Darkest hour

Chapter Twelve

Despite the danger, Veitch and Church were out of the pub and racing up the High Street within seconds, but there was no sign of where the creatures could have gone. The night was too dark, the countryside too empty. It didn't take them long to locate the victim's home; the shrieks could be heard across the village.

A woman in her late twenties clutched at the door jamb of one of the council houses, her face ruptured by grief. She was trying to propel herself out into the street while a man and another woman fought to restrain her, their expressions of deep dread revealing their motivation. Her dyed black hair flailed all around as she howled like an animal: sometimes Veitch and Church picked out the name Ellie among the incomprehensible wailings of a ruined life.

Lights were coming on all around and soon other neighbours were at the scene. One of them forced some tablets into her mouth and shortly after they managed to calm her enough to get her inside. Veitch and Church waited patiently until the man who had been holding the mother back ventured out, hollow eyes staring out of a chalk face. He was barefoot, still wearing grey pyjama bottoms and a Metallica T-shirt.

"What happened?" Church asked quietly.

It took a second or two for him to register their presence and even then he seemed unable to focus on them. Tears leaked out of the corner of his eyes. He furiously scrubbed them away, saying, "Sorry, mate, sorry. Fuck." He leaned on the gatepost, shaking. "She said it was locked! Fuck." He turned round to look at the open front door. It had once been painted white, but now it was a dirty cream, scuffed with old bootprints near the bottom, some of them very small. Inside the hall the light was stark and unpleasant. The man turned back, stared at them for a long moment as if he were about to say something and then he staggered towards the house next door.

Once he was inside, Veitch slipped down the path to examine the door. "Look at this," he said pointing to the jamb. The wood was splintered. "They forced it open. That Max was wrong."

Church ran his fingertip over the damaged jamb. "Maybe those things are learning new tricks."

The smell of frying bacon, eggs and sausages filled the pub. As the group sat around the tables in the bar, they felt convinced that even aromas were more vibrant in the new world. But even that simple joy couldn't dispel the dismal air that had grown after the night's events. Talk turned quickly to whether the village should be evacuated en masse if the safety of the occupants could no longer be guaranteed.

"That's up to the villagers," Tom pointed out, "but I would say they would be loath to leave their homes, even in the face of such a trial. In this time of crisis, stability is vitally important."

"That poor woman. Her only child." Ruth's face still looked a little grey; since her ordeal she rarely gained her colour until after breakfast. "We have to do something to help."

"As if we haven't got enough on our hands," Laura said sourly.

"No, I agree with Ruth," Church said, to Laura's obvious annoyance. "We can't leave these people high and dry if there's anything at all we can do."

"Max said the creatures leave the village alone for a while after they have secured a victim," Shavi reiterated. "That gives us a little time."

"Then we should start straight away." Church broke open his egg with his fork. "Talk to everyone we can. There must be something we can use, some kind of defence that will keep these things out-"

"I don't believe you lot," Laura snapped. "One minute you're talking about this big mission to save the world, the next you're taking time out to save the waifs and strays. Anything could happen here. You saw what was going on last night. There's no guarantee one of us won't get hurt or worse, and then we won't be able to do what's expected of us. I say we save ourselves."

Veitch eyed her coldly. "It's all about doing the right thing too."

"What must it be like to be you?" Laura sneered. "All those echoes from that one thought rolling around your head-"

"Least it's a good thought."

"Okay, okay!" Church held up his hands to calm the bickering. "Let's see what we can do."

As they filed out into the sunlit street, Shavi hung back until he caught Church's eye. They stood behind in the pub doorway while the others went off to explore the village. The air was already hot and filled with clouds of butterflies drawn by the heavy perfume of the roses. Bees buzzed lazily from bloom to bloom.

Church could see from Shavi's expression it wasn't going to be good news. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I find this very hard to say," Shavi began hesitantly, "but as soon as we have finished our duties here I am afraid I will have to leave."

Church's heart sank. "You can't leave, Shavi! For God's sake…" He floundered around for the correct words. "We're relying on you. You're the backbone of the whole team. The only stable one among us!"

"I fear you are not doing yourself or any of the others justice. Please do not make this difficult for me. I understand my responsibilities to you and all, and to the mission destiny has delivered to us. It is just-"

"What?" There was an unnecessary hardness to Church's voice.

"It was I who freed Maponus. And every life that is cut down by his hand is on my conscience."

"Look, we asked you to seek him out and free him. You couldn't have-"

Shavi held up a hand to silence his friend. "Whether I knew what I was unleashing or not is immaterial. I certainly exhibited arrogance in my approach which allowed me to be manipulated. Even without apportioning blame, any deaths are my deaths. I have to do something to make amends-"

"Like what?"

"Help to imprison him again."

"Shavi, with all due respect, what can you do? It took a collection of the most powerful people in the land to bind him originally. And not all of them survived."

"I do not know what I can do. But if there is a chance that I can do anything I have to seize it. I will seek out the Bone Inspector and offer my help. Perhaps the two of us can find some way-"

"Shavi, I'm not having any of this."

Shavi smiled. "This goes far beyond our friendship and your leadership, Jack. I am burdened by this responsibility."

Church tried to dredge up some relevant argument. He felt massive failure for all of them staring him in the face. "The Pendragon Spirit called us together to complement each other with our abilities. Losing you would be like losing an arm-there's no way we'd be able to carry on."

"I am not leaving forever, Jack. Just until I have found a solution. Then I will return to help in-"

"Okay, stay a little longer. Take some time to weigh things up-"

"I have-"

"No, listen. The woman in the Watchtower who set us on this path originally. Her name's Niamh. There's some kind of bond between us. Before you make any move, let me contact her. She might have a solution. For God's sake, Maponus is one of their own. They have to help!"

Shavi looked unsure.

"I'm not asking you to change your mind. Just defer it until I've tried this path. "

Shavi nodded politely. "All right. I will do that."

As Church watched Shavi wander down the summery street towards the others, he couldn't escape the feeling that the burdens which had been placed on him as leader were growing with each day. Sooner or later he knew he would be found lacking.

"We should question all the information we've been given. Go back to first principles." Ruth checked the list of victims Max had given her. She was enjoying the opportunity to use her naturally incisive abilities on a problem rather than dwelling on the queasiness and weakness that afflicted her too often now.

Tom sighed in a manner which suggested he could barely find the energy for the task at hand.

Ruth knew him too well to rise to the bait. "I think I've found out your special ability, Tom," she said without raising her eyes from the list.

"Oh?"

"Directional irritation. You turn it on, pick out a target, boom." He snorted in such a comically affronted way Ruth couldn't help a smile. "Look," she continued, "we know nothing about these things. If the information is flawed, any response we decide on could be flawed too. And that might be the fatal flaw."

He shrugged dismissively. "There are more important things-"

"Don't start that again. We've made the decision. Let's stick to it."

He snatched the list from her and compared the addresses to the village around him. "At least the last three are in the same area. We can turn this around quickly."

With Laura and Veitch talking to some of the villagers who had seen the creatures and Shavi already at the house of the first victim, Mrs. Ransom, they headed off to the cluster of other victims. The addresses were all in the vicinity of Recton Close, where the drunk Jimmy Oldfield had lived and died. His council house stood empty, the garden gate wide open, one window shattered from what was probably a randomly thrown stone; one of the local kids, Ruth guessed.

Not too far away they could see the house of the previous night's victim. The curtains were tightly drawn. They thought it best not to trouble the recently bereaved mother and instead concentrated on the neigbours of Oldfield and the other two people who had died.

There was little to distinguish those who had been taken. Oldfield might have been an alcoholic, but he was fondly regarded by those who lived in the small pocket of sixties housing. Of the other two, a young milkman who had been laid off by the local dairy just before the troubles and a middle-aged cleaning woman who worked at some of the more well-to-do houses, there was little to suggest they would have been foolish enough to allow access to their houses after dark.

Ruth and Tom pored over the information they had gathered on a bench overlooking the village green. "It's too much of a coincidence to think all these people could have mistakenly let those things in," Ruth said. "And that poor woman last night… She'd seen at first hand what could happen with her neighbours-"

"Unless the child opened the door," Tom ventured.

"Maybe these things are some sort of sirens," Ruth mused. "Something about them hypnotises people into letting them in."

"Possibly. But Ryan said the door he inspected last night had been broken open."

Ruth chewed on her knuckle, watching the ducks waddle down to the pond in the centre of the green. It was quiet and lazy in the late-morning sun and there was no sign anywhere across the picture-postcard village of any of the suffering that descended on it with nightfall. "Then everyone niust be mistaken," she said. "These creatures have to be able to get in when they want." Even as she said it something didn't seem quite right, but whatever it was stayed hidden in her subconscious.

"No, I cannot stress strongly enough that these creatures cannot get into any property that is shut off. Even a closed but not locked door seems to deter them." Sir Richard stood erect and still, as if he were on parade outside the sprawling, detached house of Mrs. Ransom at the far end of the High Street. The residence was cool beneath the shade of several mature trees around the lowwalled front garden, while the building itself was covered in a sweet-smelling mass of clematis.

Shavi nodded politely. "I hope you do not mind me going over this again-"

"No, no, old chap, not at all." Sir Richard adjusted the Panama hat that shaded his eyes. "I know you're only trying to help. But, really, we have got a very efficient defence force here. We've done everything in our power to protect the village. As to those creatures, well, I've watched them with my own eyes, and I am a very well-trained observer. I am in no doubt of their limitations."

"Then how can-"

"No idea at all. People make mistakes, leave a door ajar at twilight. It's easily done." There was a note of sadness in his voice.

Shavi looked up at the dark face of the large, old house. "A lovely property."

"It certainly is. Been in the Ransom family for generations. Sadly Alma was the last of the line. I come down here every now and again to keep an eye on the old place, make sure the local yobs don't start tearing it apart. It's a very, very sad situation."

"She was the first?"

He nodded. "An awful wake-up call to all of us." He motioned to the rambling, well-heeled properties that lay all around. "You think you're impregnable here, in this beautiful countryside, and this historic village. It was such a safe haven away from the rigours of modern society. I retired here after I lost my seat at the last election. Somewhere to tend the roses, enjoy a relaxing life for a change. And now…" His words dried up.

"Everyone has suffered," Shavi agreed, "all across the country, but people are finding ways to survive."

"True. Very true. It has been an extraordinarily testing time, but I cannot stress enough how much my faith in human nature has been restored. The way everyone in the village pulled together once we understood the nature of the threat facing us. It's been the Blitz spirit all over again." His eyes grew moist as he looked around the quiet street. "I fear for the future, though. If things carry on as they are, all of this could be swept away. It's not fair at all, is it? What's to become of us?"

After the surprising kiss in Callander, Church had been wary of having any further contact with Niamh, but he couldn't see any alternative. Shavi was the backbone of the team: resilient, dependable in every circumstance, fully aware of all his obligations; they couldn't afford to lose him. The real problem was how he should contact her. He had no idea how the system of transfer worked between Otherworld and what he laughingly called the real world, nor what the abilities of the Tuatha De Danann were in hearing communication between the two places. Were they as omnipotent as some of them sometimes appeared? Would it be enough just to call her name? She had, after all, stressed the bond between them; perhaps that was enough.

In the end he decided at least to make things a little easier. He asked around the village for any site that carried folk tales of fairies or supernatural activity. An old woman directed him to a small, overgrown mound on the outskirts where she had seen "the wee folk" playing one night when she was a girl.

He sat on the summit and closed his eyes, feeling the sun hot on the back of his neck. His instinct told him he needed to be in tune with the spiritual power of the blue fire, although he was unsure of attempting it without Tom around to guide him. But after a few minutes trying to clear his mind, he found it surprisingly easy. Perhaps it was a skill that grew commonplace with repetition, or perhaps it was simply that the blue fire was stronger in the land since his success at Edinburgh, but as soon as he could concentrate he was aware of the tracings of power shimmering across the countryside, casting a sapphire tinge across the golden corn, adding new depth to the rich, green grass. When he finally felt he had tapped into it, he whispered her name. At first there was nothing; and not for the first twenty minutes. But just when he was about to give up, a strange vibration hummed in the air, like the sound around an electricity sub-station. An instant later she was standing before him, her smile as mysterious and deep as the ocean.

"You called, Jack. I came."

Before her, he was suddenly aware he felt awkward and faintly embarrassed, his emotions and thoughts stumbling over each other like a schoolboy before his secret sweetheart. "I need help."

She nodded, her eyes heavy-lidded. She took his hand and led him down to the warm grass. As he sat, she leaned near to him, not quite touching, but close enough so that he was constantly aware of her presence; close enough for him easily to breathe in that pleasing aroma of lime and mint. "Why are you interested in me?" He hadn't meant to ask the question, but it had appeared on his lips almost magically.

She gave a soothing, melodious laugh, as if it were the most ridiculous question in the world. He enjoyed the way her eyes crinkled, her face innocently lit up. In that moment it was hard to see her as one of a race so alien they treated people with oblique contempt. "I have seen you grow, Jack. I was there, in the half-light, the moment you were born. I saw your potential take shape, your good heart grow stronger. I stood a whisper away the first time you cried from hurt emotion. I saw you develop decency and honesty and love for your fellow man. I saw you suffer broken hearts, and persevere even at that terrible point when you felt your world was coming to an end. And you came through, Jack. You became the best you could be. So few Fragile Creatures can say that. And I was there in every moment, so much a part of your life in the highs and the lows that I knew every secret thought, every half-wish and barely remembered dream. I was a part of you, Jack. No one knows you better. No one." There was almost a pleading quality to her voice.

"But I don't know you."

"No. No, you do not." And now sadness, so fragilely potent he almost felt it. She looked away briefly, too much going on behind her eyes for him to see.

"What is it you are saying, Niamh?"

"There is nothing I can say. I merely reveal to you the slightest fragment of the minutest strand of my feelings. Our races are as far apart as Otherworld and here. And as close. No good has ever come of any bond forged between the two. One passes so quickly, the other goes on forever, both are bound in tears."

Her voice filled him with a deep melancholy. For the first time, in her eyes, in her body language, the way she held her mouth, he could see how deeply she felt for him and it was monumentally shocking. To be loved so much and not know it was astounding, and truly moving, to such a degree he felt he should seek deep within him to see if there was any way he could repay such a profound investment. But all he found inside was confusion. He thought of Laura and the desperate scramble of emotions he felt around her. And, oddly, Ruth, whom he thought he considered a friend, but when he attempted to examine his emotional response he found it was too complex and deep-seated. And now this woman, who was so open and honest, she was like a cool desert oasis he wanted to dive into and slough off all the corruption that had mired him over the weeks and years.

"I don't know how I feel," he said honestly.

"You are fortunate." More sadness. "To know and not to have is the hardest thing."

He tried to find something comforting to say, but nothing came.

She looked around, at the rolling summer fields, and some of the sadness eked away. "This world is changing. Soon it will be a land of myth once more, where magic lives in every turn." She turned back to him, her smile sweet once again. "A land where anything can happen."

He nodded thoughtfully. "When you put it like that, it doesn't seem such a bad thing."

"How can I help you, Jack?"

He felt almost guilty asking for something when she had bared her soul to him. But once he had told her about Maponus, and seen her face register surprise, then darken, all other thoughts were wiped away.

"The search for the Good Son has never ended," she explained. "The Golden Ones were riven by despair when he was lost, the brightest of all our bright stars, our very hope for the future. There was no knowledge of his disappearance-he was simply there, then not. Of course we must bring him back to us. There will be much rejoicing, scenes of wonder not witnessed since the victory celebrations after the second battle of Magh Tuireadh." The notion excited her greatly, but gradually her face darkened as the implications of Church's information wormed their way through. "If he has been so severely damaged by the Night Walkers, there may be little even the Golden Ones can do to restore the Good Son to his former glory. The Night Walkers' revenge is swift, cruel and usually irreversible."

"But you will attempt to get him back to Otherworld?"

"Of course. He is the jewel of the Golden Ones." She was positive, yet Church could see she was troubled. "Yet he is so powerful." Her voice faded into the wind.

"You're saying even your people might not be able to restrain him?"

"He could cause great destruction to this world. Your people will fall before him like-" she looked around "-like the ripe corn." She turned to Church with fleeting panic in her eyes. "You must not go anywhere near the Good Son. Do you understand?"

"At the moment I'm going where I'm called. We have an obligation-"

"You have an obligation to defend this world. You cannot do that if you are no more."

"I'm asking you for help." He looked her directly in the eye; her irises seemed to swirl with golden fire.

"Then I will help. But I ask something of you in return."

"All right."

"A chance to show you my heart, to prove that universes can be crossed. To show that the love of a Golden One and a Frail Creature can surmount all obstacles."

Church searched her face; suddenly events seemed to be running away from him.

"I know you have a dalliance with another Frail Creature. You must end it. You must give your love solely to me for a period. A chance, that is all I ask. And if our romance does not rise up to the heavens, then we will go our separate ways."

Dismally, Church thought of Laura, how much it would hurt her. Could he do that when there was still a chance they were right for each other? Could he hurt her, knowing how much she would suffer? And once more he thought of Ruth, and wondered what she would think of him. Niamh was watching the play of his thoughts with innocent, sensitive eyes.

He wondered why he was even bothering to deliberate; there was no real choice. He couldn't afford to let Shavi leave. And if he could do anything to stop Maponus's rampage, he had to try. He had learned through bitter experience over the last three months that he couldn't put his own feelings first; that was the burden of his leadership. Sacrifices had to be made. Always. "Okay," he said. "I'll do what you say."

The sudden swell of emotion in her face surprised him, and in that instant he wondered if he really could feel something for her. She took his hand, an act that to her was obviously filled with meaning; it was as if she was some Victorian heroine whose every gesture was infused with import to make up for her stifled emotion. "Much deliberation will need to take place if we are to bring Maponus back with us," she said. "I will need to devote myself to the planning and to attending my brethren in this. You will not see me for a while. But then…" Her cool fingers grew tighter around his hand and her smile deepened. She nodded politely, stood up and walked slowly away. Briefly she turned and flashed him a smile weighted with emotion, and then she was gone in the blink of an eye, as if the sky had folded around her.

Laura and Veitch didn't quite know how they ended up interviewing villagers together, but they managed to do it with as little communication between the two of them as they could manage. If anything, Veitch seemed to Laura a little contrite in his body language and whatever gruff comments he made, but after his rage in the gorge, she wasn't taking any chances. She was thankful for her sunglasses which hid the fear she knew was flickering in her eyes.

Eventually, though, they found themselves walking alone down the sundrenched High Street and there was nothing for it but to make conversation. "Nothing new there, then." Laura broke the silence, stating the obvious because she couldn't think of anything else to say that wasn't heavy with all sorts of difficulties. "Another morning of my life wasted."

Veitch grunted. His own cheap sunglasses gave nothing away.

Laura was suddenly struck by the absurdity of the image. "Look at us. It's like Tarantino meets Enanerdale." That brought a smile to him. It was only a chink, but she felt she had to give it a shot. "About the other day-"

"I'm sorry, all right." It was as if someone had pulled the blinds down on his face. "I've got a bleedin' awful temper and half the time I can't control it. I don't know where it came from. I never used to have it."

"Stress, probably. But that wasn't what I wanted to say. You're right for worrying about one of us selling the others down the river. Nobody else seems to worry about it too much, but it's there-can't ignore it. But it's not me, all right? That's what I wanted to say. It's not me. I don't care if you believe me or not, but I've got to say it out loud. I'm a big fuck-up-and I'll deny I said that if you ever bring it up-but I wouldn't screw over any of us in this group."

Her normal reticence made the honesty in her words palpable. Veitch was taken aback for a moment, but he didn't show it. "Who do you think it is, then?"

She paused, unsure whether to continue, but it wasn't worth turning back at that point. "Are you going to bite my head off?"

"No."

"Okay. I know you've got the hots for Ruth, I know she's been through the worst fucking shit imaginable, but I think it's her."

"Bollocks."

"Thank you for that measured response." She bit her tongue; she could feel the power in his hard body at her side. "I'm not just being a jealous bitch, which I am, but not right now. Here's what I think. She's been waking up with nightmares about what those bastards did to her-"

"Wouldn't you?" He was already starting to bristle. She had to get to the point.

"I think those nightmares are caused by something real. You remember what the Bastards did to Tom under Dartmoor? They stuck one of those creepy little bugs in his head so he'd do everything they wanted."

Veitch's head snapped round. For a second Laura's blood ran cold until she saw the troubled expression on his face. "You think they did that to her?"

"Makes sense."

He considered it for a moment, then shook his head vehemently. "Bollocks."

"Just think about it, that's all. It could've happened. Someone needs to keep an eye on her, and seeing as you've appointed yourself official judge, jury and executioner-" She caught herself. She'd done enough. She could tell from Witch's expression that the notion was already burrowing its way into his head.

"Come on, I need you." Ruth caught Veitch's arm when they all met up outside the pub. She pulled him over to one side where the others couldn't hear them, oblivious to the odd way he was looking at her.

"What's wrong?"

"I want us to have sex."

Witch's expression was so comical she had to stifle a giggle and that wouldn't have helped at all; he was sensitive enough as it was. His mouth moved, no words came out; his whole, stumbling thought process was played out fleetingly on his face. "You're taking the piss now."

That was the first response she expected. "No, I'm not. I'm deadly serious."

Veitch shook his head. There was a pink flush to his cheeks. He was eyeing her askance, still trying to read her motives.

"When we started out on this whole nightmare I was just a normal girl, but I've changed, like we've all changed. I've learned some things. Powerful things. How to change the world around us, things… things I don't want to talk about because I can hardly believe it myself. You know the owl that followed me around?"

His eyes ranged across her face; he seemed to be trying to peer into her head. He nodded.

"That wasn't just an owl. It was… Well, I don't really know what it was. I'm not making much sense, am I? I wish I could understand it all better myself." She became lost in her own confusion of thoughts briefly. "Look, the owl's some kind of familiar. You know what that is? A demon… I don't know… Some kind of supernatural creature, anyway. That took the form of an owl to be with me. But when the Fomorii had me under the castle I found out what it was really like. Not what it looked like. I mean, I couldn't see it. But… it taught me things-"

"What kind of things?"

Her mind sparked and fizzed with wild current when she considered the answer to the question; it was suddenly as if she could look into the infinite. "Things that could help us. Only the trouble is, now the familiar has gone away and I don't know why, but there are still so many things I need to know."

"Well this is all very fucking nice, but what's it got to do with us shagging?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I really am making a mess of this, aren't I? Let me try again. Sex is at the heart of all magic. Throughout history it's been used in all sorts of rituals. The earth energy, the blue fire in the land is the same energy we have inside us. In our spirits, our souls. It runs in grids over our bodies the same way it does in the land. Like the stone circles are areas where it's at its most powerful, there are places on our bodies where the power is strong. In eastern religion they're called chakras-" She watched him start to glaze over and quickly picked up the pace of the conversation. "Normal sex fills us with this energy which we can use. But a particular kind of sex-it's called tantric sex-supercharges these chakras and-"

"And you know how to do this?"

"The familiar told me. I mean, I've never tried it, but-"

"There has to be a first time."

"Right. Look, I don't want to take advantage of you. This isn't an emotional thing. But you get a good screw out of it and all the experiences you could want. And I get-"

"What?" His brow furrowed. "If you don't want it to be anything serious, what do you get out of it? You're not some slapper-"

"You're so sweet," she said with a mock smile. "I get knowledge, hopefully. Power I can bend to my will."

The incomprehension was chiselled into his face. He felt uncomfortable. It wasn't what he wanted, in the slightest, but it seemed important to Ruth.

"Look, don't waste time thinking about it now. If you're up for it, I'll fill you in as we go along. Are you?" He nodded, unsurely. "Right. Then let's do it." Back in the pub bedroom she drew the curtains and locked the door. None of the others would even think of disturbing them at that time of day. They were downstairs in the bar, picking over the remainder of their lunch, having a quiet drink, chewing over the village's problem. Her breath was ragged from apprehension and, if she admitted it to herself, a sexual charge.

"You're sure about this?" She could hear faint nervousness in Witch's voice. She sensed that if she called it off he would be more than happy.

"I am. Are you?"

"Yes."

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but what did she expect. "I know this isn't how you expected, Ryan. It's not exactly every maiden's dream either. Not that I'm a maiden." She blushed, looked away. "But it's the only way I can think of-

"It's okay. You don't have to explain any more." She smiled; underneath it all he was quite sweet. "So how do we start?" he continued.

"Take our clothes off first, I suppose."

It felt unduly uncomfortable, so artificial in the way it was drained of all passion, but she knew she couldn't afford to be self-conscious, for Veitch's sake. If he saw her being embarrassed, the atmosphere would completely fall apart and he probably wouldn't be able to perform. She set her mind and tried to act as brazen as possible. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and threw it on the bed, then unhooked her bra. Her nipples were already hard; her breasts almost ached. She tried to fool herself that her instant and powerful arousal was because it had been so long, but she knew in her heart she was physically attracted to Veitch. As he pulled his own T-shirt off she let her gaze run over his lean, muscled torso, watching the flex and ripple of the tattoos, like cartoons in animation. There was a hardness to his body she hadn't experienced in any of her previous lovers; it wasn't even the kind of hardness that came from working out in a gym. It was the kind of compacted yet supple muscle that came only from a life lived at street level, in onerous situations that tested the body on a daily basis in a way the fitness trainers couldn't even imagine. His own nipples were hard; that excited her even more. Briefly, his clear, powerful eyes caught hers and there was no embarrassment there at all. Energy crackled between them. She saw his own passion laid bare as his gaze dropped to her breasts.

She undid her loose belt, unpopped the buttons and dropped her jeans to her ankles. In the same motion she slipped down her briefs and stepped out of them. She felt the chill of the wetness between her legs send a tingling fire into her belly.

Veitch removed his trousers and his shorts. He was very hard, aching for her. A shiver ran through her. He seemed filled with vitality, as if the blue fire burned in every cell, nuclear fission raging out of control, ready to consume her.

She took his hand and pressed him towards the floor. When he was sitting with his legs out in front of him and his hands behind, she climbed astride him and gently lowered herself on her taut leg muscles, gripping his erection in her fist and feeding it into her. His hardness was shocking; it seemed to go in so deep she felt it was almost in her chest. She wrapped her legs around him and supported herself on her hands behind her. Her heart was thundering, the passion crackling through every fibre of her.

"Don't move," she said. "This is the hard part. The aim is to achieve orgasm without moving, through meditation, directing the energy. I've had some guidance how to do it. Normally it takes a long period of training and discipline. Do you think you can do it?"

"I can try." He closed his eyes, his body rigid, still.

Ruth took the opportunity to scan his features; in relaxed mode there was a surprising tenderness to his expression, almost an innocence. In that moment she could imagine how he would have turned out if not for the privations of his early life. And then she lowered her gaze to the startling colours of his torso: the Watchtower was there, swimming in a sea of stars, some kind of sword, a bulky creature in an insectile armour that made her feel so uncomfortable she moved on quickly, a strange ship skimming blue waves, a burning city and, most disturbingly, a single, staring eye which she knew represented Balor.

She put all thoughts out of her mind, leaned forward and kissed his clavicle. A slight shiver ran through him. She moved up, kissed the curve of his throat. Then up further to gently brush his lips. She felt his erection throb inside her.

Leaning back, closing her own eyes, she focused her sharp mind in the way the familiar had told her, the way she had practised during those long, terrible hours of imprisonment. It came to her with surprising ease. She felt the world moving beneath her, the shifting of subtle energies deep in the rock and soil. Whatever Church had done in Edinburgh had worked. The Fiery Network was slowly coming to life, breaking through the dormant areas, joining up the centres that had remained powerful, like blood filling a vascular system. She saw in the darkness in her head the flicker and surge of the blue fire as it ran in the earth, came up through the ground, through the walls of the building, along the floor, burst in coruscating sapphire into the base of her spine. And gradually it started its serpentine coiling up towards her skull.

Time was suspended; they had no idea how long they were there. Their very existence was infused with the dark, shifting landscapes in their heads, the feeling of the engorged blood vessels in their groins. Veitch fought the urge to thrust, although every fibre of his being was telling him to drive hard into her. Her vaginal muscles seemed so tight around him, massaging him gently. Even with his eyes closed he was aware of her body as if he was staring at it: the flatness of her belly, the heaviness of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, electric sexual signals driving into the depths of his mind.

And then everything came in a rush, the blue fire suddenly crackling up the final inches of their spines, erupting in their heads like the birth of stars; every nerve bursting with fire, rushing back down to their joined groins. Veitch ejaculated in such a fierce manner he felt as if his life was being sucked out of him. The sudden crackling current inside Ruth's vagina danced jaggedly to the tips of her fingers and then to the front of her brain. Their orgasm brought a fleeting moment of blackness that felt like the end of everything.

And in the following instant, Ruth was consumed with a power she had never experienced before. It felt like she was flying high above the earth, deep into the depths of space. And there she saw the thing that had the face of a man and the face of an owl simultaneously, and it was frantically tracing a strange sigil in the air with its hands, desperate to keep her at bay.

"I cannot come near you," it said in its half-shrieking voice. "You are tainted. Seek help now. Seek help or die."

She fell into Witch's arms and he held her tightly while their thundering hearts subsided. But Ruth couldn't enjoy the warm honey glow that infused them both in the aftermath of their passionate experience. She pulled herself back and looked Veitch deep in the eye; he was horrified to see the fear shining brightly within her.

"Something's gone badly wrong," she said in a fractured voice. "What the Fomorii did to me under the castle… it isn't over. It's still going on inside me."

They dressed hurriedly and found the others sunning themselves on the steps in front of the pub while Tom finished his cider.

"Where did you two scuttle off to?" Laura asked suspiciously.

Ruth turned straight to Tom and Church and began to explain her fears, and for the first time told them about the black pearl. Her heart sank as she saw Tom's face at first darken and then blanch.

"Why didn't you tell us this before?" Tom hissed.

"It was too traumatic!" she protested. "I could barely get my head round it myselfl" She tried to look him in the eye. "What's going on?"

"I don't know. But it was a ritual the Fomorii carried out. They wouldn't have done it without a reason."

"You have your suspicions," Ruth pressed.

"I have ideas, but it's best not to say them right now. Not until I'm sure."

Tears stung Ruth's eyes. "It's going to get worse, isn't it? I thought the sickness was just a natural result of all that trauma. I thought it'd pass."

Church stepped in and put a comforting arm round her shoulder. Both Laura and Veitch flinched. "What are we going to do?" he said to Tom.

Tom took off his glasses and cleaned them while he thought. "She needs to be examined by one of the Tuatha De Danann. They are the only ones who might reasonably be able to tell us what the Fomorii have done."

"And they might be able to help," Ruth said hopefully, "like Ogma helped you when you had the Caraprix in your head." Veitch's gaze grew sharp.

"Will they help us?" There was an edge to Church's voice.

"They might." Tom rubbed his chin, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. "If I asked them."

"But what if they don't help?" Church continued. "What's Plan B?"

Tom said nothing. After a long moment he wandered off down the road to weigh his thoughts.

The shadows were growing longer when he eventually returned to them. Ruth had been away to throw up twice in the meantime; Church guessed the stress was already contributing to what was wrong with her. The others waited anxiously around the pub table.

Tom looked around their concerned faces, then said, "One of the Prime Courts of the Tuatha De Danann can be reached through a door not far from here. The Court of the Final Word is the closest translation of its name. Unlike the usual Tuatha De Danann courts, it is a place of quiet reflection, of study. If there is anyone who can provide an insight into Ruth's condition we will find them there."

"Where is it?" The concern in Veitch's voice was palpable.

"Beneath Richmond Castle." Tom glanced at the clock over the bar. "If we move quickly we can be there before nightfall."

"Is it that serious?" Church asked.

Tom's silence was the only answer he needed.