Part 22 (1/2)

Lily sighed. Thanks. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm feeling a bit bothered myself at the moment.'

So am I, thought Eva. She knew something was afoot in the village, but Emilia kept her in the dark. Perhaps Lily coming here asking questions was just a single component of what was buzzing beneath the surface of life at present.

As Lily left the Post Office, she missed Peverel Othman escorting Emilia Manden back from the day centre. If she'd seen them, she might not have recognised Emilia who was looking so spry and vivacious.

Emilia knew that her daughter Eva was choosing to overlook the obvious changes in her mother, and was experiencing a kind of selective blindness, which suited Emilia fine. Eva was rebellious. She never had understood the special relations.h.i.+p Emilia had enjoyed with the Grigori. Been jealous, no doubt.

Emilia felt Othman was taunting the old ones in the village by turning up at the day centre as and when it suited him. A few of the more alert ones had realised Othman must have given Emilia some essence; she could feel their jealousy. All he was prepared to give the rest of them, it seemed, was his presence. Perhaps that in itself was a promise. Emilia wanted more than simple promises.

You'll come in?' Emilia said as she and Othman approached the back door to the building. The garden was in shade, and it was cold on the porch. There was a strong scent of ripe apples in the air.

I don't think...'

Maybe I phrased that wrong,' Emilia said in a firm voice. you are coming in. I'm ready for more.'

Well, maybe I'm not.'

Is that so? Be careful, Othman, I can have a pack of famished hounds down on your back while you lie asleep at night. I can tell your little Winter friends a few things about you.'

How brave you are, to threaten me,' Othman said.

No. If you harmed me, everyone would know, because they saw you walking home with me. Harm me, and you'd have to leave here immediately, and you don't want that, do you?'

With a resigned sigh, Othman followed Emilia into the dark house. Emilia was a hunched shadow in the kitchen. You find me repulsive, don't you,' she said. Don't worry, I won't inflict this rotting flesh on you. Give me some light, and you can go. Come on, give me your wrist.'

Othman directed a penetrating stare at her. His eyes seemed to burn. Think you know it all, don't you?' he said. Come here.'

Emilia paused a moment, then complied. He'd let her have it one way or another, she didn't care which.

With cold, insensitive hands, Othman roughly pushed the old woman over the table, belly first. An irrepressible thrill ignited Emilia's flesh. He wouldn't, surely? A twenty year old memory twitched in her belly as Othman fastidiously removed her voluminous underwear. Sweet Emilia,' he said, and she braced herself for the delicious thrust.

Perversely, and obviously so as not to let her have it all her own way, he sodomised her to transfer the energy. Emilia was numb to any pain this caused. All she could feel was the raw spilling of his power, rapidly travelling through her veins and arteries, her bones. She could almost feel her hair and nails thrusting out with new growth as he pushed inside her. She could feel her flesh filling out. It took him some time to finish. Whether this was deliberate or not, Emilia couldn't tell. She did not stand up immediately once he withdrew, allowing him some time to rearrange his appearance. She'd nearly been burned before, looking at them too early. Othman was a tool to her; she felt completely pa.s.sionless about it.

Happy now?' he asked.

She stood up, rearranged her dress. Her vague reflection in the window seemed taller than she remembered. Very,' she answered.

Then I hope you'll be satisfied, for a while. I can't keep doing this, you must realise that. What I've just given you should be enough for now.'

At that point, she turned, and was delighted by the subtle s.h.i.+ft in Othman's expression. That, more than his words, told her he spoke the truth. He was surprised by his own magic. That's fine by me.' She smiled. But when you're tired of that sweet, innocent girl, and fancy something with a bit of bite, you know where to find me. And you know you'll need that eventually.'

Othman smiled thinly, but did not answer. He went out of the door without another word.

Emilia leaned against the table, her heart still pounding. She felt something trickle down her leg, and did not look for a moment, believing it must be his seed. When she did look, she saw blood. Her womanhood had come back to her, so quickly. Furtively, Emilia went upstairs.

Barbara was full of her news when she managed to way-lay Othman on the stairs of The White House. He could barely understand her babble, he felt so exhausted. Emilia Manden was like a sponge. It had been his own hurt pride which had prompted the method by which he'd given her energy, but in retrospect, it had been a stupid choice. He'd given too much of himself.

Are you all right?' Barbara asked. You look ill.'

Bit of a hangover, I think,' he answered. Not used to drinking that much.'

Oh dear! Perhaps you'd better have a lie down before dinner.'

Yes,' Othman replied weakly.

He went directly to his room and lay sprawled on the bed, his head throbbing with pain in time to his heart beat. All he'd acquired from covertly supping from Owen and Daniel's lovemaking had been taken away again. Some of it he'd given to Lily, with the intention of gently awakening her latent qualities. The rest had been sucked out of him by Emilia. It was a pity Owen was so suspicious of him, otherwise he could simply have asked the boy outright to help him replenish his strength. Soon, he would have to cultivate Owen's trust, but tonight, he felt too tired. Sleep was in order, nothing else.

As he drifted between sleep and wakefulness, he thought about the dream Lily had related to him. He did not want to think about it, but forced himself to confront the issue. It was a mystery to him why she should dream of Shemyaza so vividly, but he did not like it. Perhaps racial memories were beginning to surface in her mind since one of her own kind had come into her life, but if so, she must not realise it yet. As she'd spoken, with such innocent enthusiasm, about all that she'd seen, Othman had wanted to take her hands and explain her dream to her. He knew that in her mind she had visited the Garden in Eden. Ninlil, remembered as a G.o.ddess, had been one of its main administrators. It was clear that Lily's dream had eavesdropped on a crucial time in Anannage history. Why? Why had her sleeping psyche been drawn to that particular scene? Did it reflect exactly what had happened? Had that conversation between Ninlil and Shemyaza really taken place all that time ago? Shemyaza had broken the laws of his people, and had been punished for it. Othman was not blind to the parallels that could be drawn with his own life. Before he died, Shemyaza had influenced many others, ultimately causing the rebellion among the Anannage, which had divided and scattered its people. Unlike Othman, however, Shemyaza had been influenced by love - or so it was remembered. The human maiden Ishtahar, conniving priestess or bewitched devotee, had seduced Shemyaza's knowledge from him, and in return he had pa.s.sed Anannage secrets to her. She, and others like her, had subsequently borne the children of their rebel Anannage lovers. Over the centuries, those children had become a hidden race amongst humanity. Grigori.

And I am one of them,' Othman said aloud to the empty room, imagining Lily's face before him.

One day, he might tell Lily everything, but not yet. Once he was sure about what power remained in Little Moor, and what he could do with it, he would think about enlightening the Winter twins concerning their origins. He wasn't sure how they'd take it. Disbelief at first, of course, but Lily, with her romantic tendencies would eventually accept it. Owen? Difficult to predict his reaction. Perhaps, if Lily continued to dream of the Garden and her ancestors, it might help with convincing Owen. Othman wondered again whether there was a message for himself in Lily's dream. All his life, the legend of Shemyaza and Ishtahar had been a story he'd shrunk from reading or discussing, even during his education as a child. Something about the myth made him feel uneasy, the idea of the Hanged Man was sickening to him. Shemyaza had been punished for loving a human woman and for divulging secrets to her. Othman thought, uncomfortably, of Emilia. Perhaps caution was called for in dealing with her. Othman never dismissed omens or portents out of hand.

Now, as he lay drifting between sleep and wakefulness, he felt a familiar contraction start up in his belly. The compulsion to act was building up inside him again, to find the gate, to open it. Fragmented images of invocation and summoning, the offering of human flesh, raced before his mind's eye like wisps of smoke or cloud. In this hypnagogic state, his mind began to string information together and encountered the thought that the gate he yearned to breach might be the stargate Orion, the famous gate of Grigori myth, where the dreaded Shemyaza hung, his soul-face burned beyond recognition, his etheric body twisted and deformed. But as soon as the thought was encountered, Othman's conscious mind blocked it, as if turning him away from the scene of a hideous accident, where bodies lay dismembered and howls of lamentation filled the air.

Barbara worried when Othman missed dinner, and brought a tray up to his room. Othman sought to allay her fears; the mention of calling a doctor unnerved him. I'll be fine tomorrow,' he told her.

The night was calm, its atmosphere unrippled by any thought or desire. Owen and Lily slept in their separate beds, having their separate dreams.

Verity Cranton slumbered, with Raven curled innocently over her feet.

Daniel lit a candle before he went to bed and stared at its s.h.i.+vering flame. He'd felt tired all day, which had helped to back up his story of feeling ill and missing school. Earlier, he had yearned for Owen to be there beside him, regretting the reticence of their embraces, wis.h.i.+ng he'd had the confidence to ask for more, to take more. Now, he felt at peace, sensually drowsy and comfortable in his bed and in his skin.

Barbara and Barney Eager slept side by side, not touching. Barbara did not dream of forbidden lovers. She dreamed of summer time, and vast meadows.

The only person who slept uneasily was Eva Manden. She was still in shock. After shutting up the shop at five-thirty, she had gone back into the house. The sight that had greeted her in the kitchen was one she would never forget. At first, she'd thought a stranger had invaded the house, for a slim, elegant female figure stood at the sink, her back to the door, apparently engaged in peeling some potatoes. She was wearing a floral printed summer dress, her legs and feet bare. For one dreadful, heart-stopping moment, Eva had thought it was Helen Winter, but that was ridiculous for Helen was dead, and this woman's hair was dark, not pale.

Excuse me?' Eva began, and the woman turned. Even then realisation hadn't hit her, not even when the stranger had said, Evie dear, go and sit down. I'll get dinner ready.' The woman's dark, chestnut hair fell over her shoulders in abundant s.h.i.+ning waves. She wore no makeup on her fine-boned face other than very red lipstick, which accentuated her generous mouth.

Who...?' Eva began, but the words died in her throat.

Evie, can't you see? I'm feeling so much better.' The woman held out her hands, one of which still clutched a potato peeler.

Mother,' said Eva, feeling her way into one of the kitchen chairs, her eyes bulging. She dared not look away from the vision at the sink.

That's right, dear. What is the matter with you? You look like you've seen a ghost!' Emilia laughed and turned back to her peeling.

What's happened?' Eva asked in a hoa.r.s.e voice.

I would have thought you could work that out for yourself, dear. Would you like chops or a pie?'

Who's done this?' Eva demanded. Who? Are they back? Are they?'

Emilia looked over her shoulder, swung her hair. Calm down, dear. You sound hysterical. I must say you pay very little attention to what goes on around here, but that doesn't really surprise me. The Murkasters haven't returned, no, but a relation of theirs has. Peverel Othman.'

The name meant little to Eva, who had deliberately been excluded from village gossip concerning the traveller, at the insistence of her mother. All still obeyed the words of Emilia Manden. At one time, she had held the whip for the Murkasters in Little Moor.