The Whitby Witches 2: A Warlock In Whitby Page 20

  The nurse laughed and took a menacing step closer. "Do you think I'd really let you out of here alive?" she cried. "You really are a stupid old hag!"

  Miss Boston edged backwards "You're insane!" she shouted. "You'll never get away with it—all I have to do is call for Rook."

  "The butler!" hooted Judith in derision. "He'll be well pickled by now. There'll be no help from him tonight!"

  "But don't you realise what it is you've done?" asked Miss Boston, playing for time. "You're a murderess!"

  "Mrs Gunning was old!" barked the nurse. "She'd had a good life, lived in luxury for years—what has she got to complain about? There's others in the world who never see such opulence."

  "That's no reason to kill her!"

  Miss Deacon prowled a little nearer, her masculine hands rising from her side. "I don't care," she rumbled, "I'm not sorry for what I've done—not sorry one tiny bit."

  The rail of the landing banister pressed into Miss Boston's back and she knew she could not escape. "How can you say that?" she cried. "You poisoned and beat her—what sort of animal are you?"

  Judith shrieked in rage and struck the old lady on the cheek. Miss Boston yelped, but even as she clenched her fists to retaliate the fight died in her and the anger curdled into terror.

  "If I am an animal," the nurse seethed, "then I'm a proud one! Yes, I'm proud of what I've done! Now my beloved will be pleased with me—I have done all he asked and done it extremely well. Or rather I will have, after you've been dealt with. I see Mrs Gunning has given you her Book of Shadows—now where did she conceal that, I wonder? I never did manage to find it. You've saved me a great deal of trouble bringing it to me—how considerate."

  "Your beloved?" stammered Miss Boston.

  Judith closed her eyes and writhed with pleasure. "The most enthralling man I have ever known," she said huskily, "the only man I have ever known. There's no one in the entire world like him. Do you know what he does to me, Miss Boston? Can a dried-up old stick like you comprehend for one moment why the very mention of his name is exquisite torture to me?"

  The woman took a further step up to her, with her eyelids drooping languidly and her tongue savouring each syllable. "Nathaniel—Nathaniel Crozier. He's the one who burns in my heart and scorches my blood—for him I would do anything, undergo any torment. He is why I breathe—without him I am nothing. For the whole of my life no one so much as looked at me, but then he came along, with his charm and his power, he noticed this drab, unloved woman." Her lips peeled back, up to her pink gums and she bellowed, "I worship that man!"

  As she spoke a change came over her, a mad light shone in her eyes and her voice became even deeper than before.

  "Crozier," repeated Miss Boston, "but that's the man staying at the Gregsons', next door to my cottage!"

  Miss Deacon tossed her head and a chilling, snarling gurgle issued from her throat. "That's right, you foul old crone!" she cried. "That's my darling Nathaniel—my beautiful, bearded god!"

  Was it a trick of the dark, or were the nurse's eyebrows really growing thicker? Bristling over the bridge of her nose and spiking up to her temples.

  "Crozier," Miss Boston said again, her mind confused and bewildered. Staring aghast at the increasingly nightmarish nurse, she grasped the banister for support then remembered at last where she had first heard that name.

  "Oh, my Lord!" she cried.

  Judith screeched with hellish laughter and the old lady cowered away, tipping dangerously back over the rail. The darkness of the hallway spiralled down below her, down to the cold marble floor. She felt her head spin, reeling from the unspeakable horror which was unfurling and from her grasp slipped the Book of Shadows Patricia had entrusted to her.

  Down it fell, tumbling into the waiting dark, its leaves fluttering as it plummeted. Then with a thud, it crashed on to the marble and exploded—pages flying everywhere.

  Judith Deacon's eyes blazed with a red light that burned with the unquenchable malice of Hades. Miss Boston trembled, she had witnessed such a change once before.

  "Soon Nathaniel and I will be together," Miss Deacon growled, and her teeth were visibly larger. "How I ache for him—how I yearn to feel his arms about me, squeezing until the breath is crushed from my body. I would die for him!"

  She seized the old lady's throat with her hands and even as she grappled with her, the strong fingers mutated into claws and black fur crept down her fleshy arms.

  "No!" gulped Miss Boston, as the grip tightened round her neck. "Can't you see he's using you? Nathaniel Crozier doesn't care one jot what happens to you—you're nothing to him!"

  But Judith's frightening devotion to the evil man was overwhelming. She had no human voice left, and, with a cracking of bone, her square chin began to stretch and her nose tapered into a quivering snout.

  Miss Boston felt her strength fail as the dreadful creature strangled the life from her. The glare from the blazing eyes lit her wrinkled face and her head was pushed back as the vicious teeth of the huge black dog came snapping down.

  "Nooo!" she wailed. "Noooooo!"

  The jaws bore down on her and Miss Boston felt the hound's hot breath beat against her exposed throat. This was the end, her ninety-two years had finally come to an abrupt halt. She who had saved the world from Rowena Cooper could not save herself.

  A terrified scream rent the still calm of the night. It pierced the darkness for a brief instant—then was silenced forever.

  12 - Blotmonath

  "Ben!" Jennet called, pulling the bedclothes off her brother. "Wake up!"

  The boy yawned and gazed at her through one drowsy eye. "Mmm?" he mumbled. "Go away."

  "It's terrible," she said, moving to the window and drawing the curtains back.

  "What time is it?"Ben asked, reaching for the warm covers. "Oh, it's school today, isn't it?" Dozily he peered out of the window. Above the garden the gulls were riding the air and crying in morose voices to one another. Then the memories of last night came flooding back and his excitement banished all lingering traces of sleep.

  "Oh, Jen!" he babbled. "It was amazing—Nelda got married, and to the most disgusting thing I ever saw. She didn't want to—he made her. Then a messenger came from..." He faltered, his sister was hardly listening, and he noticed for the first time how pale she was. Ben frowned—what had she said a minute ago? "What's terrible?" he asked.

  The girl hugged herself miserably. "It's Danny," she told him. "He's dead."

  "You wish!" laughed Ben.

  Jennet shuddered. "No," she cried, "I mean it! He's really dead—killed!"

  The boy stopped laughing. "You're serious aren't you?" he gasped. "But how—when?"

  "Last night, up on the cliff."

  Ben rubbed his head thoughtfully. "When I came back from the caves," he murmured, "there were lots of flashing lights up there—I didn't think, it must have been ambulances and police cars. I was too tired to take much notice."

  Jennet huddled into her school jumper. "It said on the radio they're looking for a wild animal," she intoned with macabre fascination, "some big cat, escaped from a circus or zoo. Danny must have been in a really bad way if they think that—I never liked him, but even so..."

  "A lion or tiger loose round here!" Ben breathed. "Imagine."

  "Poor Miss Wethers," tutted his sister, "she was in a dreadful state before. Because she went round to the Turners' last night she thinks it's her fault Danny was out so late. She's gone off to open the post office now to keep herself busy, but you should have seen her, Ben—she's been through a whole box of tissues already."

  "I wish Aunt Alice was here," the boy murmured.

  Jennet walked to the door. "I'll put your breakfast out for you," she said. "It's getting late, hurry up."

  Quickly the boy slipped on his uniform then opened the window. Leaning out he could just see a line of fluorescent tape cordoning off an area of the cliff side. Hastily he averted his eyes, he hadn't liked Danny but to be so interested in his death seemed
morbid.

  Presently he ran downstairs to the kitchen. Jennet had put a bowl of cereal out for him and, despite his growling stomach, the thought of his tormentor's demise squashed his appetite.

  "I don't feel well," he said.

  Jennet shrugged. "I know what you mean," she admitted, "I couldn't face any either—hello, here's Miss Wethers again. She looks worse than before."

  With a jangling of keys the front door was meekly opened and the postmistress entered, blowing her nose. Edith was wretched. Never had she known such a day, the effect on her nerves was horrendous. When she thought that only last night she had said such cruel things about that poor boy to his parents, she felt faint. How could she have been so wicked? It made her feel partly responsible for this distressing tragedy.

  Her eyes were red raw and her spectacles splashed with tears. She had thought it would do her good to go to work and keep occupied but there she had heard even more terrible news. Snivelling into a sodden tissue, she groped into the kitchen and plumped down on a stool.

  "Oh Jennet!" she whined. "I can't stand it! I'm all worn out—what a beastly day this is!"

  "Have you closed the post office again?" the girl asked sympathetically. "Couldn't you face it?"

  She received a series of vigorous nods as the woman's vocal cords were too choked to answer. Eventually she blubbered, "That lovely old gentleman, found outside his house—poor, dear thing. He was so polite." And she blew her nose so hard that the tissue was blasted to shreds.

  Ben raised his head, an unpleasant thought stealing over him. "Who do you mean?" he asked.

  Edith bit her lip. "Oh Benjamin!" she wept, floundering for a way to tell him. "It's Mr Roper—he's... he's gone to heaven dear."

  The boy staggered from his seat, "NO!" he shouted. "NO!"

  He pushed against the table and the cereal bowl went smashing to the floor.

  "Ben!" Jennet cried as her brother dashed from the kitchen and fled upstairs.

  "Let him go," Edith advised in between her sniffles, "poor boy—I think it would be best if you both stayed off school today. Oh I really don't know what to do. I tried to ring Alice but the London number she gave me is quite dead—I can't get any answer from it. What a harrowing morning!"

  Ben yanked open the door to his room then hurled himself on to the bed and buried his face in the pillow.

  "No," he wailed, "not him, not Mr Roper!"

  For some time he wept, aching with grief and sorrow. He had loved that lonely old man. He was like a grandfather to him and now—like his parents—had been wrenched out of his life. It was as if he wasn't allowed to make friends or be part of a family—everyone he met was snatched away—first Mum and Dad, then the foster parents who didn't want him, now Nelda was forbidden to see him and finally this. Even Jennet was acting strangely these days.

  "Why?" he howled, empty and isolated. "Why?"

  Rolling over, the dejected boy stared in anguish at the ceiling—then he remembered the fireworks.

  Hastily, he dragged the tin from under the chest of drawers where he had stashed it yesterday afternoon. They were extremely precious to him now, a parting gift from that kindly old man.

  Reverently, he removed the lid and gazed within—a riot of colour met his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered, taking each of the brightly patterned fireworks out and examining them in turn. There were Roman candles, Vesuvii, a Catherine wheel, two golden fountains, a snowstorm, traffic lights and at the bottom, two packets of sparklers, one coloured—the other white.

  They were a marvellous present, a celebration of their friendship in fiery bursts of stars and the tears that now rolled slowly down the boy's face were no longer bitter. They sprung from his memories of pleasant afternoons in the old man's front room and brimmed with the sad knowledge that such times were now over.

  "I won't forget you," he said softly.

  The peppery smell of gunpowder was strong on his fingers and Ben noticed that a quantity of black grains had leaked into the tin, collecting on a lining of brown paper that covered the bottom.

  Curiously, the boy lifted the paper out and discovered that it was actually a flat parcel. Unwrapping it carefully he found inside a bag of faded crimson velvet. The material was musty, smelling of incense and a wild idea reared in his mind.

  Holding his breath, he untied the neck of the bag and pulled out the treasure within.

  At once he realised what Mr Roper had given to him—here was the second guardian of Whitby, and he gazed at the ancient thing in amazement.

  It was a tablet of dark, stained wood and the design that had been carved into it was divided into three concentric sections. In the middle was a series of round images depicting the cycle of the moon, and all were inlaid with mother of pearl. Around this was a twisting border that had once been covered in gold leaf, but the ravaging ages had worn most of the gilt away.

  Ben traced his finger over the flaking flourishes and curls, noticing that peculiar notches had been inscribed into the wood. These were part of a runic spell, calling upon the moon goddess for protection and strength. Around the outside of this, ran an elaborate sequence of magical symbols, to bind the power of the Deep Ones' enchantment. There were signs from the mystic east and some not seen since a great civilisation sank into the sea. Great was the magic woven about this device and the boy could feel its power tingling through his fingers.

  "The second guardian," he whispered. "Then it was his family who kept it all this time." And as he stared, an awful certainty gradually dawned—Nathaniel had killed the old man.

  Hurriedly Ben shoved the wooden tablet back into the container and rapidly replaced the lid. What was he to do? Leaping from the bed as though fearing the tin might explode, he put his hand to his mouth. Nathaniel was bound to discover who had it now! The warlock would be coming for him next.

  The boy had to tell someone—he had to make sure that evil man didn't get his hands on this guardian. It was time to tell his sister. Jennet must be made to understand what Mr Crozier was really like. Ben ran down the stairs to the parlour where Jennet was sitting reading Edith's romantic novel.

  "Jen," he said urgently, "you've got to listen to me. I know how Mr Roper died."

  His sister put the book down. "Sshh!" she hissed. "Miss Wethers has gone to bed. Now, what are you talking about?"

  "Mr Roper!" Ben repeated impatiently. "He was murdered!"

  "Rubbish!" he girl snorted. "Look, she didn't tell you everything, but he had a heart attack. It was Doctor Adams who told her about it in the first place—Mr Roper was old, he had burglars last night, they wrecked his house and the shock must have finished him."

  Ben shook his head violently. "That's not true!" he declared. "I know it isn't—listen to me, Jen, it's that man! That Crozier did it, Mr Roper was keeping something he wanted and he killed him for it."

  Jennet's face assumed an ugly, angry look. "Shut up!" she demanded. "How dare you say that? You're just a child making up stupid stories. You've never liked Nathaniel—you're just jealous, that's it!"

  The boy's mouth fell open in astonishment. He had never seen her quite so impassioned before. She was almost shaking with rage. "Jealous?" he mumbled. "What of?"

  "Of him!" she cried gripping the arms of the chair and clawing at the material. "Of him and me—that's what! You don't like him because of what we mean to one another. You just can't stand the fact that I like someone else more than you!" There, she had said it, her breaths came in short little gulps of air and she glared at her brother for daring to criticise her beloved.

  Ben felt as though she had slapped him. "You're mad," he told her, "if you could only hear yourself..."

  Jennet shifted on the chair but a brisk knock on the front door silenced whatever else she was going to say.

  "Hello in there," came a voice, "is anybody at home?"

  The girl's heart leapt and she sprang from the seat in delight. "Nathaniel!" she shouted joyfully. "Don't go. I'm coming!"

  "No!" cried Ben, catc
hing hold of her. "You mustn't let him in—he wants the second guardian. Jen don't!"

  Roughly, his sister knocked him aside and hurried in a blind rush to the front door. "Good morning," she said coyly letting the man inside. "I wondered if you'd come round—I should have known you would."

  Through the open parlour door, Ben saw the warlock stride into the hallway and kiss his sister on the cheek. But then his blood froze in his veins and his forehead was pricked out with sweat. A scream erupted in his throat and he had to clench his teeth to prevent it escaping. Into the house, close on the heels of Nathaniel, hopped the most detestable creature the boy had ever seen.

  Helplessly, he watched as the fish demon waddled through the hall, its mouth stained with dried blood and its fins flexing in curiosity. It had never ventured inside a human dwelling before. Even in the old time, when only wooden shelters and stone huts nestled under the cliff, it had not dared to approach them. Now, however, its master's will pushed it forward, forcing it out in the daylight and driving it into the dens of the hated humans.

  It gave the coat stand a cautious sniff, baring its razor teeth at the duffle hanging there, then it wheeled round and its eyes lit upon Ben.

  With a bound, it flew into the parlour, claws ripping at the air. The boy wailed and stumbled towards the window in terror. Gurgling, the Mallykin pawed at him, tensing its scale-covered muscles and preparing to strike.

  And then it wavered, its fins drooping as Nathaniel came into the room, shooting the creature a commanding glance. It tottered on its claws, uncertain and dazed. The warlock made a swift sign with his hand and the fish demon obediently scampered over to him. Crouching down on the carpet, it swayed from side to side, the pink tongue flicking in and out.

  "Ah," Nathaniel said with feigned courtesy. "I see the amusingly bad-mannered Benjy is here also." For a moment he towered above him, then put a finger to his lips warning Ben to say nothing in front of his sister.

  But the boy was unable to speak—so frightened was he by the fish demon.