The Children Of The Mist (28 page)

It was a hot day. A January scorcher. Even the cicadas were listless, their bush telegraph reduced to a somnolent buzz. Dog panted in the shade of the trees. All was quiet. Zest jumped violently when the phone in his hand began to ring. He looked at the number. Morven! His fingers clumsy with haste, he scrolled the window open and held it to his ear.

‘Zest? It's Morven. Are you okay? Are Mum and Dad alright?'

Zest closed his eyes and leant back against the peeling bark of a gum tree. Too weak to support himself. A rush of emotion seemed to embalm him. There were no words in the whole wide world that could have expressed the depth of his relief. Morven. Alive and kicking.

‘Zest?'

The anxious essence of Morven's tone prodded his tongue into action. ‘Hey, Morven. I'm good. So are your parents. Not a whisper of trouble.' he said.

‘Shit, Zest, that's a relief. Give them my love. Anyway, I don't know where to start. I'm in Carrick Castle in Argyll. It's ultra cool. It belongs to my relatives, the Campbells. They're alright I suppose. Would you believe it, that freak Eddie Macabre is my second cousin.'

Zest grinned, the irony of calling her cousin a freak seemed to have escaped Morven.

Morven raced on, words tumbling out like a waterfall. ‘I haven't got much time. We're going out hunting for deer in a minute. I've got this cool crossbow. Can't wait to use it.' She stopped. Probably to take a breath. ‘Zest, I gotta ask you something. Are you a MacGregor?'

Zest blinked. ‘No, I'm a Wallace. But my mother, she was a MacGregor. Why?'

‘Zest, you're never going to believe this, but there are werewolves here. Well, in Edinburgh anyway. I met one. A little girl called Meg MacGregor. But she was scared shitless of me. And the Campbells are kinda screwed up about the MacGregors. It's really weird.' She paused again. ‘Sorry,' she said, ‘I gotta keep an ear out Anyway, I'm going to hang out here for a while, see what else I can dig up. There's a lot of stuff on the internet about the two clans. Have a look. See what you think. Course it's all carefully censored. Nothing about our kind. I guess I'll have to look closer to home. Hang on…'

Another silence. It seemed to Zest that Morven was not exactly relaxed around her relatives. His anxiety levels ratcheted up another notch. Something wasn't right.

‘Zest — ‘

He pressed the phone closer to his ear. But the line went dead. ‘Morven!' he said, although he knew it was futile. And again. ‘Morven!' Inside his chest his heart raced faster than Pharlap. ‘Shit, shit, shit,' he snarled and threw the phone down in frustration. Dog sat up, his eyes questioning. Zest picked up the phone and put it back in his pocket and hunkered down to pat Dog. ‘I think she's in trouble, Dog.'

Dog didn't speak, but rested his muzzle on Zest's shoulder. After a moment Zest stood up and looked up at the Smith's unit. The glass sliding doors were shut. But he knew they were home. He always knew where they were. It was time for a talk.

Minutes later he and Dog stepped out of the lift, into the cool air-conditioned room. Shelley and Clifford were in the kitchen. They looked over as he and Dog padded across toward them.

‘Is everything alright, Zest?' said Shelley.

Morven's mum, Zest reflected, didn't miss much. ‘I'm not sure,' he said.

Clifford glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘It's midday. Pub's open.' He reached over, flicked the fridge open and extracted a couple of bottles of beer. One of which he handed to Zest. Without consulting his wife, he then took out a bottle of red and poured her a glass. ‘Let's sit,' he said.

In silent but tacit agreement they all filed out onto the small outdoor deck. The unit probably wasn't bugged, but why take a risk? Morven's parents settled down into their respective seats and looked at Zest expectantly.

He took a sip of beer as he tried to calm himself. ‘Morven phoned.'

It was like poking a large stick into a hornets' nest. Shelley shot out of her seat, red wine splattering everyone. Clifford gripped his bottle until it threatened to explode.

Shelley's hands shook. ‘Oh God. Is she okay? Where is she? Is she coming home?'

‘She's fine. She's in Argyll. No, she's not coming home yet,' said Zest, carefully. But not carefully enough. Shelley stared at him intensely. Clifford's fingers beat a frenetic rhythm on the beleaguered bottle. Zest tried to think how to frame his thoughts without creating more stress for the pair.

Shelley sat down again. ‘Has she found them?'

Zest nodded. ‘Yes.'

Shelley stared out over the river. ‘Does she like them?'

Zest answered honestly. ‘I'm not sure.'

Clifford spoke. ‘Why, what did she say?'

Zest remembered her cautious pauses. And then the abrupt disconnection. ‘She didn't say much. It's just that she seemed…a bit suspicious. And we got cut off. Probably just the line…'

Silence enveloped them. You didn't have to be Shakespeare to imagine the impact of his words on the already over-wrought couple.

Shelley picked up her half-empty glass and swallowed the contents. She gazed at Zest so hard he felt as if she were wiggling through his eye into his brain. ‘Do you think she's in danger?'

Zest swallowed hard. It was a question he didn't want to answer out loud. But only the truth would do. ‘Yes,' he said.

They both seemed to shrivel and shrink before his eyes. He felt like crap and wished he'd lied.

Shelley seemed to rally. ‘Zest, we've been talking about this, Clifford and I, and we think you should go to Scotland.'

Zest was not surprised. ‘But Shelley, I promised Morven I'd stay here and keep an eye on things.'

Shelley shook her head. ‘Zest, there's nothing to keep an eye on. Not so much as a muffled fart. It's like…it never happened. No word from anyone except her school. No threats. No questions. No follow-up from the hospital. Not a dickie bird from the police. I mean — can you explain that?'

Zest couldn't. It worried him too. Gnawed away at him like a caterpillar on a leaf. Really, Shelley was just voicing all his own concerns. Why hadn't there been more activity? Why had ‘they' packed up and gone away? It didn't make sense. And then a horrible thought shafted him. What if ‘they' were on to Morven after all? Maybe staking out the castle, watching and waiting, at that very moment while he sat around drinking beer. He felt
cold and his bones ached with fear. But — what if he was wrong and the minute he skipped town ‘they' swooped on Shelley and Clifford. How the hell would he explain that to Morven? Quite simply, for the first time in his life, Zest didn't know what to do. He sighed and looked at the couple waiting patiently for his decision. ‘What if I go, and I'm wrong?'

Shelley looked at her husband. ‘What if you go and you're right? We've agreed that if you won't go, then we will. We can't just sit here and do nothing.'

Zest didn't doubt her for a moment. It certainly simplified matters. ‘Okay, I'll go. But Dog stays. In fact, I think it would be best if you and Dog leave. Hop in the car and just go. Don't plan. Don't pack. Just do it.'

Shelley bristled like an agitated echidna. ‘We can't just — go. We've got responsibilities.'

Zest shrugged. ‘If you won't go, then neither will I.' It was a lie, but they wouldn't know that. Instinct told him that they should be on the move.

Clifford nodded. ‘Alright. I have a cousin who's been offering us use of his yacht for ages. I think it's time we took him up on the offer.'

Zest was impressed. ‘Can you sail?'

Clifford grinned. ‘No. But Shelley can.'

Shelley pulled a rye face. ‘It's been a while.'

Zest had to be content with this plan. Sounded as good as any. Maybe better. The ocean was a big place. He looked at his watch. ‘Soon as you two skedaddle, I'll be off.'

‘How are you going to get there, Zest?' said Shelley.

Zest grinned. ‘I'm gonna hitch a ride. Same as Morven.' Only difference being, he wouldn't bother with the paperwork. ‘If I get to Edinburgh or Glasgow, that's close enough.' For a brief moment he remembered what Morven had said about her encounter with the young werewolf. Meg MacGregor. One of his kind. Ruthlessly he pushed down the tidal wave of excitement that surged to his head. It wasn't time.

Fifteen minutes later the car doors slammed. Zest watched until Dog's mournful face disappeared around the bend. He'd sent them away armed with Elvis's email and his mobile number. Satisfied he'd done all that he could for Morven's family, Zest returned inside, packed his bag and left. He caught the twelve forty-five train. There was a sense of relief in being on his way. Each station stop brought him a step closer to Morven. His pulse chased the spinning wheels. He couldn't wait to see her.

When Morven came down to the great hall again, she was overtly aware of the mobile phone nestled in her back pocket. Everyone, excepting Caractacus, had already assembled, weapons in hand, blood lust thick as porridge in the air. She joined them, aware that one of them had been lurking outside her bedroom door. Listening. She suspected dear cousin Celeste. But really, it could have been any of them. All in all it seemed wise to simply drop her phone out in the forest somewhere. That way she could deny all knowledge of the incident if challenged. Relieved to have made a decision, Morven focused on the job at hand.

‘Catch,' said Calix, and tossed over her bow.

Morven caught it. Her fingers welcomed the smooth polished shaft. ‘Thanks,' she said.

‘Oh, here, you'll need these too,' said Calix and held out his hand.

Morven went to him and took the small box. There were half a dozen arrows. Black, sleek and feathered. She fanned the feathers with a finger. Very, very faintly she could smell duck. She smiled to herself. Dead duck. Yum.

Eddie shouldered a rifle. ‘Everyone ready?'

There was an enthusiastic round of assent. They all hurried out of the room and into the night. Instinctively Morven looked up. The sky was clear and, to her eyes, starved of stars. The moon hung in the sky, a slender sickle of light. And Morven thought of Zest. No Wolfman tonight. Maybe she'd be home in time for the next full moon. The thought lightened her mood. Her stomach growled.

Beside her, Eddie laughed. ‘You hungry?'

Morven smiled, again aware of the man's innate charm. ‘Starving.'

‘We'll soon fix that,' said Calix. ‘Ready?'

Morven turned and looked back at the house. ‘Isn't Caractacus coming?'

Celeste snorted. ‘Cracked-acus is pathetic. Believes there's no excuse for bloodletting anymore. You know, now we've established the bank. He's such a pussy.'

No one seemed inclined to disagree, so Morven assumed they were all of a mind. In this case, Morven couldn't help but agree with the majority. Memories of her hunt with Zest still thundered through her veins. Cousin Caractacus could keep his stuffy ideals. Morven was all for a good ‘bloodletting'. The sooner the better.

The Mater inhaled loudly. She pointed south. ‘That way. A couple of kilometres, no more.'

Without further ado they set off. Feet skimming over the powdery surface of newly-fallen snow. Morven was happy to fall in behind. Eager to learn. Anxious not to do anything wrong. Soon the wide expanse of the loch was out of sight. The forest closed around them, bare branches silhouetted against the sky. Moon shadows swayed gently in the breeze. Anticipation crackled in the air like ozone. No one spoke. They climbed steadily upward for a long time and then crested a great hill. Mountains loomed to the north and the west, but the pack moved unhesitatingly into a valley nestled at their feet. The trees thinned and gave way to open land through which a stream threaded like a piece of black velvet. Morven could hear it chuckle over its stony bed.

The Mater stopped and lifted up a cautionary hand. She pointed and Morven strained her eyes to see. The scent came first. Then she spotted a herd, camped out low in the valley. Some seemed to sleep, but a stag stood sentry. Even as Morven's eyes rested on his broad back, he flicked his head high. Alert. Wary.

In silent agreement the Campbells raced down the hill. In a flash, the herd roused and headed for cover. Morven felt like she was on fire. A great burning ball of hunger. The desire to kill consumed her and she forgot her earlier caution. This was something she could do without any instruction.

Somehow it became a race. For the deer, a race for life. For Morven, a race to draw first blood. It was the first time she'd pitted her power against her own kind. For a short time they all bunched together, no one individual able to forge out of the mob. But then Calix spurted forward. He looked back and smiled in a superior manner which pricked Morven like a pin. She gathered herself together and pushed. In a split second she was beside him; he glanced at her and, with a look of grim determination, moved ahead. Morven could feel the herd of deer beginning to panic. She primed her bow and raced past her cousin.

The deer were surging up a rocky slope, desperately trying for the cover of the pine forest. Resin mixed with the musk of the beasts and the super-charged chemical compounds of the Vampyre. Without conscious effort Morven picked out the prime member of the herd and took aim. But as her finger closed upon the trigger, something jostled at her concentration. A movement in the needled forest. A familiar scent that drew her like the river to the sea. And then she saw it. Eyes blazing amber in the dark; its sharp scent hit her like a hammer. Exultation flooded her. She had been right — there were wolves, here in the Scottish highlands. And then, as she turned to share this amazing revelation, excitement turned to blind panic. For while it was clear that the Campbells were aware of the uninvited guest, they did not seem to share her sentiments.