Winter's Shadow (35 page)

Nefertem!

Winter replaced the picture frame carefully where she found it and left the room.

Passing back into the flickering hallway, Winter turned a corner and saw the cats. She paused, the breath catching in her throat at the unsettling sight. During her first visit to the Velasco place she’d encountered four cats – Nefertem and three others: black, white, and grey. Winter had only seen Nefertem today and hadn’t spared a thought for his brothers and sisters, but here they were, along with a dozen or so other strays. If Winter hadn’t already been exposed to a similarly eerie collection (
a clowder
) of cats in her backyard, the scene would have been even more disturbing.

What were they all doing crowded in this section of the house, as though sitting sentry beneath the hall window? Winter could see a door at the end of the hallway, which seemed to be the focus of the cats’
attention. Perhaps it was the room where Blake kept the cat food? Making jokes to herself didn’t help the unease Winter felt closing around her like a heavy, cold blanket.

She searched among the multitude of sleek hairy bodies and spotted Nefertem curled up against the far wall, licking his paws contentedly.

Crouching down, Winter patted a rhythm on her knees to draw the tabby’s attention.

‘Nefertem. Come here, boy!’ she said in hushed tones, feeling instinctively it was best to be quiet. Blake’s ambiguous warning haunted her thoughts –
there was danger here!
Winter now believed it more than ever; she could feel it thrumming in the air around her. Something was sleeping and she daren’t wake it up.

‘Nefertem!’ she called to the cat again, risking a louder tone. The tabby raised one sleepy eyelid and regarded Winter with boredom. He made no move to come to her side. The rest of the cats had noticed her too. Some of them turned their heads towards her in interest, while others merely glanced in her direction before continuing with their grooming and stretching. Blake’s black cat, the biggest in the clowder, shifted from its perch in front of the door and padded halfway down the corridor towards her. There it paused, meowing a soft greeting or caution.

Exasperated by the tabby’s reluctance and increasingly agitated every second she lingered here, Winter started down the hallway towards the cats. It was as though she were in a dream, being drawn inexorably towards the end
of a long hallway where something terrible waited. The flickering lights and the surreal sight of so many cats only increased the unreality of the scene. It occurred to Winter that Velasco himself had probably stalked through this hallway before murdering his wife and children and hanging himself, but she managed to banish that ominous notion. Winter now knew enough about the real terrors that lurked around her to not worry about mere ghosts.

Stepping over the black cat blocking her path, she continued towards Nefertem. The cat turned to keep pace with her, following at her side.

Winter reached the great window at the end of the hallway, where Nefertem lay in the shadows cast by the lattice.

‘Why did you run away from me?’ she asked, feeling the other cats’ eyes upon her as she picked him up. The cat felt a little stiff in her arms, its muscles tense. Winter sympathised. She felt pretty wound up herself. Turning to make a hasty retreat, Winter saw something curious.

There was a mark painted on the door beside her. A symbol of some kind.

It looked like a twisted snake with three lines slashed diagonally through it. There was also a smell – an awful smell that made her stomach roll. Three months ago a rat had died in the space between the walls of her bedroom and the bathroom. Winter had had to live with the stench for three days, constantly spraying the air with freshener to hide the noxious odour. That’s what this smell reminded her of now – decay.

Winter gasped as the music began playing on the other side of the door.

Nefertem stiffened in her arms at the sound, wriggling his furry head around agitatedly. It was the same scratchy, old-fashioned music Winter had heard playing the first time she’d entered the house. There was something else below the music – another noise. Someone was moving about in the room beyond the door!

Despite this alarming development, Winter was strangely unafraid. It occurred to her that she
should
be afraid – that the appropriate response to this situation would be for her to grab Nefertem and run downstairs. Something was keeping her here. It was almost as if an alien consciousness had stolen into her mind, and now was influencing her actions.

Just as Winter didn’t know why she’d started ascending the stairs earlier in the week, she was equally mystified to see her hand stretching towards the doorknob. She didn’t want to open the door, but felt powerfully compelled to nonetheless. Her fingers brushed the dull metal and that was when she heard the screeching behind her.

A second later, something leapt onto her back, raking her with its claws. She cried out in pain, her voice lost in the angry scream of her attacker. A tail whipped in her peripheral vision – the black cat! It had gone mad. She dropped Nefertem in shock, and spun around frantically, trying to dislodge the screeching fury. However, the cat refused to be shaken off and dug its claws in deeper. Stinging pain lanced through her as its claws pierced
the tender flesh between her shoulder blades. Finally, Winter managed to catch hold of the scruff behind the cat’s head and hurl it onto the ground. Instantly, the cat whipped around and came at Winter again.

Now the other cats joined it, spitting and advancing on Winter, reacting to her the same way Nefertem had reacted to the Skivers; treating Winter as though she were their mortal enemy. Looking at their malevolent yellow eyes, Winter had no doubt that Blake’s cats were prepared to scratch her to ribbons if she didn’t get away soon. Only Nefertem held back, watching the attack from the corner, seemingly as shocked as Winter was by the wildness in his brethren. As the black cat coiled to spring at her again, Winter turned and fled down the flickering hallway. She could hear the cats padding on the carpet behind her as they gave chase.

As Winter reached the top of the staircase, she caught her foot on a fold in the rug and went sprawling. She fell painfully down the first flight, sliding on her stomach, and came to an awkward rest on the landing. She quickly flipped herself into a defensive position, envisioning the cats descending upon her in a wave of teeth and claws, but was grateful to see they’d stopped. The row of cats sat at the top of the staircase, evidently satisfied that Winter no longer posed a threat.

Keeping her eyes cautiously trained on the cats, she slowly got to her feet. Apart from being a bit bruised and battered, the spill down the stairs hadn’t left her with any serious injury. She felt a warm trickle run
down her spine and stretched around, tentatively feeling for the wound. Her fingertips passed through a long, ragged gash in her top and touched the tender cut between her shoulders. Despite its aggression, the black cat had only drawn a little blood and the wound didn’t seem deep. She should probably clean it to avoid infection. Blake must have some disinfectant downstairs.

With some apprehension, Winter turned away from the watching cats and the flickering lights. No wonder Blake had warned her against going up there! He had an army of mad cats prowling the hallway. Even as Winter entertained that thought, she knew it was wrong. The cats weren’t the danger. Blake had been afraid that whatever lurked behind that strangely marked door would harm her. Perhaps the cats had only attacked her to drive her away from it.

She shuddered at the memory of that alien consciousness forcing her to reach towards the door. What would have happened if she’d opened it and let out whatever lurked behind? If she could just spend the next few hours waiting for Blake without incident or fear, then maybe – just maybe! – she might avoid having a heart attack from these prolonged bouts of fright.

Apparently the fates had not finished with her yet, for as she came to the bottom of the staircase Winter saw something that filled her with fresh dread.

The front door was standing wide open.

Winter stood staring at the yawning darkness beyond the door, her heart pounding. She listened intently and heard nothing, save for the ticking grandfather clock behind her. There was no insect-like clicking, no other evidence the Skivers were in the house with her.

Winter stepped off the staircase and paused, chewing her lip nervously.

‘Blake?’

As she’d expected, there was no answer. Blake had Travelled through the shadows of the living room; there was no reason why he wouldn’t return that way. He certainly wouldn’t creep silently through the front door without calling out to her first.

Gingerly, Winter moved closer to the door, ready to run at the slightest indication she wasn’t alone. She
listened for sounds of movement in the quiet house, any sounds at all.

There were none.

Surely if they had gained entry they would have pounced on her by now. Could it be possible that the door had been blown open by the wind? The wind
had
been strong this afternoon; it wasn’t outside the realms of possibility that the door had opened beneath its gusts.

Holding onto this faint hope, Winter warily crossed the hall. She couldn’t very well leave the door open, not knowing what lurked outside. Just as she was reaching for the doorhandle, the man stepped into view.

She cried out, stumbling backwards as he filled the doorway. Dressed in a militaristic black uniform, the stranger looked like some kind of Special Forces operative. About twenty-five and solidly built, his face was broad and blunt. A large, ornate silver crucifix dangled from his bullish neck. Matching the bright lustre of the crucifix, the stranger’s hair was bleached platinum white. His eyes were bright with a cruel, animal cunning. That look in them alarmed Winter almost as much as the crossbow he pointed at her. It was loaded with what looked like long metal spikes. Oddly, there was something vaguely familiar about his features, but Winter was far too terrified to puzzle over it at this point.

Winter continued to back away towards the living room, only to fall against something as solid and unyielding as a wall – another intruder. There were two of them
in the house! A hand pressed over her mouth to stop her from screaming, while the other arm snaked about her middle, holding her firmly. The hand over her mouth smelled, somewhat incongruously, of peanut butter. Crucifix strode across the landing to where Winter was being held.