Bloody sodding sod it. One day she’d learn that life was never simple, or easy, but until such time, Scarlet would continue to be surprised and annoyed when stupid people got in the way. Martin seemed to be thinking the same thing, heaving a sigh as he muttered, twin swords appearing in his outstretched hands.
His other weapon had been colossal, but these two were graceful; curved narrow blades emerging from hilts protected by fine steel filigree. She wasn’t sure what filigree was, but they’d talked about it on antiques roadshow and she was fairly certain that’s what it looked like.
Martin ran, straight toward the attackers, and they looked panicked, staring wide-eyed as he charged. Then he shouted and they came back to life, the first throwing himself forward, jabbing with his knife.
The blade slid off one of the swords, as the other somehow slid around the back of his leg and tore it open. The… what were they called? Were they priests, if it was a coven? How about weirdos, or crazies maybe, like they talked about in american movies? Crazies would do.
The crazy screamed and collapsed, and she could see the blood glugging out like a milk bottle dropped to the floor. She swallowed, turning her head into Elt’s flank for a moment. The crazy kept screaming, grabbing his leg and writhing around in pain, and she quickly decided that for all their demon worship they were a bunch of wusses.
Martin faced up to the other two. They were more cautious, standing side by side and waiting for him to attack. He thought about it for a second or two, rocking gently on the boles of his feet, then moved.
She thought of him as an old guy, but maybe that needed revising. He moved far faster than any young guy she’d ever seen, and she almost didn’t see his blade cut through one of the crazies’s wrists, his knife dropping to the floor as he joined his mate in screaming and writhing, and generally making a fuss.
If it wasn’t for the blood, she could almost have enjoyed it, but her stomach was roiling and reminding her she’d had nothing to eat for far too long. Although if she had, it’d probably be on the ground by now.
The third crazy had frozen and Martin leapt at him, batting aside the knife and punching him in the face. The guy crumpled and Martin let go of his swords. They vanished before they hit the floor and he grabbed the crazy by the top of his cloak, yanking him upright and hissing quietly to him.
Moments later, he ran past her and out of the graveyard, face pale. Martin motioned with his head toward the church. She looked at the two on the floor. The one whose leg resembled a kebab was quieter now, whimpering and clutching at the wound, but the wrist guy was moaning and holding his arm, shaking his head in big, exaggerated gestures.
She tapped him on the arm. ‘You’re lucky, ‘kay? It could have been me.’
His eyes widened and he staggered away toward the exit. She gave Martin a smile. ‘That was pretty impressive. How do you do the trick with the swords?’
Martin raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, first you spend ten or so years learning how to use them, then you get taught the spell to bring them into being.’
She stuck her tongue out and walked past him, followed by Elt. They paused at the entrance to the church. ‘The grave is outside, right?’
Martin shrugged. ‘I have no idea. It’s quite possible his grave is inside. It’s a stone, nothing more. Remember, there isn’t a body, never was. So it could be anywhere, and could be any size. Not that it matters, we aren’t looking for the grave, we’re looking for the rest of the coven.’
She nodded and pulled on the door of the church. It didn’t budge and she pulled harder. Still nothing. Well, that made it easy to decide. She waved a hand around the side of the church and he nodded.
As they crept around it, more and more of the grave yard came into view. And the more they saw, the more convinced she became the grave was in the church. Once they had completed their circuit, her suspicions were confirmed. The graveyard stood empty and quiet, darkness creeping slowly over it as night fell.
She turned to go back to the church and saw Elt, and stopped. ‘Hang on. Elt, you did this last time, so why don’t you know where the grave is?’
‘Thought you’d never ask. Thornbright worked from a distance. I clearly remember him telling me there was no point in putting himself in the firing line if he could do the work from his house.’
‘You’re telling me he sat at home with a hot chocolate and the news on whilst he stopped the world ending?’
‘Not exactly. He was drinking tea, pretty certain, and was very focused. Dunno know what happened, really, I was just the conduit.’ The unicorn looked at its feet, and she’d swear he was embarrassed. ‘Steer well clear of the dangerous stuff, me.’
They caught Martin as he was kneeling down beside the tired pale bricks, examining a small door in the side of the church.
He shoved it and it stayed very much closed. He muttered and a knife appeared in his hand. He inserted it into the lock and wiggled it around a while, until the clear ‘ker-thunk’ of it opening seemed to boom through the churchyard. All three of them ducked, staring about.
Night was bringing with it an odd sort of peace, like when there was fog in the morning, really early morning, and it felt like everyone in the world was asleep but you. There should have been loads of traffic sounds and people, but she could hear next to nothing.
They waited. She tapped her watch and Martin shook his head, frowning, so she put up her fists, miming them fighting. He sighed and shook his head again, and she pulled a face. They waited some more, then he pushed the door.
It creaked open, the sound making her jump, but nobody leaped out at them, so Martin crouched down and stepped through. She followed close behind, before realising there wasn’t a hope of Elt getting in. She turned back to him. He was already stepping away from the church.
‘I’m more than near enough already, thanks.’
‘But how do you, I mean, the whole conduit thing, how does it work?’
‘When you cast, hold me in your head. I’ll do the rest.’
She nodded and turned back to the dingy tunnel. Martin was already in and she hurried again. Why didn’t he ever wait?
The corridor emerged into a small room, filled with sacks and shelves. The shelves held candles and seat covers and other random, exceptionally boring things that drove her straight through to the door on the opposite wall.
Martin had it open and turned, finger pressed to his lips, which was, without a doubt, one of the least necessary bits of advice he’d ever given her. They stepped through and found themselves in the bit off the side of the church, with a tiny altar and a few rows of chairs.
She’d known what it was called, at some point in her life, though god knows why. Hah, he probably did. ‘Something’ chapel. Beyond that, she didn’t have a clue. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the chanting and the thick, pungent smoke that filled the air. And the feeling that every surface was going to give her an electric shock, even though most of it was stone or wood.
Martin crouched and bade her do the same, before moving forward on hands and knees. They reached the barrier between this part and the rest of church. More wrought iron, possibly more filigree too, though she couldn’t be sure.
She peered through the iron and took in the scene. There were maybe twenty guys, all wearing the black robes, all trying way too hard to be evil. She thought again about the screaming from the one outside and the scene was suddenly comical. It was like something from a Monty Python movie, ‘the holy devil worshippers’. Any moment now they’d start dancing and hitting one another with fish.
Then the one nearest her moved and her breath caught in her throat. They were gathered around a pile of wood, surrounded by a ring of four lanterns, the old-fashioned sort made of metal with panes of glass. Behind each of the lanterns knelt a girl, about her age, tied up and on their knees. Behind each stood one of the crazies, knives clutched in shaking hands. Scarlet knew Lara was there, but it made it no easier when she recognised her, head held high, tears running down her cheeks to meet the steel blade pressed just beneath her chin.
