Chapter Fifteen

A week went by and one morning, over breakfast, Tilly rolled up her sleeve. “Hey. I’ve got to show you something.” She held up her bare arm and turned it front and back.

“I can’t see anything.”

“That’s the whole point. That tattoo they burned into me. Odal’s rune? It’s gone. It vanished sometime in the last day or two. I suddenly realized it wasn’t there anymore.”

“Maybe it was one of those temporary things. Like a transfer.”

“Oh no, it was permanent, all right. I reckon it simply didn’t take. They marked me out as one of theirs and either the demon rejected me, or I simply wasn’t made of their sort of stuff. That could also explain why you haven’t got one. Of course, your involvement with them was always meant to be temporary anyway, so perhaps that meant they didn’t need to mark you. Or maybe that training I had resisted some of their brainwashing, who knows? Either way, I shan’t be scarred for life and neither will you.”

Maybe not physically, Vi thought. But as for mentally, would either of them ever be the same again?

* * *

1941 rumbled on. Mrs. Sinclair never returned to Quaker Terrace. Vi and Tilly fended for themselves, treating the house as their own. They continued to work together, as Ethel had left to join the ATS.

News continued to worsen. The Blitz continued. Liverpool, Belfast, major ports, installations and cities faced nightly bombardment. At work, rumors began to circulate about Hitler’s deputy, Rudolf Hess.

“They say he flew over Scotland, ran out of fuel and had to land there,” Nancy said to an astonished Vi. “Never tried to cover up who he was. Of course, he was arrested and thrown in prison.”

“What on earth do you suppose he was up to?” Vi asked.

“Mentally unstable. They all are,” Tilly said.

Nancy nodded. “Or maybe he was planning to overthrow Hitler. He’s not having it all his own way, you know. And now there’s rumors he’s going to invade Russia.”

Miss Brayshaw came in and clapped her hands. “Nancy. Careless talk!”

“Sorry, Miss Brayshaw. But the men were talking about it openly in the mess.”

“Well, they shouldn’t have and I will be having words with their superiors, you can rest assured on that. Now, back to work. There’s a lot to do. The PM will be coming down before long and I don’t want him walking in on a gossipy women’s tea party.”

Churchill came down about half an hour later. It was extraordinary how his mere presence on the corridor could instill a hush. It was as if everyone sensed his presence almost before he was there, although Vi had to acknowledge that the couple of gentle, warning taps echoing down the air-conditioning pipes did give the game away somewhat.

After a few minutes Miss Brayshaw appeared at the entrance to their office.

“Violet. The PM has asked to see you.”

Vi exchanged glances with Tilly, who raised her eyebrows before putting her finger to her lips. Vi gave the briefest of nods and straightened her blouse and skirt before grabbing her pad and pencil and leaving the office.

At the sound of her arrival, the PM laid down his pen. “Close the door, Miss Harrington, and sit down. I wish to talk to you about a matter of some importance.”

Vi did as she was bid and sat in the chair indicated.

Churchill lit his cigar and puffed aromatic smoke, which welled up like a cloud around him. Vi knew for as long as she lived, she would never forget the smell of that particular brand – Romeo y Julieta, Havana cigars.

Churchill removed his cigar and rested his hand on the desk next to him. “Miss Harrington, for reasons none of us can quite determine, you have become embroiled in a particularly vile Nazi plot, part of Hitler’s plan to create some kind of master race. I think that this is probably not entirely news to you, as I am aware you needed some time away from work owing to a sudden, unexpected and, to many, impossible malady.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you quite recovered from your ordeal?”

What an extraordinary question. How could she ever really recover from it? And yet, in some ways, she did feel remarkably calm, as if, incredible though it had been, it was now over, finished, and the time had come to assign it to the past.

“Yes, sir. I am quite recovered, thank you.”

“The other…losing your brother so tragically. That is far harder to come to terms with. Especially in those circumstances.”

“I believe he was murdered, sir. I believe they did it. And I’m certain they’ve infiltrated here. Mr. Glennister….” The words had spilled out, without any thought or warning. Now they lay there. Churchill barely blinked.

“Quite so, Miss Harrington. I am positive you are correct, and this is the reason I wished to speak with you. There are, it would appear, two possibilities relating to your brother’s death. One I am not at liberty to discuss but, as for the other, I can tell you that it is officially being treated as murder as yet by person or persons unknown. If this is indeed the way he met his end, we have our suspicions as to the identities of the murderers and I suspect they mirror your own. As for Glennister…I shouldn’t worry about him anymore. He was found dead in his flat. Shot himself. I suspect that news will come as something of a relief. He knew we were on to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Churchill puffed at his cigar. “Miss Harrington, you have heard of an entity known as Eligos?”

“Yes. I believe I have actually encountered it.”

“The characters you met – the Santiago woman and her accomplice – the man you know as Alex – are followers of it. Disciples. But then you probably know that already. I should tell you, Miss Harrington, my late mother was a lifelong student of the supernatural and passed on her fascination for the subject to me. I have studied many of the cults and beliefs and, among the most interesting, and indeed dangerous, is the cult of Eligos. When I read Mein Kampf, I was struck immediately by the inferences and references that mirrored much of the cult’s beliefs. I tried to alert those in power around me but, as we have seen, none would listen. Closed minds, Miss Harrington. Closed minds. They have brought us to where we are today.” He checked his pocket watch and frowned. “Time has sadly caught up with us, and I must meet with my generals, but I wished to reassure you that all that can be done will be done in this matter. I must, of course, require you to refrain from discussing this with anyone. I trust I can rely on you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We will get them, Miss Harrington, I am determined on it. And we shall put an end to their evil, once and for all.”

“Thank you, sir.”

* * *

Vi left the PM’s office feeling lighter than she could remember. She longed to share her news with Tilly but, this time, she mustn’t. She had promised no less a figure than Churchill himself. The fact that he was interested enough in her brother’s case to be dealing with it personally was enough to convince her that nothing must slip out.

She almost skipped down the corridor, so wrapped up in her thoughts, she took a wrong turn and had to double back on herself.

Someone blocked her way. Alex smiled his Clark Gable smile, white teeth flashing as Vi made to skirt around him. He caught her arm. “What’s the hurry, Vi? No time for a quick chat with an old friend?”

“You’re no friend of mine. You murdered my brother.”

Alex’s grip tightened painfully. “Now, hold on, I would be very careful about throwing such accusations around. Someone might believe you.”

“What does it matter to you if they do? You’ll simply disappear and turn up somewhere else. Maybe as someone else entirely. You’re not even human.”

“Take care, Violet. You were useful to us but now your usefulness is at an end. We have what we needed from you. You’re the one who could disappear. I could make it happen. You know what I’m capable of. Remember dear George.”

He brought her up close to him. So close she could see deep into his eyes and the creature within. She had seen it before. It fluttered, deep within the dark iris. It glowed a yellow-red and seemed to grow as she watched it rise, unfurl wings…. He released her and she fell back against the wall.

* * *

The long process of self-healing led to sleepless nights. Cups of tea in the early hours, by herself or occasionally with Tilly when sleep eluded her as well.

The war dragged on. Rationing got worse. 1942 saw the Americans declare war after the fleet was bombed at Pearl Harbor. Vi and Tilly continued their work, like millions of others. They lost friends, they mourned. They picked themselves up and carried on.

Finally, the war took a turn and the news was of victories. Liberations. France in August 1944. Then, in April 1945, horrifying footage from the concentration camps. Vi and Tilly sat in a packed, silent cinema as scene after scene of appalling barbarity played out on the screen.

And Vi knew. Sandrine. Alex. Glennister. They had all been part of this.

And two of them – along with countless others – were still out there. Somewhere.