Scenting Hallowed Blood (13 page)

Sofia was ancient, a tall
matriarch of Grigori. Her clothes were of a classic cut and could
have fitted comfortably into the haute couture of any period during
the last thirty years. She wore a long, cream-coloured coat of soft
wool, gloves and a hat, which she removed with stately precision,
and placed into the waiting hands of one of Enniel’s staff, who
stood quietly at the door.

Enniel was slightly unnerved by
her. He was himself a salient figure within the inner circles of
Grigori administration, but Sofia outranked him in experience, and
he suspected her network of contacts was far more comprehensive
than his own. It was rumoured she dipped her fingers into the most
distant, hidden pools of Grigori knowledge. For the past two weeks
she had been working on a problem for Enniel — namely discovering
the whereabouts of the erstwhile Peverel Othman. Enniel had been
given this task some months before, when his ward, Aninka, had
unwittingly become involved with the Anakim, thereby finding
herself in an unsavoury position and implicated in murder. The
Parzupheim, of which Enniel was a member, were the governing body
of the Grigori. They were anxious to secure Peverel Othman. They
had their suspicions about him, which they needed to prove or
refute once and for all. The Parzupheim were far from impressed
that Enniel’s plan to capture the Anakim had failed. After all,
Enniel’s agents had had Othman in their sights. It was clearly
Enniel’s choice of operative that had jeopardised the mission.
Enniel could not find it within himself to blame Aninka or Taziel
Levantine for this failure, although he was furious with Lahash
Murkaster, whom he had trusted. Since then, the Parzupheim had
designated other agents to work on the problem, and Enniel was
working with them only as advisor. He was unused to embarrassment,
and was still pondering how best to punish Lahash for his
incompetence. Lahash, as a member of the disgraced Murkaster
family, was indentured to the Parzupheim for a millennium. This
blot on his performance would do little to change anybody’s mind
about his worth.

Sofia, aside from her
considerable political influence, was also one of the most powerful
psychics known to the Grigori community. Enniel knew little of her
other than her status, and that she was rumoured to have a base in
India. He wondered whether his Parzupheim colleagues had
deliberately sought her help, or whether she’d decided to become
involved herself. It was unlikely she’d admit to either. Now, she
sat composed on a leather sofa alongside Enniel’s desk, and
politely inclined her head when he enquired whether she wished to
partake of a measure of brandy.

‘It is an inclement night,’ she
said, as if to stem any risk of Enniel concluding she drank alcohol
for pleasure. She was a frightening creature to behold — her skin
white and as translucent as tissue paper, her brows highly arched
and sketched lightly as if with an artist’s finest brush. Her lips
were thin and coloured with matt, dark-red lipstick. Her teeth,
when she chose to bare them in a smile, were faintly yellow. She
carried her centuries with her and around her like a stole, and her
beauty was fragile, like that of a fabulous relic discovered in the
tomb of a king who had lived long before the Egyptians had learned
to be civilised.

Enniel poured out the drinks
into cut crystal globes, treating himself to a generous
measure.

Sofia sipped delicately but
quickly from her glass. Then she placed the empty globe on a table
beside the sofa and put her briefcase onto her lap. From this, she
withdrew a sheaf of papers. The whiteness of the pages was dulled
by the proximity of her bloodless skin. With the fingernails of one
hand, she tapped the pages. ‘This is my report.’

Enniel nodded. ‘Good, good. May
I ask what conclusion you have reached?’

Sofia frowned a little, pulled
down the corners of her mouth. ‘There is no doubt in my mind that
the Grigori known as Peverel Othman carries within him the psychic
profile of the one named Shemyaza. I have made several avenues of
investigation into this matter to reinforce my findings. First, I
read the transcript of the interview with your ward, Aninka
Prussoe. It seems quite clear that Peverel Othman was attempting to
reopen the stargate, to gain access to the Source, the ancient and
lost knowledge of our people. The stargate was closed to us over
ten millennia ago, entirely because of Shemyaza’s misconduct.’

‘I am aware of the history,’
Enniel interrupted.

Sofia clearly did not approve
of the interruption, but chose to ignore it. ‘I have had a team of
psychics working on investigating the periphery of the stargate, at
considerable risk to themselves, and it does appear to have been
tampered with. They were able to approach it quite closely and
noted a great deal of etheric disturbance. However, none of them
were able to pass through it. Two days ago, I put myself in trance
and sought to witness a re-enactment of what might have happened.
Whoever had been there had been careless. There were no safeguards
and no erasure of events. I was able to pick up times and even
names. A human boy named Daniel Cranton freed the soul of Shemyaza
from bondage in the constellation of Orion. It was plain to see.
Residue of what had occurred was left floating around all over the
place.’ She grimaced. ‘Very messy. The ritual Cranton had employed
was crude, and entirely sexual in nature. He worked with a Grigori
half-breed named Owen Winter, who we have since discovered is
related to Lahash Murkaster. You sent Murkaster to Little Moor to
deal with the problem, didn’t you?’

Enniel frowned. ‘Neither I, nor
Lahash, know of this connection. Perhaps you’d better explain.’

‘Of course. Twenty years ago,
the Grigori family Murkaster was resident in Little Moor, the place
to where your operatives tracked Othman down. It is common
knowledge what happened to the Murkasters, namely that a human
woman sought to re-enact certain ancient rituals, which
coincidentally involved the legend of Shemyaza, his human mistress,
Ishtahar, and the opening of the stargate. Naturally, this ritual
failed, and the Murkasters were dealt with by the Parzupheim for
their transgressions. However, the human woman was never taken into
custody, and it appears she bore twins, of whom Kashday Murkaster
was the father. These twins lived hidden in Little Moor for nearly
twenty years. When Othman fled there, escaping what had occurred in
Cresterfield, he naturally sniffed them out, and sought to use
them, and any other Grigori dependants, for his own purposes. A
young psychic human named Daniel Cranton was involved. We are as
yet unsure of the exact details, but it seems that while in Little
Moor, Othman was made aware of exactly who and what he was. There
is no doubt that Othman performed profane rites in the Little Moor
area, for my people have visited it, and have picked up much of
what went on, although it all seems very confused. We do know that
Othman — or Shemyaza as we must now refer to him, I suppose —
escaped Little Moor with the Winter twins, Daniel Cranton and
someone else who is most probably a human dependant of his.
Physically, they have hidden themselves well. We could trace no
financial transactions. But psychically, none of them are trained,
and Shemyaza himself seems not to care about precautions. We have
tracked them to an establishment in London, long regarded as a
hideout for Grigori misfits and renegades. I have examined Shemyaza
as best I can, and can only conclude he is no threat in his present
condition. He is apathetic, confused, his energies scattered. He is
a great maelstrom of potential, however, and I’m sure I don’t need
to tell you that we must secure him as soon as possible, before
someone else takes an interest.’

‘Is that likely?’ Enniel
enquired.

Sofia directed a scornful
glance at him. ‘But of course. There are many cabals and factions
within the Grigori community around the world, who would covet
Shemyaza’s power. It is highly probable that at least some of these
groups are already aware that something is afoot. They will have
their own psychics scanning the etheric world. Some of these groups
are very dangerous, and there’s no telling what might happen should
they get their hands on the Anakim.’

Enniel, who had business
dealings with some of the darker cabals of Grigori society, was
unsettled by Sofia’s remarks. ‘Then what do you recommend? Shall we
simply march up to this establishment you have discovered and take
Shemyaza into custody, or is it likely we will meet resistance, and
will need to employ more subtle means?’

Neither Sofia nor Enniel had to
say aloud that some sort of skirmish was undesirable, especially in
a city centre where humans abounded.

Sofia nodded thoughtfully. ‘I
have been considering this dilemma. If it wasn’t for the urgency of
securing Shemyaza, I would suggest infiltration of the group by one
of my operatives. I would prefer to gain the trust of one of
Shemyaza’s followers, and use them to lure the Anakim out. However,
we don’t have that much time. Most of the buildings around the
Moses Assembly Rooms are offices. Therefore, I propose a night-time
convergence on the premises by Parzupheim personnel. We must take
Shemyaza, and take him soon. Can you organise your agents by
tomorrow night?’

Enniel realised the situation
was more urgent than Sofia was admitting. Tomorrow? That soon? ‘Who
exactly do you suspect is after Shemyaza?’ Would she dare to keep
the information from him?

Sofia considered for a moment,
then came to a decision. ‘Old vendettas can persist for millennia,
Enniel. You can imagine that, all those centuries ago, when the
business with the renegade Watchers blew apart, there were many
casualties at very high levels within the Grigori community. A nest
of corruption was uncovered, with many respected Watchers being
implicated. Shemyaza, in comparison, did not hold that much power.
He was a romantic and adored by many. His death sentence was
contentious at the time, although no-one dared speak for him. The
High Lord Anu was enraged, and all feared for their lives. Shemyaza
died horribly, as an example, but many others lost their power and
their lands, and were driven into exile. Their children were
murdered by Anu’s militia. Others were driven mad and destroyed one
another. We can only imagine what those times must have been like,
but there are others, older even than myself and my peers, for whom
those days of war and disruption are actual memories.’

‘Is that possible?’ Enniel
snapped. ‘You’re telling me there are still Grigori around from
those days?’

Sofia blinked slowly and
nodded. ‘That is exactly what I am telling you. And those people
have been waiting a long time to regain their power. The centuries
have embittered them. They care nothing for Grigori or humankind.
Shemyaza, a foolish idealist in life, has become a spiritual icon
in death, more powerful as an archetype than he could ever have
been as a living entity. The stargate, once his prison, is also his
domain. He can be used to control it. Our enemies want the ability
to reopen the stargate and seek out the Source, in the hope of
discovering some vestige of Anu and the cosmic power, over which
only he held dominion. Then, they will exact their revenge, and you
can be sure this will have fatal repercussions for this world and
its civilisation.’

Enniel took another sip of
brandy, then tapped his lips with steepled fingers. He was
frowning. Sofia waited politely for his response. ‘I appreciate the
urgency,’ he said at last. ‘But one thing has occurred to me. If
these enemies exist, they are unlikely to cease searching for
Shemyaza once he is safe with us. I assume we can expect trouble
from this direction?’

Sofia nodded. ‘Precisely. The
only course of action we have is to take Shemyaza to a safe house,
keep him under surveillance, and coax him into fulfilling his role.
Once he has acquired a sense of responsibility and some control
over his potential, the enemies will be no match for him.’ She
raised a hand before her face and slowly clenched it into a fist.
‘He must be
ours,
Enniel. Entirely ours. The end of the
millennium approaches and great changes are heralded. These changes
must be beneficial for our race, rather than otherwise. The
responsibility is upon us, the agents of the Parzupheim, to ensure
that no other influence takes control.’

‘Lahash Murkaster is in
London,’ Enniel said. ‘I shall contact him immediately. He is
hoping for a chance to redress his failings.’ His hand was already
reaching for the telephone.

‘No!’ Sofia said. ‘No Murkaster
is to be trusted. They are tainted by the same base urges that
caused the Fall of our race in the first place. We can use only the
purest, untouched bloodlines in this venture. Call upon your
Serafim, no-one else.’

Later, in the elegant
guest-room, to where Enniel’s staff had conducted her, Sofia
lounged upon the canopied bed, before a hungry fire that
illuminated the frowning faces of the stone angels that supported
the mantle-piece, in an otherwise darkened room. Thoughtfully, she
kicked off her shoes and caressed one long shinbone with a
silk-sheathed foot. She put her hands behind her head and
stretched. High Crag. At last. She had already organised a
residence for herself in the area, but Enniel did not know about
that. Neither did the other members of the Parzupheim, who believed
they employed her. Not even Sofia’s true employers knew all of her
activities. She liked to believe that ultimately she was governed
solely by herself.

Outside the wind wrestled with
the chimneys of the house, sent mournful, elemental notes careering
around the high towers. Sofia knew that down the coast road, on the
outskirts of the village, her unwitting protégé dreamed before her
own high-banked fire: Tamara Trewlynn dreaming of gleaming serpents
of the sun and a lover with a shining face; dreaming of a friend
named Barbelo, who would lead her to an angelic lover. Sofia smiled
and writhed in secret pleasure upon the thick quilt. Tamara
believed her, as Barbelo, to be a young Grigori woman of the
Prussoe clan. She would never learn the truth.