Secret Of The Manor (17 page)

Alex continued. He angled Warren’s head and captured his lips. Inside, Warren trembled for a whole load of reasons; among them, fear of what they were provoking. He understood what Alex was doing. If it was the victim being gay that had provoked the curse, then a gay display of love could take the vicar to the breaking point.

The vicar hissed.

When Alex slid his hand over Warren’s hip to his crotch, Warren whimpered. He nearly lost it, the sensations were so good. His inner exhibitionist revelled in the attention and he moved a hand back to fondle Alex’s rear. But, given the situation, he was also scared, and was reluctant to go further. He was a combination of fire and ice.

Suddenly, there was a scream and a clatter. The men broke apart to the sight of the vicar being tackled to the ground by James. “Stop it, stop it! You filthy cocksuckers. It’s not right. Ahhhhhhhh,” she yelled, kicking and screaming as James wrestled her back to the seat. “I’ll make sure you die, the lot of ye.”

Before they could do any more, the witch started to chant and a candlestick flew off the altar straight for the lovers. At the last moment Warren saw it and blocked it with his body. He cried out when the metal thudded into his back. Another bruise to add to the collection.

Alex lowered the pained Warren to the pew and ran to help his brother, who, in his attempt at silencing the witch, had been bitten. Her sharp teeth had drawn blood and she smirked at her handiwork.

Injuries aside, they had her.

It took all three of them to secure her to the seat again, aided by the curtain ties from the north transept. When she resumed her chant, Alex stuffed a handkerchief into her mouth.

The men gathered their wits while the vicar did a seated impression of a raging bull.

Despite his earlier fury, James was the one most in control, and he issued the orders. Alex and Warren were happy to follow them. “I’ll keep an eye on her. Search the church and the grounds. If we have to go to her home, we will, but there has to be something: an amulet, a familiar, some representation of witchcraft.”

Warren was confused. “What’s a familiar?”

“It’s an animal... a pet of sorts. Many witches have them. They help with spells and are precious to their masters.”

“Like a black cat?” Warren clarified.

“Yes, traditionally. But it can be any animal.”

Warren nodded his understanding.

Before doing a thorough search, Warren did a quick check on Argo, who seemed happy to munch away on some grass, close to the doors.

They searched the inside of the church without any luck. But as they were about to move the rug covering the entrance to the crypt, Warren heard a fox bark. Warren and Alex looked at each other, both seemingly having the same thought. It was Warren who spoke first. “Didn’t you mention having to keep an eye on a fox, while you were a swan?”

“Yes. It nearly got me once, too. The scars from the encounter have followed me into my human form.”

The vicar’s rigid shoulders told the boys they were on to something. They ran outside and checked the wooded area around the church. Time was of the essence. The sooner they found the witch’s familiar, the sooner they could put a stop to Carol. Still, though searching separately would have been quicker, given earlier events there was safety in numbers.

Eventually they found what they were looking for. Tucked behind some brambles was a camouflaged kennel. It housed a large red fox that snarled and threw itself at the wire walls the moment the men approached.

“Poor thing,” Warren commented. He knew the animal was involved in what the evil Carol was doing, but he hated seeing wild things in cages.

“Hardly,” Alex replied. His tone said he wasn’t sparing any sympathy for the creature that had once tried to kill him. “It’s only upset because we’re here—it would probably follow her around like a dog if it could.”

“
That
would raise some questions.”

Alex nodded, yelling out, “Found the fox.”

The men made it back to the church and described exactly where the fox was. It left the vicar in no doubt they’d found her familiar.

James threw Alex his car keys. “Go get the Marlin from my car. Take Warren with you.”

As the two ran from the church, Warren asked, “What’s the Marlin?”

“It’s James’ hunting rifle, a Marlin. He organises the deer cull at the manor. The law dictates they have to keep the numbers in check. Father’s not the aim he was, so the duty falls to James.”

“But what does he need it here for? He can’t kill the vicar, can he? Can’t he hand her over to some church council for witchcraft?”

Alex stopped in his tracks and turned to Warren. “And say what?” His glare told Warren that there was more to the situation than getting information out of the vicar. “We don’t know the extent of her involvement. By threatening her familiar we may get some answers. Carol knows of James’ involvement with the cull and will believe him when he threatens the fox. We can’t put it on a lead and take it walkies around the grounds. It’s loyal to Carol.”

Within fifteen minutes they were back with James, who made a show of loading the rifle. He leaned into the struggling vicar, and in a low, menacing voice he issued his demands. “Tell me what I want to know or the fox gets it.”

Vicar Carol squirmed in her seat while she battled her conscience, her duty to the curse, and her affection for her familiar.

All three looked on as she struggled. As time ticked on, their patience was tested. The telltale click of the barrel as James snapped it into place made Carol jump and finally capitulate. When un-muffled, she spat out a few threads of remaining handkerchief, then physically spat at Alex.

James’ words were clipped and his questions short. Carol’s tone was derisive, emphasising her distaste at the situation she was in. There were so many questions to ask, Warren had no idea where it would all lead. He felt drained and his aching, strained limbs were seizing up.

Alex and Warren sat on a pew while James led the interrogation.

“Why my family?”

“This land was ours till you came along,” Carol growled. “It should have been my ancestors in the manor, not yours.”

“So it all started because of the land.” James sounded amazed. At least it was a start. They knew where the animosity stemmed from.

“Sort of.”

“Explain.”

“The minute you took our land, you were destined to be cursed—it was a question of how.” Carol took a deep breath. “We cursed Nicholas twice, once because of what he was. We cursed him never to be with that, that... abomination, in this life or the next. And the second curse we put on his bloodline. When my ancestor saw Nicholas romping in the hay with his... ugh... it solidified our resolve that your family was evil. We got a bit of his blood and used it to curse the lord’s line to walk the earth and never to find peace. When that didn’t work, there could only be one reason: Nicholas wasn’t the lord’s. So we invoked the other curse, only we refined it.”

James tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “What do you mean, refined?”

“Nicholas wasn’t the only twisted member of your poisoned clan. Another of yours was seen with one of the same sex. We watched as the woman took more than one of her own kind to her bed.
Man
is supposed to be with
woman
. None of this same-sex malarkey. It’s not natural. What we saw goes against everything we know to be right, so we cursed those with the defect to cease to be human, and turned them into the animals they were.”

Horrific as the curse was, the story itself was fascinating and Warren found himself leaning in to listen closer to the explanation. He didn’t need to know the details of how; he was amazed that somehow the means was available to do such things. He could tell by the tone of James’ voice that he, too, was curious, but his questions were laced with a mixture of anguish and hate.

“Why not curse the firstborn?”

Carol looked at James as though he’d grown two heads. “What would be the point in that? Those curses are easily detected and dealt with. We didn’t want to incite sympathy for your ancestors. We wanted them branded as ugly freaks, ideally to be drowned at birth, but we settled for a time later in life. Back in those days nobody gave a hoot if a botty basher got hung, drawn, and quartered—in fact, many would lend a hand in damning them. Why do you think there was a load of hunting accidents? It’s the uncertainty and the sick link that has kept you mithered all these years. Embarrassed over when it will strike next and how to keep the secret. If I had my way, the hounds could eat the lotta ye, startin’ with ‘ur balls.”

Vicar Carol’s hands went to her chest and she began to murmur. Alex immediately sprang into action and headed for her neck. The vicar screamed her protest, but Alex came away with an amulet in his hands. It was a palm-sized metal rose with a large green gem at its centre and slivers of red stone along the petal edges.

Alex held the item up for James to see. “You mentioned an amulet.”

“Smash it,” his brother ordered.

Alex stamped on it, but the softness of his trainer sole made no impression. Warren stepped in and turned the amulet so it was face down, and with the heel of his riding boot crushed it into the stone of the church. Carol shrieked like a caged feral cat and shook her head.

James stared at the vicar and with a low voice vowed, “One down. I’m prepared to do what’s necessary. Are you?”

Carol’s calmer persona and non-blinking glare looked more like the witch the men expected, instead of the cheery advocate of the church.

The group had information as to the why. It was time to press for more.

“How do you know who is gay?”

The vicar ground her teeth. “Blood on the roses and brambles. They thrive on scarlet manure. We enchanted the plants to identify the unnatural. They sprout special flowers when they find someone, then it’s up to me to investigate. Every one of your ancestors has visited this church and picked the roses, and them as didn’t catch themselves on the thorns, we got the blood in other ways.”

James took several breaths to calm himself. “Similar question. How can the roses tell who is gay? Scientists haven’t discovered that yet.”

Carol’s laugh turned into a sneer. “There’s more to my art than science. And those secrets I’ll take to the grave.”

“So if we get rid of the plants, the curse ends?” James sounded hopeful.

Carol cackled. “No, no, no, no. The curse isn’t one renewed with each generation.
You
can’t stop it.” She leaned towards James with a genuine smile. “There’s more bodies here ‘an graves. That faggot will die as soon as his swan’s past it, and your poisoned blood,” Carol looked at James, “will pass on to someone somewhere. The curse will continue, no matter what happens to me.”

All through the interrogation Alex had watched and listened. Then he said, “You chose as your familiar the one predator that will hunt a swan.”

The vicar didn’t answer, but sported a smug smile. It was becoming obvious that it was her family’s mission to make sure none of the knights through the ages succeeded. It took the questioning in a different direction.

“What about the champions?” Warren threw at her.

“What about ’em? Not my problem if the cursed choose poorly.”

James continued Warren’s thread. “You tried to kill Warren.”

Carol rolled her eyes. “Don’t know about that. Scare him off, maybe. Give him a heart attack. Maim, possibly. Can’t have anyone getting too close or give ’em an easy passage.”

Warren was pissed off, and edged to the front of his pew. “I’m not going anywhere,” he announced, to a proud smile from the brothers.

Carol shrugged. “Then you’ll die.”

The sure statement unbalanced Warren, and he sat well back on the wooden pew and sank his head into his hands. His mind went blank for a minute, before a slew of thoughts assaulted him. He was missing something. No matter what, there were two curses. As they were made by the same family, did that make them related? Eradicate the family, eradicate the curse? In many battles, it was a case of divide and conquer; could one knight uniting two causes be the key? Was Carol working alone, or were there other people helping? Did she have an apprentice? Provided the knights didn’t succeed, the curse was safe. That meant that Nicholas’ knight could break at least his curse. Could it do the same for Alex? The one constant seemed to be the need for the knights to fail. The curses stayed in place as long as the knights didn’t succeed.

Warren returned from his thoughts when he felt Alex’s hand on his knee and looked up to see concern in his eyes.

“I’m just working through the logic of it all,” Warren assured him. “It all comes down to the knights not succeeding. I can’t help wondering how many times the witches stopped the knights before they got to the joust. Maybe that’s why Nicholas or some force got me to the joust before the vicar could get to me. Somehow I have to win the joust. It will at least solve part of the mystery.”

“No one can beat the black knight,” Carol argued.

“Why?”

“You don’t think we’d let him go into the fight without protection?”

At that James smiled; he handed his gun to Alex and nodded towards the door.

Carol went rigid, and Warren grabbed Alex’s arm as he accepted the gun from his brother. “Why?”

Without any remorse in his features, Alex stood ramrod straight. “We have no choice. While the fox lives, the witch has a source of power. Mere separation by distance won’t do. It has to be death.”

James finished for his brother, “I think it quite ironic, too, that the prey reap revenge on the predator. Don’t you?” The last part was aimed at Carol, who had nothing but hate in her contorted features. “Without the fox and the amulet, some of her tools will have been neutralised. We still need to find the altar, but we don’t need Carol’s assistance for that. The fox was here, the amulet was here, so her altar is here somewhere, too, and I think I know where.”

While Warren was concentrating on James, Alex had slipped out the door.

The next thing he heard was a loud...

BANG.