Shot Through The Heart (Supernature Book 1) (23 page)

Elizabeth reached forward and pecked him on the cheek. "Well, you'll know where to find me," she said.

She walked past him and reached inside the door, put the
Do-Not-Disturb
sign on the door and shut it behind her.

Mark almost fell as he tried to get on his bike. He had his laptop case wrapped around him and the rucksack over both shoulders.

"Are you leaving?"

He stabilised himself, then turned around. It was Kay, wearing the same clothes as the previous evening.

"Yes," said Mark, "I'm going back to civilisation."

"Right," said Kay.

Mark didn't understand the look she gave him. "You didn't spend the night in your hotel room, did you?" he asked.

Kay blushed. "Not exactly, no," she said.

"Adam will be disappointed," said Mark.

Kay frowned. "Really?" she asked. "Last I saw of him, he was firing into one of those Danish girls."

"I thought they were Swedish?" asked Mark.

"Copenhagen is in Sweden," said Kay.

Mark laughed, perhaps a bit too hard - Adam hadn't even asked where the girls were from. "Oh well," he said. "How long are you staying for?"

Kay paused, as though thinking it through. "Well, I reckon I'll be here for a few days at least," she said. "Hardly surprising with the number of actions you gave me yesterday."

"Nothing to do with the bloke you just met?" he asked.

"Who says it was a bloke?" she asked.

Mark blushed. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't-"

Her laughter cut over his embarrassment. "It's okay," she said. "It was a man."

Mark checked his watch - he needed to get going. "Well, best of luck with it," he said. "And make sure you send me those notes."

"If I ever get any 3G reception, I will," said Kay. She grinned. "Can't believe you've not got a USB stick in that bag."

Mark steadied himself as a van trundled down the main road, belching out diesel fumes. It turned left at the end of the street, towards the back of the hotel.

"I'll speak to you soon," said Mark, before he started off down the street.

"Good God, man," said Buffy from behind the counter. He'd been sitting with his feet on the desk, reading a comic. He sat up and took his glasses off. "What happened to you?"

"Hangover," said Mark.

Mark had another hour stopover in Inverness. While he'd made the train at Kinbrace with fifteen or so minutes to spare, all it meant was that he had to stand and savour the hangover as it clattered into the foreground. In the end, instead of working, all he'd been capable of was reading one of the
Blade
graphic novels.

"Hangover from hell more like it," said Buffy. He sat back down again. "What were you drinking, blood?"

"Might as well have been," said Mark. "Beer, whisky and wine."

"Bad move," said Buffy, smiling. "By the way, you'll never guess who I found on Facebook."

Mark shrugged. "I've no idea," he said. "Who did you find on Facebook?"

"Guess," said Buffy.

"The guy who played
Angel
in Buffy the Vampire Slayer?" asked Mark.

"Hardly," said Buffy, looking annoyed. "I friended Becca."

Mark frowned. "Becca?" he asked.

"She was one of Sarah's flatmates at uni?" asked Buffy.

"Oh, right, yeah," said Mark. "Her."
 

It all came back to him. Becca hated Mark. She'd tried to stop them getting together, convinced that Mark would be a bad influence on Sarah.

"I danced with her at your wedding," said Buffy. "I think she had a boyfriend at the time, but they've split up now."

"So, you think you're in there, then?" asked Mark.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm quite a catch," he said. "I have my own business."

Mark shook his head, laughing. "I'm sure you're on a list somewhere," he said, "just not necessarily that of eligible bachelors." He put his rucksack and laptop case down on the floor, wondering how he could come up with sharp responses to Buffy, but not Adam.

He was there because he wanted to talk to Buffy about what had happened, maybe get rid of some of the guilt. He still couldn't remember much about it - a few other bits and pieces came back, but nothing after the moment where he'd invited her back to his room. He hadn't been that drunk for a long time. He'd certainly never been that adulterous. Talking about it might help.

That was off the cards now. Becca was still on Sarah's infernal Christmas card list.

"How's it going?" asked Mark, deciding not to mention it.

"Yeah, pretty well," said Buffy. "Sold a load of that new
Batman
that came out this week. Selling a ton of
Superman
trades in the run-up to that new
Man of Steel
film. Got a load of people interested in
Iron Man
. It's all good."

"So, basically, you're making money off the back of Hollywood?" asked Mark.

"Damn right," said Buffy. His expression darkened to a frown. "All that said, I've not managed to sell many of the good comics, just loads of American stuff. Quite depressing, really."

Mark smiled. "You've got to remember that you've got a tiny budget compared to the big boys, right?" he said. "You've got no marketing spend."

"Yeah, I suppose so" said Buffy, screwing his face up. "How've you been up in the misty moors?"

"Busy," said Mark. "So much so I've just not been at all organised. I've been writing, researching, taking photos and God knows what else. It's been a nightmare. I'm going back to Edinburgh just to shut the door and get this book finished."

"Sounds like you," said Buffy, grinning.

Mark bit his lip then just came out with it. "Could you introduce me to that guy down the corridor with the Esoterica shop?" he asked.

The disappearance of the card mystified him - he had every intention of going in to speak to him. But… But he'd just not. Something had held him back - as an academic, he'd never been one for supernatural mumbo-jumbo, unless as a lens through which to look at society. After everything he'd seen, though, that was going to change.

"Are you scared?" asked Buffy.

Mark scratched the back of his head. "I've seen some weird stuff," he said. "If this guy is as good as you say, maybe he can help me."

"Is this related to the book," said Buffy, "or to that MILF you were after?"

Mark swallowed hard, and hoped that Buffy didn't notice it. "It's book research," he said. "I found out there used to be a devil worship group in the area. It might still be active. It would be useful to know."

Buffy laughed. "I can see what you mean about not being organised," he said. "I'm not sure what devil worship has got to do with the Clearances."

"It could have everything to do with it," said Mark. "If there was a prevalent Satanist cult in the area, it might have given the Christian landowners motivation to clear the land of them."

Buffy got to his feet and pulled on a battered leather jacket. "It's almost lunchtime," he said. "Let's go along. I'll introduce you then get my baked tattie."

Mark checked his watch. "It's just before eleven," he said. "Is it not a bit early for lunch?"

Buffy grinned. "Everyone else goes for their lunch at twelve," he said. "I need to be back by then. Besides, I've not had any breakfast."

Mark left his luggage in the shop. Buffy locked the door and they walked along the corridor in silence. They entered but the strange store appeared to be empty. Mark looked around the large space, a good two or three times the size of Buffy's shop. It was rammed with bookshelves, each of them stuffed. A quarter of the shop was taken up by a large table in the corner, artfully displaying viking paraphernalia.

"Hey, Séan, you in?" asked Buffy, rapping his knuckles on the scarred wooden counter.

When Séan appeared, Mark recognised him from his peek through the window last time. He wore Victorian-era clothes - white, collarless shirt, neckerchief, waistcoat with pocket watch, long, dark brown trousers, and deep green Chelsea boots. His bright red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, wild fronds escaping all over. His skin was pallid, almost like an IT worker.

"Morning, Alan," said Séan.

"This is my pal, Mark Campbell," said Buffy.

Séan looked over at Mark. "Pleased to meet you," he said, and offered a hand. Mark thought he had the sort of fingernails that usually went with fingerpicking an acoustic guitar.
 

"Not heard anyone call Buffy Alan for a long time," said Mark, grinning.

Séan frowned. "Buffy?" he asked.

Buffy shrugged his shoulders. "I had a thing for
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
when I was at uni," he said. He held his hands up quickly. "I mean the TV series, not Sarah Michelle Gellar."

Séan laughed. "I never knew that about you," he said.

"I'm not ashamed of it or anything," said Buffy. "I mean, I own a comics shop, there aren't that many more stigma I could acquire without actually being Jesus."

"What can I help with?" asked Séan.

Buffy pointed at Mark. "Mark was just passing through on his way back to Inverness," he said, "and he wanted to ask you about some weird stuff he's seen up north."

Mark panicked. On the train, he had been prepared to ask about Lady Ruthven and the sinister dogs. Now he knew that Buffy was in touch with Becca - and neither of them had a particularly tight tongue when it came to secrets - he decided to keep a lot of it to himself. "I heard some stuff about devil worship in the area around Ruthven and Kinbrace," he said. "Do you know anything about it?"

Séan tilted his head to one side and then patted down the hair on the top of his head, before nodding slowly. "I think I've got something," he said. "Follow me."

"I'm just off to
Tam's Tatties
," said Buffy. "Back in a minute."

"Okay," said Mark, "but remember my stuff is locked in your shop and I've got twenty minutes until the train."

Buffy tutted. "I'll be, like, two minutes," he said. "Max." He wandered out of the shop, leaving Mark alone with Séan.

"This way," said Séan, leading him deep into the bowels of the shop, between two overflowing bookshelves. He ran his hands along the shelf on the left, dislodging dust in the process. Eventually, he stopped and picked up a book, one of the old-style hardbacks with an ornate cover. He flicked through the pages, then handed the book to Mark. "Here you are."

Mark took the book and read. The chapter covered a cult operating in a wide-scale manner from the late Victorian period until the twenties. He flicked through but the Second World War was as late as it went, with nothing earlier than 1879. He thought for a second. It might be useless but he didn't want to miss a gem. "I'll take it," he said, handing it back.

Séan smiled. "Thanks," he said. "Always good to make a sale to a first-time customer." He opened the front page and examined the price. "Bit of a bargain, too." He headed back to the counter and stood by the till, looking at Mark with a raised eyebrow. "Is there anything else?"

"You wrote that comic about the blood countess, didn't you?" asked Mark.

Séan smiled and nodded. "I drew it as well," he said. "Took me a while, but I'm pretty pleased with how that one turned out."

"How did you come up with that stuff?" asked Mark.

Séan's expression darkened. He leaned forward and propped himself up on the counter. "Who says I made it up?" he asked in an undertone.

"There's no such thing as vampires, though," said Mark.

"That one isn't really about vampires," said Séan. "The evil in there wasn't committed by a sufferer."

"A sufferer?" asked Mark. "What are you talking about?"

"You read the section at the end, didn't you?" asked Séan.

"Genius," said Mark.

"How?"

"Nice way of adding mystique," said Mark. "People might go back and read some of your other stuff."

"I don't know what you mean," said Séan. "It's all true." His expression was earnest.

Mark laughed. "I should hire you for doing the PR for my book when it's out," he said.

"Six pounds," said Séan, his expression suddenly frosty.

Mark paid him and took the book. He looked hard at Séan - he reckoned that it would be safe to ask him about the dogs. "Is there anything about shape-shifters in the Highlands?" he asked.

"What sort of shape-shifting?" asked Séan.

Mark hadn't thought that there might have more than one kind. "Dogs," said Mark. "Large, orange dogs. Might be wolves."

Séan screwed his face up before nodding at the book Mark had just bought. "According to certain experts," he said, "the cult in there might be werewolves."

Mark sighed. "Well, if you're going to take the mick," he said.

Séan reached an arm across the counter, his grip like a vice around Mark's wrist. "I'm not taking the mick," he said.

"Right," said Mark. "What about vampires? Can they shape-shift."

"Now you're the one that's taking the mick," said Séan. "Vampires cannot shape-shift."

Buffy bumbled back into the shop, carrying a plastic bag. He nodded at Mark. "You found what you were looking for?" he asked.

"Maybe," said Mark, regretting his purchase already. He checked his watch. "Come on, I need to go." He turned to Séan. "Thanks for your help. It might turn out to be useful."

"If you're looking for that sort of thing," said Séan, "then you need to be careful. It's quite wild north of here."

Mark finished climbing the stairs, his shaking hand holding the key over the lock.

He had to stop thinking about Lady Ruthven.

Elizabeth.
 

His memory was still fractured - he now remembered getting to his room, his drunken fingers trying to open the door while her hand reached inside his shirt, her long fingernails catching on the buttons.

Mark knew that he couldn't let Sarah find out what had happened.

He turned the key and entered.

Sarah was standing in the hall, cradling Beth. "You decided to come home, then," she said.

"Nice to see you, too," said Mark, dropping his rucksack on the wooden floor. "I have been working."