Obsidian Mirror (6 page)

He took a phone from his pocket, thumbed a number in, and held it up. The faint square of light edged his face.

“Wait.” She wanted to say
That man
wasn’t
the police.
Instead she said, “Turn it off.”

“You agree?”

“I don’t have any choice.”

A gleam of relief was gone from his face before she could be sure of it. “There’s no danger. I promise you. And when it’s over I’ll give you a thousand in cash and a plane ticket to wherever in the world you want to go. You can do what you like with your life.”

She knew he was lying about the danger. And that he didn’t care. “How long will it take?”

He looked away. “A few weeks.”

The house seemed to wait around her. Outside its windows, the vast Wood bent under the slant of sleet. She remembered the shadowy green-eyed boy who had commanded the wolf.

“All right. I’ll do it. But I’m not a prisoner. I get my own room, and the run of the house. I’ll need some clothes too. And shoes.”

“Tell Piers what you need. He’ll see to your foot.” He went to the door, then turned. “You can go anywhere except the Monks’ Walk. And don’t go in the Wood alone. It’s a strange, scary place.” He seemed to want to say something else, and for a moment she wondered if he might be grateful, show some welcome that she realized she longed for. But all he said was, “Come on. I’ll show you the attic rooms. You can choose one.”

Later, in dry clothes and her stinging foot tightly bandaged, she sat on the small white bed in the attic and leaned back against the lukewarm radiator. Here they were, the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the window safely shuttered against the night. The room wasn’t so different. Barer, colder. The blue chintz curtains were gone. Sliding down, she crossed to the floorboard near the window seat and touched it gently with her foot. It creaked.

She knelt, and felt for the tiny slot where her fingers had always fit exactly.

They still did.

She smiled, and carefully levered up the board. The cavity beneath was dark, full of dust. She put her hand inside and groped around but nothing was there. None of her secret writings, her private paintings.

Leaving it open, she sat back on the bed and curled her knees up. Then she placed the stolen gray notebook on the flowered quilt.

Next to it, carefully, from her pockets, she brought out the three treasures she had snatched from the Labyrinth.

Half an odd coin, hanging on a gold chain.

A small black battered pen.

And, like a shimmering starburst, the diamond brooch. She stared at them, because it was hard to believe they had survived. That like her, they were really here. For a moment the memories of that terrible fight, the explosion of darkness seemed to close back in on her.

She looked up at the familiar room, the warm fire. Then, suddenly urgent, she uncapped the pen and wrote three letters in ink on the first page of the notebook.

JHS

20th December. I’ve arrived. I’m inside the Abbey, and have even seen a box with these initials on its lid.

Then.

Is anyone else here?

Is anyone left to read this?

As she watched them, the letters faded slowly to invisibility.

T
HE TRAIN FROM
London took hours, traveling deep into the West Country. The land was bleak with frost, the trees black, the distant rim of Dartmoor grim under a hanging curtain of dark rain.

Wharton had to ask for them to stop at Wintercombe—a request stop, because hardly anyone used it.

As he stepped down, Jake could see why.

There was a concrete platform among trees and a rain shelter. Through a white gate a path led to a parking lot where one empty blue car waited.

Wharton climbed from the train after him, followed by a girl with a small bag. A few carriages up, a man
walked hastily through the gate, his back to them, not looking around.

No one else. The train pulled creakily away.

Wharton sighed. He was tired; he’d tried to sleep on the journey, but the endless jolting had kept him awake. Irritated he said, “No taxis.”

“Are you going far?” The girl had walked to the car and unlocked it. She was not much older than Jake, very tall, her long red hair heavy with a glossy fringe that almost hid her eyes. “Can I give you a lift?”

“Er…well, that would be kind.” Wharton looked at Jake, who shrugged. “We’re actually going to a place called Wintercombe Abbey. I gather it’s not far.”

Her eyes widened. “The Abbey! Really?”

“Is that a problem?” Jake muttered.

“No. Honestly, I’d love to take you! Jump in.”

But it had surprised her, he thought. More than that—startled her. He climbed into the front seat and Horatio put his head out of the bag and stared curiously around. The girl said, “Wow. Is he yours?”

Jake held up a finger and Horatio bit it thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m his.”

She started up the car. “You’ll fit in at the Abbey. They say it’s a place for eccentrics.”

Wharton had time to say “Really?” before he was flung back in his seat. She drove awkwardly, scraping the car around in a three-point turn before jerking out
of the parking lot. They were through the village before Jake got much of a look at it—old thatched houses, a post office, the pub, then narrow lanes, high-banked with thorny hedges.

“I’m Jake Wilde,” he said.

“Rebecca Donahue.” Her eyes met Wharton’s in the mirror.

He said, “George Wharton. One of Jake’s—”

“Uncles,” Jake said firmly.

“…uncles. Right.”

Rebecca’s eyes flicked between the mirror and the road. Jake knew she was puzzled at the obvious lie. He said, “You live here?”

“I’m at uni. In Exeter. I’m home for Christmas.” She took a corner at a crunching angle that made Wharton breathe a brief swear word.

“Do you know Venn?”

“Oberon Venn?” She looked surprised. “No. Of course not. No one knows him. Well, maybe some of the older villagers used to, but not these days. No one goes to the Abbey anymore. I’m desperate to know why you are.”

If they told her, it would be all over the village—that was how these places worked. Jake said, “Venn’s my godfather. I’m staying for a while.”

The car squealed around a bend. “Is he really? That must be so exciting.”

“Must it?”

“Well…yes. Wow, he was so amazing in that series he did. Volcanoes and stuff. And he’s so hot!”

She raised her eyebrows. Jake looked out of the window, disgusted.

They had entered a steep valley; the lane down it was narrow, branches scraping both sides of the car. As they descended, Jake heard the crunch of frosted gravel under the tires; starlings flew in the twilight, squawking from the trees above. At the bottom, surrounded by what seemed like a thick wood, were two locked iron gates in a pillared wall. Rebecca slammed the brakes on just before the car hit them.

“Sorry. I’ve never been down this way before.”

“As a matter of interest,” Wharton said mildly, “have you actually passed any sort of driving test?”

She glared at him. “Last week.”

“I’m amazed.”

“Well, so am I actually. It was my third go.” She hit the horn; a long noisy hoot. “Is he expecting you?”

Before Jake could answer, the gates shuddered jerkily open, as far as the massed overgrown holly on one side would allow. Tense with nerves, he said, “We can walk from here, thanks.”

“No way.” Rebecca changed gear with a crunching effort. “I want to see the famous Venn. Anyway, the drive is probably miles long.”

He looked back at Wharton, who said, “In that case, please carry on.”

The girl smiled. Jake had the feeling she was laughing at him; he felt annoyed at her stupid adoration of Venn. Moodily he stared out at the overgrown driveway. Every moment brought him closer to the house. It made him shiver; he fingered the wallet in his pocket, picturing his father’s cheery smile in the black-and-white photograph. Whatever secrets lurked here, he wouldn’t rest till he’d clawed them out into daylight.

For a mile the car jolted along, Rebecca taking it carefully now, because the Wood this deep was a black-and-white kingdom of frost, the track pitted with deep potholes. They came to the splintered trunk of a great dead tree lying right across the way.

“Good heavens.” Wharton opened the window and leaned out. “Is that deliberate?”

“They say he doesn’t like visitors. But someone must come, because there’s a sort of way around the side…” Rebecca maneuvered the car clumsily around the obstacle, jolting Wharton and the suitcases violently in the process. The monkey gave a shriek of protest.

“Oh shut up. I’m doing my best.”

Suddenly space opened up; in the white landscape of winter frost they saw the Abbey, pale in the moonlight,
its lawns rectangles of silver. It seemed to Wharton that it crouched down in the Wood, that the trees surrounded it like a threat, as if one day they would devour it, grow over it completely.

Rebecca stopped the car on the weedy gravel and turned the engine off. “Wow,” she said, into the silence.

Jake gazed up at the ancient windows, the gargoyled gables. The place chilled him. He got out and stood facing it, like an enemy. Wharton hauled the suitcases after him. “Thank you so much, Ms. Donahue. It would have been tiring to have walked all this way.”

She wasn’t listening; her eyes were on the house. He turned, and saw that a man had come out, a tall, fair-haired man who stood on the frosty steps with an upright, arrogant assurance.

“It’s him,” Rebecca muttered. “Oh, double wow.”

Venn said, “I don’t know how you got in here, but you can leave now.”

Jake turned and faced his father’s killer. He felt only a coldness. As deep and numbing as if he could never be warm again.

Wharton stepped between them hastily. “Mr. Venn. Perhaps I should—”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wharton. George Wharton. Head of Humanities, Compton’s School.”

Venn’s stare was blank. “Compton’s…?”

“In Geneva. Switzerland.”

It was enough. The anger in Venn’s blue eyes transformed to a swift wariness. He looked at Jake, who hadn’t moved. Nervous now, Wharton said, “This is Jake Wilde. Your godson.”

Venn was staring at Jake. “You’re David’s boy?”

“Yes. He is.” Jake’s silence made Wharton stammer anything to fill it. “You remember, I’m sure…the e-mail.”

Venn said, “I don’t send e-mails.”

“You did, I assure you. We, the school, that is, explained that Jake had…exceeded a few limits. Your reply was for us to send him home.”

Venn seemed to drag his gaze from Jake to Wharton. Then he turned and snarled “
Piers!
” in a voice of utter fury.

A tiny man in a white lab coat came leaping down the steps and ran hurriedly toward them.

Wharton caught the glint of a gold earring in his ear. Venn rounded on him. “Tell me you didn’t do this.”

Piers’s voice was shaky. “I did. I replied to their message. I told them to send the boy.”

Venn was breathless with disbelief. “Are you mad? Am I living in a house of maniacs? What possible—”

“I felt it was the best thing to do.” Piers shot a curious glance at Jake.

“You
felt!”
Venn exploded. “What gives you the right to
feel
anything! Don’t you think I might feel something too? About him? About David?”

Piers held his ground, folding his arms. “Yes, of course, but Excellency, you were off in the Summerland. I had to make a decision.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I was…er…I felt it was best to let them arrive. After all, it was too late to stop them.”

Wharton glanced at Jake. The boy’s silence, the intensity of his stare, was terrifying. “Look…I’m sure we…” he started, but Jake’s voice startled them all.

“Don’t think you can send me away.
” The words were low, hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Venn was still. Then he stepped closer, and they stood face-to-face. “Your father was my greatest friend.”

“Was he? So where is he now?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t care?”

“Of course I care.”

“Then where is he? What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Liar.” Jake stood cold and tall. His hands were shaking. He felt as if something was burning and heavy in his chest. “You do know. You’re responsible. He never left this house. He never got on any train.”

Venn was white-faced. Even Wharton noticed his flicker of surprise.

Jake stepped close. “He was all I had. You took him away.”

“Jake…”

He pulled fiercely from Wharton’s grip. “Did you think you could buy me off with some fancy school? You must have known I’d turn up here one day, looking for you. You must have known I’d never let you get away with it.”