Scenting Hallowed Blood Page 19

  Escaping Little Moor with Shemyaza had seemed the climax of an unreal and terrifying time in her life. How foolish. Events in the north had been only a foretaste of what was to come. Once Peverel Othman had come into their lives and made them aware of their Grigori blood, they had been doomed. There was no going back, no safe normality to retreat to. Now what? Dare she open the door to this room — presuming it wasn’t locked — and explore the boundaries of her prison? Should she just wait here until someone came?

  The previous night, she and Owen had been bundled into the back of a van outside the Assembly Rooms and driven away from London. Salamiel had allowed Lily to gather a few belongings together. Under the eyes of two watchful Emim, she had torn Johcasta’s dress from her body, uncaring that they saw her breasts and knickers. They were not men, and she sensed their drives had no human parallel. She had clothed herself in jeans and a holey black jumper and pushed her feet into a pair of Owen’s dilapidated biker boots. She thought about leaving behind the small pouch Johcasta had thrown to her, but at the last moment thrust it into her canvas bag. She knew it contained her dead friend’s divining stones. There was a dull clink as they rubbed together inside the cloth. The Emim had simply watched her preparations. Neither of them spoke to her or interfered.

  In the van, she had hugged Owen’s listless body closely, kissed his hair, his face. It was like he was brain-damaged. He will never be well, Lily had thought then. Someone will always have to care for him. This was accompanied by a brief, savage surge of anger towards Shem. Why hadn’t he helped Owen? How could he have just left her brother like this? Lily resolved to tell Salamiel anything he wanted to know. She had no loyalty to Shem. If she could save her own skin, and that of her brother, she would betray the one who had used and abandoned them. She cried then, for a while. When she slept, fitfully, leaning against the musty cushions provided for their comfort, Lily dreamed of Israel’s death. Only it was not in the Assembly Rooms, but out in the garden. He was making love to her, and the Emim dropped down from the trees, ripping his handsome head from his body, even as he still pumped into her. Lily screamed, showered with blood. The headless body ejaculated and the Emim danced around her, giggling, swinging Israel’s staring head by the hair.

  Lily woke up, gasping. All she could think was Thank God, it wasn’t Owen. Thank God it wasn’t Daniel. She was slightly appalled by the fact she felt so removed from what she had witnessed on the stairs in the Assembly Rooms. Surely she should feel furious, grief-stricken, terrified, sick? Instead, she felt only a mild sense of frustration, an indignant annoyance at the waste of life. Yet moments before his death, Israel had been as close to her as it is possible for a person to get. Is this numbness the flower of the Grigori within me? she thought. The amorality, the legacy of Shemyaza?

  Owen moved feebly against her, making a faint, whimpering sound. Perhaps he had sensed the horror that had seethed in her sleeping mind or the cold dispassion of her waking thoughts.

  Before dawn, they’d reached their destination. In the darkness, it had been difficult to discern any detail, but Lily could tell the house before her was large. She had also seen the name of it: a floodlit ribbon of stone above the door bore the single word: Pharos. Two Emim had taken them inside. The hall was flagged in rough stone and the walls were unplastered. It would have looked primitive and neglected, but for the array of ornate Far Eastern-looking masks that adorned the walls and the heavy chandeliers swinging overhead, and the thick rugs upon the flagstones. Salamiel had been nowhere in sight. An Emim had taken Lily up several flights of stairs to the top of the house, where she’d been shown to her room. It was not a guest’s room, for she could sense that servants had once slept here. She had a feeling Owen had been accommodated in more comfortable quarters. Perhaps the Emim would fawn over him all night, hoping for a taste of Shemyaza’s memory in his flesh. She had slept surprisingly well; the sleep of the exhausted, the defeated.

  Fools, Lily thought, turning away from the window and the bleak landscape. She lay down again resignedly on the lumpy bed. Salamiel and his Emim were blind to the fact that Lily herself was far more potent a tool than Owen. She had melded with the essence of Shemyaza’s lost love, Ishtahar. She had risen up through the ground of the High Place in the belly of a goddess. She had been reborn Shem’s daughter. Owen was mindless, ruined. Salamiel had not picked up on this. He was too obsessed with Shemyaza. Perhaps this could be used to her advantage. Salamiel would expect her to try and escape, or to at least leave her room. She did not want to try the door and find it locked. She would not give her captors that satisfaction. She would be patient and wait. If there were games to be played, she wanted to invent some of her own rules.

  Some hours before Lily awoke, Salamiel took a late breakfast in his heated conservatory at the back of his house. It was to here that one of his servants conducted a visitor. Salamiel had just poured himself a cup of Lapsang Souchong tea and spread a hot muffin with bitter marmalade. He did not particularly want to speak to anyone, as he needed to think. The servant knew he did not have to announce the visitor. She treated this place as her own, and Salamiel deferred to her.

  She stalked into the conservatory and removed her hat and coat. Salamiel looked up at her with some discomfort and annoyance. ‘Sofia.’

  ‘Good morning, Salamiel.’ She smiled tightly and signalled to the servant. ‘Bring me a cup of coffee. I can’t stand that poisonous pond-water he drinks!’ She sat down in a wicker chair.

  The servant bowed and departed. Sofia stretched out her long legs and crossed them at the ankles. Leaning back in the chair, with her be-ringed fingers interlaced on her flat belly, she looked very masculine. Because of her demure, lady-like appearance, the effect of this body posture was all the more unnerving. It spoke of a certain callousness and pitiless strength.

  ‘Well?’ Sofia said.

  Salamiel refused to look away from her hard, dark eyes. ‘We have the Winter twins. Azazel was too slippery. He had assistance. I presume the Parzupheim was involved.’

  Sofia put her head on one side. ‘I know all this. You should not have interfered, Salamiel. Your disgusting little Emim were crawling all over the Moses Assembly Rooms. Blood was spilt, lives were lost. Those lives could so easily have been the wrong ones. Why did you do that? My orders to you were specific. You should not have acted until Azazel was safe in High Crag.’

  Salamiel shrugged and sipped his tea. ‘I was not prepared to wait. Azazel must come to me, Sofia. This you know. I don’t want him contaminated by the Parzupheim’s lies and machinations.’

  ‘What you want is irrelevant,’ Sofia said in an icy voice. ‘You are a mote, Salamiel, my dear, as are Enniel and his bunch of family conspirators. I speak for echelons too high for you to comprehend.’

  ‘I’m not interested,’ Salamiel replied silkily. ‘You need me as much as you need Azazel. We are brothers.’

  Sofia laughed politely. ‘You, my dear, are a side-kick. You always were in the past, and you are now. Azazel has the power, not you. Do not make the mistake of over-estimating your value.’

  Salamiel stared at her blandly. Her satiny insults meant he had ruffled her feathers more than she cared to admit. ‘Have you been to High Crag?’

  Sofia withdrew an enamelled cigarette case from her purse and took out a black cigarette. She did not answer him until she’d lit it and taken a satisfying lungful of smoke. ‘Not yet, no. I am prolonging the moment of revelation.’

  Salamiel smiled. ‘You’re not afraid, are you?’

  She rolled her eyes scornfully. ‘Terrified, naturally.’

  ‘What will you say to him?’

  She shrugged gracefully. ‘I don’t know. I shall wait until I’ve seen him before formulating a strategy.’ She took another draw of smoke. ‘The Parzupheim have not yet realised how Azazel may be used in this locality. That is to our advantage, because consequently, they cannot interfere with our plans.’

  ‘Others know of the potentials,’ Salamiel pointed o
ut.

  Sofia pulled a sour face. ‘Small fry! They are of no consequence.’

  Salamiel stuck out his lower lip and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps, but I never make the mistake of under-estimating rivals and competitors. That kind of pride makes you vulnerable.’

  Sofia smiled sweetly. ‘Well, that is a sensible attitude for someone of your status.’

  Salamiel blinked slowly. It was pointless to lock horns with this female.

  She relented. ‘So, what have you done with the twins?’

  ‘The girl is sleeping.’ He frowned. ‘The boy is badly damaged. He has retreated inside himself.’

  ‘I am not surprised. He has undergone the trauma of Grigorian tantra.’ Sofia leaned forward. ‘I suppose it is best you should know. Azazel attempted to open the stargate in Little Moor. He invoked the demon god, Ahriman, into himself, but before that had taken the Winter boy into his power. There is a very potent and dangerous ritual, whereby a magician incites a person to assault them sexually...’

  Salamiel interrupted her. ‘And, of course, what the attacker doesn’t realise is that the event is preordained. In the act of violating their supposed victim, they surrender their soul to the magician’s power. Don’t patronise me, Sofia. I am aware of these practices.’

  Sofia sniffed. ‘Whatever. That, in any case, is my estimation of what has happened to Owen Winter. He has become the victim of violation, raped of his soul essence and personality. If Azazel had wanted to restore him, he would have done so by now. We can only assume Winter is useless for our purposes.’

  Salamiel’s servant padded silently back into the conservatory, bearing a silver tray on which a wide china cup of coffee wobbled precariously. Sofia took this from him and sipped with pleasure. ‘The girl, Lily, is more important.’

  Salamiel frowned. ‘How? Azazel, in this life, has acted through the male principle. He would work with only one female vibration, and that belongs to Ishtahar, who unfortunately is beyond our control techniques.’

  ‘Precisely,’ Sofia agreed. ‘But Lily is in tune with that vibration.’

  Salamiel looked uncertain. ‘What do you recommend I do with her?’

  Sofia smiled. ‘Make her trust you. Teach her. Azazel will need her very soon, and we don’t want our plans delayed by any childish petulance on Miss Winter’s part. Also, we will need Azazel’s vizier. The boy is a powerful psychic, and gains in strength with each day that passes.’

  ‘Daniel Cranton.’

  ‘Yes. He should be at High Crag as well by now.’ She narrowed her eyes at Salamiel. ‘You look furtive, my dear. I do hope you haven’t done any interfering in that quarter as well.’

  He shook his head, averting his eyes, unwilling to admit to the occult display he’d put on for Cranton’s benefit during his journey down to Cornwall. ‘I don’t have Daniel Cranton. As far as I know, he is at High Crag.’

  Sofia nodded curtly. ‘And the Emim? I don’t want them running around loose. They are at best an unpredictable force.’

  ‘The Emim have been put to rest,’ Salamiel answered. ‘They sleep below the house.’

  ‘Good!’ Sofia finished her coffee in one elegant gulp. ‘Now, I have some shopping to do in Newquay. This afternoon, I shall visit High Crag and introduce myself to Azazel. Of course, I shall say nothing at this stage of my connection with you, or even of your existence. Let him believe I work solely for the Parzupheim. I want to see how the land lies, what condition he is in.’

  ‘When do you anticipate he’ll be ready to come to me?’

  ‘Patience! How can I answer that yet? I shall report my findings to you later, when I come here for dinner this evening.’

  ‘Did we have an arrangement?’ Salamiel smiled widely.

  ‘No, but we have now. It will please me to meet Lily Winter, so have her ready to be presented to me. Say nothing of my station to her. I must simply be a friend.’ She stood. ‘I have some very fine lamb in my freezer. I’ll send one of my people down with it. If I’m to dine here, I might as well ensure the meal will be palatable.’

  Salamiel wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d offered to lend her cook as well. Sofia had a very dim view of Salamiel’s establishment and staff. He stood politely as she retrieved her hat and coat. ‘Until later, then.’

  Sofia smiled fiercely, breathed ‘Goodbye!’ and sailed regally back into the house.

  Salamiel sat down and finished his breakfast. He thought about what Sofia had said to him. Most of the time he ignored her scorn because he realised she possessed far greater power and knowledge than he did, but occasionally her autocratic manner grated on his nerves. They had waited centuries for this time to come, and he had put up with her insults and put-downs because he knew he needed her help. But he felt she was too confident of her own power. She was wrong about Owen Winter for a start. Salamiel did not dismiss Sofia’s opinions about Lily, but he felt sure the twins needed to work as a pair to be useful.

  At half past two, Salamiel considered sending a servant up to Lily’s room to let her out. Then, on impulse, he appropriated the key and went there himself. If he was to win her trust, he must begin immediately. He found her lying on her bed with an array of coloured stones spread out on the mildewed counterpane before her. She looked up in alarm when he entered the room. He saw her throat convulse in a nervous swallow, but she forced herself to look back down at the stones, to move a few around each other.

  ‘They are pretty,’ Salamiel said. Pointedly, he put the key to the door down on Lily’s bedside table. She would realise that he intended to leave it there.

  ‘Your monsters murdered the woman who gave them to me,’ Lily said.

  Salamiel sighed. ‘I am sorry. The trouble is, my dear, you are mixed up in something far too big for you to understand.’

  She looked up at him again, greasy rags of red hair hanging over her face. Some of them were still entwined with ribbons. ‘If you want Shem, you can have him!’ The outburst seemed heartfelt. The poor girl felt betrayed. Salamiel decided to ignore it.

  ‘You must be hungry. Come down and I’ll get you something to eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’ She was lying.

  ‘Lily, I am on your side,’ he said. ‘When you fight me, you are only fighting yourself. Come now. I know you feel angry and hurt, but there’s nothing to be gained by punishing yourself. It feels horrible to be hungry, I know.’

  ‘I don’t want to see any of the disgusting things that killed my friends!’

  Salamiel’s voice remained soothing. ‘The Emim are gone, Lily. You have nothing to fear.’

  Lily pushed a few more of the stones around the bed. Then she sighed. ‘All right, but I want to see Owen first.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Salamiel led her to the first floor room where Owen had been put to bed. Its appointments were grand; the huge four-poster bed stood on a plinth, surrounded by tapestry drapes. A window-seat looked out upon the gardens to the rear of the house and the rugged cliff top. ‘This room is much nicer than mine,’ Lily said, ‘but I expected that.’

  ‘Preparations were hasty last night,’ Salamiel said smoothly. ‘You can choose a new room today, whichever one you like. I have many.’

  ‘I want to be here with Owen,’ she said and walked towards the bed.

  ‘Very well.’ Salamiel followed her. The boy was sitting upright, clad in paisley-patterned pyjamas. His pale hair glowed in the dim light of the room. His skin looked like stone, the skin of a statue. Lily sat down on the bed and picked up one of Owen’s white hands. She leaned forward and stroked strands of fluffy, freshly washed hair from his face. ‘O,’ she said. ‘Can you hear me?’

  Her brother did not even blink.

  Salamiel gently laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Perhaps we can do something to help Owen,’ he said.

  Lily glanced round at him. ‘Can you?’ Her face fell into a sneer. ‘I don’t believe you. Why should you do anything? You’re like him; a sweet-talking liar!’

  ‘I�
��m glad you think I’m like Azazel,’ Salamiel said. ‘But neither of us follow the lie. Owen was used for something very special, and he will recover. You mustn’t judge us, Lily, for you do not yet understand our purpose.’

  ‘I don’t care!’ Lily said. ‘I just want Owen back to how he was.’

  ‘Of course you do. Now, you can see that he’s comfortable, so why not come downstairs with me. What would you like to eat? How about a full breakfast?’

  He could see the mention of food stimulated Lily’s appetite. She hadn’t eaten anything since the previous day. ‘All right.’ Her consent was grudging.

  He took her down into the spacious kitchen, which threw his servants into a panic, for normally he never ventured below stairs. Ignoring their furious attempts to appear busy and efficient, he sat down at the head of the kitchen table and gestured for Lily to sit beside him. Looking around herself like a wary cat, she did so, and pushed her hair back behind her ears. Salamiel gave his people instructions to prepare Lily a meal, then folded his hands on his stomach and smiled at her. She peered at him defensively.

  ‘After you’ve eaten, you can take a bath. I’ll send out for some clean clothes if you like.’

  She shrugged. ‘Whatever.’ She rubbed her face. ‘How long will you keep us here? What do you want with us?’

  ‘I’m keeping you here for Azazel,’ he said. ‘I’m looking after you until he arrives.’

  ‘Why do you keep calling him that?’ she asked. ‘He’s Shemyaza. I know that’s his name.’

  ‘He has many names,’ Salamiel answered, ‘but Azazel is the one I prefer. Shemyaza is a hopeless martyr, whereas Azazel is a god.’