.

“You’re not even trying,” the man berated him softly. “No matter, we’ll come back to that later.”

“I’m sorry, Solomon. Your name is Solomon?”

“Would you feel that you knew me better if you knew my name?” the man asked.

“It would be a start.”

The man nodded. “Solomon,” he said. “That’s the name I chose for myself, oh, thirty years ago. I won’t tell you what it replaced.” He winked. “The secret name of things is what gives them their power. Surrendering your name is like surrendering your sword. Anybody could use it against you.”

“What do you mean?”

Sam sat up a little straighter. It was the first thing the stranger had said that seemed to be of any value. The Trinity had many names, and in the Sentinel community, those names were often closely guarded. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was to protect their power.

“If you can name something, you can control it,” Solomon explained, as if he had read Sam’s thoughts. “A name confines something, sets it in stone. Makes it fallible. We throw words around every day, unaware of their value. And a name is the most valuable thing of all.”

Sam realised he was staring at the other man, shocked by his sudden insight. He attempted to cover his surprise by drinking some of the tea.

“My case in point,” Solomon commented, apparently aware of how Sam had judged him. “You discover a man who thinks stuffed rabbits can talk and you make certain assumptions. It’s no bother.” He looked over Sam’s shoulder. “Is he always this jittery?”

“Only when there’s an apocalypse on the horizon,” Liberty said.

“Can you help us?” Sam asked. Those were four words he rarely strung together.

“There’s a darkness around you,” Solomon said, his mole-like features sharpening. He studied Sam’s face. “You’re troubled, but anybody with eyes could tell you that. Why else would you be here? You have a name for me.”

Sam squeezed his hands together under the table, rubbing his weary knuckles.

“Laurent Renault.”

Solomon spluttered, nearly choking on his tea. “No,” he gulped, slamming his cup down. “Not him. I won’t talk about him.”

“Why not?”

“Dangerous. Very dangerous,” Solomon said. “Ask me something else. Anything.”

“Laurent Renault,” Sam repeated sternly. “You obviously know something.”

Solomon’s eyes crinkled and he looked torn. He fussed with his orange cuffs and polished his glasses. Finally, he peered at Sam. “I knew Nathan,” he said quietly. “We were both masquerade ball fans. We met at one in Cambridge a few years ago. Then Nathan fell in with Laurent. Oh, it was all roses at first. But Laurent was using him.”

“Using him?” Sam asked, wondering who Nathan was and how he fit into Laurent’s plans.

“Physically.”

“Ah. I see.”

“Nathan got worried. He was no fool; he was a Sentinel. He told me that Laurent got violent and he had strange visitors. One of them was a woman, or she pretended to be. Red hair.”

“Malika.”

Solomon stroked the stuffed rabbit and contemplated the ceiling.

“It didn’t take long for Nathan to find out about Laurent’s history. The murder of his family. You know how many of them he killed? Twenty. His four brothers, his parents, three cousins and more besides. Everybody. Some of them, only body parts were found.”