CHAPTER 1
Saturday, 16 April
PRESAGE
The doorway to the chapel shivered; the wood splintered, and witha mighty crash, the door blew inwards. Her friends had told her torun. They were expendable. She was not.
When the screaming began, she was already running in terrorthrough the cobweb-festooned archway and down the danktorch-lit staircase. At the edge of the catacombs, she paused andlistened, her ears primed to catch every tiny sound.
Above her in the church, she could hear the terrified squealsand shrieks of her companions. She wanted to scream too from thehorror of their pursuit but knew instinctively that her only hopeof escape depended on her silence. Taking a shallow breath of thelifeless air, she looked into the shadowy catacombs with a sense ofdread.
The ceiling quivered and groaned, and small stones showereddown upon her head, shaken loose by some ponderous weightmoving above her. The stinging sensation jerked her from stupor,and wrenching a firebrand from its holder on the wall, she fledinto the necropolis. The walls began to vibrate with a low, uglysound and the floor humped and rolled beneath her feet, but shekept running.
Skulls poured from the walls, blocking her path, and skeletonsfell from recesses, reaching for her with outstretched arms. A boneknocked the torch from her hand, and she was alone in the dark.Losing her footing, she fell head first into the waiting bone pile.
Emma Cameron woke up screaming. A cold wind blew in herface, and she was drenched with a film of perspiration. Gatheringher senses, she looked up at the open window banging on itshinges. Switching on the bedside light, she got up and closed thewindow.
She turned back towards the bed and glanced at the clock.It was half past five. She'd better get a move on. Jim Lynch, herpartner in the market-stall business, would be picking her up atsix. Grabbing her bathrobe from the back of the door, she madeher way to the shower.
The hot water made her feel better but did nothing to dispelthe terror of her dream. The nightmare had filled her with dread,and returning to her bedroom, she sensed an aura of menace stilllingering in the room. She peered nervously in the dressing-tablemirror. Her emerald eyes were swollen, surrounded with shadows,and her heart-shaped face was drawn and pale. "You look likeshit," she said to her reflection and dabbed make-up on her cheeksto hide the freckles that looked more like age spots than Celticheritage and thirty years of sun exposure. She brushed back herlong red hair and tied it in a ponytail and then put on a T-shirtand a pair of jeans.
When she got downstairs, the cats were crying and scratchingat the door, so she let them out and watched uneasily as they fledinto the misty hollows of the garden. Were they running from hernightmare too?
She felt a strange reluctance to go back inside. Her house feltalien, as if another power had taken up residence there without herknowledge. Telling herself she was imagining things, she went backto the kitchen to make a strong cup of tea to calm her nerves andsat listlessly down at the table.
Her father had died nine months ago, leaving her The Goblinsin his will. Emma had mixed feelings about moving back into herchildhood home; the eighteenth-century thatched cottage hadalways held a hint of terror for her as a child, but being on theverge of homelessness after her divorce, it had come as a godsend.
The house had been unoccupied since her father's death, andthe two-acre garden had been neglected and overgrown. When shehad moved in at the end of September, she asked her neighboursDave and Maggie Forbes if they knew of anyone to help her getthe place in order. They suggested their friend Jim Lynch, and sheused the small sum of money she had received with the house tohire Jim and pay for the repairs. He had fixed the plumbing andrestored the greenhouses and grounds in under a month, but thesupplies were so expensive, even in the DIY stores, that they hadalmost drained her cash. Needing an income and seeing Jim alsowas out of work, she had suggested that they utilise the glasshousesand go into the market-garden business together. He had jumpedat the chance, and things had started well, but the government'snew austerity measures took a lot of money out of people's pockets,and their business had suffered as a consequence.
A few minutes later, she heard Jim's van pull up outside.
"Mornin', Em," he said cheerfully as he came into the kitchen.
Jim Lynch was a tall blond man in his late thirties with anathletic physique; bull neck; broad shoulders; long, ruddy face; andimpish, tawny eyes. His hair was tied in a single braid that reachedhalfway down his back.
"What's up?" he asked with concern upon seeing her haggardface.
"I had a terrible dream and woke up screaming," she replied,gently pressing the right side of her face with her fingers. "And myjaw's bloody painful."
"What's that from?"
"I must have been grinding my teeth all night."
"You sure you don't want to go back to bed? I can 'andle themarket on my own."
"No!" she answered quickly. She warmed her trembling handson her teacup. "I don't want to stay here on my own. The house isgetting on my nerves."
"Well, 'ow about I make some breakfast? 'Avin somethin' toeat might make you feel a bit better." Jim took off his jacket.
Emma nodded. "I would, if you're going to make it. There'sfresh tea in the pot."
"So, what was it about the nightmare that frightened you somuch?"
"I was being hunted, and everywhere I tried to hide ... itfound me. All I remember is running and my heart pounding."
She shivered. "It's left me a bit shaky."
"What was 'untin' you?" he asked, taking eggs and butter outof the fridge.
"I don't know," she said slowly, "but it sapped my energyinside and out. And it was trying to absorb me when I woke up.Whatever it was, it wanted me dead. I'm frightened. I think there'ssomething in—" Her cup suddenly slipped out of her shakingfingers, spilling tea over her jeans. "Shit! That's all I need," sheexclaimed, looking down at her pants. "Now I'll have to change."
She went upstairs, and when she got back, Jim set two boiledeggs in front of her. "Do you want your toast cut up into soldierslike mine?"
Emma gave a little laugh. "For crying out loud, I'm not abloody invalid."
"I'm just tryin' to be 'elpful! And I did make you laugh." Jimchortled, smearing thick layer of butter on his mutilated toast."Hmm, should've done this before I cut the bread," he said,examining his buttery fingers.
Emma laughed again. She was feeling better now that Jim wasthere. He was a great support to her. Being a Taurus and anchoredto the earth, he was a perfect complement to her airy Geminiantraits—and he was a vegetarian too, so there were no dietary issueswhen they ate together.
After clearing away the breakfast things, they got ready toleave. "We'd better get a move on," Jim said, looking at the clock,"otherwise we'll miss the night nurses on their way 'ome from the'ospital. I'll meet you in the van."
"Coming," Emma said, and grabbing a scarf and jacket off thepeg, she locked up and followed him outside.
The church clock in Oakham chimed seven when they pulledinto the market square. "Another grey day," Jim remarked as heopened the back of the van and pulled out plastic crates full ofhoney, nuts, and grains.
"Gosh, the road is quiet," Emma said, looking along the nearlydeserted high street. "I hope we take some money today. The billsare due."
"Money is tight," Jim agreed. "I 'ate to see what the electricitybill is. The 'eater's been on in the green'ouse for days."
The morning dragged on, and trade was poorer than usual.
"It's almost noon and there's no one about," he said dolefully,looking around the square. "I could do with some comfort food.'Ow about you?"
Emma nodded. "Me too."
"I'll pay." Jim took a bank note from his pocket. "'Ere's atenner. Go and get a bite to eat at the White Lion. I'll 'old the fort.Grab me a toasted cheese."
Emma walked along the high street past the quaint andbrightly painted shops to the junction. There were only two pubsin easy reach of the market, and their normal haunt, the Horse andJockey, had been closed for several weeks since a kitchen fire.
The White Lion was on the corner where the high street metBlood Lane. The seventeenth-century coaching inn stood sheerto the street, and its wide covered archway on one side led to atiled courtyard and stables round the back. The building reekedof intrigue and decay, and behind the sagging brick, Emma senseda brooding presence frowning from the latticed windows at thecobbled street below.
The pub door opened and two middle-aged women steppedoutside accompanied by warm and savoury aromas from thedining room. "Hello," they said, smiling and holding the dooropen. "Are you going in?"
Emma nodded and, quickly dismissing any misgivings shemight have about the pub, stepped inside.
The room was crowded with locals, some sitting on stools atthe bar and others at tables eating lunch. A group of actors fromthe playhouse dressed as Georgian fops in frock coats and frillyshirts were leaning on the bar having a drink before the afternoonperformance. Noticing a couple gathering their shopping bags toleave, Emma made a beeline for the table, almost colliding withthe waitress who scurried in the same direction.
"Sorry!" the woman exclaimed. "I'm run off my feet. Sityourself down. Now what can I be getting for you?" she said,giving the table a quick wipe. She took a pad from her pocket andjotted down Emma's order. "I'll be right back with your wine."
Within minutes, the waitress was back with a tray. "Yourdrink," she said as she set the glass on the table. "Your food won'tbe a minute."
The landlord came out from behind the bar and stoked thefire. "Getting a bit chilly in here. There's nothing better than woodheat," he said to the customers at the bar.
"Strange how it got cold all of a sudden," one of them said."There's a draught coming from somewhere."
Sipping her wine, Emma looked around. An older man withthinning hair sat down with a group of friends at the adjoiningtable. It was Joe Smith, the village blacksmith, though she hardlyrecognised him. His haggard face was grey and the air aroundhim held a pall of fear that seemed to saturate the room. Almostimmediately the crowd thinned out, and she watched uneasily asmost of the regulars downed their pints and left.
"Your sandwich," the waitress said, putting a plate and cutleryin front of Emma.
"Well, Joe, what's going on?" a man said with concern. Hisfriends leant closer, and Tom, the postman, lit a cigarette.
Compelled to listen to what Joe had to say, Emma inched herchair nearer to their table and eavesdropped on the conversation.
After taking a furtive look around the bar, Joe turned hishaunted face towards his friends. "I 'ad a bad fright on my way'ome from 'ere last night," he said hoarsely. "Me and Betty got tothe last streetlight in the village, the one before the pathway to theruins, and without warnin', Betty stops dead. I nearly tripped over'er. She was starin' forwards into the darkness and growlin'. Thenshe backed away and 'id behind my legs. I knew somethin' was upand it weren't good, so I tried to turn round and go back to thevillage, but the air got so cold I couldn't move. Then the streetlightwent out and we was alone in the dark." A long silence followed,and Emma noticed that Joe was staring into space.
"Joe? Joe!" Tom gently nudged his arm. "Are you all right?"
Joe glowered around the table. "Alone in the dark ... no, weweren't alone. Everythin' started glowin'. I could 'ear 'oof beats anda rattlin' sound." There was another long silence.
"Joe! What happened next?" Wally, the butcher, askednervously.
"A little man came dashin' towards me," Joe muttered. "'E wasdressed old-time-like, runnin' as if all the 'ounds of 'ell was chasin'him. 'E 'ad long red 'air, and 'is face was green. And then—Oh!For pity's sake." He buried his face in his quivering hands.
Tom put his hand supportively on Joe's shoulder. "You allright, mate?"
Joe violently pushed him away and glared at his friends. "Acoach came out of the darkness. It was made of bones, and thedriver ... 'e 'ad no 'ead! 'E was 'oldin' it in 'is 'and!" He gave aterrified shriek and jerked back in his chair.
"What's going on over there?" the landlord shouted frombehind the bar. Joe's friends went quiet and looked awkwardly atone another. They got up and said goodbyes in Joe's direction, thennodded to the landlord and hastily left the pub.
The atmosphere was charged with malice and foreboding.Emma shivered; as crazy as it seemed to her rational mind, she feltspiritually connected to Joe's story, and it frightened her. Decidingnot to stay a moment longer, she drained her glass and headed tothe back door, leaving her untouched sandwich on the table.
Stepping out into the courtyard, she held her breath inastonishment. A soft green light lay over the tiled yard, and thebrick outbuildings gleamed a warm red under a stunning turquoisesky. Across the yard, she saw a swaying sea of golden daffodilsgrowing by the garden wall. The brilliance of the flush caught hereye and then captured her whole attention.
CHAPTER 2
TREVELYAN
From a world outside of time and space, Trevelyan shadowedEmma. The mortal shared his faerie resonance, and there wereso few humans left now that carried the gift of second sight. Heneeded Emma's help desperately; she was critical to his plans. Hesensed her thoughts. She had been uneasy all day. 'Twas true, hehad sprung the latch on the window and blown the air to make itbang against the frame, but he had to wake her. She was in greatdanger and he could wait no longer. Resonating with the vibrationof Emma Florence Cameron, Trevelyan of Wessex stepped into thehuman world.
A figure about three feet high emerged from the flowers andglided towards Emma. He was perfectly proportioned, had smootholive skin, reminiscent of a Mediterranean complexion, and waselegantly dressed as a Georgian-style gentleman in a dark-bluevelvet frock coat, breeches, a lace shirt and cuffs, cream stockings,and buckled shoes. His silver hair was tied back with a darkribbon, and on his head sat a fancy blue tricorne hat with two rowsof silver braid around the edges. Must be one of the actors from thetheatre, Emma thought as he approached.
He smiled, and she heard a voice speaking in her head. "EmmaCameron, I need your help."
She was just about to answer him when a straggler from thebar rudely nudged her aside. "What are you doing standing in theway of the door like that? Are you daydreaming, lady?" he asked.His raspy voice and his hot breath on her cheek brought Emma toher senses.
"Sorry," she said, moving aside so he could pass.
The courtyard suddenly became grey, and a cold wind blewthrough it. Gone was the sun, the gladness, and the vibrancy of thedaffodils. Rubbing her eyes, Emma looked around the courtyardwondering what was going on. It was empty now, and there was nosign of the little gentleman she'd seen. Had she imagined it?
Jim waved when he saw her. "Did you remember mysandwich? I'm starvin'."
"Sandwich! Oh! I'm sorry. I heard a horrible story in thebar and totally forgot about your sandwich and mine," she said,remembering that she'd left hers on the table. "Joe the blacksmith,do you know him?"
"I've 'eard of 'im, but I wouldn't know 'im from Adam if I saw'im."
"He used to shoe my horse. He was in the pub. I hardlyrecognised him. He was sitting hunched over at a table telling hisfriends about something he'd seen on the way home from the publast night." Emma paused for a moment and then went on to tellJim what she had overheard.
"Oakham's a queer place and no mistake," Jim replied. "Myuncle Jack lived in the village all 'is life, and growin' up 'e toldme a lot of stories about local people seein' phantom coaches andthe like. There was a big fight between the Round'eads and theCavaliers by the old church, so I'm not surprised Joe saw somethin'by the footpath to the ruins."
"Do you know anything about the history of the ruins?"
"Not much. I know the chapel was built in the twelve'undreds on an old Roman site. It's a place I avoided as a kid.Uncle Jack told me that a few years back, when the council wasdoin' a bit of clearin' around the church, they dug up some coffins.Some of the people 'ad been buried alive and 'ad tried to scratchtheir way out; 'ad wood splinters under their fingernails. I didn'tsleep well for weeks after 'e told me that."
"Oh God!" Emma gasped, internalizing the feeling ofsuffocation.
"Oakham's a spooky place. I don't 'old with them people thatsay ghosts and the like are all rubbish. I 'aven't ever seen anythin'supernatural myself round 'ere, but that don't mean nothin'. Plentyof others 'ave."
"Something strange happened to me on the bridle path a fewyears ago near those ruins. See the scar on my lip?"
"Yes, I can see it," Jim said, peering at her face. "What'appened?"
"I was riding my horse along the track, and as I got level withthe ruin, a rose briar struck me in the face. The scratch was deepand bled like hell. Something was laughing as the thorn rippedthrough my flesh." She looked at him with haunted eyes. "I heardit as plain as day. Something was out to hurt me, and hearing Joe'sstory brought it all back again." She rubbed her hands togethernervously. "I know this is going to sound crazy, but while I waslistening to Joe's story, I felt that I was connected to it in some way.I was so preoccupied when I left the pub that I'm not really sureabout anything that went on, but I think something happened tome in the courtyard."
"'Ang on a minute, Em," Jim said, moving away to help acustomer at the stall.
"Nice few quid, there," he said when he returned, putting themoney in his apron pocket. "You were sayin'?"
"I left the pub by the back door," Emma continued. "Therewas a strange light on the courtyard, and then I saw a little mancoming towards me. He must have been from the playhousebecause he was dressed in the same period costume as the otheractors in the bar. Anyway, as he got up to me ... he disappeared."
Jim raised an eyebrow and cracked, "Disappeared, eh! 'Owmany did you 'ave to drink?"
"I said I don't expect you to take me seriously, but that's whathappened."
