The Grotesques (42 page)

Unable to rise, Romain took laboured breaths. His battered body lay broken and twisted. Beside him, Genord lay face down, limbs sprawled at odd angles. Romain reached a shaking hand and turned his brother’s bloody face. His fair skin was cold and pale, his breath uneven, his lips parting with a dying message. Romain dragged himself to place an ear near the withered mouth. A tear dribbled down his chin and splashed onto his brother’s cheek as his brother clutched at his shoulder, his nails digging deep into his raw flesh.

“We are matched in power. Perhaps victory shall be determined on the battlefield of the hereafter.”

Romain closed his eyes and cradled Genord’s head upon his lap. He tried to speak his thoughts but managed only a fragmented rasp. “Can . . . not . . . kill . . . bro . . . ther.” He stroked the downy, blonde hair, praying for pity, for mercy, for life. God did not hear. Genord’s blue spirit floated out of his chest.

God was not the only power on this, the night of old Samhain. Romain threw back his head and howled for the Old Ones he had sheltered within his grotesques. In their debt and their pity, they came to him. With their blessing he seized the spirit, forced it back into Genord’s body, coaxed the air elementals to fill his lungs, the water elementals to surge through his veins, the fire elementals to warm his blood. Genord’s limbs jerked. His chest heaved. Colour infused his grey skin. His breath deepened and his eyes regained the spark of life. Weary beyond recovery, Romain slumped to the ground. He would answer to his maker for this.

A sure hand pressed cold upon his forehead. “My poor, misguided brother, whose presence is all that can pierce my heart.” The words were like a balm. Alas, they were not the last he heard. Genord leaned close to his ear. “I cannot face eternity without you. I must do for you what you did for me.”

His hand trembled onto Genord’s. He tried to speak, to plead for death, but only a gurgle left his throat. He watched his vexed spirit leave his body, struggle to soar to heaven, watched his brother seize it and force it back within his misshapen form.

He breathed. He lived. A travesty. He tried to stand straight in the shadow of God’s house, but his back swayed crooked. He cried out for forgiveness, but the sound distorted in his skewed mouth. He staggered to Genord, saw the tiny image of a blue dragon stamped in his eyes, reeled, and tripped upon the cross. It was cold beneath his hand. It was then he understood. Old and new religion alike had they defiled. And so they were doomed to aid and thwart one another in an eternal struggle that could only end when one twin killed the other.

THE BAT SPIRALLED
erratically, then thumped to the wooden floor. Romain released her, picked it up by a wing, and loped to the back door. She watched him toss it far into the sloping garden then buried her face in Adam’s chest.

“Ella safe.” The mason shuffled over and stroked her hair.

She extricated herself from Adam’s comforting embrace and rubbed the mason’s arm. “Thank you, Romain.”

Adam affected a put out expression. “I killed a hundred or so bats just for you.”

“I was going to say thank you to you too.”

He caught her as her knees buckled. She was grateful he helped her back into the cocooning egg chair, and rather pleased he leaned across to hold her hand through her entire narrative. It made her think she had not made the best choice of seat after all.

“Are you saying the only one who can kill Genord is a saint?” Roan asked when she had finished recounting her
vision
, an altogether saner word than
hallucination
.

“From what I understand, our task is the dragon head. They’re saying we need to destroy it,” Rob clarified.

“Yes,” Adam confirmed. “The spirit of the original dragon is confined there.”

“Before Genord sacrifices a certain number of victims,” Rob continued.

“Nine, or three times three, was a potent number to old believers,” Ella said, trying to recall what Bill Travellian had said. She had been only half listening. “That will be enough to turn the wooden body to life.” She had no idea how Genord intended to attach the head to the body but it seemed the least of his feats.

“And before Halloween is over.” Rob really was coming up a champ.

“Exactly,” Adam said.

“Halloween is old Samhain. It’s supposed to be the time when the veil between the worlds is thinnest. It’s also when Genord was born.”

“Or else?” Roan asked. He had blank look on his face, like he didn’t quite believe he had been drawn into discussing dragons and gargoyles.

“The dragon comes to life,” Ella said.

“And Genord accesses the power of the elementals,” Adam said.

“Which will give it fire and flight and Heaven only knows what else,” she added.

Adam stood and moved to the window. “But is Genord only toying with us? It seems he has the power to kill a hundred victims before tomorrow.”

“I don’t think so.” She was shaking her head. “Something he said to me when I was down in the crypt, something I saw in . . . the visions. When he works . . . magic,”—how could she really believe that was the right word?—“it diminishes the spirits he’s captured. If he drains them, he would need more sacrifices to turn wood to flesh.” And for occult reasons she never intended to comprehend, nine was important for this evil Pinocchio to morph.

Roan cleared his throat. The thin line of his lips showed the trouble he was having accepting any of this. “How many victims has he claimed?”

“Six. Six. Six,” Romain said, beating his palms against his temples.

“The three girls, Alicia Moffat, Joanne Trevallian, and Melanie Denham. Matt Hayes.” She shot a quick look at Doer and lowered her voice. “Brodie.”

“The two police officers,” Rob said.

“That’s seven,” Adam pointed out.

“Six. Six.”

“I think—” She rubbed her hands over her face, realised she must look a wreck and put them back in her lap. “From what I’ve seen Genord’s never been able to capture two souls at once.” While both officers were dead, only one would be suffering his thrall.

“With the warnings out, people aren’t likely to go anywhere near the church,” Adam said.

Rob took a deep breath. “There are always fools who believe they’re indestructible heroes.”

“Not to mention those who believe Genord persecuted.” She would not be surprised if the Trevallians marched straight to the Port to offer their support.

“To my reckoning a flesh and blood creature would be easier to destroy than a spirit,” Roan said. The frown had not left his face.

Romain clutched his head and dug his fingers into his scalp. “Power. Power.”

“I have a feeling a dragon that can execute aerial manoeuvres the way La Gargouille can, that can breathe fire and swim underwater would be near on invincible,” she whispered. “Not to mention that Genord might keep resurrecting it.”

“Genord’s seat of power appears to be the church so it’s logical he would keep it there.” Rob gently drew them back to the dilemma. “Is there anywhere a dragon head of considerable proportion might be hidden?”

Ella nodded. “The gargoyle. It’s in plain view.”

Adam looked incredulous. “It couldn’t be that obvious.”

“The police have searched the entire building three times. It has to be. It was, in Rouen, in my last vision,” she said.

“Can Romain destroy the dragon head?” Rob asked.

Ella shook her head. “I don’t think so, or else why would he keep the girls as grotesques?”

“I’d like to hazard a few guesses,” Roan muttered.

Ella ignored him. “His magic is protective. It’s the difference between him and Genord.” The comment drew even more grumbling from the Chief Inspector.

“So we need a way to remove the concrete and destroy whatever’s under it while evading Genord and his lethal magic bolts,” Rob said.

Doer looped his thumbs around his belt. “You deal with Genord. Concrete removal is part and parcel of the construction business.”

“How soon can you organise the equipment?” Rob asked.

“You all look like you could do with some rest. It’ll be waiting by the time you’re up.”

ROB LOOKED AT
her as they crossed the road to the Church of the Resurrection. The police had herded the other journalists back into the Old Port Canal Park. The agapanthus and lantana bushes on their raised garden beds obscured their view but she nodded to a couple of colleagues to rub in her privilege. Trouble was, she wished she was incognito behind the cordon until she knew how this thing was going to play out. The public was likely to have a selective memory where living gargoyles and resurrected dragons were concerned.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this?” Rob asked.

A few hours of rest had done wonders to restore her sense of balance. “I have the easy role. Just keep Genord occupied until Adam gets away.” She wasn’t happy about the part he and Rob had to play. It seemed to her, with Romain fretting away at Doer’s place, Genord was free to make sacrifices of the people she loved.

Rob looked back at the journalists. “You have a lot of witnesses.”

What he meant was she should be safe. “Please don’t take any chances.”

“I’ve got my own squad.”

A glimpse of yellow among the sheoaks set her heart thumping.

“He’ll be fine,” Rob said.

Her reluctant nod didn’t convince her any. She took a deep breath as Roan walked up with all the police he could muster and gestured the forensics team over. She wondered how long they would have to wait. A couple of minutes later her mobile rang.

“Move,” Doer said and hung up. Rob took the quick snap of the phone cover as a go and walked up to the church door. Genord admitted him, Roan, and the police officers with bad grace but the psychopath would need to cooperate to avoid arrest, and if they were right, he would do everything he could to avoid detainment until tomorrow. She sure hoped they found some evidence around that underwater passage—blood, hair, anything that would incriminate him. She wandered over so she could get a better look at the dragon head gargoyle, caught herself straying too far from the road, and wandered back.

An engine revved. An unmarked white van with dark windows screeched to a halt beside her and executed a three point turn. She started to cross the road when a black BMW turned into The Minories. The side door of the van scraped opened and a large pair of hands grabbed her arms. Ella screamed as she was hauled inside. One leg hit the side. Her sneaker scraped off her foot and tumbled to the back wheel. Her assailant twisted her around, and she knocked her knee against a stone grotesque. She cringed, recovered her senses, yelled for help. She tried to get up but the balaclava clad heavy knocked her down, poked a gun out the door, and fired on the police officers who were running from crowd control to attempt a rescue. They ducked. The van door slammed shut on the stunned crowd of reporters. The driver gunned the engine and sped past the BMW.

“Okay, they’re following,” the driver said. He looked back and grinned.

“Can you lose them?” The heavy tore off his balaclava. His red face suggested he was out of shape.

“No sweat,” Ace said as the van bounced over the curb.

“You okay?” The heavy eased himself onto the carpeted floor of the empty van.

“If he keeps his eyes on the road.” Ella rubbed her bruised leg.

“Name’s Jake,” the heavy said. “You made it real convincing. Should be able to lure those pigs away long enough to get the job done.”

She had been convinced she was about to come to harm the way he had pulled her in, but that was probably for the best. Osborne could not afford to ignore her disappearance. As for the stone grotesque, it was a nice touch no one had mentioned that should have the army guys wondering. The work was too crude to be Romain’s. Definitely not a missing girl, but they couldn’t know this one would never come to life. She swallowed as Jake checked his gun.

“Bullets weren’t part of the plan.”

“Relax, they were blanks. Should add to the authenticity.” Jake winked, patted the grotesque, and squeezed his way into the front.

Ace took a corner way too fast. One side of the van lifted. Ella placed her hands down beside her to steady herself. She wondered if she was as pale as she felt.

“That’s one of ours,” Ace called as a green car turned in behind them to help increase the distance between them and their pursuers.

When they finally lost their tail with the help of Doer’s team of vehicle barricades, Ace drove into the shed Matt Hayes had rented. Climbing out, Ella felt as rattled as the roll-a-door Doer was pulling down.

“Let’s go.” The smuggler waved her to hurry.

She turned as she ducked under the door. Ace was already slapping coffee shop logo magnets on the truck while Jake was squatting to change the plates. She hurried after Doer and into the black van parked around the corner. They drove back to the church in silence, bar her quick call to Rob to let him know they were on their way. She brushed the air vents closed as they pulled up and peered into the vapour cloud around the dragon head gargoyle. Doer honked the horn. A gust thinned the vapour enough for her to see Adam, clad in full protective coverall and respirator, spraying the dragon head gargoyle with hydrochloric acid. A second honk brought him over to them. Ella climbed into the back, grabbed the nozzle of the sodium hydroxide sprayer, and hosed him down.