When we reached the far end of the alley, Smith slowed the bike and pivoted us to face back the way we’d come. It had finally stopped raining.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said. “Take the helmet off for a better view.”
I mutely complied, my lips pressed thinly as I bent to place the helmet on cobbled pavement. He turned to me with his helmet still firmly on and received a murderous scowl. The critique of his stunt work would be highly negative. He put a finger against my lips, his voice muffled.
“Just watch. There’ll be plenty of time for shouting at me later.”
He swivelled back to observe the action unfold. I wrapped my hands around his chest and he took them in his. I peered over his shoulder, to appraise the unlikely picture. Midway along the alley, at the doorway to our warehouse, stood Fortescue, ramrod straight with his back to us in the middle of the road. He held a long, ornately carved pipe to his mouth, as though about to blow a trumpet.
Half a metre in front of him, kneeling on one knee, the other at a right angle for stability, was Bea. She aimed a wide crossbow. Usually, a bow was held in the vertical plane of the body, but hers was oriented parallel with the ground. She aimed towards the mouth of the alley where Seth was likely to appear. Two arrows were fixed wide apart to the drawstring, both pulled back in readiness to fly. Thin ropes dangled from each arrow and pooled in a heap on the ground.
Stranger still, was Mrs Paget. She hung in a climbing rig from the side of an abandoned five-storey office building at the alley’s entrance. It was the sort of equipment used to winch a floating yachtsman to the safety of a chopper. Around her waist, she wore a worker’s belt with assorted flasks held in place by leather holders, and high-tech goggles that made her look like a large bug latched to the wall. All of my minders wore small earpieces by which to coordinate the offensive. The whole strategy had clearly been devised to trap Seth – with me as the lure. I didn’t know how I felt about that.
Vovo and Cherish slunk out of the open warehouse door towards Smithy and me, coming to sit like sentinels, one either side of the Ducati. They were not purring now, their gold eyes vigilant, tails twitching alertly back and forth. Smithy’s apartment building was already in abnormal darkness, as was our warehouse, which was the only other occupied building in proximity. The streetlights went out, one after the other, plunging us into murky black.
I could feel Seth’s arrival, my skin tingling. He solidified from billowing white mist to hesitate at the entrance of the lane, apparently sensing something was not right. Smithy reassuringly increased his grasp of my hands.
“Where have you gone, Keeper?” Seth’s haughtiness faltered.
I held my breath, hoping he’d venture closer, not turn and flee. After several tense moments, we heard Seth walk further down the alley to within shooting range. My guardians were ready for him. Mrs Paget threw down several vials at once. There was a loud bang and flashes like welding lit up the night. Liquid showered Seth and thickened to encase him in a clear resinous substance, presumably to stop him from returning to his vaporous state. Fortescue puffed a breath into his blowpipe and before I could blink, the dart hit its target. Seth reflexively slapped at his neck.
Simultaneously, Bea released her arrows and the ropes attached to them whipped a shiny, silvery net through the air. Seth swayed and lurched backwards as the mesh hit him and weighted arrows arced back around his body, wrapping him snugly. He collapsed lethargically to the road. The streetlights flickered on. Everyone jumped to action – except for me – I stood stunned, my jaw on the floor. Our cats prowled an impatient circuit about the Ducati, my bum still planted on the passenger seat.
Mrs Paget nimbly rappelled down the wall, detaching her climbing gear and collecting any evidence such as broken flasks from the street. She offered me a cadaverous grin, and then joined Fortescue where they both disappeared into the garage. I heard the roar of Bea’s Bentley starting up below and then the car itself appeared and purred towards the end of the alley.
Smithy, who’d finally removed his helmet, strode purposefully over to Seth. He roughly hoisted the big youth up in a limp bundle of netting, heading for the warehouse entrance as if toting no more than a handbag. I realised belatedly this was probably not ideal for Seth’s ongoing wellbeing.
Bea rushed over and pulled me into a smothering hug. “I am so sorry, Winnie. We will never jeopardise your safety like that again! Quickly, inside now. We don’t want any more unwelcome visitors. The cats are a bit agitated.”
A loud thud from the warehouse doorway took our attention. “Is that truly necessary, Vegas?”
“Whatever do you mean, Aunt Bea?” Smithy grinned tightly and banged Seth’s head hard against the stone portico for a second time. “He doesn’t fit!”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” I said.
“Oh, I haven’t even started.”
Bea hustled me forward while she reasoned with Smithy. “That may well be, but this doorway congestion prevents our entry. If you don’t mind, I suggest we move inside. Fortescue and Mrs Paget are waiting for you in the car. You also need to hide the bike, until we can dispose of it. The false plates were a smart idea, yet I suspect the police have not ignored your efforts. Please.”
“I will not leave Bear. The others can retrieve Hugo.”
“The major threat has abated, for now. Please! Adhere to the arrangements.”
He scowled and knowing him as well as I did, was poised to argue. But the moment the cats began hissing, Smith stepped inside. Skittering claws and squeaks could be heard amassing in the shadows. If anything, city rats were nastier than their water-bound cousins. Without the need of extra encouragement, I brushed past Smith, Bea corralling us along. The impending demise of Smithy’s beloved bike sucked. The machine was an extension of his character. It seemed a precursor for what was to come, a mere hint at potential casualties.
“I’m sorry about your bike.”
“It’s just a material possession.” He shrugged and gazed at me. “There are far worse things to lose.”
The door clanged shut at our backs; its thick reinforced bolts slid into their housings. I was no longer reassured by that solid sound, knowing how easily Seth had breached our security. And it signalled the demise of my freedom. Now, the likelihood of venturing outside unscathed mimicked the horizon – a mythical destination that moved away with every step you took towards it.
“I am not going anywhere,” I declared.
“Good,” his eyes lingered on mine. “I don’t want to have to hunt you down. Again.”
Smith would forgive me. He had to. I could not do this alone. “You know I was compelled. It wasn’t my choice?”
Seth stirred in his arms and Smith’s expression turned to stone. “Did he compel you to enjoy it so much?” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“You must get him into his cell and join the others. Do not dally, Vegas.” Smithy glowered again at Bea, but did as she asked. He slouched off through the collection to take the stairs below, no doubt fighting the urge to crush his cargo anaconda-style.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave Seth with Smithy?”
“For the record, I am quite tempted to allow Smith free reign with the insufferable villain. Perhaps I should also offer Jerome some much sought after practice with his rusted bayonet.”
We trailed Smith’s course, departing upstairs for the bedroom wing as Vegas stomped to the depths with a fading volley of bangs and bumps that gave me savage satisfaction.
“What about the judge? He would not have missed all that commotion in his alley, surely?”
“He’s in Bermuda with his latest wife. She won the door prize at our ladies’ luncheon. Serendipity, don’t you think?”
My eyes narrowed as we entered the kitchen. I had never been happier to see this room. “Aunt Bea, did you rig your own raffle?”
“Winsome. That would be dishonest.” Her hand went to her pearls in mock dismay.
Wow. I already knew they were a shifty lot, but who could have anticipated to what extent? I shook my head. “Did Hugo really betray us to Anathema?”
“It is a guess, but I believe Hugo attempted to insert himself between you and Seth. Although I won’t rule out punishment for not informing us of what he was up to.”
Gratitude washed over me. After all Hugo had said about the tragic loss of his sister, Latoya, there was simply no way he’d stoop so low as to help those mongrels. He’d sworn allegiance to us, and I had never for a second lost trust in him.
“We still have some protections, don’t we?” I would not move house again, even if Finesse and her slavering minions fell upon us in droves.
“We are far from defenceless. However, it is very late, Winsome. Explanations can wait until first thing tomorrow. We must get you cleaned up. You are a wreck and frankly, barbequed rat is not my favourite scent.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Not to mention, I have never envisaged a day where motorbike leathers constitute acceptable attire.” She gestured towards my room. “Mrs Paget has laid out fresh clothes for you.” My face fell, I did not fancy a morning conference in the kitchen dressed in hotpants and a boob tube.
“Never fear. Jerome and I have readjusted Mrs Paget’s view on particular matters. She will refrain from outfitting you like a playboy’s mistress and let nature take its course.” Did my aunt have ESP? What did nature have to do with anything? “You are not an incubator,” Bea muttered to herself, frowning.
“Thank you,” I said dubiously. I had the vaguest impression that Mrs Paget was trying to prevent Raphaela’s future from becoming my own, but could not quite articulate how.
“My pleasure. A couple of other issues. First, I suspect you must be famished. Would you like Fortescue to order a pizza on his return?”
Somehow, it just didn’t appeal. “Do we have any veggie soup?”
Bea smiled approvingly. “Of course. And we’ve made a bed up in your room for Vegas. We’d prefer you not sleep alone for the time being. Do you have any objections to sharing? I know how you value your privacy.”
She raised an eyebrow. I cleared my throat and tried to look thoughtful. “I guess it’s for the best. Besides, you’ve never worried about my privacy before, why start now?”
Bea was not fooled. “Hmm,” she managed. “I cannot tell you how relieved and overjoyed I am to have you back. Fetch me when you are dressed. There is a task you must complete before you go to bed.”
As I turned for my room, it was impossible not to see how much she’d aged. Yes, that was the correct word. Aunt Bea’s hair had turned white at the roots and her skin clung to the jutting bones of her cheek, long creases tunnelling from her hooded eyes and the corners of her puckered mouth. Her clothes sagged on her emaciated frame.
My minders weren’t sick; they grew older with each frail pull of breath. Raphaela’s authority declined, and with it any hope of thwarting my guardians’ advancing decay. The Keeper’s inheritance demanded I claim the wicked Stone and assert my influence, ahead of its rightful owner. Swift self-sacrifice was the only way to save them. But the Delta gate was blocked. How?
Singly, they stand afore the onslaught… At my bedroom door, I called across the gallery on the verge of tears. “Aunt Bea?”
She popped her head around the kitchen doorframe, face anxious, a tea canister in her hand. “Yes, Winnie? What is the matter?”
“Tell me five things about yourself that I don’t know.”
She blinked in confusion. “Five things?”
“Please.”
“Let me see. Five things,” she mused, stepping out onto the wraparound mezzanine. “I play the cello. I am a chocolatier and a master fencer. I was born in Marseilles, France. Before you came along, I filled the tedium of my endless days by embroidering masterpieces. After the death of my adored husband, Vincent, my life was a desert. Until you, Winsome. I will not leave you, unless forced. I believe those facts overstep your quota.” Her expression was kind. “Now, I insist you shower and change. Preferably before Grace arrives home and is compelled to bring out her homemade perfume. It gives me intolerable hayfever.”
“Thank you.” Her imminent departure from my life may be beyond her control. This knowledge simmered between us, neither of us willing to render it real by giving it words. “Aunt Bea?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you make me some chocolates one day?”
She smiled. “I would do anything at all for you, Winnie. I promise. Even risk diabetes through sugar and couverture overload.”
I quietly closed my door. If Bea and Mrs Paget and Fortescue lived, they would insist on staying with me. As the Keeper, I became responsible for anything bad that happened to them. The toll was too high, the ‘ifs’ multiplying beyond what was acceptable. My resentment towards Raphaela diminished. I understood her lapse, why she’d done what she had and risked us all to stave off loneliness.
A Keeper protected those she loved by standing alone. Bea’s saying ‘three can keep a secret if two of them are dead’ proved very accurate in our context.
I dragged myself into the bathroom. After scrubbing myself raw and shampooing twice to remove the scum of fried rat, I regrettably inspected the floor-to-ceiling mirror while towelling dry. My body was a patchwork of bruises, long scabs forming up both arms where I’d taken to myself with the glass razor and another deep gash crusting one shin. But it was my dazed air of hopelessness that was most obvious in the reflection.
On my bed, Mrs Paget had left cropped cotton pyjama pants in dainty floral with contrasting ribbon and a matching sunny yellow, lace-trimmed singlet. I tied up my damp hair out of the way in a scarf. The pretty brightness made no dent in my depression. Nor did the dismal schlep for the kitchen, minus an attentive butler. Smithy and the others had been gone too long, amping my worry and emphasising my looming sense of isolation.
“You look lovely, Winnie. That is far more like it.” Bea gestured from the railing down the stairs at the rickety elevator. “You must complete the initiation alone. I know you do not relish enclosed spaces, so the cats will accompany you to the basement.”
“Do I have to?”
She nodded wearily. “You need not be afraid. I am hoping this exercise will help bring you closer to the Keeper’s power and help fend off Seth. There is only one rule. Do not deviate. Once you have finished the obvious, retrace your steps and come back here immediately. I have not forgotten your disobedience by breaking curfew to have dinner with Vegas, Winsome,” she said sternly. “I mean it this time, return without delay.”
“Alright, Aunt Bea, I promise.”
I made for the lift to the lower levels. Vovo and Cherish materialised next to me, sauntering inside the tiny, cramped box with soothing purrs. Sweat dampened my forehead as soon as I stepped inside and prodded the down button. The walls pressed in and I toiled to keep my breathing even. Wooden panelling replaced the obligatory mirrored wall, sparing me evidence of my cowardice. I examined the intricately carved and polished interior.
This distraction turned out to be a bad choice, as every section was filled with the same grotesque demons as the Keeper’s diary. Only these were larger and in convincing bas-relief. They writhed and leered, poised for me to lose my nerve and trip up, so they could pounce and tear me limb from limb. I closed my eyes and waited for the telltale dip in my abdomen signalling the ride’s interminable end. The doors finally trundled apart. All my fears evaporated the minute I caught sight of the astonishing vista before me.
